BCCI : Board of Crooked and Corrupt India

Arundhati shot this at our neighbourhood salon after we both had our summer trim. I am off tonight. Will be back after the 24th. I shall miss this space desperately! Adios Blogdosts!
**************

This appeared in the Sunday Times today....

                                  BCCI – Board of  Crooked and Corrupt India

Many years ago, I joined a Kho Kho Club in my area and was soon elected its President for Life. I promptly hand picked board members from a coterie of chamchas who understood the commercial potential of Kho Kho and were willing to play ball with me. At the time, Kho Kho was just about taking off in India, but I was confident if we nurtured the game and spotted the right players, we would be able to convert Kho Kho into a major sporting event that would attract big  money. My board members agreed this was an excellent idea.  But in order to make Kho Kho a national obsession, we would have to sex up the game and change its format to suit television. Of course, we  imported the best cheer leaders from Ukraine.  Nobody had a problem with that, except purists of Kho Kho who insisted we were bastardising the  game and prostituting players. Not so, declared the stake holders, claiming it was a good move, given that Kho Kho had lost its sheen over time and become a bit too slow and boring. Veteran players of  Kho Kho were not  happy about the faster format, but we took care of them by hiring Kho Kho legends to provide commentary and generally guide us during the changeover. Their expertise didn’t come cheap. But their names added credibility and respectability to Kho Kho. There was no looking back after that. Soon our Kho Kho brand took off and money started to pour in. Our players also benefitted greatly, especially those from small town India. Advertisers queued up to sign our Captain, while hysterical fans begged us to host more and more matches across the country.

Mogambo khush hua!

Suddenly, something went phut! just as we were about to grow even bigger.I blame it on a few rotten eggs. We became media’s favourite punching bag overnight.  Jealous rivals plotted and schemed to get rid of me! Imagine! ME!!!! As if that was possible or easy! I was the Patron Saint of  Kho Kho  for heaven’s sake. The board members were my friends.We were members of a cosy club. I knew too much about them.They knew too much about me. But it seems there were traitors in my midst and I was caught off guard. Then they began pointing fingers at my poor, innocent son-in-law! What did he have to do with anything? He was just another Kho Kho fan, supporting his favourite team. Maybe he had placed a pizza bet here and there. Is that a crime? As if that was not bad enough, my Captain came under attack as well. This was too much! Of course , I had given the talented Captain a decent job and also  employed a few other top players. Is that also a crime  -  if so, under which law? Absurd! Critics should have known I am a law unto myself. And that my word is law. Ours is a private body. We don’t owe an explanation to anybody - how dare people ask for it? Then came the ultimate insult – some idiots had the audacity to ask me to step down. Resign. Why? Which specific law had I broken? Prove it, I tell you! These rascalams have no other work or what?

Anyway, since the situation was getting out of control, I had to do something quickly.  Stepping down was out of the question. I would step aside… not down. Big difference. It is my show, after all. And so it shall remain forever and ever. Those ungrateful traitors can do nothing to me or my son-in-law. Fortunately, my suggestion was accepted by everybody and a stooge stepped in to take care of the mess I had created. This is how it should be. We have to protect one another and stand together. All this talk of corruption and crookedness and compromise will soon be forgotten. After all, what can be bigger than the great game of Kho Kho in our country? So, in the interests of this great game, I appeal to fans to forget everything and just enjoy the sport. See how even the media has stopped hounding me. They have found a new target – a  flashy Kho Kho team owner who placed bets on his own team. So?There are far more important national issues to deal with than Kho Kho – believe it or not.

As for the fate of my Captain. Why worry? Captains come and go. It is the game that matters. And that my dear countrymen, will definitely go on. What’s the bet?????

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

And this appeared in Mumbai Mirror yesterday...

                                       Rabiya’s lament…

 It’s been just three days since Rabiya buried Jiah - her beautiful, doomed daughter . There can be no bigger tragedy in the world than for a mother to lose her precious child. And if suicide is the cause of the child’s death, then the depth of that tragedy is still more immeasurable. 25-year-old Jiah Khan is gone. God bless her troubled soul. But what becomes of  Rabiya Khan , her grieving mother? One out of three lovely daughters is no more. That void is a permanent  one. Understandably, the other two girls have their own lives to live, and will move on eventually. As will neighbours, friends and other relatives. That’s life. From this moment on, it will be Rabiya and her memories. Rabiya and her sorrow.Rabiya and her regrets. It is the future of the twice divorced Rabiya that will require emotional cushioning as she deals with the tragedy that is likely to haunt her for the rest of her life.

