Glory Days

"Glory Days....
...They'll pass you by..
..in the wink of a young girl's eye.."

The Boss might as well have written the song for Indian politicians. The song pops into my head just like that, when I see Laloo Prasad interviewed on tv by Barkha Dutt, the other day.

Laloo is half-seated half-sprawled over a sofa seat. He is wearing a singlet and a rather bemused and resigned expression. His hand is frequently to his head, supporting it or just holding it. All fight seems to have gone out of him. And no wonder. His party strength in Lok Sabha has been reduced to just 4 in 2009, down from 24. Twenty. Four.

Lalu Yadav has lesser seats than the evergreen थाली का बैंगन Ajit Singh of Baghpat.

Four months back, Lalu was on a trip to Japan (Japan!) leading a group of Railways officials, to lecture them about the success of Indian Railways, of which he was the minister in the previous government. A year back, he gave a talk to the students of IIM-Ahmedabad, *the* most prestigious management institute in the country. 2 years back, he was vociferously demanding renaming of Patna.

Yesterday, the RPF police team assigned for his security at his bungalow in Patna was removed completely.

Renuka Chowdhury is another example. Bold, brash, outspoken, prime example of foot-in-mouth syndrome. Lost her seat, lost her cabinet post, lost her tongue.

All these adjectives put into mind yet another opinionated gasbag, Mani Shankar Aiyer. Again, lost his seat, lost his cabonet post, and not a peep out of him. But in all fairness, having been relegated to Panchayati Raj minister in the previous govt had not done anything to improve his telepresence. The only time I recall seeing him on tv over the last 2 years has been when he recently launched his book on Rajiv Gandhi.

If movie heroes live and die every Friday, then politicians live, die or get resurrected every 5 years.

"Life is short, the Art is long, opportunity fleeting, experience delusive, judgment difficult." - Hippocrates.
Read more!

Stuck with it

What is it that belongs to you, but is normally used by everyone else except you?

It's your name.

The one thing that defines you, follows you and is an integral part of yourself, your identity and what you are perceived as your entire life, and the one thing that is not yours to choose or decide upon.

What inspires fond parents of a newborn defenceless slobbering baby to come up with creative yet risible names? Is it a latent sense of revenge, inspired by visions of potential sleepless nights catering to the whims & fancies of the tyke that's incessantly leaking from both ends? Or is the revenge directed towards the previous generation, the parents themselves having been saddled with unfortunate handles?

We are not talking celebrities here, who are anyway ensconced in their own crazy world, and who don't realise that fame doesn't get passed on with genes. Their progeny may not grow up to lead a rock lifestyle and may actually have to work for a living, in which case a name like Peaches may not be well suited for an accountant. What about an insurance broker named Moon Unit? They would much rather have "M. U. Zappa" on their visitng card, right? Hmm, in this case actually, the surname is weird enough to begin with. Iss ka kuchh nahin ho sakta. The only thing keeping this kid sane is probably the fact that her 3 siblings are named Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan & Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen.

So okay, let's not worry about Chastity Bono, Apple Martin, Pilot Inspektor Lee, Sage Moonblood Stallone or any other unfortunate kids of fortune. We aren't likely to meet any of them normally in a social situation.

I am more concerned about people we do meet or have met in our very own lives, whose names elicit a stunned reaction or perhaps one of awe!

For instance, I had a lecturer in college who went by the name of K L Sharma. All very normal, you would presume. Maybe a Kishen Lal, or a Kanhaiya Lal or something mundane like that. But no. We discovered to our intense amusement that his parents had decided in their infinite wisdom to name him Kabaari (ragpicker) Lal! 

Well, if you do have to think of a career for your child while naming them, you can't fault all those aspiring parents in Punjab who names their sons Jarnail (corrupted form of General) or Karnail (ditto of Colonel).

A college mate of mine married TripuraSundari, quite a mouthful, but hey, who's complaining if you get married to "The Most Beautiful One in 3 worlds"!

