In every generation’s lifespan there is this event which can be called the defining moment of that generation. For my grandparents it was the Independence / Partition, for my parents it was the Emergency and Biju Babu (who is worthy enough to be an event), and for me it is the Babri Masjid demolition and Sachin Tendulkar (who is also worthy enough to be an event). We will never grow tired of thinking about them, arguing about them and feeling happy / sad about the respective events. There is definitely going to be a Sachin Tendulkar post, I promise, but later.

Sixteen years have passed but the damage had been done much earlier. The Liberhan report is out but the RSS, BJP and the other co-conspirators were more worried about a media leak than their responsibility in the demolition and possible indictment. In their efforts to counterpunch the Congress government they forgot their original sins. That it all started on a volatile December morning when everyone, except the rampaging Kar Sevaks, was sleeping (Narasimha Rao, literally). They forgot that their Ram Janmabhoomi was someone else’s Babri Masjid. Unreliable narrators notwithstanding, and in this case it is both the Hindus and Muslims, how a Supreme Court diktat was razed to dust. The nation still hasn’t come out of its shadow. The fall out is unfathomable. From the ’93 Mumbai blasts to spawning of vermin in the form of the Thackerays; from the venom spewing Hindu hardliners (The Togadias and the Singhals) to Godhra. Whatever happened to the ‘Secular’ state?

However this post is not going to be a what, why and when of all these events and disasters. This is more of an emotional outpour of a nonbeliever, a kafir who is proud to be an Indian yet sad that he shares his national identity with some who are totally undesirable on the face of earth.

The earliest memories are that of a frightening number (1.5 million) of Kar Sevaks and Lal Krishna Advani’s infamous juggernaut which stopped with the destruction of the edifice of Indian secularism and tolerance. I didn’t know much then, apart from the fact that it was a bad thing. I was too young and too dumb for all this. I had just seen my first cricket World Cup on an invention we call the Television. I was too happy to be sad. News channels kept on showing unlimited footage of a saffron clad lady and Trishul wielding madmen. I couldn’t understand why the lady was such a big deal and what was the significance of ‘Ek dhakka aur do’? Why was everyone calling her ‘Sexy Sanyasin’? What is the meaning of ‘sexy’? (See, I was an innocent, young boy from Talcher, a remote town in Odisha, and Dulaara (Meri pant bhi sexy fame) hadn’t been released.)

The history text books and the GK books were immediately updated. For most of us it was just another piece of trivia. Dates and Events – mug (learn by rote). It was later when the hormones started raging that I understood. Not that I could do much, but I was sad. It was ‘‘the partition’ of our times, I felt. Our generation and later ones would never be able to forget it.

People forgot about it, mostly, but have been reminded every now and then with disturbing rejoinders. We just can’t come out of the shadow of the rubble of destruction. While we were busy with our lives from celebrating Sachin’s every great innings to Sunny Deol’s Dhai kilo ka haat, we were also shocked by the 93 blasts and the rise of the  Thackerays and the Modis.

All these years, we forgot that, someone else was busy as well. Mr. Liberhan certainly was, busy with his unending and somewhat equivocal probe. Finally one morning, when the news channels again went berserk as did the BJP parliamentarians, we were yet again forced to remember the ghosts of past. Out came the haunting faces of Kalyan Singh, Uma Bharti and Govindacharya. An old previously unseen footage of the ‘untouched one’ surfaced. The clever pun on words couldn’t hide another facet of Mr. Vajpayee, of the ‘Jung na hone doonga’ fame. That the ex-PM could have said sentences like “Zameen thodi nukili hai, samtal karna padega” amidst war hungry Kar Sevaks was a shocker. Coming from where it was, it was an 8.5 on a Richter. Then came Kalyan Singh and opened his ugly mouth again saying “Maine Kar sevaks ki jaan bachaayee, Dhaancha gaya so gaya”. Seriously, how apathetic can people be? My love for the Hindi language certainly was dented a bit. Despite the command over the language that these Sangh parivarwallahs have, I just couldn’t bear them speak. They seemed so ugly.

I wanted to write, to just vent out some feelings, hatred(?). The word count tells me I have crossed 800 words. I have certainly come a long way from the days when an eight hundred word essay in English would put shivers down my spine. Alas, I can’t say the same for BJP, still stuck in a rut, trying to be an option instead of being one. If they were only confused about themselves it wouldn’t have been a problem but the fact that they are so unapologetic and indifferent about the past, a past that they created, is disturbing. 

I have as much faith in the system as I have in God and that is why I don’t think much would happen. It will linger on and by the time anything happens, most of the protagonists and accused would be sleeping again, in a Samadhi near you. Narasimha Rao certainly is, in a magnificent structure near Necklace Road. If only he could have woken up from his siesta on 6^th December, 1992.

In which we learn about the various stages and elements that make queuing for railway tickets in India an experience in itself. Okay, make it Bhubaneswar. The post was inspired by a recent adventure by the author, on an otherwise innocuous Saturday, in his quest to get an elusive TATKAL ticket.

The Crash: This stage is not directly involved with the queuing but is actually responsible for you queuing up. The Crash, in mention is that which makes you wince like never before and it occurs with unerring accuracy on every morning at 8:00 a.m and stays on for half an hour and sometimes forever till you start banging your head on the keyboard with a hope that some sort of a divine intervention would happen and you would be able to see something other than the dreaded “Service Unavailable” on your monitor. But given the sucker you are, it would not happen. You would end up cursing the fate, the railway minister, the government of India and every living was trying for the online reservation. As you would have already wasted a lot of time, you are filled with a rage, unseen and unheard of. You decide to go to the Railway Reservation Counter, the other day, decimate all opposition and stoop lower than anyone to get that ticket. You sleep sharp at 11:00 pm that day and proceed unconsciously to the next stage.