I have been talking to several film people during the past few days. Some of them knew Jiah and Rabiya quite well. A prominent film maker recalled the copious tears of joy Rabiya had shed after watching the first screening of Jiah’s debut film, ‘Nishabd’. According to him, Rabiya was so overcome with undisguised happiness, it was almost like she was avenging the trauma of  her own thwarted dream ( Rabiya was a small time starlet). Apparently,right after the lights came on, Rabiya kept repeating how her daughter would be the biggest star in Bollywood after the film’s release. Around her, appreciative friends were equally busy declaring Jiah the next best thing in movieland. Jiah herself was slightly more restrained, but it was obvious that mother and daughter were more than confident that Jiah had already conquered Bollywood. That the film crashed with a resounding thud, must have been the first of many shocks and several disappointments to follow. And this is where the tragedy began…

Rabiya’s own film career had never taken off. The bitterness of that rejection must have gnawed at her insides for all those long years when she waited for Jiah to grow up and reverse those old rejections. Showbiz is full of similar stories. Ambitious mothers who were once stars themselves are known to aggressively push their nubile daughters into the business , hoping against hopes that the girls will succeed where they themselves didn’t. Right now, in Bollywood, there are half a dozen failed/ disappointed actresses trying desperately to promote their good looking daughters ,  in the vain hope that the girls will hit the elusive jackpot. Alas, that rarely happens. And when their efforts don’t succeed, these mothers transfer their frustrations onto the daughters, and exert pressure on them to try harder… harder….harder. Some young girls can handle the pressure. Others crack. As Jiah did. Her last message to her mother is particularly poignant (“I love you hamesha…”). And one hopes her mother wasn’t one of those who made Jiah feel like a loser for no real fault of  hers.

The day the decision was taken to rename the then 16- year- old, is the day her destiny was sealed. Switching from being a carefree, free spirited  Nafisa to a sultry, sexy Jiah may not be such a big deal for another girl. For Jiah it clearly was a challenge she couldn’t quite handle. Had that rebirth gone according to plan, had she found success and security, she would have been alive. Given her  temperament, perhaps the big mistake was for Jiah to live by herself. There were early warnings of her fragile emotional state when she had attempted suicide eight months ago. What she needed more than anything else was love and reassurance.Someone to come home to. I am sure Rabiya did provide both to the best of her ability, after she relocated from London and came to Mumbai to be with her. But such is the irony that often those closest to you, miss those all -important signals. And when the worst happens, they have to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives.Raising daughters is always difficult ( Manju Kappor did a wonderful book on this troubling subject). Perhaps it’s time for someone young and spunky to write a book on ‘raising’ mothers. Not for nothing is the mother-daughter relationship described as the most complex one on earth.

 Sadly, in this terrible saga, there’s one more mother to think about – Zarina Wahab…. a sensitive actress I have always admired.Sooraj Pancholi, her son, is unfortunately but inextricably caught in the vortex of this tragedy. Zarina says he is more like her than his volatile father. The Lord be praised! “He is a quiet, obedient bachcha,” she told me.

 As a mother, I feel for her. And for grief stricken Rabiya, of course. 

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

And this in The Week .... as you can tell, this has been a heavy duty writing phase! I wish going on a short vacation was a little easier!

                        The M-Word

Even as a teenager, I never suffered from period cramps. I was fortunate.Perhaps my training as an athlete helped me to overcome the monthly menace that paralyses so many young lives. I could hardly afford to confess to my trainer that I wouldn’t be running / jumping at the highly competitive sports’ meet because I was menstruating.No sportswoman enjoys such an indulgence. No matter what, you play the game.Period cramps can wait. One of my daughters gets laid up for two straight days a month, doubled up with pain and unable to crawl out of  bed. Nothing helps. Not even a hot water bottle. Fortunately, today’s urban teen is raised to take menstruation in her stride as compared to the nasty old days. I notice the naturalness with which teenagers mention their ‘condition’ to friends, boys in the group included. This is a huge change from earlier times when girls were made to feel like they had a highly infectious communicable disease by their own families. Mothers would strike their foreheads in despair and curse their fates for giving birth to daughters, making a bewildered twelve year old feel guilty, ashamed and miserable for bleeding. I escaped such a fate, but my sisters didn’t. They were treated like outcastes and made to hide any evidence connected to their biological cycle. The word ‘menstruation’ was never to be uttered in the presence of men folk. And those four ‘unclean’ days had to be endured in discreet isolation. It is in this context, that I applaud the efforts of three entrepreneurs from the National Institute of Design (NID), who have launched Menstrupedia.com, a website that addresses various aspects of puberty , along with exploding the incredible and annoying myths associated with menstruation. Myths that make a woman feel ‘impure’. Or advise her to stay away from pickles, not shampoo her hair or stay out of the kitchen. Aditi Gupta, Tuhin Paul and Rajat Mittal have earned the gratitude of several young girls who may not have the sort of access to responsible information when they most need it. Mothers are often hesitant or even ill informed themselves, leading to much confusion and self-loathing in the teenager’s mind.