A post like this can never ignore the claims of Shrimati Laloo Yadav, our own sweet Rabri Devi, who is alleged to have a sister named Imarti. On the subject, Laloo tried his best Zappa impersonation (no, not musically!) by naming his daughter Misa, as a protest against the Maintenance of Internal Security Act.

More recently, I came across a salesgirl whose nametag announced her to the world as "Girly". Girly? Girly??? Don't tell me her brother is named Boysie! 

No, he wasn't. 

I asked her. :-)..
Read more!

Dar Lage Toh Gaana Gaa...

They say an average person fears public speaking more than they fear death. At least that's what Seinfeld says. In my lexicon of useless information, there's even a word for this fear, Glossophobia! (from the Greek word Glossa meaning tongue).

My own source of terror is singing in public, probably only topped by the mortification of hearing my own singing voice. Any intentions that I could have possibly harboured of leading life as a wandering minstrel were nipped in the bud, thanks to my mother, who fondly recorded her pubescent son once, while encouraging him to give vent to his singing urge. Poor mom didn't realise that apart from Michael Jackson, no one has yet mastered the art of staying contralto post the age of 13!

That tape was played just once in my hearing and then I fled the room. My singing muse has never had the courage to show its face in my conscious mind yet. That tape probably still exists, and is being used to ward off evil spirits in a house far far away.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, with such a buildup to my historical aversion, it was a complete & utter surprise when last Saturday, I found myself singing! In a stranger's house. Hindi songs. On Karaoke. Will the ignominy never end?

Thankfully, there were just 2 witnesses to my crime against humanity, not counting the maid, who incidentally was singing an aria to herself while making Indian food in the kitchen! Figure that out!

Was I drunk? Could Bacchus be the one to conveniently blame for my lapse? Not really! Mine kind host had offered me his lavish hospitality, but I had limited myself to a wee dram of Glenfiddich.

I had been invited for dinner by an ex-colleague who had recently gotten married. A very interesting match it was too, the couple being from different countries, different religions, different marital statuses before this one... you name any tradition, this couple broke it! Any topic of conversation in this particular social setting was a potential minefield, especially when a clunky person like myself was concerned! Just ask my wife; she's been trying to housetrain me for years. But I think all women secretly love having such socially inept hubbies to shout at and moan about to their friends, than they would let on!

The couple was very nice and gracious, the food was pretty good and the conversation was freeflowing and interesting (and very measured, from my side!). Contrary to all my apprehensions, there was no awkwardness at all while we chatted about various things, primarily because the couple were very much in tune (and dare I use the sappy word, Love?) with each other.

Then while at the dining table, I happened to see some strange contraption on the sideboard and asked about it. "It" was the karaoke attachment, which was promptly plugged in for a demo for the guest of honour! You just can't beat North Indians, especially Punjabis, for warmth, impulsiveness & an innate urge to show off! :-)

That "demo" went on for an hour, with the husband and wife both promptly grabbing a wireless mike each and singing out the lyrics of old hindi songs from the giant screen on the living room wall. I obviously declined all offers to being involved in the singing, and had to make ridiculous excuses. But there's no punjabi like a persistent punjabi, and hence I had to make my own contributions to the city's noise pollution.

After a couple of halfheartedly sung songs, I think I began to hit my stride and even secretly enjoyed the music. The funny part: all songs were accompanied by a random sequence of stock photographs, preprogrammed in the karaoke machine. So, while "Rafi" was singing a classical tune, the background shot would be of the Eiffel Tower or a hill in Scotland! Quite amusing.

It was almost midnight when I rose to bid adieu to my hosts. So after a lifetime of Singlossophobia (clever coinage, eh?), I finally found I could in fact enjoy singing loud in public.

Just goes to show you that life is full of surprises. There's no end to enriching and discovering yourself.

Be that as it may, I am still looking to destroy that tape!

Read more!