Desicritics Category: Culture: Urban

Comic Strip: It's Not A Lie If It Makes Someone Happy

IdeaSmith — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 10:30:22 EDT

Well, what else is a woman to do?

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Relationship Lawlessness & Social Criminals

IdeaSmith — Fri, 6 Mar 2009 13:01:42 EST

I recently saw a movie about relationships and love. In one scene, a man and a woman meet in a department store and strike up a conversation over the cash register which continues till they walk out. Standing on the sidewalk, they talk, like any two strangers who've just met, of things that interest the other and ooh and aah over what they have in common. Then, just on the verge of that crucial 'ask for her number' moment, the guy shrugs and says,

I can't do this. I'm married.

It struck me right between my eyes just then. They were following a socially accepted ritual. Then they reached a point where an expression of interest had to be made or not. And it could not be made since he was clearly unavailable. The social mores dictated that he not go any further unless he was intending to take it forward seriously.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Last year I went to Europe on holiday. After enduring much ribbing about Turkish delights and Greek gods, I returned to report that no man had flirted with me. My mother, on the other hand, told me of one of our co-passengers who had struck up a conversation and told her she was beautiful, adding with a snide look at my dad that he couldn't say the same about her husband.

She was highly surprised (even though I spend all my time telling her that she looks at least a decade younger than she is - and she does!) till I added that in some western communities, it was considered polite, practically a social requirement to mock-flirt with a lady and compliment her on her fine form. This especially for a married woman, since it was quite clear that it was in light vein and was not intended to be taken seriously. Quite unlike India where it would be considered highly inappropriate to flirt or compliment a married woman.

On the other hand, my father pointed out, that it would be equally inappropriate for the same men to have flirted with me since I was clearly available. Flirting would have been an indication of serious intent, a formal expression of interest.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~We are still in a nascent society as far as dating goes. Our parents generation invented love marriages in this society; we are the generation that brings in friendship between the sexes as well as socially sanctioned romantic/sexual relationships before marriage. We haven't quite learned where to draw the line between friendship-comfort and attraction-commitment. We are still experimenting with how far we go with being funny/cool/charming and where it trespasses into flirtation.

Think about some of the relationship scenarios that are very real to us today. The 'best friend' of the opposite sex that makes the girlfriend/boyfriend so uncomfortable. The good friends (sister-brother...this is really the most convoluted one of all) who vehemently decree that other people have dirty minds. The older colleague/father of a friend/friend of father/husband of a friend who are really friendly, but perhaps a little too much sometimes?

Don't we all know a guy who promises the moon and earth to every second girl, believing correctly, that she'll keep it to herself because in the larger sense, it still isn't done for a girl to admit that she's been with a guy? There is nothing to check him from repeating the same over and over again, no one to brand him for the cad he is. Even after the crime is complete and guy is far away, possibly chasing a whole new set of girls or actually married, how many of the women he has wronged are actually going to speak up? And if you say you don't know such a guy, give me a call. I have a private 'Hall of Shame' of these social criminals.

How about the committed ones who pass off their behaviour as harmless friendliness? There's a general 'kehne mein kya harz hai?' syndrome working here. The problem is that people do fall in love, hearts get broken, trust is rended and lives are shattered. You can deny those are very real crimes, nasty things that people do to people.

As modern women, we are expected to be 'okay' with a certain degree of liberal expression. The question how far does that stretch? It's okay to know a lot of guys, it's fine to go out with them, even flirt with them, get into relationships with them. But all of that provided it ends in the institution of marriage or at least a 'stable, steady relationship'. But from meeting a guy to ending up in that last socially sanctioned comfortable relationship, it's a long way. Most men fall short far before that. Or I suspect a lot of them aren't even intending to go that far but try and drag out as much as they can get before they need to rat-tail it 'before it gets too serious'.

We stuff our best-looking side into our public persona and bury our insecurities. We put up with a guy who is 'commitment-phobic' for months and months because we don't want to be nags. We're okay with the 'just good friends' tag. We even tolerate cheating and tell ourselves patience is a virtue. What happens when he dumps you to go chase another girl and propose marriage to her in a week? You can be sure a crime of sorts has been committed but who's going to haul in the offender?

