Of Police, media and other forms of recreation

Been M.I.A for a while, huh, fellers? What to do, it's well nigh impossible to attend to two blogs at a time. And my other blog had been keeping me completely busy these last few days.

I kid, of course.

In actual point of fact, the venerable broadband service providers of this holy state of Jharkhand were playing games with me. I was practically out of net at home (save a pathetic GPRS connection), and somehow I haven't really got around to writing posts at work. (Don't get me wrong here, it's not about scruples. I mean trading stocks, reading blogs or downloading Madelyn Marie at work is okay for me. Writing something takes a bit of peace and quiet.) It can all be put down to a copped out ADSL modem that took one week to detect and another to replace. But that wouldn't be an interesting story, no? Thought so.

In interesting news, then, there's this young stud. Bears a striking resemblance to Jeff Goldbaum the fly. If looks were the only criterion he would be babe magnet. Maybe he is. What matters, however, is that he and five of his friends took one girl to a pub. They all had plenty to drink. And smoke, maybe . Rest of the matter is sub-judice. This chap,Vinamra Soni, was on a train to Jamshedpur two days later. He took a call from his father, telling him to alight midway and wait for his parents, who were on their way to take him back to Mumbai, to surrender at a police station.

The parents-in-law of my good friend In dino (you can see him here, the bottle opener guy) live in Jamshedpur. They have this sprawling three-storied house in Sonari area. The ground floor they have rented out. Their tenants for the past twenty years are a well-to-do business family who own a few retail outlets in the city and are, reportedly, nice gentle folks. The landlords also report they used to raise their kids in a strict disciplinarian fashion.

You know where this is going, don't you? Only it's not getting there. The young Mr. Soni already has some support in the bloggosphere. I'm not here to strengthen it. Though he appears now to be in the deepest pile of shit. And I tend to have a bit of sympathy for anyone in deep shit.

It went like this. In the morn 21st last week, the Sonis told their landlords they'll be out of town for a few days. Business related problem, they said. Towards evening, cops were all over the premises. State cops and Mumbai police crime branch together. Short of a sniper and a coupla armoured cars, it looked exactly like a terrorist bust. They asked the landlord where were his tenants, and moreover, why he kept such shady tenants. They tried to kick open the tenants' front door. They accused the landlords of not keeping an eye on their tenant's errant son. Eventually they got tired after an hour or so (the door was solid teak) and left in a huff. Perhaps they had received news of the arrest. The landlords slept fitfully through the night.

Only to be woken up by scores of microphone wielding TV people in the morning. Ye hai aj tak, aur ham dikha rahe hain woh ghar jisme... They thrust the mic at their faces, the poor in-laws. Since when have you known Vinamra Soni? Did he have a normal childhood? How do you feel now that the boy who lived under your roof is today a wanted criminal?

I rolled on the floor when narrated the scene. Not because it was funny or anything. But it instantly reminded me of the one scene from Notting Hill, where Spike, in briefs, opens the front door for the paparazzi.


Oh how one wishes one could be in the right place at the right time, wearing the right sort of underwear!

In other news, I was leafing through an old Roald Dahl collection yesterday, when I stumbled on, and re-read, PIG. In these days of swine flu. Funny coincidence. Oddly, I've always loved stories like these, where terrible things happen to protagonists without reason or logic. So much so the macabre borders the surreal. I think I had a troubled childhood.

Irshad!!

I don't know what is the deal with social drinking. You ask somebody "Do you drink?"-"Y'know, I'm only a social drinker." What does that mean? Nobody ever says "Like a fish." Though most of them do. In society.

