Walk from Alipiri Gate to Tirumala
Puneet Rajhans
Come rain or shine, the numbers hardly dwindle when it comes to taking a walk to the Lord of Seven Hills from Alipiri Gate. It is a steep climb for the first hour, turning to a plateaued pathway and before the last lap sets in again a steep job to be kept with. From a teenybopper to a 60 plus devotee, the climb is a way to break the monotony. The monotonous set up we are glued to; the slackening of hope that accompanies us at each movement; and the oft-travelled path of aspirations and more aspirations. Here the three hour trek takes away all the illusionary ideas that we are bedevilled with and brings bang on the simple and affable truth: in the date with the Lord of Seven Hills there lies essentially meaning to life.
As one begins the ascent the first picture of refreshing clarity is the increasing number of those going up the hills. The second doesn't dislocate the fact that we are all geared to have a date with the Lord. The third being no amount of upheavals/consternations would dip our deep-seated longing for Lord Venkateswara; in fact it gets an added strength with each new outing.
The pathway leading to the hills runs through thick foliage, perhaps a ringing testament to the green defined gusto the area brims with. There are moments when you go past the people lining on either side of the pathway your body language is under watch; essentially to read the fatigue quotient. Seeing you do long laps without breaks propels them to do the same. And this exercise is carried right through the three hour devotion.
There are two essential halts on the way. First the imposing Lord Hanuman's idol, all in white, coming to you when you have been through most of the climbing part. Second again Lord Hanuman making his presence in a structure at the right side, coming some 20 minutes after the first one. That apart right at the entrance there is Lord Govinda's temple situated inside further from the pathway.
All through the trek, there are songs with Govindraju and Krishna being played on public address system. Chants of "Venkatwada Venkatramana Govinda Govinda" rent the air at regular intervals.
This exercise continues the entire day, with people joining the quest to have a date with the Lord as early as 4a.m. The weather is another big factor to add up to the momentum.
The token that you get on the way wins you handsome dividends. Having reached Tirumala, with a token you are ushered in from a different direction and your date with the Lord is over in just under an hour. After this the free meals treat is the next big thing.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Water marshals and watery graves by Puneet Rajhans
Water marshals and watery graves
As one boards a long distance train, the thoughts of confining yourself to long hours doesn’t pinch you. Nor the fact, implicit in the train ride, that the journey would see a large number of unscheduled stoppages leading to prolonged delays. To be fair enough the acrimony builds up and sets in when you have unwarranted visits from vendors of bottling plants. What can make you seethe with anger and contempt is the repeated intrusion into your privacy by bottlewallahs, who troop in and out of your coach as and when they desire. A watery train of thought? Most likely.
As if the thick sheets of rain that lashed the TPT station (with thick burst of water from rooftops and adjoining places) was not enough you are told to brace yourself for more water propelled moments. It is watery cocktail of options and nothing else.
Exasperated at not finding the right quantity and quality of water at TPT station, the people had no other leeway other than take the bottle in their stride. What deprived them of their water rights at the station was a passenger of a lost and found tribe (representing the water mafia group), who wasn't willing to settle for anything less than three big jars of water from taps in the station. A prolonged affair, he didn't give a damn to the hooting coming from all directions. Mission done, he boarded the train. Perhaps the watery tale had begun to take roots from there itself.
Seeing all this passengers on board had willingly submitted themselves to an ensuing watery battle of a different nature, lest they could be deprived of their rights here as well. No protestations from fellow passengers made them see reason. "The water bottle in your possession had already been through a series of hard fought battles. Before reaching you, the bottle would have changed several hands; the seal being tampered at each new outing and being restored later. So the drop you get isn't the first to be." As such explanations were flung around, the 'committed' passengers did not want to hand over the turf to the mafia man this time.
As the train moved with no signs of rain receding, poodles of water had collected at vantage points of the coach known to water marshals (a hole had been punched to ensure an unrestricted delivery) and they had been told to make most of the situation. Would this have required some sort of innovation to see this excess being placed in the bottles which were being emptied by the passengers the very moment they took one? Perhaps the water marshals (essentially hailing from water bottling plants) scouted for such opportunities to let their innovation take effect in a running train.
Meanwhile, the ticket examiners as well as water marshals were showing up now and then at the place where the water mafia rep was seated. There were more than handshake moments with him as he had valid reasons to board the train despite having no valid ticket. Here he was with his big jars to transport the content to as many bottles as possible, with the rider that two bottles would be dispensed with for the price of one. To get this enterprise moving the ticket examiner's role was to accommodate all waitlisted passengers who took the water battle to its logical end. Thus, passengers were more than willing to literally throw themselves at vendors selling water as it was a passport to a confirmed seat and sighting.
The coach where i was seated saw the vendors making rounds every time the train approached a station, had an unscheduled stop, or going full throttle for a longer session. With six hours left for the train to complete its journey, a new order was to come into effect. The water mafia man proposed the same. Since the big jars had still enough life (water) in them he told the water marshals to dispense the remaining lot at prices quoted by passengers.
As a result, there was pandemonium with passengers queuing up to get their share of water bottles to take home where this enterprise could be tried later.
Well the mafia man had no ticket and yet he had a smooth ride. For passengers like us who had waitlisted tickets but not enough to splurge on battles of water, the TTE was in no mood to oblige us in the chair car. The rationale: Bring water jars on board to get a smooth ride. Further the TTE's hostility stemmed from the fact that he hadn't had the requisite water in the morning to take bath at home; perhaps a reminder that whenever and wherever we travel as a tourist we should bring our own water on board lest people like ticket examiner are deprived of their morning showers in the places they reside.
As one boards a long distance train, the thoughts of confining yourself to long hours doesn’t pinch you. Nor the fact, implicit in the train ride, that the journey would see a large number of unscheduled stoppages leading to prolonged delays. To be fair enough the acrimony builds up and sets in when you have unwarranted visits from vendors of bottling plants. What can make you seethe with anger and contempt is the repeated intrusion into your privacy by bottlewallahs, who troop in and out of your coach as and when they desire. A watery train of thought? Most likely.
As if the thick sheets of rain that lashed the TPT station (with thick burst of water from rooftops and adjoining places) was not enough you are told to brace yourself for more water propelled moments. It is watery cocktail of options and nothing else.
Exasperated at not finding the right quantity and quality of water at TPT station, the people had no other leeway other than take the bottle in their stride. What deprived them of their water rights at the station was a passenger of a lost and found tribe (representing the water mafia group), who wasn't willing to settle for anything less than three big jars of water from taps in the station. A prolonged affair, he didn't give a damn to the hooting coming from all directions. Mission done, he boarded the train. Perhaps the watery tale had begun to take roots from there itself.
Seeing all this passengers on board had willingly submitted themselves to an ensuing watery battle of a different nature, lest they could be deprived of their rights here as well. No protestations from fellow passengers made them see reason. "The water bottle in your possession had already been through a series of hard fought battles. Before reaching you, the bottle would have changed several hands; the seal being tampered at each new outing and being restored later. So the drop you get isn't the first to be." As such explanations were flung around, the 'committed' passengers did not want to hand over the turf to the mafia man this time.
As the train moved with no signs of rain receding, poodles of water had collected at vantage points of the coach known to water marshals (a hole had been punched to ensure an unrestricted delivery) and they had been told to make most of the situation. Would this have required some sort of innovation to see this excess being placed in the bottles which were being emptied by the passengers the very moment they took one? Perhaps the water marshals (essentially hailing from water bottling plants) scouted for such opportunities to let their innovation take effect in a running train.
