Trust the administration to do some good act in totally half-baked pathetic manner. Recently, at Janpath, Delhi Police has started issuing warnings over a loud speaker – they include, amongst others: not to touch unclaimed objects, not to speak to strangers or accept gifts/foodstuff from them, not to hire domestic/shop helps without proper verification etc. All fine. All sane stuff. But, they repeat it ad naseum… in Hindi! Now, anyone knows that Janpath is forever infested with foreigners from all across the globe; the least they could do is to repeat the same in English! Plus, I fail to understand why they have chosen only Janpath – which is just a sliver of Connaught Place (the central Delhi swanky market cum office place)? Or, have I missed listening to it on the other blocks? It wasnt there at Palika Bazar today for sure!

Frankly, it must be pretty irritating for those who work there. To hear the same thing over and over again can be highly grating on the nerves. Plus, those ‘bhonpu‘ shaped speakers aren’t exactly Bose in their sound output – so the screechy voice followed by a shrill chime is as musical as a cat clawing over a blackboard! I stood there having my lunch for approx. ten minutes, and couldn’t take it any further.

Noise pollution continued to hound me today.

I don’t think it was very far in the past when we all survived without mobile phones. So the overdependence on this device pretty much leaves me stone-faced. Agreed it has an absolutely wonderful usage during emergencies. But seriously, to giggle into the mobile phone in the temple is stretching the definition of ‘emergencies’ a bit too far! Every Tuesday, at our neighborhood temple, without fail I witness several pretty young things (yeah, it’s the girls more always!) dodging into a corner, with their hands cupped and faces buried away into sleek handsets. The worst sight could be to see someone chatting on the phone while pouring ‘jal‘ over Shivling!

Actually, I wouldn’t really mind that. Since they do not per se disturb others – that is, if they keep their voice volumes low! It’s the ring tones that I have major problem with. The concept of ring tones and hello tones is awful… esp the latter. I mean, what fun do people get in inflicting torture on the poor hapless soul who has called them by showering an utterly raucous voice called Shamur – cant decide whether this thing is male or female- rasping away inane lyrics like ‘Mera Ranjha Badi Der’ (that’s all that I could comprehend in this hideous song)?

Anyways, that is when you call someone.

But what to say of a situation when you are sitting to read your Shiv Chalisa in the temple…and out wails Himesh Reshamiiya from a friendly neighborhood mobile phone?

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At last the clouds have gathered and rains are imminent. The last one week has been particularly bad. Power situation dipped to an all time low, and all we heard through the black outs were news of one or the other power-station tripping and packing up. 

I have become a certified couch potato; or rather a ‘bed’ potato since my television is in the bedroom. After missing of television for more than a year, I took to watching it with a vengeance. But most viewing is restricted to movies and songs channels, with an occasional foray into news ones. To my horror I discovered that all the money spent on collecting DVD’s last year was sheer wastage since those movies keep repeating themselves ad nauseum. For example, I can puke now if someone so much as mentions the thought of watching No Entry – a movie that I thoroughly enjoyed earlier. Other than Sahara telecasting it alternatively on its both channels (Filmy and Sahara One) every other week, my cable-wallah has also gone overboard there. In fact, my cable-guy has a strange habit of showing those very same films a couple of days earlier that would in any case be shown on Max or Filmy the same week! 
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The answers are as follows:

1. Akayla -  I saw it with friends after a gruelling college lecture. It was difficult to decide which was bad – the lecture or this film. Coming from Ramesh Sippy, with Amitabh Bachchan in the lead, and stable actors like Shashi Kapoor and Jackie Shroff as supporting casts, calling it a ’let-down’ is an understatement. For long I believed this was the worst Amitabh Bachhan movie ever made – till the time I saw Lal Badshah and Mrityudaata; thankfully, for the latter two I didn’t waste time and money at a theater, and also had the option of a remote control in my hand!

2. Bunty Aur Bubli -  Nothing, simply nothing, had prepared me for this - in spite of Ashish warning me about it, I still held hope that the film will be passably entertaining. The jokes failed to make me laugh. And the way the cons were executed, and presented in a stupid collage, put me off completely. By the time the useless and unwanted number ‘Nach baliye’ came on, I threw up my arms – and self out of the theater! This answer would have been easy for Ashish and Anubha to answer, since I had called them up during that song!

Now when I see the song I feel it is quite pleasantly choreographed (Shiamik Dawar at work). And it is aurally above average too.