Ours is a nation of wannabe dancing stars. Middle aged men and women get sloshed in polite society with the objective of inflicting on us their dancing talent. Ours is also a nation of intellectuals. I have spent many an evening listening to them after they've had something to drink. Socially. They'll pick up a slipping thread of discussion. On anything. Danny Boyle to Masood Azhar. And they'll talk in circles. All evening. I have a dear friend who'll eventually get Stephen Hawking into all these threads. Needless to say he has a background of theoretical Physics. He's also a social drinker. Thank heavens for that. He'll never drink alone. He'll call me up, "Dear fellow, I got this twelve year old malt. But y'know I'm but a social drinker. Come over one of these evenings and be my society. And do hurry lest somebody else gets social sooner."

Me, I'm not a social drinker. I don't drink like a fish. I mean, not any longer. Gone are the days for me when juice of a lime and aspirin used to be the breakfast of champions. Today I drink like the devil. I measure fluid ounces and I shake. Or stir. I like to make a ceremony out of having a drink. Because I can't have too many. Oh no no don't get me wrong. It's not the Doc's orders. Who listens to them in these matters anyway? It's just that with age I've grown allergic to hangovers. As I get better and better with every next drink, I forget how much I can drink without having a throbbing skull next morning.

The news that started me on this whole thing was this. Now I, feel a bit loosened up today. I feel the need to rejoice. Maybe this evening I'll relax my norms a little and seek society. To celebrate this historic event. And we'll stroll over to Mesrs. Darbhanga General Stores and buy a case of the good stuff. Achtung, Bangalore! Jharkhand has arrived.

Rambhai ekdum neat and fresh

They were doing a case study. That's what they had gone to B-schools for anyway. No surprises there. But why in the name of sweet Jesus did they have to get fresh with Rambhai? Sample this:

'The man after 25 years of service, today works relentlessly to make both ends meet. Students and staff of IIM-A passionately wait at the 'window' to get tea, cigarettes from Rambhai. People get bothered on not seeing Rambhai at the shop. They love to share a few passionate words(sic) with him.' link.

One feels seriously concerned for the wellness of the IIM-A students and Profs when they start getting all passionate with Rambhai. Now Rambhai is a world renowned figure who everybody worth his cup of tea on the net would have heard of. It's also good to see that the IIM-A academic body has roped in Mainstream media into Rambhai's life to give him his fifteen minutes of fame. It was just that the opening lines had me ROFL. I'd have let it pass thinking it was another TOI gem, but the article goes on :

These words are from a case material prepared by the Faculty Development Programme (FDP) participants at the Indian Institute of Management-Ahmedabad.

Great. Just great. Now that the team have presented their case (the case study, to my mind, is another reinvention of the wheel, since the successful small entrepreneur model is age-old case material in B-schools anyway), and Rambhai has had his day under the spots, all decked up and freshened, one has a word of caution for him.

Careful with them boys, Rambhai. These MBA types, I tell you.

Stand up and deliver, Sir!

To : depgdnb@rediffmail.com
(Kind attention Shri Sri K.N. Prasad, DE(PG), O/o GMTD, Dhanbad)

Dear sir,

I am a consumer of BSNL landline phone service residing in ****** Steel City, Sector-IV, Quarter no. ****. I have a landline connection with telephone number 06542-****** and consumer no. 98060475. Since May.2008 I have not been receiving my telephone bills at my residence. For the bill dated 11/05/2008, I had downloaded the bill from your web address http://www.jharkhand.bsnl.co.in/billquery.htm and deposited the bill amount. However, now the link on that page for Dhanbad SSA (59.94.89.203) too has stopped working for the past two months. Since I did not receive my bill dated 11/07/08 on time and neither could I download it from the internet, I was waiting for the bill to eventually arrive and pay with late fine. But it never arrived, and this morning outgoing calls from my number has been temporarily suspended. On contacting the local exchange, I was informed that it was the local SDO’s responsibility to ensure delivery of bills, in which there was a failure for whatever reasons. I was directed to collect the duplicate bill from their office and deposit. This is a very inconvenient situation for me as I will now have to waste time and effort on collecting a duplicate bill. Moreover, I apprehend repetitions of this incidence in future.