Meanwhile, the ticket examiners as well as water marshals were showing up now and then at the place where the water mafia rep was seated. There were more than handshake moments with him as he had valid reasons to board the train despite having no valid ticket. Here he was with his big jars to transport the content to as many bottles as possible, with the rider that two bottles would be dispensed with for the price of one. To get this enterprise moving the ticket examiner's role was to accommodate all waitlisted passengers who took the water battle to its logical end. Thus, passengers were more than willing to literally throw themselves at vendors selling water as it was a passport to a confirmed seat and sighting.
The coach where i was seated saw the vendors making rounds every time the train approached a station, had an unscheduled stop, or going full throttle for a longer session. With six hours left for the train to complete its journey, a new order was to come into effect. The water mafia man proposed the same. Since the big jars had still enough life (water) in them he told the water marshals to dispense the remaining lot at prices quoted by passengers.
As a result, there was pandemonium with passengers queuing up to get their share of water bottles to take home where this enterprise could be tried later.
Well the mafia man had no ticket and yet he had a smooth ride. For passengers like us who had waitlisted tickets but not enough to splurge on battles of water, the TTE was in no mood to oblige us in the chair car. The rationale: Bring water jars on board to get a smooth ride. Further the TTE's hostility stemmed from the fact that he hadn't had the requisite water in the morning to take bath at home; perhaps a reminder that whenever and wherever we travel as a tourist we should bring our own water on board lest people like ticket examiner are deprived of their morning showers in the places they reside.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
THe road less travelled by Puneet Rajhans
THe road less travelled
Having endured a good deal of physical movement in the past few days, including two consecutive visits to the outer periphery of the city, Shankar Pally (110 kms up and down), i decided to pull myself away from this energy sapping module. What these two consecutive visits meant was a drain on resources and a long outing in the sun drenched fields that couldn't bring me any closer to the pursuit i was committed to. THe academic interest all but lost, the best course was to change the tack. A good tiding the twin city roads brought didn’t dilute my tryst with a different set of wheels.
The following day boarded a train, with familiar tales of pity and permeating down the order looking inevitable. As the train pulled out of Sec'bad, the different approaches to the station wore a confident, tidy look as commuters waited for their next local. The serendipity of discovering the state one desired for had begun to get settled. A landscape no different from the one in Chennai, the bout with a large number of small stations was there as was the punishing schedule to lay motionless at every such spot.
Stations, big and small, have a life of its own, notwithstanding the commotion and clamour that these points of movement carry.
As the train made its way through a chunk of small stations, with none to dispute their cleanliness and neat surroundings, transformed them to objects of desire vis-a-vis the big ones. First and foremost the approach to these big ones was a constant reminder to their tryst with filth and dirt over a period. It didn't looked the small ones were cajoled and coerced to ink their presence, but the big ones despite their boastful names had all-weather riddles trailing them. Looking for a breathing space proved to be as elusive as the need for order in this season of mayhem and melee. There were those who were supposed to board a train (some waiting in perpetuity); there was another lot who collected themselves around a large number of vendors for reasons best known to them. What all this added up to were the platforms seething with a hostile temperament - and the movement in the premises the next big miracle waiting to happen.
As the train passed through Kazipet, Warangal, Khammam, Vijaywada, Chirala, Ongole and numerous other designated halts one couldn't overlook the engaging view of the state. If some had adapted themselves as educational hub, there were others famed for their cement and steel plants. The industriousness nature of the state taking a divided view with some plants folding up and new ones taking shape came another image of trouble brewing in its backyard. For kms together there were patches of land lying unattended on either side of the tracks. With none to attend to, the all-familiar water and power woes had begun to surface.
Prior to Vijaywada, the train was literally on crutches, with halts and unscheduled stops coming at regular intervals. Post Vijaywada terrain, swathes of land had human presence and some form of movement on the ground. Well, it was Vijaywada that played a transformative part as the train seemed to be more at ease as far as movement went, bringing dollops of visibility as well. For kms together there was a national highway running parallel to the tracks, breaking at points to rejoin later.
The onward journey looked no different, with the exception being the headcount in the train had dwindled by the time it reached the final post.
Having endured a good deal of physical movement in the past few days, including two consecutive visits to the outer periphery of the city, Shankar Pally (110 kms up and down), i decided to pull myself away from this energy sapping module. What these two consecutive visits meant was a drain on resources and a long outing in the sun drenched fields that couldn't bring me any closer to the pursuit i was committed to. THe academic interest all but lost, the best course was to change the tack. A good tiding the twin city roads brought didn’t dilute my tryst with a different set of wheels.
The following day boarded a train, with familiar tales of pity and permeating down the order looking inevitable. As the train pulled out of Sec'bad, the different approaches to the station wore a confident, tidy look as commuters waited for their next local. The serendipity of discovering the state one desired for had begun to get settled. A landscape no different from the one in Chennai, the bout with a large number of small stations was there as was the punishing schedule to lay motionless at every such spot.
Stations, big and small, have a life of its own, notwithstanding the commotion and clamour that these points of movement carry.
As the train made its way through a chunk of small stations, with none to dispute their cleanliness and neat surroundings, transformed them to objects of desire vis-a-vis the big ones. First and foremost the approach to these big ones was a constant reminder to their tryst with filth and dirt over a period. It didn't looked the small ones were cajoled and coerced to ink their presence, but the big ones despite their boastful names had all-weather riddles trailing them. Looking for a breathing space proved to be as elusive as the need for order in this season of mayhem and melee. There were those who were supposed to board a train (some waiting in perpetuity); there was another lot who collected themselves around a large number of vendors for reasons best known to them. What all this added up to were the platforms seething with a hostile temperament - and the movement in the premises the next big miracle waiting to happen.
As the train passed through Kazipet, Warangal, Khammam, Vijaywada, Chirala, Ongole and numerous other designated halts one couldn't overlook the engaging view of the state. If some had adapted themselves as educational hub, there were others famed for their cement and steel plants. The industriousness nature of the state taking a divided view with some plants folding up and new ones taking shape came another image of trouble brewing in its backyard. For kms together there were patches of land lying unattended on either side of the tracks. With none to attend to, the all-familiar water and power woes had begun to surface.
Prior to Vijaywada, the train was literally on crutches, with halts and unscheduled stops coming at regular intervals. Post Vijaywada terrain, swathes of land had human presence and some form of movement on the ground. Well, it was Vijaywada that played a transformative part as the train seemed to be more at ease as far as movement went, bringing dollops of visibility as well. For kms together there was a national highway running parallel to the tracks, breaking at points to rejoin later.
The onward journey looked no different, with the exception being the headcount in the train had dwindled by the time it reached the final post.
Maharashtra turning 50 It's a Maha Feat by Puneet Rajhans
Maharashtra turning 50 It's a Maha Feat by Puneet Rajhans
Maharashtra turning 50.
It's a MAHA Feat with the need for Mumbai to release good vibes for the countryside at large.
The 26/11 trial and verdict hitting the overdrive highway, all permutations and combinations to turn of events in the coming days would be clinically recorded. But that does not take away the fizz from Maharashtra's claim to fame - 50 years and taking in its stride the consternations that visit them at regular intervals. What is that keeps Maharashtra as a State rooted in our national psyche even when the all-obsessive theme has been the Mumbai spectacle.