And if you're thinking this is equally true of women as well, I agree. With one small exception. Men who have been wronged in this manner can speak up about it and they do. Where else do we get such nasty phrases like slag and tease from? On the other hand, a woman who has been wronged cannot speak up. Liberated-ness be damned, one of those aforementioned crimes was perpetrated on me. I didn't dare speak up since I knew even our common friends would just think I was stupid for having believed such a guy in the first place. Well, you live, you learn.

Last month, I was flirted with by a committed man. I was unsure on when exactly I could draw the line and just relieved to get away without too much embarrassment. As I'm writing this post, I'm being propositioned by a married friend. This relationship is sometimes questioned by my friends who believe (quite correctly) that he is a social criminal. I agree and yet I continue to be friends (only in every sense of the word) with him. But few relationships are this manageable and heavenaloneknows that this one wasn't easy either.

Let me end this by just saying that delightful as this state may be with its glorious rule-lessness, the very lawlessness of it leaves each of us vulnerable to social crimes.

A Journey That Continues

Kishore — Thu, 5 Mar 2009 13:04:24 EST

He was a nice looking gentleman wearing an oversize coat and thick mufflers around his neck, who acceded to taking a picture of me and V standing on the edge of Dolphin’s Nose. “So where are you from?” he asked me handing over the camera to V. “I... Er... I’m from...”, I fumbled. V did better. She smiled, as she secured the camera into its case.

It was an incredible moment in our lives. A moment when we realized, we didn’t have an answer to the most rudimentary question of existence – “Where are you from?” Well, let me see. We have moved three cities in two countries in four months, have our belongings lying in five cities across the two countries and have no idea where we would be four weeks from this minute.

Things weren’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be happy days ahead. Family, elders and all that, you know? A fairy tale of the prince and princess living happily ever after. It sure was a fairy tale of sorts, until the day we called bitter-gourd bitter. Ever wondered calling bitter-gourd bitter could bring you trouble for the rest of your life?

Many months after that ignominious moment of getting reprimanded for stating the obvious, troubles continued. “Elementary my dear Watson.”, a well wisher suggested, “Everyone has troubles. Just deal with it.” Deal with it, huh? At what price? A few hundred dollars of happiness would do? Heard they started selling that thing in Wal-mart these days. So I could’ve helped myself, you know, with a few capsules whenever there was trouble.

We are dealing with it alright. But not like the Goody two shoes that we used to be. Although no one knows it that way. Life is simple. People are not. They are high on illusion or hung over on reality. So much so that any attempts at talking them out of their ridiculous assumptions or psychic outbursts only falls into deaf years. We became weary of our condemned routine and decided to find our own way.

We are on the move, although no one knows the real reasons of what we are doing or where we are moving. "Family" thinks we are happy. The indicators are there – we travel, we do the vacations, we shop, we laugh, what else one needs to know if someone is actually happy? For them, we are the good kids who do a lot of traveling on business. To ourselves, we are lost rowing in a sea without a compass and the shore is nowhere in sight.

May be we could still have waited for more time, until the day when the deaf ears would open up. May be, if we could’ve drugged ourselves with a few capsules of Solvomycin from Wal-mart, everything would’ve been solved and life would’ve been back to being a fairy tale. Life is a honey moon. Except that the honey doesn’t taste good at some times, and the moon is hidden by clouds at other times.

“Deal with it, kid”, an elder told me. “It’s the same with everyone”, a veteran confided. “You can’t run away from troubles. You’ll have to come back to it someday”, told a peer. I agree with everyone. Except that they are not me, and they haven’t seen what I’ve seen. But how do you tell the world you don’t bother about it anymore? I guess you just don’t. And that’s what we’ve done. Kept quiet, and moved. “Cheeky, but you did the right thing”, a friend smiled when he heard our story, “Life finds a way”.

We’ve set out to do what we think is our pursuit of happiness. We are moving places, driving in near-zero visibility. We don’t know where our next turn is, or how long until we stop again. We don’t know if we’ll run out of gas, or reach our hitherto unknown destination soon enough. We don’t know if we are alone, or there are other cars beside us. But we do know that we’ll keep driving.