Having understood that BSNL has little or no control over timely delivery of telephone bills, I would like to request you to henceforth kindly arrange to e-mail me my landline telephone bill at the following mail ID : **********@gmail.com . This will help avoid a lot of harassment to a loyal consumer and ensure my peace of mind. Thanking you,

Yours sincerely,

(Partha Protim Chakrabarty)

Frankly, I don't believe for a moment mundane affairs like this should be put on a blog. Neither do I expect anybody to read through the long-winded grievance. It's just that I've got a good feeling about this. I remember my earlier panga-s with behemoth PSU corporations. Both these cases were marked with phenomenal and completely unlikely success since I decided to ditch the old world route and use electronic media. And in both cases success arrived after I posted them on zis here blog. Yes, I know this is mere correlation not causation, but for me it has become like the pale blue shirt I used to wear to interviews.

This time around it's Gormint machinery I'm up against, so I'm keeping fingers crossed.

Excuse me while I have an O
(Warning: Reader rating PG 15 )

The world is full of women who are having problems with sexual arousal, women who are technically frigid, and really really sad women who've never had an orgasm in all their lives.
And then, we come to learn about Michelle who has an average 300 in a day. Then about Elle, and Sarah, too.

There is widespread belief that PSAS is a real-life condition, inasmuch as Wiki acknowledges it, though the syndrome appears to be a more recent phenomenon, discovered as late as in 2001. Earlier than that, it would appear, womenfolk used to have suitably lukewarm arousal patterns and victims of the condition used to be frowned upon as insatiable nymphomaniacs, satyrs and such like. Today, they are the darlings of British tabloids. Curiously enough, the tabloids have come up with one interview feature of a, um, sufferer every year for the past three years. In fact, the year 2008 episode could be out any day now. True to form, the pieces are as raunchy as they could get. They make for breathless entertainment, though after reading the first one, the others might get a little repetitive.

Predictably, bloggers have zeroed in on the phenomenon here and there. This had picked up momentum especially after Sarah Carmen attained celebhood last November by posing for pics as well as a named interview with her real name to NewsoftheWorld. One suspects that a book deal is in the offing too. (Methinks it should be aptly titled, "Am I coming or going? - Memoirs of an ecstasy aunt") Surprisingly no blogger seems to have put down his or her individual take on what could be an exceedingly juicy subject. The way the articles describe this syndrome, it can attack the afflicted woman like a force de la nature, and turn most of her waking moments into all yesssss, oooohs and aaaahs.

It's not fair making jokes about people who, by their extraordinary condition, are deprived of a normal livelihood. Then again, fairness is a concept that was invented so that children and idiots could participate in arguments (so said Scott Adams, my hero). The tabloids have creamed their stories for sensationalism. So much so, that there's no longer a line for a blogger not to cross. And my oh my, the mind boggles at the possibilities. The jokes are in extremely bad taste, so don't tell me you weren't warned.

Like this.

Hey Lucy, heard about Elle? She's left the beauty salon, the driers and stuff were giving her lots of trouble. Now she works as a secretary. One small problem though. Every time she goes to get something copied, she starts acting funny. The janitor thinks there's a ghost in that copier.

Or this.

-Hi Lily, I'm so sorry to hear about Susan. She died last week when her house caught fire.

-No, seriously? But she lived in a single story, she could've just walked out.

-I don't know. Neighbors said they kept calling out for her, and she kept saying, "Yaahh I'm coming, I'm coming."

God Tussi Great Ho- the review
(Another one bites the dust)

Bruce : Lord, feed the hungry, and bring peace to all of mankind. How's that?
God : Great... If you wanna be Miss America.

God : Bruce, you have a divine spark. You have a gift for bringing joy and laughter to the world. I know, I created you.
Bruce : Quit bragging.