The film was shown as part of a promotional program which our company had organized for our channel partners in Nepal. Thankfully, like the rest of India, everyone lapped up the movie and enjoyed it.

So, this was a quick and short quiz. The winners will be announced shortly.

Coming up next – An alphabetical tag!

Movie-watching is a passion. And its very rare that I will ever walk out of a theater – however bad the film might be. I dont like missing any part of the film, hence I never walk out on the songs even. For me a movie is not even enjoyable if I miss the advertisements and trailors at the beginning.

Yet, it has happened – not once, but twice over. So, you can imagine how boring these films would have been.

Well, the quiz is – can you guess which two films am I talking about?

Hint One – For long (precisely till 2005), this was the ‘lone’ film that had the dubious distinction in my life for being the one wherein I could not bear to sit through. It was towards the climax when I lost all patience and even forced my friends to leave the theater. Surprisingly it starred my most favorite actor - the superstar of all times, and even currently going strong in his sixties! The film had some hideous songs, one revolving around the hero’s car – a yellow Volkswagon. Name the film!

Hint Two – Can you beat this? The second film I walked out mid-way in a song actually starred the hero of Hint One Movie’s son in the lead role. Admittedly, I returned after the song to sit through the whole movie – but I felt that particular song was really badly placed, and it tested my patience no end. The film went on to become one of the biggest grossers of 2005; the song was quite a big hit, so much so it had a game-show based on its title - though it was the other song from the same film, that starred another heroine in a guest appearance, which rocked the nation! Name the film! (And if possible, the song in which I left the theater).

I think the hints are good enough, no?

Answers to be mailed at quiz@deepakjeswal.com

Last date – June 6th 2006 1900 Hrs.

By the time you read this, I will be flying over mighty Himalayas to reach my homeland. Thanks to the facility on WordPress to change the date/time stamp, I have deliberately kept this post dated 28th April 2006 – the day I bade farewell to Nepal. I will not get time in the morning to post anything.

I am quite confused as to how to write this post. The past few days have been hectic, and I haven’t had time to assimilate my thoughts. I had planned to write a comprehensive post covering key aspects of my stay here, but I think that one will have to wait. 

Right now, emotions are strong, and I will allow myself to immerse in them.

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Shifting back is a tedious process. While coming here things were easy. Initially, there were a series of India-visits and I got all the stuff I required slowly and steadily. Plus, over the months I purchased other useful items here. But going back, means packing them all up in one single go. Thankfully, since the decision was taken I had taken few stuff back last time. However, I realise now that the ‘few’ stuff was precisely that only – few! A large bulk remained, and I am at my wits ends getting them all packed or disposing them off.

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When I woke up today the curfew was on; and it will last till late evening. Yesterday, an aquaintance had called in to inform about it, but I had not paid any heed to his warning. Rumors are as much in abundance here as there are bandhs and agitations. As stated on my main blog a few days back, curfew does not affect me as such, except that the shops are closed.

Half awake, I had trudged to the neighborhood shop to buy milk, and that is where I got the news. Being in a by-lane, the shop was open; it is basically a ‘dhaba’ but keeps stock of milk, water, cigarettes and a few other daily use stuff. Thankfully, I have some basic cooking ingredients, so will manage the food part for today!

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That pretty much summarises the last four days. It’s not that I had some huge work to do by roaming in the city; but, the curfews have resulted in shortages in essentials like vegetables and milk. Plus, of course the immense loss in business with most establishments, including restaurants, closed is a separate problem.

Personally, the biggest hit has been food and entertainment. With the maid’s arrival erratic, one day of cooking means utensils piling up. Plus, as I said earlier, what to cook is the biggest question? The quality of basic stuff like tomatoes and onions is quite off-putting. Restaurants are closed, so I have to rely on a single near-by hotel for dinners once the curfew is lifted in the evening!

Entertainment was primarily watching films – and that is impossible now! Songs continue, however!

Anyways, I will try to put up some thing better and more positive soon. Right now, the overall melancholic mood has permeated within. Meanwhile, the story progresses slowly; two last episodes are left, so that should be done during this week!

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I don’t know how far it is true, but I speak from my personal experience – separating a man from his moustaches is quite an impossible task. Hrishikesh Mukherjee built an entire comedy revolving around mouches – remember Golmaal? And Utpal Dutt’s indignant stand – munch nahin toh mard nahin! I sport one. But unlike Utpal Dutt in the film, I do not twirl any morality into them; but yes, it seems without them I would be not complete.
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It’s been nearly a year and a half in Nepal but I haven’t ever had a haircut here. Now, don’t be unduly shocked. For those who have seen me recently would vouchsafe that I do not carry kale lambe ghane reshmi tresses on my head – in fact, I don’t even flaunt hair long enough to match Hritik’s Mowgli inspired Krishh style (nor do I have the body to go alongwith it, but that’s a different story).