Since it is a free website in English, the three bright sparks have decided to broaden their reach by translating the content into several languages. What’s more, their latest objective is to launch comic books in various Indian languages to  further simplify the information. They are trying to generate funds for this project and are also looking for volunteers. Their target is pretty modest –  5 lakhs is all they need. So far, they have managed to collect half the amount, mainly from family and friends. It is an initiative worth supporting, given their commitment to it. Ambitious and motivated, they also hope to make these comics  available in international languages. For the moment, the focus is on setting their ‘characters’ for the comic books, by getting the details right. For this purpose, they are building a library of  ‘looks’ from different regions, so that it will be easy for  readers to identify with these characters.

I thought how much easier life would have been for my generation had we not had to battle age-old taboos and hide our monthly affliction from the world. The worst ignominy during school days was to stain the pristine white uniform and deal with the stares and sniggers that followed. Today, with superior  sanitary products, and better awareness of personal hygiene, some of these issues have been taken care of. But not all. Despite more openness, girls are still emotionally and psychologically hampered by a society that makes them feel ‘unclean’ on some level and excludes them from auspicious functions. Till such time as we relook at our antiquated attitudes to the subject, our female teens will be forced to adopt a brave façade and project a fake nonchalance during ‘that’ time of the month. A time that is indeed difficult and delicate. For PMT is definitely not a myth. It is a recognized medical condition that affects millions of women worldwide. Some of us have had to take the inescapable monthly mood swings in our stride and soldier on. But for those whocontinue to suffer month after month, perhaps a quick visit to Menstrupedia will provide much needed comfort.

Jiah Khan - my perspective on her suicide

This appeared in Mumbai Mirror today....

                             Is suicide the only option….?

It’s yesterday once more. I didn’t know Jiah Khan. But that hardly matters. A young life has been snuffed out abruptly and tragically. And that’s what matters. We are talking about Jiah because she was famous, beautiful and a Bollywood actor. Or else, she would have been just another number in the growing list of young adults who seek an out before their life has even begun. The word ‘suicide’ has such a terrifying ring to it.And yet, so many alarmingly young people are opting to end their lives rather than face the challenges reality poses. The most vulnerable appear to be attractive females in the glamour business. And there are reasons why they reach for that rope or dupatta and hang themselves. Reasons that are so poignant and heart breaking, it makes you wonder why anybody would want to get into showbiz in the first place. Out of the thousands who flock to Bollywood, only a handful succeeds. Years and years of struggle go into that tenuous hope that there will be a rainbow at the end of those stormy clouds  hanging over their tender lives. Over the years, I have watched other Jiahs, with deepening sorrow and a growing sense of despair. And each time, I have felt like warning all those other young girls waiting in the wings to stay away from this lethal business…. unless they possess nerves of steel. There’s no place for losers and has-beens in Bollywood. This is not cynicism talking. This is experience.

My mind keeps going back to Parveen Babi. It’s a scarily similar tragedy with an almost identical story line and cast of characters. Jiah’s boyfriend Suraj Pancholi , is being questioned by the cops ( It’s tempting to add – like father, like son, in this case). Jiah’s depression and mood swings have been referred to by Mahesh Bhatt as possible reasons for her suicide. He should know! Ironical, but those were the exact explanations given for Babi’s death. Mahesh had shared a close relationship with Parveen. Then again, Jiah’s mother has mentioned her daughter’s recent decision to opt out of  Bollywood and become an interior decorator. Parveen Babi had done precisely that! Uncanny. Showbiz is a voraciously hungry monster that devours the unwary. It extracts an enormous price, Jiah aka Nafisa has just paid it.  Watch out!There will be other Jiahs as well. And yet, Jiah had it better than most. She’d experienced the intoxicating pleasure of seeing herself on the big screen… and not in just any old B-grade skin flick, but opposite a Bollywood legend – Amitabh Bachchan himself. A better debut would be hard to find. Moreover, it was a role that suited her unusual personality – a case of inspired casting. Jiah played  the desi Lolita, nubile, unambiguously sexual, predatory, wanton and unconventional. Perhaps it was these very qualities that did her in. Jiah was unlike the typical filmi heroine ( ditto for Parveen). Jiah was an outsider – a London girl trying her luck in the closed, incestuous world of Bollywood. Yes, she had got her dream break. And two other big banner films with top stars like Aamir Khan and Akshay Kumar. But  after that? Jiah  languished  on the sidelines for three years. Perhaps she simply didn’t fit in. And unlike another London girl (Katrina Kaif), Jiah didn’t meet a patron saint called Salman Khan, either. Had that happened, she’d still be alive. And successful to boot. Jiah probably imagined she could hack it by herself,  relying on talent and good looks. Poor Jiah. Little did she know there are thousands like her on the fringes of Bollywood, hanging around producers/directors and just about anybody connected to a studio, in the hope of getting a role. Any bloody role. In retrospect,maybe it was Jiah’s early and comparatively easy success that killed her.