The Wake Up: The irritating buzz of the alarm wakes you up at 5:30 a.m. You search for you mobile phone in futility with eyes closed, to kill it before it mutates into an atomic bomb explosion. The mobile phone, unfortunately, is far away from you bed precisely for this reason. You wake up in anger, go near the mobile and just when you are about to throw it away, you see with your partially closed eyes, “TICKET – STN” blinking harmlessly at you. Your anger suddenly evaporates and is you are filled with pride, for the ingenious inventor who invented the concept of reminders for mobile phones. In one flash that will run a speed in excess of 24 frames per second, you would remember all that happened yesterday and you are filled with the same rage that you experienced less than 24 hours ago and you leave for the station immediately. You enjoy a great drive on the majestic roads of Bhubaneswar that lead up to the Railway Station, amusing yourself with the thought that you would be the first one at the queue and while you are nearing your destination, most suckers are sleeping.

The Horror: You park your vehicle exactly at 6:40 a.m and when you reach the counter…Counter? What counter?? You are reminded of your insignificance at the sight of at least a thousand people swarming the gate like bees. Okay, a hundred. You are horrified and your heart sinks to new lows which you surely wouldn’t have reached. What could possibly have gone wrong with your planning? You curse yourself at not listening to your Dad, who advised you to reach there by 5:00 a.m and you ignored him. You want to cry, but the situation demands men, hardened by standing in innumerable queues. Movie theatres, School bus, Prayer Hall during the morning assembly and you take control of your emotions. You eye the opposition as Sachin Tendulkar would eye the fielding Aussies in the MCG.

The Humanity: Bongs, Biharis and UPwallahs, fellow Odias. Everyone is there before you, everyone. Do people not sleep anymore? Why do so many people live in India? While you are pondering important questions like you see something that shakes your inner core. The immediate entrance of the Ticket Counter. Near the closed shutter you would see at least forty (yeah forty) people spread-eagled on newspapers near the counter. Immediately behind them you would find the other sixty who share your horror, but there is no looking back now. You have entered the war zone. The Bongs suddenly start talking aloud in English thinking they are the only ones there with the gift for languages. The Biharis and UPites shout loudly “Kuch Nahin Ho sakta, Kuch nahin ho sakta!!”. The Odias, as always, have only lovely abuses to offer. Though amused, you detach yourself from the humanity with ‘one thaing and one thaing only’ on your mind.

The Snake: You join the Snake, which is the shape of most queues in India. You forget all hopes of photography and listening to the ipod. You make yourself suffer and harden yourself with a steely resolve of a kind which reminded you of sitting through the two and half hours of Himesh Reshammiya’s Karzzzzzzz…You join in. There is no time for emotions now.

The Misdirection: You would find a few people standing near the door away from the queue with another agenda. You have to make a decision now. Whether it is going to be ‘them’ or ‘us’. You choose ‘us’ despite a history of doing the exact opposite. After all it’s just a day past Gandhi Jayanti. What would Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi do? You take pride in your decision and wait thinking the cops would be just round the corner.

The Wait: You wait. You check your mail in your WAP enabled cell phone. Regularly checking Facebook for interesting status updates. You read about the awesomeness of Ricky Ponting and Shane Watson against the hapless Poms. You wait forever.

The Sucker: Thirty minutes in the queue and you would be approached by ‘him’, the protagonist in question. He would come from nowhere, as if he just teleported from a portal, and initiate a conversation about how desperate people have become and how futile it is to stand in queues nowadays. Since you still remember Bapu, you would give a smile. Like any Hitchcock character he would shadily tell you how he is going to start another queue near the door and ask you to join him after a few minutes. Never ever talk back to that sucker. You have been warned! Don’t leave the Snake. The snake is everything that matters now.

The Push: About fifteen minutes to touchdown and you would feel it for the 1^st time. The Force would be upon you instead of being with you. It could come from either direction. You would be woken up from your slumber with incomputable Newtons of Force. With one hand tangled in the helmet you muster all your strength and remember your past academic performance at such things. You remember that you have been a champion and like a champion you don’t give up, you fight back. You push. You push with all your might. You forget about Bapu. You remember Chuck Palahniuk. You give your loudest war cry and exhort others before and after you, not to give up and push forward.

The Contact: After five minutes of stooping lowness and giving the choicest abuses to everyone you hold on to your position. The reality is, you are held by the snake. You have been sucked into the gigantic snake. You feel molested. Unmentionable body parts touch unmentionable body parts. You can feel the warm breath of everyone. Oh, the stinking armpits. Stinky farts bombs. You life force has been sucked out of you and you can’t do anything now. You are one of the cogs in the wheels of nature. You wait for the inevitable.

The Suck: At exactly 7:57 a.m (You can see the time by your watch, that’s the only thing physically possible now) the shutters open. You can only hear the sound and suddenly you feel ‘it’. You are sucked into a vacuum created by sudden disappearance of men before you. Before you realize anything you are in the next stage.