The tales that emerge from the countryside do blow the lid on claims of old order prosperity having visited them. A ringside view that doesn't bare all facts. A huge canvas of problems dog them, right from rising debt, few options to converge your thoughts with reality (read jobs) and the agriculture architecture looking increasingly vulnerable. A postcard from the State would certainly have the Vidarbha vicissitude, with claims and counter claims on deaths in the region. The vicious circle can't alone be traced to rising debt of farmers; there are other situational hazards that lead to the blind alley.
The countryside churn
As one begins his tryst with Maharashtra, the temptation is strong enough to explore new territories or at best visit the old ones with a new frame of thought. For the first two outings, the tryst had to be with the district of Ahmednagar (they call it Nagar in local parlance), spread for over a month each time. This odyssey was interspersed with visits to Nashik, Pune and surely the high octane driven territory of Mumbai. A spiritual pursuit-cum-adventure trail, my thoughts had enough twists and turns on occasions more than one. The festive spirit had a cumulative effect as a huge congregation, coming from Dadar, gathered in Shirdi on the occasion of Ram Navmi in 2009. The image of a state, leveraging its iconic status for what the Mumbai Marathon had come to represent, had also to deal with cluttered thoughts that critics were more than pleased to dole out. This strand of negativity looked more of an aberration given the interaction that happened day in and day out.
The countryside churning did look appalling at times, a case of oversight as far as the government presence meant? Sauntered to a corner, women drawn from their home resposibilities were seen selling their wares in the scorching summer months. Resigned to their fate, some had fewer earnings to fall back on for days together. A picture not entirely complete, the young brigade in the family took school classes as seriously as attending to family-run chores in the evening. The school dropout rate having not reached alarming levels, with more joining the learning curve after a break. The Marathi curriculum should not be the lone factor to make them stay away from competing in the Mumbai churn. If there has to be let it be something else as fanatical as no yearn to compete. Well, that would also make them viewed as misfits.
The countryside charm couldn’t be brushed aside either as the large template of the state has a fair sprinkling of numbers from that end. It is not entirely about headcount but the ideas that take off and let the prospective city settler find his groove right in his backyard. A city jaunt would do but for a brief period. Alas similar sentiments could be true of those states who can’t prevent migration as there is not much on table.
Seen from the other side a large number of those born and brought up in the countryside flocking to Mumbai, Pune, Nagpur, Nashik, Kolhapur, the essential anthem has been to seek a livelihood. As in other places, the competing field in Mumbai too brims with foot soldiers from other states. The simmering discontent, few and far, with the extension of support coming from the political class alone need not be the yardstick. Everyone has a fair chance of getting a slice of the big cake that Mumbai illustrates provided different wheels of desire that come from different corners of the nation synchronise with the large idea that the city represents. Effectively, the blistering and boisterous noise of taking a unipolar stand (for one group or the other) doesn't get percolated down to the last frontier of existence. That should be the effort.
As Pune, Nashik and Nagpur looked familiar with sights of bumper to bumper traffic, with few willing to vacate the space for other, the morning cacophony was no less similar to settings in other cities, the sole differentiator being the mad scramble taking wings quite early. This was no different in the vast swathes that local stations occupy in the Mumbai's hinterland.
A battle to slug it out in the heat, dust and grime of Mumbai, with the voice in the countryside getting a fair share would be the perfect statement made from the state. As Mumbai began to figure in more frequently on my outings to the state, the local trains synchronised different thoughts with finesse. Of the different local commutes, the one from Borivalli to Dadar to CST had a stong connect to it. Boarded the one at Borivalli, got down at Dadar and took another one for CST, the commute saw a disciplined tribe boarding and deboarding trains at different intervals. The rush hour was a manageable force given it was 5.30 in the morning. Query of sorts were handled deftly with the belief that nothing succeeds like compassion and candour.
No scorching summer and no wintry nights (well there are few), desisted me from getting a drift of Maharashtra mystique. The sight of overflowing trains coming from North India, finding its way to different platforms was no different from the Mumbai locals, all besieged with the avowed aim of a sizeable number having a dream date with Maharashtra. The Mumbai Marathon would continue with fewer interruptions and Maha Magic with fewer halts as long as the folks in the countryside would continue to be a sought-after force.
P.S. My salute to Devika, the youngest witness in the 26/11 turbulence. All of 11 and raring to go. This is what keeps the spirit of Maharashtra up and moving.
Maharashtra turning 50.
It's a MAHA Feat with the need for Mumbai to release good vibes for the countryside at large.
The 26/11 trial and verdict hitting the overdrive highway, all permutations and combinations to turn of events in the coming days would be clinically recorded. But that does not take away the fizz from Maharashtra's claim to fame - 50 years and taking in its stride the consternations that visit them at regular intervals. What is that keeps Maharashtra as a State rooted in our national psyche even when the all-obsessive theme has been the Mumbai spectacle.
The tales that emerge from the countryside do blow the lid on claims of old order prosperity having visited them. A ringside view that doesn't bare all facts. A huge canvas of problems dog them, right from rising debt, few options to converge your thoughts with reality (read jobs) and the agriculture architecture looking increasingly vulnerable. A postcard from the State would certainly have the Vidarbha vicissitude, with claims and counter claims on deaths in the region. The vicious circle can't alone be traced to rising debt of farmers; there are other situational hazards that lead to the blind alley.
The countryside churn
As one begins his tryst with Maharashtra, the temptation is strong enough to explore new territories or at best visit the old ones with a new frame of thought. For the first two outings, the tryst had to be with the district of Ahmednagar (they call it Nagar in local parlance), spread for over a month each time. This odyssey was interspersed with visits to Nashik, Pune and surely the high octane driven territory of Mumbai. A spiritual pursuit-cum-adventure trail, my thoughts had enough twists and turns on occasions more than one. The festive spirit had a cumulative effect as a huge congregation, coming from Dadar, gathered in Shirdi on the occasion of Ram Navmi in 2009. The image of a state, leveraging its iconic status for what the Mumbai Marathon had come to represent, had also to deal with cluttered thoughts that critics were more than pleased to dole out. This strand of negativity looked more of an aberration given the interaction that happened day in and day out.
The countryside churning did look appalling at times, a case of oversight as far as the government presence meant? Sauntered to a corner, women drawn from their home resposibilities were seen selling their wares in the scorching summer months. Resigned to their fate, some had fewer earnings to fall back on for days together. A picture not entirely complete, the young brigade in the family took school classes as seriously as attending to family-run chores in the evening. The school dropout rate having not reached alarming levels, with more joining the learning curve after a break. The Marathi curriculum should not be the lone factor to make them stay away from competing in the Mumbai churn. If there has to be let it be something else as fanatical as no yearn to compete. Well, that would also make them viewed as misfits.
The countryside charm couldn’t be brushed aside either as the large template of the state has a fair sprinkling of numbers from that end. It is not entirely about headcount but the ideas that take off and let the prospective city settler find his groove right in his backyard. A city jaunt would do but for a brief period. Alas similar sentiments could be true of those states who can’t prevent migration as there is not much on table.
