HAPPY DIWALI

Amol Bol 8

‘Jab dost banakar kaam hota hain toh dushman kyon?’
The powerful dialog era seems to be back again. What a punch! ‘Once Upon A Time In Mumbai’ rocks! The story of these films are quite predictable. Thanks to the world cinema and being based on some true events. Still, it holds you and shakes. You don’t get any time to think and assume. Very well penned and performed. Take a bow Mr. Milan Lutharia.
It leaves you awestruck. There’s hardly any bloodshed in this gangster movie. It’s all about mind game. Trust & Betrayal. You don’t have to be an expert on the past of Mumbai underworld and its power games, doesn’t matter. OUATIM tells you all in a very sleek and stylish way in the league of Deewar, Satya & Company.
The film is set in the eighties and it brings the same powerful dialog era back to life. ‘Ab supari lee hain toh choona nahi lagaoonga’ or ‘dono mein se kisi ek bhagwan ko chun lo’ or ‘mauka milega bhi nahi’ (the pause before that is quatil) or ‘duva mein yaad rakhna’ give goose bumps. Almost every alternate line is heavy. Sometimes it becomes too much especially with the ACP Agnell & Sub-inspector Khan dialog. But then it’s about cinematic liberty. Remember, we believed an uneducated brat saying ‘Suna hain lift ki deewaron ke kaan nahi hote’ or ‘main aaj bhi feke huye paise nahi uthata’.
In OUATIM the magical words of Rajat Arrora come from the real superstar Ajay Devgan. The man literally lived Sultan Mirza. He simply wears the godfather attitude. His style, get up & his walk. Oh my god! Killing. Finally, our very own serial kisser has put his lips at the right spot. He’s a revelation. Emraan has efficiently showed the transformation from a spoilt greedy brat to a don via a sweet love story. Yes, the leading ladies too have something to do in this completely male dominated flick.
I don’t want to go in the debate of ‘ethical’ and ‘unethical’ crime. But looking at the character of Sultan Mirza and the current situation of our cities, I really felt somewhere inside that ‘are such Sultan Mirzas require in each and every town in India who love the city and wish the city should be worry free?’

Amol Bol 7

Sundays are boring at some times. Especially, when there’s no great movie to watch. When there’s no good company. When there’s no place remaining to hang around. When simply, you are not in a good mood for no reason. It was that kind of Sunday.

Me and Deepali were roaming on the streets aimlessly and finally settled down in a public garden. It was before Abeer’s birth. We used to visit the gardens, then, quite often. We used to observe the kids, playing with their parents on the slides, jumping on the lawns or playing hide and seek around the bushes.

The garden was full house as it was a Sunday evening. Most of them were families. Some group of young boys and girls chatting and laughing loudly. Few couples found the shelter to hide from the world around. Some senior citizens were chatting. Some health conscious people jogged with the earphones on. The hawkers were selling anything and everything that a person can consume in a garden. From roasted groundnuts to sukhi bhel to chai to idlis to wadas to papers to garlands of flowers. There were beggars and hijras too.

We both were chatting and munching on the nicely roasted groundnuts. Suddenly, a light and soft thing bumped on my head and then on my pats. I looked down to find it a big red balloon followed by the owner – a sweet little girl of around 5. The colour and curves of the balloon were competing with her chubby chicks. The urge of getting that balloon back was the only thing in her eyes. I gave her balloon back. Her impeccable smile only could explain her joy. She jumped with joy and went back to her parents – a young couple like us. Her father was talking on a cell phone and her mother’s eyes were guarding the sweet little daughter. There was an expression of ‘thank you’ in the mother’s eye. The father hardly knew about the balloon.

With an obvious curiosity our eyes followed the cutie pie and her balloon. All her attention was that round red thing. She was tossing it in the air and was trying to catch it with her tiny little hands. She used to be succeeded in few attempts and then her joy used to be doubled. Then suddenly, something caught my eyes in the background. There were two sisters watching this game of that girl with great interest. The younger one’s eyes were rolling up and down with the ball while the elder one was watching the girl and her parents. Both the sisters were almost of the similar age of the girl was.