The Run: You see people running. The snake has disintegrated. The cops have appeared somehow as if on cue. You remember John Anderton in ‘Minority Report’. You say to yourself in a muted tone “Everybody Runs”. You see the narrow entrance of the now open counter and you run. You run for your life. You see the cops hammering everyone but stopping no one. You are not in a position to think and react anymore. You just run, hoping to somehow survive the wildly swinging swords of the cops. You run like Vijay Dinanath Chauhan in Agneepath. (“Ek din apni maan ko Yeh gaaon waapas karne ka hai, haain”). You survive the sword and now you are inside the sanctum sanctorum and the situation demands more from you. You have to decide quickly, and by quickly I mean picoseconds, which queue to run into. You do a John Nash type thing from ‘A Beautiful Mind’ and decide upon the 1^st queue. Skidding through the last five meters, you pull yourself back just in time before you are about to tumble into the ladies and senior citizens counter.

The Futility aka Despair: In the heat of the moment you forgot one vital fact and that is “you suck at maths”. You always have. Your heart sinks again. There are at least 15 people in front of you and all other queues are as long. You remember the status of the tickets yesterday as you still had the guts to check irctc after 9:00 a.m. You remember “WL/47” in the non-Tatkal category (Tatkal is activated only 2 days before the date of journey and that day is this very day). Now, you look at other people, not like Sachin at MCG but a Venkatesh Prasad batting at Faislabad (Has he ever, but you get the drift anyway). You become a believer. You start praying. You again do a probabilistic calculation as to how many people before you are going to travel to the same destination and you multiply that number with infinity keeping in mind all the other counters in the country. You are filled with torturous thoughts such as the irctc website functioning today and crashing. You curse yourself again. If only you had stayed at home. You wince at the thought of going back empty handed and logging into Cleartrip and shelling out unmentionable rupees through your credit card. “The horror, the horror”. Thinking these thoughts you move ahead in the queue which has now transmuted into a snail. You surreptitiously peek into the reservation form of the previous person and check for the train no. It reads 8449. You breathe slowly and wait for him to finish his ticketing.

The Moment: Finally the moment arrives. You are in front of the glass pane. The final frontier. You look at the person in the counter. The other person looks at you like Harry Callaghan in ‘Dirty Harry‘ thinking “Do ya feel lucky, punk? Do you?”. You give the form to him. He looks at it and starts hammering away at the keyboard. Your eyes are transfixed at his desktop. Then it appears ‘AVAIl-23’. Your heart is filled with infinite joy. You want to sing, dance and shout. You restrain yourself. You pay the money and get your ticket of joy. You come back home and sleep.

N.B: The stunts mentioned in the post have been performed by trained personnel and are not to be replicated by others without proper training.

Q – “Is the water medicinal as claimed? What healing properties does it have”?

A – “Yes. Absolutely, saar. Diseases are cured and even women have become fertile by drinking the water from the hallowed well. They even take a dip in the ‘Wishing Well’ (Maansik Kuaan).”

One look at the ‘wishing well’ and you can only imagine how badly they would have wanted their wishes. As for the men, I don’t even want to imagine what they have been dipping in the hot sulphurous water for the want of fertility!

Probably this conversation with a sucker near the hot water spring was the best part of the disappointing yet arduous jaunt to find the elusive Atri, a quest which reminded me of the ‘Island of Bimini’ and it’s most precious and secret treasure.

Disappointing, yes. For the first time probably, the journey was so much better than the destination. Maybe, I was expecting a lot. Too many LOST reruns, maybe. What was I expecting? An angry earth opening up and venting all its pent up anger in the midst of the wild, waterfalls, smoke monsters, barbeques, animals and all that Jazz.

I was appalled by the commercialization that has destroyed the virginity of the place. What you get instead is a concrete complex and loud signboards hammering in the fact that you have surely reached Atri and for the fountain in question, that has been converted into a high walled well. The moment you reach there, as with most places in India, suckers surround you and start giving gyaan which in all probability you already know.

Having lived in Bhubaneswar for more than a decade now and never having visited the hot water springs near Khurda, I had been waiting for a road trip. An old friend was in town and we didn’t even plan for it. A trip towards THE Chilika Dhaba was cut short and we changed course mid way towards Atri, around 42 kilometers from Bhubaneswar and 13 kilometers from Khurda.

The best way to go there is the road from the Khurda bus stand, which we realized during the return and had ditched earlier in favour of the bypass road from the National Highway – 5. We were surprised to find some brilliant roads on the way to Atri, what we thought were very remote areas.

If you see this, you are on the right path son.

One caveat though. People who do not have any working knowledge of Odia shouldn’t even think about the journey. The only sign that you are in the right course would be available 3 kilometers before the fountain in the form of a milestone. How you reach to the milestone is an adventure in itself. Nothing on the route suggested that we were on the right track. With unreliable narrators and overenthusiastic villagers I was reminded of ‘The Wicker Man’ – SPOILER ALERT– and believed it was the hot spring which was seeking us and we were going to be part of an elaborate sacrificial ritual.

Pardun the French, baut no SAMPO pleez.

If you still want to do the Atri trip: Start from Bhubaneswar towards Khurda, take a diversion from NH-5 towards Khurda bus stand (be on the lookout for milestones), reach Atri from there. You might encounter a place named Baghmari. Don’t panic. Do not forget to have lunch at the famous Atal Dhaba (not named after the former PM) while returning back. Yes, the lunch was had. Thank You.