Say you were Rumi Jaffrey for a half-year. No, let's say God gave you the kind of resources and laissez faire Mr. Jaffrey had while he tried to reproduce Bruce Almighty in amchi Mumbai. Now, the first thing you'd probably want to do is exclude the brand of humor in the original movie that you believe your Indian audience might not appreciate. For example, like in the lines above. Mark it, I said it's what you believe, not I. And definitely not your viewers, who, according to you, are from Ulhasnagar and Jhumri Talaiya and such like, and they are so crass that a brilliantly impossible story and kickass punchlines can't hold their attention for one hundred and sixty odd minutes unless your vertically challenged club bouncer of a hero struts in wearing his form hugging floral shirt and breaks into a vulgar jig every now and then to the tune of some asinine music. You'd also feel somehow that the God-meets-man-and-shows-some-tricks scenario can only appeal to the audience if presented with the right sort of special effects,e.g, melting skies, a road on the clouds, folks walking on air and vaporising at will, that sort of stuff. You'd moreover, doubtless require that between your bouncer and his girl, there should be a rival lover angle for comic relief. Hell, it worked in Mujhse Shaadi Karogi, and it worked in MPKK, didn't it? It always works man, and you know how to do it. In fact, your first half should only comprise your brand of triangular fun, right? God? Oh He'll wait. You know your crowd too well. Hell, you can twist them around your middle finger, huh, Rumi?

(But guess what, Rumi Almighty? While you were busy touching up the special effects, somebody's gone and changed the rules. The audience now, most unfair of them, are hardly pining for an item number on Aksa beach. Even your mentor doesn't know what the viewer wants anymore. Yes, the formidable Dhawan grapples today with the balancing game between the republic of Barka kana and the plex crowds. And you thought you had it all made, didn't you?)

Nuff said. If you were Rumi you wouldn't make these mistakes, I'm sure. I know I wouldn't. The trick here was making it with minimal creative liberties. One had perhaps one of a dozen greatest original comedies of all times, and all one needed to do was add small desi touches here and there. One needn't let loose a creative diarrhea. One certainly needn't select a lead actor who plays all his roles like he is on stage doing a live show (my choice was Arshad Warsi, remember?) and a former beauty queen who looks like she hasn't slept in a week (Priyanka, go spend a month at some spa, please, and quit worrying how Katrina is moving ahead). Speaking of mistakes one shouldn't make, one should also never, never include that mad monkey Sohail Khan in any sort of cinematic enterprise.

In the original film, the homeless man never talks to Bruce Nolan. He does it with his puns on the placard. In the last scene, his board reads: Armageddon outta here. And his face morphs into God's (Morgan Freeman's) as he walks away. In Rumi's edition, he's made that man Salman's chummy and confidante. Towards the end, he is granted a long denied wish, and turns into a barking dog. They put him in a cage and take him away. An eye-opener on how far backwards Rumi had got it all.

Road Rash

One day, when I have enough money, I will buy a big bad SUV. And I will fit it with extra strength wraparound grills made of thick steel tubes on the front and rear bumpers. And I will drive it out on the national highway. And I will bump off the assholes who drive their 100cc motorcycles on the middle of the road one by one. I will give me five bucks for every creep bumped and ten for every fuckface sent flying out of the road. Every time I make a hundred, I will open a can of cold beer from the ice box I'll keep handy on the cabin side of the said monster. And oh, I forgot the cattle grazers. Those boys that let loose their herd on the highway. If there is one group of people who have caused me the most physical harm and irreparable mental trauma, they're IT. I intend to do them maximum damage. For them I'll carry an air gun loaded with .22 caliber bullets. I might have to pull off the road for these cattle-men sometimes, but I'm more than willing to take the trouble. Whenever I spot one of them scums trying to unleash cows on the asphalt, I'll slow down and shoot that man in the ass. Maybe shout out a term of endearment too, for good measure. I can do it throughout the day, across state boundaries, while listening alternately to Bruce Springsteen and Led Zeppelin. Yeah that's my medium term ambition in life.