But they were different than that of our little girl who was playing with the balloon. They were not with their parents. They were playing with their entangled dirty hair. The torn frocks were tucking on their skinny bodies. They hardly knew that one has to wipe with a tissue paper off the fluid flowing from the nose. They were not wearing any footwears. The only common thing between them and the little girl was innocence. Pure innocence. And their aim was same – the balloon.

The girl again tossed it in the air and then came a breeze. The light balloon rode on the breeze and swung for a while. All three girls chased it. Finally, it settled on a row of thick bushes behind the fencing. Suddenly the chase for the balloon stopped then and there. There was a funny mixture of a big question mark and tears in the girl’s eyes. The place was not far away from the bench on which her parents were seated. She looked at her parents for help. Her father still didn’t finish his phone call. Her mother seemed to be helpless. She pulled the sleeve of her husband to draw his attention. He had lot of big things to do while sitting in the park. He simply ignored it and made big eyes at his wife for disturbing in the middle of his phone talk. The helpless mother tried to console her daughter.

The two sisters were watching all this. Now, they knew that the girl does not own the balloon anymore. They were happy. Being familiar to the park inside out they penetrated through the barb wires and reached to the bushes and finally the balloon and returned with the same ease in moments.

The younger one was holding the balloon with great care. It was her dream. She earned it. She was going to play it. There were so many aspirations bulging out from her eyes. The poor former owner of the balloon was watching her favourite thing going away from her.

But what we witnessed next was an eye opener. The thousands of pages of literature or hundreds of movies or even hours of preaching could not have achieved this. We learned it in a few moments.

The two beggar sisters went to the little girl and handed over the balloon with the same innocent smiles.

Amol Bol 6

I remember, as a child, going with my father to see the Ganapati procession.
I used to wrap my whole palm over his huge forefinger, still leaving some space on it. I still can feel the roughness of his finger due to pulling heavy sacks of rice, wheat, sugar, etc. He was a bulky figure for a man. He used to make me sit on his broad shoulder. I was safe, secured and used to be proud over there on the shoulders of my tall father. That was the best place in the world, above more than six feet from the soil, offering me a great view of Ganapati. He used to hold me tight so that I can offer prayers with folded hands to each of the Ganesh idols passing by or I can clap using both the hands. Sometimes, he used to let me dance with the young bunch of dancers and musicians. But his sharp eyes followed me and his arms cuddling me to protect. He even used to take me along with my big family for the Melas or Jatras. I remember each and every moment spent in those places.
I spent my whole childhood in the narrow lanes of the city. At that time each festival was a fun for us.
Even a Bandh or strike was a merry time for us. The whole street became our cricket ground. There were no pedestrians to interrupt our game or no shopkeeper to scold us. Our champions had no threats like breaking of a glass while hitting a six or hitting with a vehicle while diving for a spectacular catch. Sometimes, the elders used to call us back home when the strike turned violent. But it was on a rare occasion.
I had plenty of choices and bountiful freedom available to enjoy my life. As the days passed and we entered into teenage, I also had secret crush. I also enjoyed watching taboo posters and movies on the terrace of our chawl. I also had secret places to meet. Then I used to go to Ganapati processions. Now, to dance in front of the Bappa and to impress the girls who came to watch us dancing.
We went mad when a film star or a VIP used to visit our city.
In my young age, I also joined a political party. I developed certain ideology. I also walked a lot with our party candidate to urge for the votes. I attended each of their rallies. I also attended rasta rokos. I also went to the jail.
Now also I go to jail….. more often. No. I am not a criminal.
I am forced to go to each of the places I used to go as a child or as a teenager with an innocent joy. In fact, now I don’t need my father to give me a special place for a privileged view. But I hardly can enjoy. In fact, I don’t enjoy anything at all. I see many young fathers as me gathering for a Ganesha procession. They hold their kids high to give them the best possible view. I see the impeccable happiness overwhelming on their tiny faces. I remember my kids. When will it be possible for me to give this joy to them?
No. I earn that much to give them such small chunks of bliss. But I can’t. The four letters of ‘duty’ have created an invisible wall between me and my family. They don’t complain. But their distressed faces say it all. My wife wears a mask of smile and assures them about my coming home and taking them for the Jatras. But she knows, she doesn’t carry that much a strong luck to make it happen in real.
I am a cop. Not a super cop! A mere constable who has to attend every public function or a rally for the protection. Who has to keep his ideologies or favorite parties at bay and to pay attention to the safety of the leaders of any ruling parties. He has to obey the orders of his seniors. He doesn’t have a brain to think. He doesn’t have a mind to feel. He doesn’t have a body to demand. I am a cop. A cop who knows to follow the instruction. I have to disguise a pseudo authoritative attitude to make people afraid of me.
I get tired. I get frustrated. I get forlorn. I get lonely. And I remember my father used to say me about doing a job that carries an honour unlike him. Really, I pity myself.