With these words you will be welcomed by this obscure autowallah if you are trying to get a ride from Begumpet. I swear, you will be taken for the ride of your life.

Seven months ago I had to go to the Odyssey store near Karkhana and it was a dark but non-stormy night. I was in a hurry and didn’t care to cross the road near Shoppers Stop (The last time I attempted the feat, it took me a week). The guy looked 35, bearded, portly built and the khakhi uniform was snuggly fitting him.

I asked him whether he will give me a ride till Karkhana and he was elated. I couldn’t be sure why, though. Five meters away from ‘Mochi’ and I heard it – ‘Aap Farishtey Ho! Bhagwaan ka roop ho mere liye !!!’

I dismissed the talk as I do most statements in a GD, with a chuckle, thinking he might be talking about the ancient Indian concepts of Atithi devo bhava etc etc. Another 5 meters and he repeated the words. I was still dismissive of him and started looking out of the Auto as I was more interested in finding the source of the smoke blasts that were homing in towards my nostrils and counting the number of vehicles which were going berserk with the excessive honking at that time.

The U-turn at Mayuri marg junction had been taken and the guy started crying. I kid you not! He started crying and after wiping the tears he started talking about how his wife, who was due for delivery that day, slipped from the staircase and I was gutted. He went on as to how his relatives couldn’t even give him five hundred bucks for the necessary operation. Throughout his crying he kept on reiterating I was a Farishtaa and Bhagwaan ka roop.

By the time we had reached Paradise circle I came to know that he had taken a loan for the auto and is unable to the pay the installments. I started thinking whether I was sitting in the auto-rickshaw of the unluckiest man in Hyderabad? Being a perennial cynic I was conflicted. Should I do a superhuman gesture and become the God and give him the five hundred bucks or was he “Meri Le raha hai” as they say in chaste vernacular?

The fare was thirty five bucks. I usually don’t carry a lot of cash when I go to a book store as a defensive mechanism for not spending more. I thought a lot and gave him a fifty. I was in no mood to become God and somehow I was very worried about his constant eulogizing. I was tempted to give him another fifty rupees but restrained myself.

I bought the latest issue of Maxim with a remorseful heart. All these days I had this feeling whether I did the right thing. Time flew and I forgot the incident.

Last Sunday I had to go to a friend’s house and pick Ludwig on the way. The hot sun had blinded me, almost. There was an empty auto near the Satyam office at Begumpet. I was about to leave that behind when the autowallah came running from nowhere and gestured me to sit in the auto. Before I could say Banjara Hills he had started the engine and by the time I had reached Pantaloons, in came the words “Aap Farishtey Ho! Bhagwaan ka roop ho mere liye”. I was stunned into silent disbelief.

Before I had reached Ludwig’s house I also learned how his wife slipped from the staircase when she is due for delivery. Again! His relatives haven’t changed and they kicked him away instead of giving that elusive five hundred bucks. He cried again, with the ease of a Brando doing his best method.

I quickly made up a story of my own and got down the moment I was near Ludwig’s apartment and paid him the minimum twelve bucks.  A CITY moment of success indeed.

You have been warned. 

Isaac Mendez (painter from the cult series HEROES) gets an Indian avatar and appears as a goatee wielding punk haired Emraan Hashmi in this fairly engaging movie which scares less but philosophizes more. That the movie isn’t scary enough doesn’t take anything away from this horror movie as most of the Indian horror movies which have tried very hard to scare the audience have been disastrous laughathons instead. Exhibit A: Vaastu Shaastra.

Fortunately, director Mohit Suri tells his story well although I was slightly disappointed with the climax. Kangna Ranaut plays a ramp model again who is in love with a wooden Adhyayan Suman (son of Sekhar Suman). We are induced into the scheme of things when inexplicably our heroine suffers a stigmatic wound which is foreseen by the super painter.

In totally unrelated incidents other people die which include a purohit, a CEO and two other people. Unrelated? You got to be kidding. Everything is connected – the 2^nd law of survival says so.  Anyways, instead of lover boy, who apparently is a non-believer, it is the painter who tries to help our damsel in distress and they demystify the plot by singing  dream songs  ( very good ones, to be fair) and visiting places like Kalindi in Himachal Pradesh.

Through its course the movie generously borrows storyboards from Rupert Wainwright’s ‘Stigmata’, Alexandre Aja’s ‘Mirrors’ and the ‘Ring’ movies and Kubrick’s ‘The Shining’(!).

Do they unearth the mystery? Why is the painter able to paint only the heroine’s future? These are good questions whose answers I will pass for the audience to find out. I will however help you in your quest by giving away the 8 immutable rules of survival in a horror film.

The 8 immutable rules of survival in a horror film (especially if you are Kangna Ranaut / Emraan Hashmi)

1. All the Korean horror movies have to be seen. All of them.
2. Everything is connected.
3. If you are scared then keep the lights on. All of them.
4. Never ever, ever, EVER go alone to a parking lot if you are scared. Run back to the mall instead.
5. Always carry a torch / searchlight when you travel.
6. Never ever, ever, EVER stop your car when you see an animal on the way. Especially if it’s four legged and has horns. What, you haven’t seen The Ring Two?
7. Stop watching yourself in the mirror. You haven’t seen Alexandre Aja’s Mirrors as well?
8. Now don’t even let me get started on wells. No ‘The Ring’ as well? This is too much now. Read 1 again.

PS: Watch the cult classics Guest House (1980) or Dahshat (1981) and you know why the 80s were so awesome for Hindi horror genre.