Think about it. Had she not got those breaks and tasted fame (limited – but fame, nevertheless), she’d have struggled for a while and gone back to where she’d come from. Gone back to her family in London and a more conducive environment. But instant  success is often a nasty beast. Jiah obviously believed it wouldn’t be long before she hit the big time and made it as an A-lister.Unfortunately, Jiah miscalculated. Bollywood is an unbelievably cruel place unless you know how to crack the system and play ball with the powerful names that exert such a vice-like control over the business.There is no place for fragility here. Jiah didn’t factor in the fierce competition either. With each passing day, a new ‘face’ is born in Bollywood. That same face becomes history soon enough.Sexy, young heroines appear and disappear in a flash. Those who manage to hang in there are either a part of the film fraternity, or plain fortunate. According to rumours, rejected and dejected, Jiah soon became a player who belonged to a desperate set – attractive, hard up women who hang around at parties and events hoping someone will notice them and cut a deal. Ugly situations and compromises follow…. it’s a nasty story. Bollywood’s party girls are easy meat. Sharks feed on their insecurity. Exploit them mercilessly. And then dump them. Soon , money runs out.  What happens next is a straight descent into hell. Drugs, booze, prostitution….till there are no takers left even for that kind of diversion. Boyfriends, husbands, gal pals, secretaries, hangers on, free loaders… any number of people come and go. But they too swiftly find other targets. Loneliness and panic follow. Demoralised and defeated, with nobody to turn to, these girls become clingy and possessive. Paranoid and suspicious. Boyfriends tire of their constant nagging. God knows what really happened between Suraj and Jiah that fateful night.But whatever did transpire, it must have been painful enough  for Jiah to take that ultimate step (shades of Viveka Babajee’s last moments).When all hope finally vanishes, there is just one option left. The ceiling fan whirling ceaselessly overhead sends out a tempting signal – offers an immediate exit from misery and humiliation. Jiah gave up… and took it.

Poor Jiah Khan. May she finally find peace in a place that is kinder to her than Bollywood  was… or can ever be.

That's my Turkish friend Ekin ( which means 'wheat') and me, strolling through the very area that is currently barricaded and the scene of violent protests (Taksim). We walked into this wonderful old hotel from another era.... and lingered there, admiring the beautiful objets... the flowers.... the carpets... the view!

                                                                               ****************
This appeared a few weeks ago in The Week.... I forgot to post it! Sorry!!

                            Better than the original David…

Sigh! The era is officially over. And football’s Adonis has walked off the field and into the sunset after shedding tears in public yet again! Oh David! Football will never be the same again! At least not for millions of swooning female fans who pretended to be interested in watching a bunch of  sweaty, hunky men kicking a defenseless ball around, only to ogle Mr. Perfection - David Beckham. Nobody will ever be able to either bend it like him or end it like him. Beckham became so much more than an ace sportsman during the course of his 20 year career. By the time he made that sensible decision  to retire, he was already a mega legend and perhaps the most recognized living sportsman in history. It no longer mattered whether his footwork  was shaky or faulty. At least for his women admirers, Beckham’s magic extended well beyond his on- field achievements. Beckham had become the personification of the idealized man – a startlingly good looking one at that. Seen as a loving and loyal husband ( let’s make an allowance for the odd Roos chapter) , a hands on devoted dad,  Beckham lived the much envied life of an enormously successful athlete, adored globally and worshiped by advertisers who fell over backwards to sign him up for the juiciest endorsement deals going. And this enduring love affair with Beckham continued years after younger, hotter and better footballers came into the picture. So, what was it about Brand Beckham that captured so many hearts – male and female?