-----------------

Yesterday, I saw few cops watching the road cricket during the Bharat Bandh! They didn’t tell me this. But I felt, they could.

Amol Bol 5

“It was a kind of love at first sight.

I saw him for the first time and he took me over.

He is a kind of guy who made me fall in love again.

He is the reason of my sleepless nights and he doesn’t even know it.

I crave for his smile.

I can watch him for hours without a blink.

He made me feel proud of myself.

He is in my thoughts by day and nights even while my husband’s around.”

************************

****

***

**

*

This is my wife Deepali for you on her new love interest, Abeer – our 2 ½ months old son.

Amol Bol 4

Dil pe mat le yaar!

A truck fully loaded with steel rods. Goes without saying, the rods can’t fit in the carrier and they are dangling out at the rear side of the truck. Obviously, the rusted steel rods are not tied together or there’s not a single piece of red showing the danger to the vehicles following the truck.
************************************
A family man with his entire family (himself with his wife and 2 kids) laden on the bike sees an amber light from a distance. Still, he doesn’t bother to stop or even slow down as the signal is going to turn red till he reaches. He increases his speed and vrooms to surge ahead. The signal turns red and the adjacent one turns green. The vehicles, already half way down, geared for the daily race to destinations are unleashed. Our family man makes his way out by risking the lives of the whole family by setting an example of how to break a rule successfully before his children.
***************************************
These days, the huge water tankers are often seen penetrating through the heavy traffic. I think they are issued a permit only if they fulfill the following terms while driving on the road.
- Drive through the right most lane which is usually meant for the light vehicles.
- Take an immediate right or left turn wherever you wish.
- Take a ‘U’ turn at least once.
- And most importantly, don’t put a lid on the tanker so that the water could drip heavily on the concrete road and let the two wheeler riders enjoy the slides on the road.
**********************************************
Someone suggested me not to mind of these and many such incidents in reply to the first post of my blog. So, I have decided to do so. Let’s see how far my resolution remains unbroken.

Amol Bol 3

The happiest Ajmal Kasav

The Govt of India’s soft attitude towards the international criminals has been proved once again and that provides a reason for Ajmal Kasav to be happy.

The Bhopal Union Carbine gas tragedy has once again showed India’s soft corner towards a criminal. As the reports from the media say, Warren Anderson was not only let off but was escorted to leave the country safely. We all saw the great escape of Mr. Anderson on the television. And 26 years later, when the same issue has surfaced again, the man is of 89 years old today. It seems highly impossible to bring him back to India for interrogation. Moreover, he might be freed again, now officially.

Ajmal Kasav – our royal prisoner – must be watching it closely. People and our media have forgotten him for a while. So he can be assured that he will remain in the prisons of India and live a secured life for at least 26 years. After a long long time when the issue of Mumbai attack will be raised again, we’ll remember him. The decision makers at that will hardly be able to connect to the gravity of the issue and Kasav might be freed.

Although they say that ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’, sometimes raising an eyebrow too can translate your opinion. If the principles of ahimsa are so strong, what’s the need to keep the handsome share of the budget for the defense?

May it be Anderson, Afzal Guru or Kasav, it’s time to make foot forward and not to encourage them. It’s time to decide and not to discuss.