Seen from the other side a large number of those born and brought up in the countryside flocking to Mumbai, Pune, Nagpur, Nashik, Kolhapur, the essential anthem has been to seek a livelihood. As in other places, the competing field in Mumbai too brims with foot soldiers from other states. The simmering discontent, few and far, with the extension of support coming from the political class alone need not be the yardstick. Everyone has a fair chance of getting a slice of the big cake that Mumbai illustrates provided different wheels of desire that come from different corners of the nation synchronise with the large idea that the city represents. Effectively, the blistering and boisterous noise of taking a unipolar stand (for one group or the other) doesn't get percolated down to the last frontier of existence. That should be the effort.
As Pune, Nashik and Nagpur looked familiar with sights of bumper to bumper traffic, with few willing to vacate the space for other, the morning cacophony was no less similar to settings in other cities, the sole differentiator being the mad scramble taking wings quite early. This was no different in the vast swathes that local stations occupy in the Mumbai's hinterland.
A battle to slug it out in the heat, dust and grime of Mumbai, with the voice in the countryside getting a fair share would be the perfect statement made from the state. As Mumbai began to figure in more frequently on my outings to the state, the local trains synchronised different thoughts with finesse. Of the different local commutes, the one from Borivalli to Dadar to CST had a stong connect to it. Boarded the one at Borivalli, got down at Dadar and took another one for CST, the commute saw a disciplined tribe boarding and deboarding trains at different intervals. The rush hour was a manageable force given it was 5.30 in the morning. Query of sorts were handled deftly with the belief that nothing succeeds like compassion and candour.
No scorching summer and no wintry nights (well there are few), desisted me from getting a drift of Maharashtra mystique. The sight of overflowing trains coming from North India, finding its way to different platforms was no different from the Mumbai locals, all besieged with the avowed aim of a sizeable number having a dream date with Maharashtra. The Mumbai Marathon would continue with fewer interruptions and Maha Magic with fewer halts as long as the folks in the countryside would continue to be a sought-after force.
P.S. My salute to Devika, the youngest witness in the 26/11 turbulence. All of 11 and raring to go. This is what keeps the spirit of Maharashtra up and moving.
Spoof on Housefull
Losing sleep over Housefull by Puneet Rajhans
Losing sleep over Housefull. Pakistanis have made a request to Indian authorities
Pakistanis have lost sleep ever since Housefull had a worldwide release. THere have been protests breaking out on the streets of Pakistan . A pitched battle is being fought day in and day out. And the authorities are clueless on negotiating this challenge.
The daughter croons" Ma, Mera PPL (Pakistan Premier League) mujhe do." "Kahan se do beti. Yeh Jamaat PPL ke khilaf hai, " the mother retorts.
The son pleads, " Pa, Mujhe PPL me jaane do." "Banne to de beta. PPL kya tujhe mein IPL mein bhi bhej doonga,"the father sighs.
The son-daughter demand (and similar ones) has been shaking the establishment ever since Housefull released in Pakistan. The aftereffects go much beyond the AXE-cum-IT effect that IPL willingly played host to. Broadly, the Housefull number "Apni to jaise taise kat jayegi" is seen as mocking at the existence of Pakistan sans PPL
India is mocking at Pakistan by belting out this number is the belief among Pak denizens. To substantiate this they have more fodder up their sleeves. But this fodder is no match for the fodder that rocked the Indian establishment in the mid-90s. The source of trouble is linked to a peppy number that was played in the early 80s in India and Pakistan. In the earlier Laawaris number, it was the towering Amitabh taking potshots at Ranjeet who had a ferocious appetite to strip women of any scale on screen. Come to the present party. It's not one but three taking shots with pot in hand at Pakistan. The Akki-Reteish-Rampal trio unabashedly tries to run down Pakistan for having no PPL of any shape size and colour given IPL’s three successful sessions with an equal amount of muck and scam trailing it.
The Pakistanis believe that with the phenomenal nature of scams that break out in Pakistani establishment now and then how could they not have PPL where the buzzword is scam and more scam. After giving much thought, the Pakistani establishment has tried to douse the fire hitting the streets by making a request to Indian authorities.
This request has come in a sealed envelope addressed to BCCI. The request is upfront: "We want the services of Lalit Modi. Please transport him lock stock and barrel to Pakistan. “
The request comes with the understanding that since former Shenshah of IPL is facing heat from all possible quarters, the best course for him would be to go underground. And there is no better place than Pakistan which provides sanctuary to all those who make big moves on Indian chessboard.
The Indian side is studying the request, and also making a request to the Sajid duo to omit the Apni to jaise taise number from the movie. In turn, the Sajid duo is studying the request. More requests and case study would be called for.
Let's see what happens as the flck enters the second week. Would there be another request from another sulking neighbour? Hard to figure out at this moment.
For the moment, the housefull banter continues.
The Housefull Party by Puneet Rajhans
The Housefull Party
Recognising Akki and feigning ignorance about Boman
Who would take the cake
The flick as it opened to the House on Friday is still going strong (Tuesday, May 4,2010) with some hiccups coming during the weekend when terror alert kept some movie buffs confined to their homes in Delhi. Since I have attempted the review in mouthshut.com, the same appears here with some significant changes.
All the more as i watched "de dana dan", two days after Housefull release, my take on the new one remains refreshingly positive.
A blast from the trio
The background score of a loser is enough to illustrate that Akki is up against a battle where his shedding this tag looks hardly probable given the deft moves that his destiny plays with him. The transformation of Akshay from a 'punauti' (bad luck) to his belief that he could be a family man one day is the all-compassing string to the plot. Yes one day. To figure out that day you have to sit out for the entire duration of the movie. Dumped and courted for times he knows best, Akki ‘s all -compelling innocence for the entire two-and- a- half hours is a strong element of Sajid’s flick. Had the script been longer, the retrieval act of Akki would have looked increasingly difficult. A bad luck that refuses to divorce him and a string of bad outings with females makes him a loser to a scale.
Bumped and threatened by Arjun Rampal (Malaika's bother) to stay clear of his sis, he seeks refuge in Reteish's home in London. His dislocation from Reteish and Lara Dutt's house is all but done had it not been for a marriage proposal from Jiah Khan. Ensconed in the tempting and slush environs of Italy, he begins his fantasy about his dream date Jiah. Surprise and more surprise, Jiah is in tow with his old pal and tells Akki upfront to divorce her in two weeks as that would enable her to inherit her father's property. Here Deepika Padukone steps in to end his agony once and for all. Here the Sandy part takes the cake where it gets increasingly difficult for him to get the right name. Apart from that misunderstandings between the two continue to crop up more coinciding with when Lara Reteish couple has an outing with them. Chunky Pandey with “Mama Mia, I am just Joking” looks any day better than Boman and Lilette Dubey with their incredulous act. The scenes in Italy has Chunky Pandey making the cut donning the 'Aakhri Pasta' role with a panache
Boman Irani can be easily faulted for his misplaced Gujarati ascent and accent So can be Dubey for her mindless eccentricities.
Peppy numbers like “I don’t know what to do” followed by ' Hey Girl, You are Mine' are a big draw. The last number 'Apni to Jaise Taise' is strong enough to draw the audience to theatres. The climax is a tame one given how identities get discovered in the mindless laugh session that goes on and on. But the Dhanno number is my favourite.
Losing sleep over Housefull. Pakistanis have made a request to Indian authorities
Pakistanis have lost sleep ever since Housefull had a worldwide release. THere have been protests breaking out on the streets of Pakistan . A pitched battle is being fought day in and day out. And the authorities are clueless on negotiating this challenge.