If You Have It, Show It!

Shantanu Dutta — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 13:06:06 EST

I ran down the stairs like every morning to find that the gate outside my home wouldn’t open fully and I would have to some how squeeze myself out through the partially blocked gate and get out. A Toyota Qualis stood parked outside the gate.

In the evening when I returned home, it was still parked there. When the next day, and then the day following, the Qualis stayed parked there, it was clear that the vehicle wasn’t one that belonged to some one who had come visiting. It had been purchased by one or the other of my many neighbors. Not having any parking space, he bought his out sized vehicle and not having any parking space, decided that it was quite all right to dump it on the road; not in front of his house necessarily, but wherever he found the space; which happened to be in front of my house. A gaudily painted sign at the back of the car said that it was a “gift of god”.

On the eve of independence India's newly elected Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru made an impassioned and oft-quoted speech saying India had made a tryst with destiny. It was an austere, simple time when idealism was at its height and the distribution of wealth was a priority. Even decades later, in my own childhood, it was implicitly taught and understood, that today, it would seem that India has taken a slightly different route towards its destiny.

Flaunting your wealth? Is it a good or noble thing? In general, it has always been considered bad form to flaunt your money if you’ve got it. And it’s considered really bad form to flaunt your money these days when so many are losing their jobs or living with massive salary cuts. whereas traditionally “old money” has always been discreet and not ostentatious, the merchant princes of Mumbai and Kolkata for instance, it is the nouveau riche, who have made the money but never had the education to use it well, who are the real problem – the ones who will buy a Qualis and then not having the space to park it or the wherewithal to figure out a solution, dump it on the public space.

“The have it shows it “attitude is even more insensitive these days when scores of jobs have already been lost. For a while at least turning their backs towards globalization, countries turn back towards a protectionist economy and look after their own. As a result of policy changes under way currently, Over 50,000 IT professionals in the country may lose their jobs over the next six months as the situation in the sector is expected to worsen due to the impact of global economic meltdown on the export-driven industry, a forecast by a union of IT Enabled Services warned.

Addressing corporate honchos, the Prime Minister had remarked once that “Rising income and wealth inequalities, if not matched by a corresponding rise of incomes across the nation, can lead to social unrest. The electronic media carries the lifestyles of the rich and famous into every village and slum. Media often highlights the vulgar display of their wealth. An area of great concern is the level of ostentatious expenditure on weddings and other family events. Such vulgarity insults the poverty of the less privileged, it is socially wasteful and it plants seeds of resentment in the minds of the have-nots”. If I recall correctly, that address of Manmohan Singh was greeted by a stony silence by the functionaries of CII. Perhaps they weren’t yet too ready to abandon their conspicuous consumption patterns. Flaunting it if you have it is here to stay, be it private jets, ostentatious weddings or the Qualis at my door.

India's Post-Independence Fight For Freedom

Aditi Nadkarni — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 00:55:37 EST

Let me cut right to the chase here. This is unacceptable. Let me say it again for emphasis. It is not just bothersome or even upsetting. It is unacceptable. In the 21st century, in a democratic, secular nation, what has been going on, festering like a recurrent lesion, sprouting in every part of India, is just, simply unacceptable and will not do.

In case you are wondering who it is that's going to stand up to it: we are. We will not allow our freedom to be violated and we will make sure we protect the independence we fought long and hard to get the first time around. We have come a long way. We have seen the change and been the change. So who better than our pioneering, hot-blooded breed to stand up to the revolting and shockingly regressive acts of a few who feel threatened by progress.

They are just acting out of fear. It is obvious, isn't it? They attack in packs, afraid to be the lone ones incriminated. They target women and assault safely from behind the vague curtains of culture. But we all know that it isn't their culture that is in grave danger. Their position, their power and the extent of their bullying is in great peril. The places where they once ruled the roost are now turning into big, bustling cities making them feel like small, insignificant fish in a big sea.