You ask what I'm gonna do in the long term then? Oh nothing much, really. I'll only trade off my SUV for a 12000 cc sixteen cylinder DaimlerChrysler truck. And I'll bribe some official of the Steel Authority of India into selling me some scrap at a cheap price. You see, I need these two pieces of 20 millimeter thick and 250 wide hot rolled steel arisings, about 10 meters long, which I'd put under a shaping machine to give them a sharp wedge shaped profile, and fit them onto the sides of the undercarriage. I'd love it if these attachments could be made to slide out and retract hydraulically, but that feature, while extremely flamboyant and James Bond-esque, might come prohibitively expensive, I suspect. And I'll drive my truck out on the national highway. And on a good day, there will be any number of rogue truckers with emptied cargo traveling at 75 km an hour and trying to overtake other loaded trucks moving at 70. They will easily hold all traffic at ransom for an agonizing 10 minutes, liberally snorting the black soot they belch out. They will take great pleasure playing out this long drawn charade that is the staple of our great Indian highway system. It's precisely at this point that I'll step in. At first I'll politely flash my lights and ask for passage. Failing this, I'll meekly honk my horns at them three times. Upon which, the rogue trucker will extend a condescending arm from his cabin window and ask me to wait. After a few minutes of this, we will be on the clear and he will wave that arm again with supreme benevolence, beckoning me to come take that passage. While passing his truck, I'll smile and wink. And casually scrape my steel wedge against his chassis. I might even slash a tyre or two if I get lucky . After every three rogues I've maimed, I'll treat myself to a bottle of cold Kingfisher I'll keep handy in an ice box etc. I can do it all day, across state boundaries, listening alternately to Daler Paaji and Sukhwindera.

Please don't get the wrong picture here. I'm a thoroughly non-violent man, given to harming nothing and nobody in particular in course of my simple journey through life. For the most part, I'd even rather not talk about my secret fantasies on a blog post. It's only that I took on myself a road trip on my car, driving some 150 km to and fro in a good holiday spirit, on Independence day. And that the cattle grazers and other parties I met on the way brought back lots of older memories. And that these memories gave vent to many a bridled emotion. Also that I still get the recurrent vision of a tall strapping calf flying out athwart my windshield, which wakes me up sometimes in the middle of the night.

The Lotus eaters

We've had it up to here with China now. Not content with eating up our Steel, Textile and Consumer Goods industries on the fly and buzzing over our BPO gravy train with malice, they have now unleashed new age goblins on our national flower. G.S.Mudur reports :

...a fly from China has been eating lotus plants across vast stretches of shallow freshwater fields in Kerala’s Malappuram district, one of India’s largest hubs for commercial lotus cultivation.

The yellowish-brown larvae of the two-winged insect have been feeding on lotus leaves for over two years, causing an infestation not previously observed in the country, scientists at the Kerala Agricultural University (KAU) have said.

Chinese scientists had first identified the fly, Stenochironomus nelumbus, in 1986 a botanical garden in the eastern Chinese city of Nanjing. Since then, it has spread fast within China, feeding on the rose-petalled lotus lily.

Link (warning: contains revolting photo of fly maggots)

Who will do the work?

I love work. It fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. The idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.

-Stephen leacock

To : helpline.lhopat@sbi.co.in ; cc :dgm.customer@sbi.co.in

This is to bring to your notice the following :