The daughter croons" Ma, Mera PPL (Pakistan Premier League) mujhe do." "Kahan se do beti. Yeh Jamaat PPL ke khilaf hai, " the mother retorts.
The son pleads, " Pa, Mujhe PPL me jaane do." "Banne to de beta. PPL kya tujhe mein IPL mein bhi bhej doonga,"the father sighs.
The son-daughter demand (and similar ones) has been shaking the establishment ever since Housefull released in Pakistan. The aftereffects go much beyond the AXE-cum-IT effect that IPL willingly played host to. Broadly, the Housefull number "Apni to jaise taise kat jayegi" is seen as mocking at the existence of Pakistan sans PPL
India is mocking at Pakistan by belting out this number is the belief among Pak denizens. To substantiate this they have more fodder up their sleeves. But this fodder is no match for the fodder that rocked the Indian establishment in the mid-90s. The source of trouble is linked to a peppy number that was played in the early 80s in India and Pakistan. In the earlier Laawaris number, it was the towering Amitabh taking potshots at Ranjeet who had a ferocious appetite to strip women of any scale on screen. Come to the present party. It's not one but three taking shots with pot in hand at Pakistan. The Akki-Reteish-Rampal trio unabashedly tries to run down Pakistan for having no PPL of any shape size and colour given IPL’s three successful sessions with an equal amount of muck and scam trailing it.
The Pakistanis believe that with the phenomenal nature of scams that break out in Pakistani establishment now and then how could they not have PPL where the buzzword is scam and more scam. After giving much thought, the Pakistani establishment has tried to douse the fire hitting the streets by making a request to Indian authorities.
This request has come in a sealed envelope addressed to BCCI. The request is upfront: "We want the services of Lalit Modi. Please transport him lock stock and barrel to Pakistan. “
The request comes with the understanding that since former Shenshah of IPL is facing heat from all possible quarters, the best course for him would be to go underground. And there is no better place than Pakistan which provides sanctuary to all those who make big moves on Indian chessboard.
The Indian side is studying the request, and also making a request to the Sajid duo to omit the Apni to jaise taise number from the movie. In turn, the Sajid duo is studying the request. More requests and case study would be called for.
Let's see what happens as the flck enters the second week. Would there be another request from another sulking neighbour? Hard to figure out at this moment.
For the moment, the housefull banter continues.
The Housefull Party by Puneet Rajhans
The Housefull Party
Recognising Akki and feigning ignorance about Boman
Who would take the cake
The flick as it opened to the House on Friday is still going strong (Tuesday, May 4,2010) with some hiccups coming during the weekend when terror alert kept some movie buffs confined to their homes in Delhi. Since I have attempted the review in mouthshut.com, the same appears here with some significant changes.
All the more as i watched "de dana dan", two days after Housefull release, my take on the new one remains refreshingly positive.
A blast from the trio
The background score of a loser is enough to illustrate that Akki is up against a battle where his shedding this tag looks hardly probable given the deft moves that his destiny plays with him. The transformation of Akshay from a 'punauti' (bad luck) to his belief that he could be a family man one day is the all-compassing string to the plot. Yes one day. To figure out that day you have to sit out for the entire duration of the movie. Dumped and courted for times he knows best, Akki ‘s all -compelling innocence for the entire two-and- a- half hours is a strong element of Sajid’s flick. Had the script been longer, the retrieval act of Akki would have looked increasingly difficult. A bad luck that refuses to divorce him and a string of bad outings with females makes him a loser to a scale.
Bumped and threatened by Arjun Rampal (Malaika's bother) to stay clear of his sis, he seeks refuge in Reteish's home in London. His dislocation from Reteish and Lara Dutt's house is all but done had it not been for a marriage proposal from Jiah Khan. Ensconed in the tempting and slush environs of Italy, he begins his fantasy about his dream date Jiah. Surprise and more surprise, Jiah is in tow with his old pal and tells Akki upfront to divorce her in two weeks as that would enable her to inherit her father's property. Here Deepika Padukone steps in to end his agony once and for all. Here the Sandy part takes the cake where it gets increasingly difficult for him to get the right name. Apart from that misunderstandings between the two continue to crop up more coinciding with when Lara Reteish couple has an outing with them. Chunky Pandey with “Mama Mia, I am just Joking” looks any day better than Boman and Lilette Dubey with their incredulous act. The scenes in Italy has Chunky Pandey making the cut donning the 'Aakhri Pasta' role with a panache
Boman Irani can be easily faulted for his misplaced Gujarati ascent and accent So can be Dubey for her mindless eccentricities.
Peppy numbers like “I don’t know what to do” followed by ' Hey Girl, You are Mine' are a big draw. The last number 'Apni to Jaise Taise' is strong enough to draw the audience to theatres. The climax is a tame one given how identities get discovered in the mindless laugh session that goes on and on. But the Dhanno number is my favourite.
Priority landing, VIP movement and Chechen duo by Puneet Rajhans
Priority landing, VIP movement and Chechen duo by Puneet Rajhans
The spoof
Priority landing, VIP movement and Chechen duo
The other day Aaliya Khan of Bindaas was ticked off by a traffic cop in Punjab. Hosting a travel show amidst the growing traffic on road, the cop told her, “Madam, VIP movement ho rahi hai. Yeh yahan na karein.” Not an ounce of regret, she continued with her outing. Having seen all this commotion on TV, the Chechen duo who had parked themselves at a Delhi Hotel, discovered a tale they could relate to.
Turning the heat
Having heard about Chechen rebels, it was the turn of the Chechen duo in India to turn the heat. Having been to India for umpteenth times, their distraction was to do with the fair game being denied to them whenever they stepped out of their hotel. Their movement had a big oversized hurdle to cross. In common parlance dismissed as a big, big nuisance and in traffic terminology as VIP Movement, this endeavour of VIPs to step out and step on the gas was increasingly seen as an act of breach of trust and faith. For the public at large, this act of confining themselves to home was a testament to the politicos crude desire to nudge rules to their end, with no solution in sight explaining their growing plight. Dismissed as habitual offenders for not turning on time at a designated place, the public had taken this in their stride. But the Chechen duo weren’t prepared to take the same line.
Tale of disconnect
Their tale of disconnect had a lot of pain and agony aligned to it. Never had the privilege to reach the said destination at the appointed hour, they were subjected to slang of the worst order from their host. Protestations notwithstanding, the host was in no mood to oblige them to enter the premises as they had been declared as habitual late comers. Slighted, they decided to leave the Capital for good and a good five hours before their plane was to depart lest they could be asked to cool their heels for a prolonged session.
As the plane proceeded towards its destination, the brawl in the air was the next act to follow. Done with a purpose and with the might they could command, they exchanged blows and abuse to the best of their capacity. The cabin crew was in a state of heightened alertness, followed with efforts to see calm was restored. To ensure that priority landing was ordered marked with a safe passage for them to the interrogation centre. Not to be pushed aside, they answered each query with equal regard for the law and their interpretation of what VIP movement meant in their country. Beginning with “we don’t have these many VIPs ruling the roost; traffic going full steam even when VIPs are on the move,” the Chechen duo handed a lesson or two for Indian lords. Seeing their delivery of ideas, the authorities saw to it that they promptly departed. Thus after interminable sessions of delay the Chechen duo had a priority as their tagline.