Nehra: In the echelons of Indian bowlers who have run faster than they have bowled, Ashish Nehra ranks just below David Johnson. Nehra’s greatest trick is keeping the batsmen guessing till the last moment about whether he would successfully bowl the delivery or collapse near short leg or run a trajectory through mid-on, mid-wicket and square-leg etc. etc. The worst thing is he is bowling well and might be in the team if one of the main left-arm fast bowlers is injured. 

Old Men: 35 is the new 25 and all the Big Daddies of World Cricket are calling the shots in this IPL. Big Matt, Jayasurya, Sachin, Dravid, Gilli, Warne. You name it. As if they had a point to prove they have taken this IPL personally and are putting the Baccha brigade at their respective places. Big Matt’s press statement about Appam was worth its weight in Platinum. 

Pathan Bros: Almost all the cricket playing nations have had siblings representing them at the same time. The Waughs, Chapells, Hadlees, Odumbes, Flowers, Strangs and many more. India had some but never like the Pathans, both of whom can win a game for us on their own and have the potential to become good all-rounders, although Irfan did flounder after a promising start to his career. In the T20 format however they are a must inclusion as they can be devastating when on song. While Irfan can use the long handle to good effect and bowls his swingers and seamers effectively, Yousuf is possibly the hardest hitter in world cricket. A bit of consistency would be great though.

Queen Shetty of the Royals: Dumb, Hot, Rich owner of the Rajasthan Royals. From being an item number superstar to having a platoon of item girls (cheerleaders) she has come a long way. Just don’t ask her any cricket related questions, she will do just fine. I am hoping she will be the main cheerleader if the Royals enter the final.

Return of the King Khan: SRK kept on telling us how they are more dangerous this time around and how KKR team will put the fear of the Devil in opposition teams. Nuff said you thought. Par picture abhi baaki thi mere dost! He left his team midway and has come back to India after his team was molested by all others. Last heard he was throwing parties for a Spartan.

Sanath and Sachin: This IPL was the dream come true for fans of the sub-continental dynamites and boy did they explode or what! S-S made mincemeat of the KKR bowling attack and imposed such shock and awe on them that the KKRs are yet to recover from that shock and Ajantha Mendis is taking carrom lessons.

Ten Do. Ten Don’t!: The dilemma of Mumbai Indians is best captured by this once famous Amul Topical about the state of Indian Cricket. Sadly it fits The Mumbai Indians perfectly well too. They are yet to come out of Tendulkar’s shadow and need his presence / performance at the wicket to win despite having some of the best local and global talent in the tournament.

Umpire Dharmasena: Dharmasena does umpiring the way he used to play his cricket – Ugly. Handunnettige Deepthi Priyantha Kumar Dharmasena bowled / chucked his innocuous off-spinners during the middle overs in ODIs on the command of Lord Ranatunga and used to suck the life force out of batsmen in the ultraslow pitches of Sri Lanka always with a wicked hint of a smile. Many batsmen so irritated by waiting for him to go through his slow overs were not be able to take it and instead threw their wickets away and saved themselves from the hot Sri Lankan sun. Now he is back at his act while giving his decisions – slow and ugly with a wicked hint of a smile. BTW he is the only cricketer/umpire apart from Paul Reiffel, to have won a cricket World Cup and before you say it aloud I am going to lump it.

Venugopal Rao: The cult cricketer playing for the Deccan Chargers, he puts the charge in the Chargers. His legendary feats include sending the ball (cricket) to stratosphere only to let it fall strategically in the safe hands of a rival fielder and his sensational running between the wickets when even the fielders are confused about which end they have to throw. The b#$%@@#$% bomb he drops after taking the wicket of a rival batsman is a moment to treasure and he outperformed Sachin Tendulkar in the clash with MI. Nuff said.

Well bowled Warne: ‘Well bowled Warne’ might not match the aural pleasure of ‘Aur Jamaa Rajesh’ blabbered by Nayan Mongia relentlessly when Sir Rajesh Chauhan was plotting the downfall of the pathetic English batsmen on underprepared minefields across India but it sure indicates that the Greatest Sorcerer’s sleight of hand still cuts it. Warne’s spin bowling is certainly the high point of IPL-2009 and he proving that even at his age, he is light years ahead of the pretenders who are playing in the current Aussie Team.

Xtra Innings: T20 Extra Innings is a thing of pure joy. From discussions about the facial hair of Arun Lal to singing skills of Fu-king Charlie Cheng, Xtra Innings has everything but cricket. The new kids on the block along with some golden oldies have taken moronic commentary to new depths. They talk about how every match is going to be a cracker and is important for both the teams and more such deep fundas. The latest moron Gaurav, with his constipated and fake excitement, sometimes saying that how one T20 match is worth two in fact, ensures that bakchodi is forever. Bring back Mandira Bedi and more eye candy – At least they give you a reason for not listening to them.

You: Yes. You, me and all the other suckers who have made IPL a monster which is threatening to destroy all other forms of cricket. Although I don’t care about ODIs and think they should be done away with but Test Cricket is under serious threat. Even the Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack has come up with a new feature – The Wisden Test XI which is “The greatest Test cricketers of 2008 in a Test match dream team” to put the focus back on the real thing. If you don’t agree with me, please explain this: My blog which was in the blogroll / feed of 5 good friends is attracting 600 viewers every day after just a glossary for another blogger!! 822 and counting at the time of posting. You suckers.