1. I have a savings account at your ****** ***** City Branch; A/c no. ###########
2. Sometime during 2005, I had applied for and obtained internet banking facility for my account.
3. After a few months, during which I had logged on to my account infrequently on a few occasions, the username/ password stopped working. I had informed my Local Branch.
4. After repeated complaints regarding the above, the Local Branch issued me a fresh internet banking kit ( KIT NO. ##########, packet no.#####, circle code .##, Serial no. ##) in April 2008.
I was told the facility will be activated in 48 hours and I will be able to log on.
5. When, however, I was not able to log on even after a week, I contacted the Branch, upon which I was asked to wait a few days more.
6. The situation remaining the same, I went to them again and this time I was assured an e-mail will be sent to the Central Office, Mumbai where these things are handled, and my problem will be solved.
Nothing happened. Another month passed.
7. On the 26th of June, 2008, at my insistence, a reminder mail was sent.
8. As on date, there's still been no action. Today I have spoken to the concerned officer at the Branch, who has promised to talk to Mumbai Office on the phone and get the issue resolved. However, since his assurances didn't account for much in the past, I'm not too optimistic.

I request you to kindly take necessary action on the matter and put an end to my inconvenience.

Needs no elaboration. Another one in my endless series of travails and tribulations. Yes, I'm aware that lately I've been given to writing progressively boring posts. But dear reader, such is my life. If you've read this far, please go on. Might get a tad interesting at the end.

I am an old SBI faithful. I have eaten their salt, so to speak. My father used to work there till the day he retired. That association, and some inertia made me keep my salary account with them till this day. But they've let me down. Badly, and on numerous occasions. I'll give another example. The Branch I bank at is the biggest in the district. It's become what they call a core-banking branch for some time now. Last month, I needed to send a little money to my father's account in Kolkata. Since I still can't e-bank, I had to physically go to my bank. I was asked to fill a slip and drop a check in the box. They said all fund transfers are electronic now, and the money should be there in minutes. Three days and many phone calls to dad later, I went back to ask why it was not. There, I mean. By the time I'd raised a small ruckus so a manager was called in, a peon rummaged through a stack of papers at the back of somebody's desk and came back with my check and slip. It was revealed that the man who does the electronic transfer jobs was on leave for the last few days. Who will do his work? Management was still trying to work it out. In the mean time, individual cases were being processed on the merit of nuisance value. Like mine eventually was.

I believe the issue here is generic as opposed to an isolated example of inefficiency. This is sucking reality as we see it everyday in the big Indian Corporations. Most specifically PSUs. I speak from first hand experience since I work in a Navaratna. Organizations used to move at a leisurely pace for decades have been forced onto the technology expressway in the global marketplace. They now have one-third the manpower. Their best people have jumped ships and more are about to go. Like I was saying, who will do the work? This is the question staring many in the face. The Goliaths of Indian Industry are reeling under its onslaught. They are facing all the circus associated with retrofitting technology in old infrastructure. They are downsizing, they're rightsizing. They are outsourcing. Only, the fact on the ground is different from these gobbledygook. By design these organizations had too many functions and too much work to be done as compared to, say, a new age technology or retail company, where the process is designed to be smooth and hassle-free. The transition from this, to that, is slow, and fraught with excruciating pain.

I could go on and on, but I thought I heard snoring sounds. One last scrap of bakwas, okay? ok.

When Mr. Kumar, the concerned officer at SBI was about to check when had he sent the earlier mail re my e-banking, I peered into his screen. I saw he had used up about 99.98% of his mailbox (a princely 5mb) on the SBImail account he was using. This was on the SBI internal server. I asked him how come his bank gave only 5 mb to its employees while free mail service providers today provide anybody close to 3gb and still counting? In reply, he gave me a sad smile. He needed to delete some old mail in order to clear up space to send mine. He seemed at a loss for which ones to delete, which I thought was unusual (since it was his own mail, no?) He could not find the earlier mail and muttered that somebody else must have deleted it. I asked, "But how would somebody else log on to your mailbox?"

The penny dropped. The 5 mb mailbox was not his personal one. It was meant for the whole Branch. This, the biggest in the district, remember?

The Tao of Ginseng

How does one receive free bars of soap, sachets of shampoo, conditioner, face wash, or fairness potions (eek, the horror!) with one's fortnightly? Not with ecstatic joy, I presume, but pleasant surprise, anyone? Thank you. I guessed as much.