Amol Bol 2

Customer ‘rare’ service

Gone are the days when service used to come first. When people used to know you by your face and your name. You used to be feeling at home being at the service providers’ places. They used to serve you just because they wanted you to be happy. They never put the typical management quotes like ‘customers are important. Let’s keep them happy’ or never put the taglines such as ‘we serve you better’. They didn’t even know what the customer service is, still they used to serve better.

While installing my internet connection, the service provider’s executive told me that I can register my complaint with an e-mail. If my internet is down, from where am I supposed to send an email?

You have to be extremely lucky to be taken care of by the selling companies. First of all you should have heart to call them and get entertained.

It’s sounding funny. But it’s true. Where does a customer go once he is sold with a product or a service?

Our desi companies have opened the call centres to attend the customers keeping their US counterparts as the role model. Once you call them, you have to undergo the process of pressing buttons. Most of the times you miss the buttons. If by chance you press a correct one, then a standard tone of ‘All our executives are busy at the moment’ keeps your irritation level high till you disconnect the call. (I think these people must have a hidden agreement with the pharma guys who sell the tablets for high blood pressure.) I celebrate with friends and family when I get to hear a telephonic tone of the lady or a man sitting with the mouthpiece and I hardly get a chance to do so.

If it’s about a complaint or an inquiry at a government office, then we are already used to it. But it keeps on happening with the private companies also. They call you hundred times to get your appointment to sell their product. But then you are a told story for them. You are not going to get any reward points. Each time you get a different voice to talk to. Then you again have to tell all your kundli to the person. He or she doesn’t know the whereabouts of previous conversation. (They also might have a mutual contract with the telecom companies.) Again you have to tell everything to them. Then they give you a simple solution which says your query will be taken care of in 48 hours. Now these 48 hours don’t include weekends, public holidays and other offs. The funniest part is they record your number. Previously I used to think this a very ideal system. But later on I discovered that this is an ideal system for them. They can easily understand you and your nuisance value. This doesn’t end here. Now it’s our turn to call them hundred times to get your work done.

If you go to their premises, then the customer care executives show you their efficiency. You are given a token and made seated for hours for the smallest work. They have only couple of executives to attend you. Ek free advice. Go to their place with eatables, magazines, water and some ice. Yes! You require it to put on your head. Otherwise you cant keep your cool. And above all, nobody can guarantee that this is your only visit for that work.

As a customer, least we expect is an assurance of a work done with a smile. Dont we deserve that? Globalization brought us opportunities. But are we really mature for those?

Amol Bol 1

June 21, 2010

On the busy street on a weekday morning, everyone was trying to push their wheels to make an inch for themselves. The early shower was making the life even hell. As we all were crawling in the middle lane to reach our destinations, suddenly the left indicator of the car ahead started blinking. Thanking god for creating a space for me, I tried to shove in the empty space created by the car moving to its left. But it was my turn to be surprised and brake my car. There she was. The reason of that slow moving traffic.

A small puppy, shivering with cold and fear, was trying to make its way out of that horrendous traffic. Poor puppy must be of 10-12 days old. She was trying to stand firmly on her tender feet on the muddy surface. Vehicles behind me already started shouting out with different sounds of horns. Surprisingly each driver was trying to save her life by avoiding the circular space of 5” diameter around her. That small angel was the cause of that whole mess in the rush hour. But no one was even complaining.

Then, 2 cute looking young girls got down from their car, who could never put their highly priced heals in the mud, and took that even muddier small puppy in their hands. They took her on the side of the road. Took some hot milk from the chaiwala on the street and gave it to the puppy. She happily drank all of it.

The traffic had no time to see the after scenes. It started moving a bit faster. Me too made my way. But what a sight it was! The whole traffic was stopped by a small puppy and each one was trying to drive cautiously to avoid any mishap with her.

(Excerpt from a news from Daily Sakal)

On a newly constructed concrete road in a suburb of Pune, some unknown vehicle rammed over an unknown pedestrian sometime in the midnight. The victim couldn’t survive and died on the spot due to brain hemorrhage. Not a single vehicle stopped to help him. The worst part was yet to happen. No one put his stranded dead body aside. More and more vehicles drove over the dead man till a patrolling van could find it.

Were the drivers in both the cases come from the same species… human?