Zinta: Dumb, Hot, Rich owner of the King’s XI Punjab who, when not giving hugs to all her team’s players (except Appam of course) can be seen going berserk with a flag when the team is performing well. She will do well if she sticks to the music videos of King’s XI.

Appam Chutiya: The greatest contribution of the Fake IPL blogger to humanity is the new term of endearment bestowed upon the Mallu Moron. It has become a catchphrase amongst the followers of the sport and has caught on the imagination of millions who have been pained by his antics which have involved Peter_Crouch_dance_moves, swirling the bat like a sword and crying like a sissy on field at different times. If the last act of his was because of a no-hug from Zinta baby he is forgiven but if it was because of One_Tight_Slap by the Pagla Paaji then he should just give up playing cricket.

Bare Naked Ladies aka Cheerleaders: Here, there and everywhere. They are the best part of IPL. You thought the IPl was about cricket? D’oh! Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow blue orange red etc. etc. Tawny, Skimpy, Eye-popping, cleavagy, mid-riffy etc etc. Last IPL was a major let down as most states were scandalized by the presence of Cheerleaders and the absence of their clothes. However this year the IPL is far away from Indian shores the cheerleaders are frolicking like there’s no tomorrow. Talking of the girls, the DC girls are the skimpiest while the RR girls are in a plethora of colours. The best move: CSK cheerleaders have this particular drill where in they imitate a six, oops a DLF maximum, being hit. Niiiiice.

Citi Moment of Success: New age Commertating (Commercial + Commentating) mantra for you. Any wicket, any four or even a dot ball has been wildly greeted as a Citi moment of success. Adding insult to injury are the DLF maximums that echo, the moment the cricket ball leaps over the boundary ropes. Aaarrgh. Citi moments of Bakchodi only.

Doosra: The secret weapon which is proving to be more potent and mysterious than the legendry COKE formula or the KFC secret recipe. Harbhajan bowls it as does Murali. It’s rumored that batsmen are spending hours in front of YouTube trying to read them. Nobody is bothered about the googly – The original wrong-un. Sad.

Edward Ranjit Fernando: He eeeeeeeeeeeeeeiss the legendary commentator from Lanka land. Aka the ‘Cauliflower from Colombo’ he is famous for his uber cool bon mots apart from the wickat sankat he puts the viewers in. His latest achievement was however calling a dot ball – ‘sartanly a citiieeeee moment of suck-cess’.

Fake IPL Blogger: He might not be a player or support staff from KKR. He might be a nobody who has become a somebody after his blockbuster blog. All his stories might have been cooked in a kitchen near you but like an excellent well cooked Dum-Biryani he leaves you hungry for more. I am a fan. BTW my money on who he might be: Saurav Ganguly.  :)

GMRao: Not to be confused with a slang of the northern variety, Grandhi Mallikarjuna Rao is the owner of the Delhi Daredevils. He might often be seen with the Modis and Bindras with his shades on and an enigmatic smile. Thankfully one of the least exposed among the franchise owners. Hope the other owners learn something quickly and let the team do the talking.

Hurricane Smith: It isn’t a wind this time and has legs, two hands and a cricket bat in them. Dwayne Smith plays for Deccan Chargers and when not bowling his dibbly dobllies, he blasts the living daylights out of the rival bowlers. He brings memories of the calypso flavour of the yore with his cross batted heaves and murderous hoicks over the square leg which in cricketing parlance is called a mere flick. With Chris Gayle out of the tournament he is the only Bajan remaining.

Improvisation: Switch Hit, Marilier Scoop, reverse flick, reverse scoop, helicopter shot and a lot more to come. T20 has given a license to batsmen to do whatever they want as long as they get runs, which is the reason we have to put up with a whole lot of new and ugly shots. Hopefully for the hapless audience the only bowling improvisation: The ‘carom’ ball won’t be making another appearance after Sachin and Sanath went mediaval on Mendis at St. George’s Park.

Jakati: He shares his first name with the best Biryani joint in Hyderabad and is from a state which till the start of the 1^st IPL was known to produce footballers, painters, rockstars and supermodels. Swapnil Ansodkar changed that perception in 2008 and Shadab Bashir Jakati is hammering it into the collective consciousness of the people that Goan cricket has come of age. If you still don’t know of him, ask Dilshan.

Korbo Lodbo Haarbo: KKR had it coming. The owners, players and fans were so busy in indulging themselves that they forgot about the three most important aspects of the game – Batting, Bowling and Fielding. They have been virtually knocked out of the tournament, lost the faith in the coach and the captain, been ditched by the owner who is back in India and busy throwing parties for Bideshi celebrities and have the best performer in an anonymous blogger.

Lalit Modi: The omnipresent face of IPL and ugly face of moneymaking. He stole Subhash Chandra’s billion dollar idea and bullied him with a sledgehammer known as BCCI, did a mandi of cricketers and came up with innovations like the Strategic Time Out. How much money is enough money? While not giving away million Rands (South African currency) to South African children he makes interesting cameo appearances during a match – sometimes drinking cocktails with a bevy of beautiful women or multitasking with a laptop and a mobile or else showing his bonhomie with franchise owners.

Malinga aka Chuck Ma-dick: Giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Shooting from the hip’, Lasith Malinga is inspiring a generation of village kids who are world beaters in the gully sport of Pithoo and rubbing it in for some past masters at it, including yours truly for not pursuing a career in a different sport involving the ball. If he is allowed to get away with his chucking he might break all the timber in world till a day comes when we would have metal wickets.