Imagine now, the WTF expression on the countenance of hundreds of post-teens, freshmen and sophomores of Bengal one fine day, when the paper boy delivered their favorite vernacular spread packed with a punch. Two free caps of Revital in a sample pack.

Now, Revital in India is an OTC drug. While Ranbaxy positions it as a daily food supplement that also contains ginseng, which will help you keep sharp and active throughout the day, this med info site from Moldova says it is indicated for assorted dermatological problems. Whatever the fug it is used for, there is an underlying implication that it's got Ginseng and thus, mythical age-defying aphrodisiac properties. It may not be much in this day and age when anybody with a mail ID meets about five peddlers of cheap Viagra in the course of one working day. But old timers will still remember the early eighties when these ginseng concoctions had flooded the Indian market. Whereas these were mostly advertised with scant subtlety and a picture of coital bliss, one brand, 30-plus, had a stand-apart visual of an extremely fit Jeetendra (then 50 plus) enjoying life as a mature (read over-the-hill) gent with Simple Kapadia as arm-candy. The advert had sort of shaped our outlook towards Ginseng products, through the years. That these were meant for old foggies who otherwise can't, ahem...stand up and deliver.

Thus it came as a shock when Ananda Publishers started distributing free samples of Revital with their recent issue of Unish Kuri, a magazine targeted at teenagers and young adults. Frankly, as one Doc friend puts it, the gimmick helps promote none of the two brands. Like a fish needs a bicycle, he said. (Or, is it? Do fishes need bicycles too?)

When an editor of said magazine was contacted, she didn't seem too enthusiastic about the promotion idea herself, saying it was part of a strategic block deal between Ranbaxy and ABP. She encouraged readers' reaction to the issue. Apparently, ABP is also distributing the same sample packs with Desh, their flagship literary mag, and Anandalok, a hugely popular film fortnightly in Bengali. They have their rationale in perfect order. Since the product is a harmless dietary supplement suitable for all adults, there's no reason it should be R-rated.

In their quest to deliver to the younger populace a taste of the sharp, energetic and active life, ABP has not yet extended the offer to Anadamela. We're waiting.

White=Beauty?



Yes. I can't help talking about this ad. But maybe that's the whole idea behind the campaign. To make people like you and me mad and hate it so much the marketers have already created awareness for their product. I mean, till recently, they used their fresh faces and new discoveries to sell to the fairness obsession. Think fair and lovely and their models. Now Lever has gone and upped the ante and hired two-and-a-quarter of the country's hottest stars ( Neha Dhupia, stand up and be counted) to "act" in a "film" doing the same fairness routine. Yuck! I mean, the blood boils, the mind boggles, and words fail me. If you want more sickening info, check out here.

One thing is certain. I can never forgive Saif for doing this stuff. I mean, I thought he was way too classy and all....well, forget it.

IMHO, the worse thing than celebrities endorsing whiskey is ...... celebrities endorsing fairness concoctions!

An ode to Stupidity

to aasonawane, anilbpai@HPCL.co.in

Dear sir,

This morning at 9-20 AM I had gone to your petrol pump at Sector –V, Bokaro Steel City, Jharkhand for a refill. After filling in petrol in my car, a Santro Xing XP, number ________, the attendant collected cash and returned change. But he did not fit the cap of petrol inlet and left it on the roof of the car as I drove out. Later when it was detected, the cap had already fallen somewhere on the road and had been lost. I have contacted the Station owner and apprised him of the gross negligence which has caused me great inconvenience. The matter may kindly be looked into.