Institutions and companies have transported the educated, smart crowd into the vacuum in which these bullies once enjoyed unfettered omnipotence. Now, in place of the void, there is a young, vivacious bunch of professionals, men and women who work hard and party hard and do so shoulder to shoulder. These people are harder to manipulate. This crowd has not just taken over, they threaten to pull into their growing ilk, the younger ones too. Business are bending over backwards to accommodate the needs of this new species and everything that once belonged to the bullies is now up for grabs. So they are retaliating. They are like petulant little children who couldn't have all that they demanded, hated sharing and so now are acting up. Therefore it is up to us, the educated class to teach these spoiled little brats to grow up and stop reacting so bizarrely to change. We must do it in a manner that is as different from theirs as is humanly possible.

So now comes the big question: how do we do it? How do we make our presence known? The answer may seem too simplistic because it sits smack in front of our faces. Think about it: we travel through these cities like one stream of blood, flowing steadily, keeping the city alive, stuffed in trains, piled into buses, walking along the teeming streets. Even partying and a trip to the movie theater is all the more fun with a group. We work in teams and are all the more effective for that. We discuss films, fashion, clothes, the economy, the job market and even our health problems. Yet this fear of walking out on the streets of a free country seems like a personal problem, like we were alone in that walk, like when a bully arrived with his little gang and punched us in the face, we would be all by ourselves and the world around us would just suddenly go blind. What we forget is that in this lonely fear too, we are still together. In this anger against the unfairness of the situation, we are together. We can if we decided, be together in the one resolute determination of not letting a handful of insecure men undo all that we have put into making our cities. So the answer is simple. Whatever it is we do, we do it together.

We celebrated Valentine's Day battling fear and took the threats in our stride defanging the demons with the pink disarming humor of our proud underwear. With the International Women's Day approaching, it is time to get serious. In our busy, routine lives we have underestimated the power of silent, non-violent protests. All it takes is for people to stand at a side-walk with banners to get word around. Some major struggles were won with this strategy and somewhere along the line we just shrugged and rolled our eyes at the quiet potential of public demonstrations and satyagrahas. Maybe we started taking our precious freedom for granted and needed to be reminded that we simply cannot. We have to earn it and when someone tries to snatch it, we fight for it.

It is important, I feel, in today's world to use media smartly. Instead of constantly criticizing media's inadequacies, we could use it as a tool. Find a niche and throw yourself into the swift current of this ever growing medium. Find a female leader in your area who is looking to make an arrival on the political scene. Do a little research. If one political party is making your life difficult for wearing jeans and celebrating Valentine's Day and there damn well must be another party that will fight for your votes, or can be persuaded to do so.

Find a celebrity who is willing to make your cause their own or give your movement their support and voice. Find a television network, a newspaper or a magazine that will run your story and provide your opinions with a voice. Find an artist who will put your thoughts into a slogan or a creative, riveting poster. Write to your city officials, your ministers and drown their offices in letters of your indignant protest. Just remember that one or two voices are easy to be ignored. If you are fuming over a coffee mug at your kitchen table, take that rage to a medium that will express it in the most noticeable manner possible.

Haven't we whined about a dysfunctional system for too long? When has this "system" ever worked? Maybe we just don't realize that we are one of the appendages of this faulty system. If the system is not working, we, as a group could propel in into motion. What will it take for us to get off our bums and make a placard with a strong message on it? This is not a women's liberation movement at all. Genders cannot be fighting alone in a battle such as this one. It could be your sister wearing jeans, coming home from work. It could be your teenage daughter walking back from school or college, the neighborhood aunty who brought you food when you were sick, a dear friend or your colleague. Most importantly, it is them today and it could be you next.