Kismet Konnection to Housefull to Badmaash Company
Slice of luck - the hard way
Puneet Rajhans
Traverse through Kismet Konnection, Housefull and the Friday-released Badmaash Company, the traces and trials of securing relationship through sheer amount of luck is increasingly evident. You seek a company, you end up getting a raw deal; you seek a lady companion, you have brushes with no less than a beast (enough emerge from the body language of the protagonists) ; and when just out on an outing, the patch of bad luck refuses to go. The plot prime movers in the three flicks increasingly stare at the prospects of gaining simple and sublime luck, missing out on more than one tryst.
In the first two outings, Shahid seeking the magic wand, Vidya Balan, and Akshay scouting for true tryst with love for umpteenth time, the aftermath of bets turning against them look fairly prolonged as the lady in a quagmire resembling situation walks out. Against this the Shahid propelled Badmaash Company has him latch on to crossing fingers act time in and time out, with increasing hints of success.
Having been pushed to the wall, Shahid in KK has an endless date with trials and tribulations as his architect-blessed degree can't take him places. Enter Vidya Balan, his ATM card as well as his endless visits to clients get him the cake he longs for. He desires for this chemistry to the point of getting deliverables in place - and no sooner this realisation dawns on him that nothing would move an inch sanning Vidya in person. With Vidya scanning all in place, the obsessive role gets the wheel to move on.
THe Housefull feast secures Akshay a new life after every previous encounter has left him breathless. Three dates, he is literally gasping for breath. Tragic as it could get the life he aspires for and the lady luck he seeks are completely borne out of turn of events that literally demand a slice of luck from him (yes from him); something he desired to visit him at regular intervals.
Badmaash Company has tales move with Shahid crossing fingers to secure the company of Anuksha, seeking big orders from clients and on occasions when his brush with law looks increasingly fatal. Courting or counting on luck isn't that lucid as the path that is traversed repetitively.
Trust me is the line that the protagonists regularly take in the three cocktail-filled surroundings. Only with the belief that this trust would hand them the destiny they desire coupled with the luck quotient that would endure. A BIG TIME is the idea that resonates over and over
POSTED BY GOVINDATIRUMALA AT 9:46 PM 0 COMMENTS
Badmaash Company Not enough to lure you to theatres
Badmaash Company may take the tribe of moviegoers to hit the nostalgic note, when the likes of Manmohan, Mc Donald and the date with foreign shores were in short supply. That apart the emotional connect with the flick can’t be traced.
Strays, limps and comes back to life at the fag end. The year captured is 1994 - smitten by Amitabh-cum-two channel filled doordarshan. From here on Badmaash Company struggles as it carries on the strength of a period largely defined by high import duties. This opens a new front for the gang of four (Karan, Zing, Chandu and Bulbul) to hit the Bangkok firmament back and forth.
Standard, the model of the car, black and white edition, the TOI’s strength, and the cities of Madras, Calcutta, Bombay very much in circulation before they were renamed. Manmohan Singh’s declaration of a drop in the import duties to a new low brings to a halt to their Thai odyssey. Stumped, the gang of four gets on to a new bandwagon, the US; the new moolah raking destination with enough rope being given by Jaju mama. As the promos conveyed, there were tales within tales for conning effort to continue unabated. They were out to con people, with laxity in the US law all showing up. The tools employed to fix the system are old age ones; imprints of ingenuity are few and far.
The flick struggles further in the US-backed plot where the gang of four splits and reunites after much reels have been wasted for a redemption that Karan is seeking. Well, there is nothing as sweet as honesty and all padded up with this flicker of strength, Karan seeks the company of the three. The plot wavers, the numbers not strong enough except the Chaska and fakira, the effort in showing up ideas as a magic wand is a mindless one. Well the stock market, the consumers and the cops have been shown to be patent followers of the hype-cum-bait thrown by Karan - and there it hits a new low.
It all looks staid given the territory the plot moves where the authorities are the first to fix the rut .
A star cast that failed entirely to do justice; a plot that meanders to no effective platform; and the various con acts done with no brawny ideas. The chemistry between Shahid and Anuksha doesn’t add up either.
Except for the Prada the tiger that makes an appearance in Housefull, there is one Prada here as well, the store. The similarity ends there itself.
Puneet Rajhans
The spoof
Priority landing, VIP movement and Chechen duo
The other day Aaliya Khan of Bindaas was ticked off by a traffic cop in Punjab. Hosting a travel show amidst the growing traffic on road, the cop told her, “Madam, VIP movement ho rahi hai. Yeh yahan na karein.” Not an ounce of regret, she continued with her outing. Having seen all this commotion on TV, the Chechen duo who had parked themselves at a Delhi Hotel, discovered a tale they could relate to.
Turning the heat
Having heard about Chechen rebels, it was the turn of the Chechen duo in India to turn the heat. Having been to India for umpteenth times, their distraction was to do with the fair game being denied to them whenever they stepped out of their hotel. Their movement had a big oversized hurdle to cross. In common parlance dismissed as a big, big nuisance and in traffic terminology as VIP Movement, this endeavour of VIPs to step out and step on the gas was increasingly seen as an act of breach of trust and faith. For the public at large, this act of confining themselves to home was a testament to the politicos crude desire to nudge rules to their end, with no solution in sight explaining their growing plight. Dismissed as habitual offenders for not turning on time at a designated place, the public had taken this in their stride. But the Chechen duo weren’t prepared to take the same line.
Tale of disconnect
Their tale of disconnect had a lot of pain and agony aligned to it. Never had the privilege to reach the said destination at the appointed hour, they were subjected to slang of the worst order from their host. Protestations notwithstanding, the host was in no mood to oblige them to enter the premises as they had been declared as habitual late comers. Slighted, they decided to leave the Capital for good and a good five hours before their plane was to depart lest they could be asked to cool their heels for a prolonged session.
As the plane proceeded towards its destination, the brawl in the air was the next act to follow. Done with a purpose and with the might they could command, they exchanged blows and abuse to the best of their capacity. The cabin crew was in a state of heightened alertness, followed with efforts to see calm was restored. To ensure that priority landing was ordered marked with a safe passage for them to the interrogation centre. Not to be pushed aside, they answered each query with equal regard for the law and their interpretation of what VIP movement meant in their country. Beginning with “we don’t have these many VIPs ruling the roost; traffic going full steam even when VIPs are on the move,” the Chechen duo handed a lesson or two for Indian lords. Seeing their delivery of ideas, the authorities saw to it that they promptly departed. Thus after interminable sessions of delay the Chechen duo had a priority as their tagline.
Kismet Konnection to Housefull to Badmaash Company
Slice of luck - the hard way
Puneet Rajhans
Traverse through Kismet Konnection, Housefull and the Friday-released Badmaash Company, the traces and trials of securing relationship through sheer amount of luck is increasingly evident. You seek a company, you end up getting a raw deal; you seek a lady companion, you have brushes with no less than a beast (enough emerge from the body language of the protagonists) ; and when just out on an outing, the patch of bad luck refuses to go. The plot prime movers in the three flicks increasingly stare at the prospects of gaining simple and sublime luck, missing out on more than one tryst.
In the first two outings, Shahid seeking the magic wand, Vidya Balan, and Akshay scouting for true tryst with love for umpteenth time, the aftermath of bets turning against them look fairly prolonged as the lady in a quagmire resembling situation walks out. Against this the Shahid propelled Badmaash Company has him latch on to crossing fingers act time in and time out, with increasing hints of success.