N.B: Couldn’t post it earlier for the lack of internet at home.

The first memory of Feroze Khan would be audio cassette of ‘Safar‘ that used to play at home when I was a kid. It was a ’song and dialogues’ cassette which the young testosterone brigade, addicted to hip-hop, might not know. An ‘S&D’ audio cassette would have the songs and famous dialogues from a movie.

There was this haunting conversation in the movie when Sharmila Tagore and Feroze Khan would be driving away at a furious pace [Screeching noise of tyres skidding etc. etc.]. The conversation would go somewhat like:

नीला:  क्या कर रहे हो? कहाँ जा रहे हो?
शेखर:  मैं कहाँ जा रहा हूँ? अविनाश के घर |
नीला: लेकिन ये रास्ता तो वहाँ नहीं जाता
शेखर: यही तो सीधा रास्ता है, तुम खामखा ग़लत रास्ते से जाती थीं |
नीला: शेखर, ये तुम क्या कर रहे हो?
शेखर: डर गयीं ! तुम्हें अभी मालूम होगा नीला कि ज़िन्दगी कितना लम्बा चक्कर है और मौत कितना सीधा रास्ता है वहाँ  पहुँचने  का – अविनाश के घर |

I was so intrigued by that voice that I would play the cassette on loop – Play_Rewind_Play, trying to guess what happened next. I am talking about the 80s when there were no VCDs or torrents. Even VCPs were late to come. I had to depend on DoorDarshan for my movie watching. Hence listening to that particular cassette of Safar was a regular activity. No matter how many times I would listen to it, I would always get goose bumps upon listening to ‘Avinash Ke Ghar‘. I would ask my Mom who that voice belonged to and she would reply Feroze Khan and then go on for half an hour drooling over him. I could never understand why she was so mad about him.

‘Sexy’ as a word was not discovered at least in Orissa and ‘animal magnetism’ and other such good words were not part of my lexicon, I was a young boy,  you see.

As I grew up, I came to know of good looking gentlemen like Dharmendra and Rajesh Khanna and I would ask her who the best looking man in India was and every time an unflinching answer would be Feroze Khan.

Finally, the day came when I saw my first Feroze Khan movie. The movie was a B.R. Chopra classic ‘Aadmi Aur Insaan‘ starring both Dharmendra and Feroze Khan. The movie was good but I was devastated when he is shot dead at the end after he had just delivered a brilliant monologue ending with “हम सब को एक साथ गोली मार देनी चाहिए |”. The oozing sex appeal and magnetism were all there and I was rooting for him throughout the movie instead of the good guy played by Dharmendra. He was unbelievably good looking, almost a Greek God.

His greatest contribution to Indian cinema was the style quotient he introduced through his movies. Much later when I saw his uber cool Qurbani,   I was blown by his flamboyant acting and devil_may_care attitude – how can one forget the dialogue between him and Amrish Puri about driving a Mercedes and the madness that followed. Jaanbaaz – I remember more for him swinging to the tunes of ‘Har kisi ko nahin milta‘ along with Sridevi and Anil Kapoor’s Russian Roulette. The iconic western ‘Khotey Sikkey‘ through which I got the first taste of Ennio Morricone’s tunes. Dharmatma – After which I wanted to drive an open top Jeep and sing ‘Kya khoob lagti ho’ wearing only black, the way he would keep his shirt unbuttoned with a huge medallion like locket swinging across his chest.

During the later years of his life, his movie characters had become caricatures and like Dev Anand he refused to grow up and play his age. I saw the so_bad_that_its_good ‘Welcome’ and almost laughed at his sad attempt at cool. His characters in ‘Jaanasheen’, ‘Ek Khiladi Ek Haseena’ were almost terrible. I watched them more for the ’schlock factor’, more than anything else and his atrocious punch line dialogues. Sample this from Jaanasheen as Saba Kareem: “खून बहाना हमें पसंद तो नहीं आता, मगर क्या करें , कमबख्त हमारी  रगों  में  दौड़ता  है |”   I guess he wanted to be a style icon throughout his life and maintain that devil_may_care image of his.

I had a word with Mom today. She was very sad. Whenever someone from Bollywood dies I get a call from her, before I come to know of it. This time I didn’t get that call. I understood.

As for me, I am desperate to listen to that immortal voice of ‘Sekhar‘ and while writing this post I took a small break to buy the VCD of ‘Safar’. I will watch him drive Sharmila Tagore again – ‘Avinash ke Ghar‘. For me he would always be the enigmatic ‘Shekhar‘ from Safar.

Will be updated when the ‘Eureka’ moments happen or new characters are added to the plot.

Aila / Little Monster  – Sachin Tendulkar

Akram Azam – Kamran Khan

Appam Chutiya – Sreesanth

Arnold Power – Ramesh Powar

Babli – Preity Zinta

Badshah Dildo / Mr. Vinnie Dildo (Dildo paagal hai) – SRK

Baja of Baroda – Anshuman Gaekwad

Bangla Tiger – Mashrafe Bin Mortaza

Bevdaa Team – Royal Challengers

Batliwala – Mallaya

Bhookha Naan – Buchanan

Big Mac – Mathew Hayden

Big Brother – Raj Kundra

Big Sister – Shilpa Shetty

Boy George – Joy Bhattacharya

Bevdaa – Jesse Rider (Past history!)