Let us review what the odds are of your being targeted next. You have a very high chance of being next on the hit-list if you answer 'Yes' for any of the following questions. Are you considered an "outsider" in Bangalore or a non-Maharashtrian in Maharashtra? Do you party? Do you meet up with friends at pubs? Do you wear jeans or clothing that may not be considered "Indian"? Do you eat pizza or meat? Do you drink alcoholic beverages? Does your religious persuasion always match that of the political party currently raging a mini-war in the nation you know of as secular? Do you send children to convent or English medium schools? Do you have a spouse of a different religious persuasion than yours? Do you have friends of the opposite sex? Are you married to the girl you are driving home from work or who you happen to be having dinner with? Are you non-conversant in Marathi in Mumbai or in Kannada in Bangalore? Are you a blogger or a journalist who expresses their opinions about politics, culture, media and religion? In spite of your qualifications and the six figure salary, do you have no clout with the local law enforcement or political activists? Before you fall asleep at night you should take a moment to wonder which one of these labels will be tagged onto your identity and turned into a vice or a disqualification; which one of these labels will plant nagging fear into your routine as you go about working to make a living, partying to rid your stress and walking on the streets of a country whose freedom you celebrate once a year on a public holiday. India did fight a freedom struggle years ago and it is high time that yet another quest for independence begins.

As a civilized society, we must remember that curbed freedom is a disease, an epidemic that does not spare a gender or a certain religion. It has uprooted saplings of modern, free thinking from Afghanistan and left it barren under the regime of the Taliban school of thought. This disease feeds on your fear and on the social inertia that has settled over our generation. An active, proud and independent public cannot let this inertia set in. Let it be known that this disease feeds most of all on the little disabling voice in your head which tells you that this is not your struggle, that it isn't your battle to fight. Sadly, this malady spreads, swallowing in its wake our hard-earned progress, until the feeble voice in your head is one day replaced with the grim realization that your own struggle has arrived. The assailant and his prejudice have changed form and you are the next prey. And there is nobody left to fight for you or with you.

Women Assaulted In Bangalore For Wearing Jeans

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 08:40:01 EST

Miscreants are targeting women in jeans in Bangalore. Hard to believe, isn't it?
The women were hounded, assaulted and threatened for being in 'Western attire'. What is happening in Bangalore? After being perceptually on my guard in Delhi- a city best known for its crimes against women I find Bangalore too heading down the same dangerous route.

A few weeks ago a group of women and men had been badly injured by a group of thugs at a pub and the night shift police allegedly tried to hush the matter up. The incident made news and then the matter easily slipped the mind of laidback Bangaloreans.

But the bully is still out there trying its best to subjugate the Bangalore spirit of -live and let live.

Is it time we civilians began to bear arms? The gun culture has never been part of the urban Indian society but more and more people are now wondering how they can best protect themselves against these miscreants.

Those against the gun culture are quick to say that more accidents and crimes of passion are caused by gun possession than actual self defense but I ask how do we protect ourselves when these thugs ambush us and even if they are caught the law enforcement watches from the sidelines and worse still turns on us?

Two out of the three victims of these hate crimes have registered complaints against the men who assaulted them. The police should take caricatures of the thugs out in public, our chief minister (highly unlikely) should offer harsh condemnation of the acts and we women should have some form of protest put up as quickly as possible against this sort of bullying by impotent thugs.

Here are a couple of safety tips that women should follow:
• Do not roll down your car window even if someone asks for direction.
• Always keep your car doors locked.
• Always keep your cell phone charged.
• If you are being chased while in a car try to remain in a crowded area and keep a look out for police.
• Avoid lonely roads and parking lots, listen to your instincts.
• If someone grabs you scream your head off
• Try getting a pepper spray
• Learn basic self defense techniques
• Always be aggressive. Bullies generally lay off bullies. A vulnerable looking woman is an easy prey.

These thugs are obviously individuals who have taken inspiration from the Mangalore goings-on. This has nothing to do with religion but a nasty chauvinistic mind set that is intimidated by emancipated women. This is not the time to give in to cynicism or indifference. We have to voice our protest.

The power of public outrage is the best defense against hooliganism. Speak up and be heard!

Office Space

IdeaSmith — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 05:34:58 EST

While my current job is not my first, it is the one that I consider the real start of my career. Since I joined, I've switched three places, teams and bosses these past three years. With each shift I've replicated the space around me.

First, my phone with its cord unknotted (I religiously unravel it every morning) and a funny scribble stuck on it with a post-it. Next to it, is a scribble pad to jot down numbers, notes and messages. This is flanked by a neon green plastic case that once contained a gift watch that my friend received. I retrieved the case along with its matching neon green cushion. Under that cushion is a secret stash of chewing gums and boiled toffees. I lost my taste for confectionary sometime back but some of my close work pals haven't. I keep it well-stocked for them (the way I’d keep my refrigerator full for friends and family who’d decide to drop in).