Having been pushed to the wall, Shahid in KK has an endless date with trials and tribulations as his architect-blessed degree can't take him places. Enter Vidya Balan, his ATM card as well as his endless visits to clients get him the cake he longs for. He desires for this chemistry to the point of getting deliverables in place - and no sooner this realisation dawns on him that nothing would move an inch sanning Vidya in person. With Vidya scanning all in place, the obsessive role gets the wheel to move on.
THe Housefull feast secures Akshay a new life after every previous encounter has left him breathless. Three dates, he is literally gasping for breath. Tragic as it could get the life he aspires for and the lady luck he seeks are completely borne out of turn of events that literally demand a slice of luck from him (yes from him); something he desired to visit him at regular intervals.
Badmaash Company has tales move with Shahid crossing fingers to secure the company of Anuksha, seeking big orders from clients and on occasions when his brush with law looks increasingly fatal. Courting or counting on luck isn't that lucid as the path that is traversed repetitively.
Trust me is the line that the protagonists regularly take in the three cocktail-filled surroundings. Only with the belief that this trust would hand them the destiny they desire coupled with the luck quotient that would endure. A BIG TIME is the idea that resonates over and over
POSTED BY GOVINDATIRUMALA AT 9:46 PM 0 COMMENTS
Badmaash Company Not enough to lure you to theatres
Badmaash Company may take the tribe of moviegoers to hit the nostalgic note, when the likes of Manmohan, Mc Donald and the date with foreign shores were in short supply. That apart the emotional connect with the flick can’t be traced.
Strays, limps and comes back to life at the fag end. The year captured is 1994 - smitten by Amitabh-cum-two channel filled doordarshan. From here on Badmaash Company struggles as it carries on the strength of a period largely defined by high import duties. This opens a new front for the gang of four (Karan, Zing, Chandu and Bulbul) to hit the Bangkok firmament back and forth.
Standard, the model of the car, black and white edition, the TOI’s strength, and the cities of Madras, Calcutta, Bombay very much in circulation before they were renamed. Manmohan Singh’s declaration of a drop in the import duties to a new low brings to a halt to their Thai odyssey. Stumped, the gang of four gets on to a new bandwagon, the US; the new moolah raking destination with enough rope being given by Jaju mama. As the promos conveyed, there were tales within tales for conning effort to continue unabated. They were out to con people, with laxity in the US law all showing up. The tools employed to fix the system are old age ones; imprints of ingenuity are few and far.
The flick struggles further in the US-backed plot where the gang of four splits and reunites after much reels have been wasted for a redemption that Karan is seeking. Well, there is nothing as sweet as honesty and all padded up with this flicker of strength, Karan seeks the company of the three. The plot wavers, the numbers not strong enough except the Chaska and fakira, the effort in showing up ideas as a magic wand is a mindless one. Well the stock market, the consumers and the cops have been shown to be patent followers of the hype-cum-bait thrown by Karan - and there it hits a new low.
It all looks staid given the territory the plot moves where the authorities are the first to fix the rut .
A star cast that failed entirely to do justice; a plot that meanders to no effective platform; and the various con acts done with no brawny ideas. The chemistry between Shahid and Anuksha doesn’t add up either.
Except for the Prada the tiger that makes an appearance in Housefull, there is one Prada here as well, the store. The similarity ends there itself.
Puneet Rajhans
Whom to trust and whom not to - the existential dilemma by Puneet Rajhans
Whom to trust and whom not to - the existential dilemma by Puneet Rajhans
Trust me to not trust others
The other day Gilani told National Assembly that Manmohan trusted him to no end endeared many to visit the trust factory. Trustworthy, trust deficit and trust heavy are being bandied about effortlessly ever since this trust act between the two opened up. This trust riposte from Gilani has been made possible by a series of acts (don’t dare to take it as acts of commission and omission) beginning with eye contact followed by handshake and the dialogue delivery that the two played host to.
Well whom to trust and for how long is a query that puts anyone in an existential dilemma, given the propensity to move to a new "engagement of convenience" if the previous one has run out of life and ideas.
Common situations
You have trust built up, rocking and undiluted, in some fairly common situations. When you take an auto, the autowallah would fleece you, is the trust the commuter shares with auto driver. When you board a stuffed bus, there is an inbuilt trust that the wallet you carry would be parted with effortless ease if you don't get a vantage point to secure yourself from this act of deceit. The mindless acts of courting, dumping and courting doesn't endear you to new wave of entrapment as there is enough trust that this alignment would hit a new low sooner than later.
Any travel holiday package that promises to take you to moon and ends up as a drain on your savings and sanity lets enough skepticism to seep in the moment a new package is put on the table. Even for the price of one you are being tempted to take two on board.
The lines played on and on that trust me i will be through thick and thin is the most abused treatment that trust as a baggage could get with trust sinking to a new low, well almost writing its obit. When an employee joins a new place, the HR guy gives you the trust that he would be bringing an added thrust to see to it that you make an early exit if your thoughts don't synchronise with the larger picture of the company. What that larger picture is difficult to decipher as it varies across organisations. Some may be too honest to digest any act of digression; and some may be too sinking to take an offence to any act of impropriety.
All in all a father can't trust son, the mother can't trust daughter , the members of extended family don't trust anyone, and on the larger beat no one trusts the politicos and administrators whose VIP movement and excessive posturing is enough to fail them on trust test. Given the testy times we live in, the testing equations that we are subjected to and trust toast that we fail to raise every time a new entity joins the chorus, there is trust chimes in short supply.
Finally, the mauling that Team India received at the hands of Aussies in the T20 encounter gives the BCCI enough trust that they won’t press for extra five day test when Aussies come later this year. To be on the safer side, let the schedule be for higher one day matches as the five day mauling would be too much for cricketing fraternity to take in their stride.
Trust me. If you can't trust me then you can trust anyone from any part of the world, including my Sworn Foe. Well that is the line that should be played on and on. And we end up playing, "Trust me. If you can't trust me, then you can't trust anyone.
Puneet Rajhans
Trust me to not trust others
The other day Gilani told National Assembly that Manmohan trusted him to no end endeared many to visit the trust factory. Trustworthy, trust deficit and trust heavy are being bandied about effortlessly ever since this trust act between the two opened up. This trust riposte from Gilani has been made possible by a series of acts (don’t dare to take it as acts of commission and omission) beginning with eye contact followed by handshake and the dialogue delivery that the two played host to.
Well whom to trust and for how long is a query that puts anyone in an existential dilemma, given the propensity to move to a new "engagement of convenience" if the previous one has run out of life and ideas.
Common situations
You have trust built up, rocking and undiluted, in some fairly common situations. When you take an auto, the autowallah would fleece you, is the trust the commuter shares with auto driver. When you board a stuffed bus, there is an inbuilt trust that the wallet you carry would be parted with effortless ease if you don't get a vantage point to secure yourself from this act of deceit. The mindless acts of courting, dumping and courting doesn't endear you to new wave of entrapment as there is enough trust that this alignment would hit a new low sooner than later.
Any travel holiday package that promises to take you to moon and ends up as a drain on your savings and sanity lets enough skepticism to seep in the moment a new package is put on the table. Even for the price of one you are being tempted to take two on board.