Yours truly,

Self-explanatory, my dear Watson. How stupid can somebody get? Granted, I chipped in with my share of carelessness. I should have put an ear out for that Krat-krat sound of the cap locking. Shouldn't have left without having heard it. But it was a Sunday morning and I was with a friend, and our daughters in the car, coming back from the pool. Ravenous. I had but one thing on my mind. Breakfast. I think I am entitled to proper redressal . The owner has promised to replace the cap at his expense. Unfortunately, our town is a godforsaken place. The local Hyundai service center say they can arrange the spare in a week, hopefully.
We live on hope in the meantime. Hope, and a little sugar, maybe.

p.s. I now think every car should come fitted with a beeper for the fuel cap left open. An essential feature for a country of duffers, what?

Update, Monday 10 PM:

I'm grudgingly impressed. The Pump manager has used his sharp mind and brought me a fuel cap this evening which fits and locks and makes the krat-krat sound just about perfectly. Only, it's a spare for Maruti Alto. I was not in a mood to nitpick.
Lessons to be learnt,
a) Fuel caps across makes and models are interchangeable
b) Hyundai Auto sucks. They would've taken a week to get the spare Maruti had on their shelves.
The manager chap also took it in writing from me that my grievance was amicably settled. I was in a generous frame of mind. I readily obliged.

Travel rant

The rhino doesn't much care. In places like Kaziranga and Jaldapara wildlife sanctuaries, they're used to seeing scores of human clowns everyday. I hear Kaziranga is better. But our travel plans involved Jaldapara in West Bengal. Prior to the overcast and frequently drippy morning on elephant back in the J forest, we had spent two anxious evenings inside two other beautiful, lush and scary jungles, at the Jayanti forest which borders Bhutan, and at little known Chilapata which was more exciting in terms of flora. But it was "wild" elephants we were after. And we missed them by a whisker. Or that's what the guide would make us believe. He was the cat's whiskers. The jungle is a world of make believe. Some travelblog says, only morons aim to see big game when going on a jungle safari. I knew that before I started. But I learned a few things as I went along:

a) The jungle is a beautiful place, and the green does your eyes a world of good if you don't strain them over that elusive fauna. It's ok, really, just listen to the birds twitter. There will also be fowl and pheasants road running, one feels sanguine. Even peacocks, in these parts.

b) If possible avoid the company of guides. They will only weave a spell of high drama. If not possible, turn a deaf ear. It doesn't help to know that wild tuskers had blocked the road day before yesterday at exactly the same spot where you have now exhausted your 20x in all directions. Even makes you afraid to go take a leak by the wayside.
c) The forest rangers and tour guides have numerous tools to impress the lay visitor, viz. life size rubber stamps of big cat feet, which they apply at strategic positions, so every guide on every jeep knows where to look. See below.

d) There are two kinds of animals. The elephant is a stray animal. The tiger is a prey animal. Nobody really knows when and where stray animals will be sighted. However, it is almost certain that a prey animal will not be sighted during an orchestrated morning/evening safari.

e) When you ride on an elephant's back, it will move and you will shake. Stir in the low light inside the jungle in early morn, and you've got a photographic situation not suited for amateurs. The only real rhino I saw, up close, and for about 5 whole minutes, could not be bothered to sit up in the middle of the nullah. Our good man,
the mahout, tried to give us plenty shooting opportunity. I took about 10 shots, the best of which is here, post photoshop. Still lousy. You can see, you need to
know your ISO and white balance and shutter speeds extremely well. I did not. Probably my wife's got a better video. She was on a different elephant and they saw the R standing up. The handycam was smuggled in. You practically have no option. These stupid people will charge 25 bucks for a still camera and 300 for video. In the day and age when you can record passable video on almost everything. I promise to link up that video soon as I learn how to upload something to utube. Help, anybody?

But the tour itself was not half bad. We moved on to the hills in the latter part. Caught the aftermath of a huge hailstorm. Sampled the produce of Bhutanese distilleries, which was a revelation of sorts. Spent a night at a bungalow ghost stories are made of. All of that in part II.



P.S. I have figured out how to upload videos to Utube without help. So, here be.