There's also a stuffed birdie sitting on the cubicle wall, a beanie owl with a graduation cap (or sometimes a green dinosaur with red spikes alternated by a beanie Hunchback of Notre-Dame) somewhere in grabbable distance. These are for those ARRRGGH! moments when I can't get a hug so settle for clenching a stuffed toy instead. And finally my visiting card (for referring to postal address) clipped to a porcelain cow (which I first thought was a piggy, its mouth was so snouty!).

My papers neatly stacked at the end of the day on the other side of the screen, next to my calendar. Three different neon coloured highlighters are lined up under the screen and put away at the end of the day, away from careless (and light-fingered) people. A post-it affixed to the corner of my screen says 'Stay hungry, stay foolish'. A jacket hangs on the back of my chair, sometimes alternated by a sweater.

I spend most of my waking day here. My workspace says that this who I am. Colourful, quirky and compulsively tidy.

Last year, I moved again. A new division, a different role, which started as a temporary stint but extended out into a larger arrangement. I now have a cabin of my own. It took my three hours to pack up everything from my earlier desk but all of 15 minutes to set up again. I put down very little in this new space since I had no idea how long I would be staying.

Pulling out your roots is so difficult (not to mention heart-wrenching) that I subconsciously decided not to put down roots again.

Now, my desk is bare. Even my new computer’s packaging has been retained and hangs dustguard curtain-like over the top to be flipped over each morning and back on at the end of the day. The minute I switch my monitor off and shut the door, any sign of life is gone and all it is, is an empty room. So this office is cold, Spartan and impersonal. There’s nothing to show that I sit here, work here, live here for the better part of my life.

I guess home is so much about how much of yourself you put into the space around you. I’ve put nothing in and hence I’ve been a nomad for seven months. Enough on the road now. Next month I’ll move again. This time I’ll take my owl beanie along and maybe I’ll carry a potted plant to keep me company and my room alive when I’m not there.

POGO, Kellogg's Special K, and Body Image Issues

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 14:11:46 EST

Yesterday just as we sat down at Coffee Day my seven year old eyed me and told me with twinkling eyes "Ma, You are fat." I gasped for breath. I asked him where he had heard about fat. He shook his head and gave me his usual - Don't know and dug into his Black Forest Cake.

I wasn't about to give him an explanation about fitting into a size 12 jeans after 4 months of rigorous work outs or that giving birth to him, his sister and taking care of them had made me 'fat'. I wasn't going down the defensive mode with a 7 year old child.

I was more interested in knowing where he had come across the concept of body image. And it didn't take me long. Today while the kids watched toons on POGO the Special K ad rolled in. And before my horrified eyes I heard a small girl talking about her mom looking like Aishwarya Rai and her mom laughed and said she had lost two kilos by being on Special K. The little angel ranted about her mom looking the prettiest in the school and my mouth hung open.

What kind of shit was this? I looked at my son and then back at the TV. It was bad enough that cable channels were feeding shit to our kids about junk food but now we had cereals sneaking in body image neurosis to our underage children.

Where is the protest from parents about these sorts of ads? Maybe its time Kellogg's was taken to court for propagating unhealthy habits to our kids. Can you imagine a kid asking just for sugary cereals for 2 meals to be skinny?

Anyone who has tasted Special K would tell you that its like sugary wood shavings. And to be on a cereal diet is the worst thing one can do to their body. Eating right and exercising is the best way to leading a healthy life.

Once the ad finished I spoke to my son and told him that not everything that is seen on TV is the truth. And that having a fat or skinny mother doesn't make the child happy, what makes a child happy is having a mommy who loves him.

And that if I ever heard him say those words to anyone I would personally come and teach him the meaning of respect.

He looked at me with big saucer eyes and asked 'Why?"

I replied that it was the meanest and most hurtful thing to say and he wasn't a mean boy.

His mind switched gears when he realized his mother was done lecturing and asked if he could go out and play. I nodded absentmindedly, still upset about the kind of bogeymen we were letting into our homes via kiddie channels.