BubLee – Brett Lee

Buddhiman Baba – Wriddhiman Saha

Bunty – Ness Wadia

Bubblies  – King’s XI Punjab

Bubaan – Arindam Ghosh

Candy Nickle – Andrew Bichel

Calypso King – Gayle

Castro – Fidel Edwards

Chatterjee Kaku – Bong bhadralok on TV ad

Chikna Pussy – David Hussey

Chirkut Teli – Virat Kohli

Chinnu Popli – Bharat Chipli?  / Sreevats Goswami? (see comment section)

Chintu Singh – Anureet Singh

Chota Chetan – Gautam Gambhir?

Cool Dude – Dhoni

Desis – Mumbai Indians

Deewar – Rahul Dravid

Deeghra Patan – Irfan Pathan

Dhakkans  – Deccan Chargers

Dhakkan coach – Darrell Lehman

Dilwales – Delhi Daredevils

Durbaan of Patiala – Tom Moody

Emerald Pearl – Angelo Mathews

Ganji Hanger  – Sanjay Bangar

Gilli Danda – Ashok Dinda

Ghati Baba – Rohit Sharma

Havaii Chappal – Greg Chappell

John Wrong – John Wright

Joker – Chang (of Indian Idol fame)

Junta Tormentor – Ajantha Medis

Kaan Moolo – Ajit Agarkar

Kameez Pajama – Rameez Raza

Kishen Kanhaiyaa – Ravi Shastri (After the brilliant logic by Ashish)

KKR Coach – Matthew Mott (As he is the assistant head coach)

Lady Jaya – Mahela jayawardane

Little Sister – Shamita Shetty

Little John – Ishaant Sharma

Lordie / Lord Almighty – Saurav

Mangal Pandey – Laxmi Ratan Shukla! (By pure elimination)

Meera Bhai  – Harbhajan Singh

Messiah – Steve Waugh (Aussie player with very close ties to Kolkata – Udayan)

Panty Curry – Robin Uthappa (See comment section)

Pedophile Priest – Adam Gilchrist

Peter Ka Beta / Re-Peter – Peterson

Prince Charles of Patiala – Yuvraj Singh

Rajpoots  – Rajasthan Royals

Ram (Very Very Special friend) – Laxman

RVR Singh /Pamela Inder Singh – VRV singh

Sandy Baddy babe – Mandira Bedi

Saala Slimeball – Lalit Modi

Sheikh of Tweak – Shane Warne

Sheeghra-Patan – Yousuf Pathan

Shakespeare – Akash Chopra

Sheru – Virender Sehwag

Skipper – McCullom

Springbok – Morne van Wyk

Sticky Something – Ricky Ponting

Style Bhai spinner – Murali Karthik

Vakeel Saab – Sangakarra

N.B: My guess is as good as yours.

शायद कभी सुनहरा आफ़ताब आएगा |

तेज़ बदलती इस दुनिया में वक़्त कहाँ,
कि सोचूँ कहाँ जा रहा हूँ ?
मैं जी रहा हूँ, या पल पल मर रहा हूँ;
खुद घुट रहा हूँ, या औरों का गला घोंट रहा हूँ ?
पर क्या मेरे सोचने से,
इस बनावटी दुनिया में कोई हकीक़त लाएगा ?
शायद कभी सुनहरा आफ़ताब आएगा |

वो हिन्दू है, मैं मुसलमान हूँ,
मैं हिन्दू हूँ, वो मुसलमान है |
वो जानवर है, मैं इंसान हूँ,
मैं जानवर हूँ, वो इंसान है |
बहुत हो चुकी रंजिश; थक गया हूँ मैं |
अब बदलना चाहता हूँ ;
पर क्या मेरे बदलने से बदलाव आएगा ?
शायद कभी सुनहरा आफ़ताब आएगा |

मैंने मारा है, मैंने लूटा है;
इन्हीं हाथों से गला काटा है |
मैं गुनहगार हूँ , खलनायक हूँ;
मुझे क्षमा न करो, मैं घृणा के ही  लायक हूँ |
अब मुझे मौत चाहिए, मरे हुओं के लिए इन्साफ चाहिए;
पर मेरे मरने से, क्या इस मर चुकी सभ्यता का नया आगाज़ आएगा?
शायद कभी सुनहरा आफ़ताब आएगा |

तू भी तो इस सब से दूर नहीं था,
गुनाह करने में किसी से कम नहीं था |
हमारे मुक़द्दर के ओ सिकंदर,
तेरे कहने पर ही तो यलगार हुआ था !
बेशक तू चुन लिया जायेगा,
अपने प्यादों का मसीहा बन जायेगा ;
पर क्या तेरी हुकूमत में कभी रामराज आएगा ?
शायद कभी सुनहरा आफ़ताब आएगा |

अब मैं भी बस करता हूँ ;
क्यों तुम बहरों के बीच फिजूल आवाज़ करता हूँ ?
मेरा मुस्तकबिल जैसा भी होगा, मेरा होगा ;
पर यकीन है मुझे, इस पागल रात का संजीदा सवेरा होगा |
सच कहूँ तो इस पागलपन का हिसाब ज़रूर आएगा;
यकीन है मुझे, एक सुनहरा आफ़ताब ज़रूर आएगा |

N.B:  आफ़ताब – Sun / मुस्तकबिल – Future / रंजिश – animosity / आगाज़ – beginning / यलगार – assault