The lines played on and on that trust me i will be through thick and thin is the most abused treatment that trust as a baggage could get with trust sinking to a new low, well almost writing its obit. When an employee joins a new place, the HR guy gives you the trust that he would be bringing an added thrust to see to it that you make an early exit if your thoughts don't synchronise with the larger picture of the company. What that larger picture is difficult to decipher as it varies across organisations. Some may be too honest to digest any act of digression; and some may be too sinking to take an offence to any act of impropriety.
All in all a father can't trust son, the mother can't trust daughter , the members of extended family don't trust anyone, and on the larger beat no one trusts the politicos and administrators whose VIP movement and excessive posturing is enough to fail them on trust test. Given the testy times we live in, the testing equations that we are subjected to and trust toast that we fail to raise every time a new entity joins the chorus, there is trust chimes in short supply.
Finally, the mauling that Team India received at the hands of Aussies in the T20 encounter gives the BCCI enough trust that they won’t press for extra five day test when Aussies come later this year. To be on the safer side, let the schedule be for higher one day matches as the five day mauling would be too much for cricketing fraternity to take in their stride.
Trust me. If you can't trust me then you can trust anyone from any part of the world, including my Sworn Foe. Well that is the line that should be played on and on. And we end up playing, "Trust me. If you can't trust me, then you can't trust anyone.
Puneet Rajhans
Sathya Sai at P'parthi and soaring temperatures by Puneet Rajhans
Sathya Sai at P'parthi and soaring temperatures by Puneet Rajhans
The heat untamed; the summer scorcher taking away every bit of energy dispensed and restored; and to top it all the green fiddled portfolio getting a new life to carry on in the face of bevy of concrete structures that have sprung up here and there. And as confinement is the inevitability of the exercise of undue haste and preponderance to increasing material confessions, undiluted and unchecked is the order we are asked to pursue. Very tempting to say that these summer days would make you a reclusive lot, but there are others who won't be outplayed to say the least.
As heat delivered equations continued unabated, my chances of making it to Puttaparthi were linked to Sathya Sai's presence as outings to Kodaikanal and Whitefields, Bangalore in the months of May and June have been a regular feature with few odds here and there. The date with the holy town had no summer as the fearsome ally as the temperatures are known to gravitate to points of extreme day after day.
Burdened with the idea that the journey would be all the way to B'lore as Swami won't be there in P'parthi, a chance encounter with residents in station led me to abandon the train at Prashanti Nilayam and seek refuge in one of the blessed parts of the country.
There have had been instances when one had to traverse long distances to secure food of their choice or seek accommodation in vicinity. But these fears were misplaced as each activity this time had a natural flow to it with fewer interruptions. To be honest, the time slot of 9a.m to 6 p.m. could turn the most obedient to a truant in this part of Andhra, but then the gamut of this exercise is essentially to raise your resistance bar - and this had what kept the flock staying put for long.
Three hrs in the hall and crowd multiplying every moment, the wait for Sathya Sai was lengthening by the day. But none were prepared to move away before securing a glimpse. Against all permutations and combinations doing the rounds, Sathya Sai came and stayed for over an hour. THe ones who had secured a vantage point courtesy joining the queue earlier were in the same frame of mind as those seated at the back lanes. All gaze turned towards the Swami, the hall reverberated with songs in praise of the Bhagwan.
With a slew of papers, essentially applications addressed to him, he pored and paused.At times when it looked he was about to exit, another lengthening date with the devotees looked feasible when he made it to other end of the hall (not visible to many) and stayed there for a while. Close to 7 he finally left, with more requests coming his way in sealed envelopes. THese papers are the best way to reach Swami apart from the prayers that come from the heart. With another bountiful of papers he was wheeled in to his abode, and the four-and-a half hour old crowd dispersed as well.
This time as well i coudn't miss out on the long series of prayers propitiating Lord Ganesha and the miracle movement that the Lord provides to us in times of distress. THe Lord's idol right at the entrance of the ashram is a pointer to our enduring faith.
As for the audience, those in attendance at the prayer hall, some looked to be familiar ones; suggesting they had stayed put for the past three to four months
Similar familiar faces were seen at the Western India canteen, with the overwhelming query of what brings you when the temperatures are hardly in persuasive mode. Well, it is Swami and Swami.
As one made his way to Anantpur (inordinate delay for hrs together) and later to one of the twin cities, i couldn't but thank the almighty for having made me venture to P'parthi when the last visible moment in The Capital was through tinted glasses.
Well, Sathya Sai was supposed to visit Kodai Kanal on May 10th and the last heard was this would happen on May 22nd.
The heat untamed; the summer scorcher taking away every bit of energy dispensed and restored; and to top it all the green fiddled portfolio getting a new life to carry on in the face of bevy of concrete structures that have sprung up here and there. And as confinement is the inevitability of the exercise of undue haste and preponderance to increasing material confessions, undiluted and unchecked is the order we are asked to pursue. Very tempting to say that these summer days would make you a reclusive lot, but there are others who won't be outplayed to say the least.
As heat delivered equations continued unabated, my chances of making it to Puttaparthi were linked to Sathya Sai's presence as outings to Kodaikanal and Whitefields, Bangalore in the months of May and June have been a regular feature with few odds here and there. The date with the holy town had no summer as the fearsome ally as the temperatures are known to gravitate to points of extreme day after day.
Burdened with the idea that the journey would be all the way to B'lore as Swami won't be there in P'parthi, a chance encounter with residents in station led me to abandon the train at Prashanti Nilayam and seek refuge in one of the blessed parts of the country.
There have had been instances when one had to traverse long distances to secure food of their choice or seek accommodation in vicinity. But these fears were misplaced as each activity this time had a natural flow to it with fewer interruptions. To be honest, the time slot of 9a.m to 6 p.m. could turn the most obedient to a truant in this part of Andhra, but then the gamut of this exercise is essentially to raise your resistance bar - and this had what kept the flock staying put for long.
Three hrs in the hall and crowd multiplying every moment, the wait for Sathya Sai was lengthening by the day. But none were prepared to move away before securing a glimpse. Against all permutations and combinations doing the rounds, Sathya Sai came and stayed for over an hour. THe ones who had secured a vantage point courtesy joining the queue earlier were in the same frame of mind as those seated at the back lanes. All gaze turned towards the Swami, the hall reverberated with songs in praise of the Bhagwan.
With a slew of papers, essentially applications addressed to him, he pored and paused.At times when it looked he was about to exit, another lengthening date with the devotees looked feasible when he made it to other end of the hall (not visible to many) and stayed there for a while. Close to 7 he finally left, with more requests coming his way in sealed envelopes. THese papers are the best way to reach Swami apart from the prayers that come from the heart. With another bountiful of papers he was wheeled in to his abode, and the four-and-a half hour old crowd dispersed as well.
This time as well i coudn't miss out on the long series of prayers propitiating Lord Ganesha and the miracle movement that the Lord provides to us in times of distress. THe Lord's idol right at the entrance of the ashram is a pointer to our enduring faith.
As for the audience, those in attendance at the prayer hall, some looked to be familiar ones; suggesting they had stayed put for the past three to four months
Similar familiar faces were seen at the Western India canteen, with the overwhelming query of what brings you when the temperatures are hardly in persuasive mode. Well, it is Swami and Swami.
As one made his way to Anantpur (inordinate delay for hrs together) and later to one of the twin cities, i couldn't but thank the almighty for having made me venture to P'parthi when the last visible moment in The Capital was through tinted glasses.
Well, Sathya Sai was supposed to visit Kodai Kanal on May 10th and the last heard was this would happen on May 22nd.
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