Movie Review: Slumdog Millionaire - Phir Bhi Dil Hai Filmistani

IdeaSmith — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 07:36:52 EST

Slumdog Millionaire is that rare combination of a strong plot and skilful storytelling that marries grit and glamour seamlessly.

You would think that a firang's depiction of India would be all 'exotic desh'...swollen-bellied babies starving outside the Taj Mahal and begging children. The movie does have hunger, poverty, slums, streetkids and beggars. Even the Taj Mahal. But of course, can you realistically expect a foreigner to be able to resist showing that in a movie about India?

And yet, Danny Boyle manages to veer away from cliched expressions and brings us the story of the great Indian dream. Money, love, fame, glamour all after struggle, grit, disappointment and insurmountable hurdles. What's all this hoo-halla about glamourising poverty? Haven't you heard of rags-to-riches tales?

I remember the hysteria that gripped the nation surrounding the first winner of Kaun Banega Crorepati. Why was the show so popular? I doubt anyone going through the Indian education system could really, truly care about learning and knowing more. The quest of knowledge was certainly not what kept people glued to the show. Why then did people dance on the streets, why was there so much excitement surrounding the jackpot success of a guy nobody knew? Because he was one of them. Just an anonymous one of the millions. He represented a dream that was suddenly a possibility. What one of them them could do, the rest could very well aspire to.

What's a boy from the teeming millions doing shaking hands with the most famous man in the country? That's real life meeting larger-than-life. Look me in the eye and tell me that that doesn't touch you.

Kensei, The Dirty Cat

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 13:23:27 EST

If you talk to any breeder they will tell you the same thing - Never pick up an animal from a pet shop. You never know what kind of disease they may be carrying.

Well, we picked up Kensei from a pet shop; better still we rescued a sick 4 month old kitten knowing he was sick. He was an affectionate little mutt and snuggled up easy in the crook of the arm but was a bag of bones. Our hearts became puddle and we took him home.

We nearly lost him. The poor guy had a weak constitution. He couldn't keep anything down. His litter tray was changed every hour and in the end even though Zoey out of pity accepted him he was isolated in another room with his litter tray.

The image of him unable to get up from his dirty litter tray is still engraved in my mind. We managed to pull him away from death.

But Kensei's constitution, however, never recovered. Any deviation from his meal and it would be stink time all over again.

On 14th of February early morning I heard the newspaper on which the litter was laid ruffle. Zoey was sleeping next to me and I knew Kensei was up to no good.

The sound of paper cackling went on for over five minutes. I groaned and buried my head in the pillow. I knew what had happened. He was trying to bury the crime but couldn't. The floor did not have litter on it! He had missed the litter tray again.

I walked out screaming- Kensei, you naughty cat! Its such a big tray! How can you miss it?

He stood still in his tray with one paw raised. He meowed as if to say- Good morning mama and I was too mad to think- oh, you look so handsome despite the crap you have left again for me.

And, yes, he had pooped right between the two litter trays!

He hopped off the tray, rubbed himself against my legs asking to be picked up and cuddled and I imagined kicking the cat to Timbuktu!

Zoey came out of the bedroom meowing her good morning and headed straight for the litter and I thought -oh! there will be two poops to pick up.

I grabbed the cats and locked them in the backyard. They both gave an indignant meow! Out without food!

I grabbed newspapers, Lysol, Dettol, face mask, hand gloves, a bucket, coconut broom, yanked up my nightwear and got to work.

It took me over forty five minutes to clean his mess, get fresh litter and scrub my hands clean in piping hot water.

I then let the cats in to eat. Ten minutes later I could hear the crackle of the paper again. And I groaned. I screamed- Kensei!!

The paper crackled louder, more rigorous. I hit my head against the couch. The crackling stopped, he sauntered into the living room, jumped up on the couch and snuggled up against me.

I told him he was lucky I didn't kick him to Timbuktu, lucky I preferred to clean up after him and not send him back to the damn pet shop and he sure was lucky that I saved his life.

He meowed, turned on his back, showed me his belly and went to sleep and I wondered if I would yet again have to clean his litter tray.