The reason for not trying Nepalese barbers is that, usually, I make once-a-month trip to Delhi, and get the needful done there, in comfortable and familiar surroundings. But during January’s trip I barely stayed home, hence did not get time at all. True, I had few hours in Mumbai, but then, I am confident Priyangini wouldn’t really have relished the idea of having a meet at a barber’s shop!

Thus, by first week February I was looking quite unruly. Also, long hair irritates – whether on my head, or someone else’s. I firmly believe a man looks best with short cropped hair (and inversely, a girl’s beauty is enhanced by her crowning glory). So before the matter got out of hand, I decided to do something about it.

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Zindagi toh hai amal, sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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When the landlady’s bitch (ok, she-dog) started barking again today afternoon, I had thought she was at her vocal best again; she often goes into a hyper-module even if she sees someone climbing an electric pole on the other end of the compound wall (apart from a variety of other inexplicable reasons). Generally, from a back room window, I stand and shout, and she is positively scared of me from there. In a normal course, immediately she would quieten and retreat to her kennel.

Today, it was different. It did not seem a normal bark of a bored canine. There was an urgency, a snappiness, a shortness. Peering out, I noticed her body was stretched like a tense bow, and her eyes were concentrated on the main gate. At first an irritaton swept me; barely a couple of minutes ago, I had walked in from the same gate. From a side window of the same room, I looked out towards the gate; the latch was securely tightened, as I had only done so before entering.

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, sliced midway, lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

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The maid is on leave; in fact, she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, smells, sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

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It is strange that in your comfort zone one tends to take for granted the sounds that emanate in the night. In Delhi, I live very near a railway track; but till the time a staying guest points out, I never realize the bursts of train rambling along at regular intervals. Honestly, how many of you have actually listened to the noise and sounds before slipping into the cushiony tenderness of sleep?

Despite a month of staying here, my sub-conscious has still not befriended the nocturnal acoustics of Kathmandu. Since I stay in a virtual greenhouse, surrounded with a lot of trees and shrubs, the rustle of the leaves is a consistent background score, joined in by insects shrills.

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It is amazing and surprising how a smell, a sound, an incident, or a person can bring back so many memories, like an over-burgeoning river breaking all dams in its innate fury and force. Recently, KJ (a fellow-blogger) had written a wonderful piece on this, perhaps slightly in a different context, but the sub-text remains the same.

In school we had these innumerable ‘boon or bane’ essays to be written (remember, “Is television a boon or bane” etc). Today, I am almost tempted to make a similar attempt at defining whether memories are good or bad for human beings… with arguments for the both sides already sharpening their wits and swords to slaughter each other’s logic down. But I shall refrain from doing any such analysis because, memories, whether rotten or rosy, are part of man’s inherent nature; and my arguing, or wasting precious ink (or let’s say, cyber space) will not solve any matter.

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It’s often said that there are four things that a man seldom forgets in life- his first job, his first shave, his first love and his first lovemaking experience. Although I shall skip the last two in this piece (because I am still too inhibited to really open up on such private matters so candidly), I would definitely love to share my experience on the first two.

My first shave was on technically the last day of the school- it was our farewell party. To state the obvious, leaving school is, for any one of that age, full of mixed emotions- there is excitement as one is crossing an important threshold of life, there is an apprehension as deep as that of Christopher Columbus because the future is suddenly a vast unexplored territory; there is sorrow, for all the friends of yore are going to part and walk different paths; and of course, ironically and paradoxically, there is the immense joy of leaving behind set norms of class timings and uniforms and stern teachers. Amidst this pot-pouri of feelings I ventured my first shave.

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After writing a piece on boredom, here was a week full of happenings, outings, and fun.

Fun, literally, as I happened to watch Masti- a whacko comedy about three married friends who decide to get naughty. Enter Lara Datta, the enchantress who lures them with her alluring beauty. However, beneath the charming face lies a blackmailing mind. So by the time the three harried men get the money (with some rib-tickling moments), the lady is found to be dead. The film is slapstick humor at its best with dollops of double entendres thrown in. I know the reviews of the film have been very harsh, but then these stupid critics should realise that they cannot judge each film with the same yardstick. Masti belongs to base humor, and at that, its a winner all the way.

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