I can only make a case for him as a woman. There is something heartbreakingly vulnerable about the man. Given the unapologetically macho posturing and positioning of  his chosen game, Beckham’s off-duty persona projected an entirely different image. He was comfortingly androgynous without ever appearing wimpy. He looked perfectly in tune with his feminine side, minus any self consciousness or strain. As a father of four, Beckham’s admirable commitment to his family life added a lot to his aura. When his posh wife Victoria talked about David dropping off the kids to school every morning, we believed her. He just looked like that sort of a father. Pictures of the couple cuddling Harper, their new born daughter, were so incredibly, heart warming, that young mums across the world must have fought with their husbands for not being as involved as David. The actual grouse being entirely different, of course (“Why the hell aren’t you as gorgeous…?”).

David Beckham became the most objectified poster boy of sports twenty years ago. And women in droves lusted after him. Yet, it was guilt-free lusting, because Beckham never pandered to the playboy image of football players. It’s impossible that he was not aware of his powerful hold over fans’ collective fantasy. But unlike some of the other sex symbols in the business ( Christian Ronaldo comes to mind), Beckham retained his dignity, even while posing in suggestive underwear that caused traffic jams in cities across the world.  This lovely and very disarming quality, will remain with him, even as he repositions his brand and confronts new realities, post-retirement. Chances are he will seamlessly shift into other high profile roles , possibly as a goodwill ambassador. If he does do that, he will win still more admirers and continue to generate positive press coverage. Beckham’s biggest strength has been his extraordinary ability to stay ordinary. Given his wealth and fame, this is an attribute that has disarmed his worst critics. Today, Beckham is indeed in a league of his own. Most of our cricketers would do well to take a leaf out of his book. God knows some of our high flying boys are in desperate need of a reality check (given the recent IPL spot fixing scandal). Beckham is much bigger than any of  them . Why, he is even bigger than the game he excelled in during his prime. His greatness was not in the number of goals he scored. It was in the humility that he consistently displayed. Testosterone and modesty don’t always go together. But boy! When they do – you get a David Beckham. What a babe! Even Michelangelo couldn’t have found a better model to immortalize.

Talking Turkey

The turmoil in Turkey ! And I was right there in Taksim Square, strolling past the disputed Gezi Park, just a few hours before the rioting began. These images of Istanbul and Perge ( in Antalaya) remind me of the quieter, more peaceful time I spent in this country, enjoying the glorious moonrise over thhe Bosphorus. I clicked that picture from the terrace of the magnificent Kiragan Palace Hotel, where we were dining with local friends. The gate you see is one of the many entrances to what has to be one of the world's most exquisite hotels, carved out of marble many centuries ago - a tribute to the Ottoman Empire that dominated the world. And Perge, where we feasted our eyes on Roman columns and other architectural wonders going back so very many years. A few days later, the country is in the grip of violent protests. And we are dealing with the absurdities of BCCI shenanigans.
                                                                    *************
This appeared in Mumbai Mirror yesterday...

                  We’re all going on a summer holiday….

One of the most annoying tv commercials airing these days, shows a school boy coming home early from  cricket practice and cribbing to his father about being the only chap in the group not going on a summer vacation. At this point, a little girl pipes up and says in an irritating sing- song way , “Papa… papa… even I want to go on a holiday.” The poor dad looks a little sheepish, recovers quickly and assures his kids he’ll organize a chhutti for them.His wife ticks him off  sharply (yup, right in front of the kids), saying, “Why are you lying to them?” And that’s the cue for the father to grin broadly and inform the family he has switched EMI payments to some other bank. Why do I find this commercial so intensely irritating? For the same reason, I find most lifestyle ads disgusting. There must be countless fathers stuck in similar situations, unable to fulfill the unrealistic demands of their children at this time of the year. There is so much pressure to ‘get away from the heat’ ( like we know any other weather!) , it has become a social disease that claims more victims than a heat stroke. We are bombarded on all sides by peddlers of holiday packages. We fall for these cons  We succumb. And if we are left without the option of that face saving vacation, we are doomed.Neighbours one runs into in an elevator , stare pityingly at those  staying put, as they themselves load bags into waiting cars… and drive off smugly to the airport. Aaaargh!

As a school girl in Delhi, our summer breaks were car trips with the family, often to destinations that were even hotter than Delhi ( Agra! Imagine!!). We stayed at government Dak Bungalows and ate inedible oily meals cooked by  drunk khansamas. But we still managed to have a great time. Yes, even sleeping under discoloured and torn mosquito nets, with blood- thirsty mosquitoes buzzing around our ears. Like Karan Johar stated many moons later, it was all about loving the family.Today, holidays have been converted into competitions. It’s all about impressing the neighbours.  And the pressure exerted on poor dads and moms to make sure the kids can boast about a dream vacation is such that large sums of money are being borrowed to placate these brats. Of course, the only holidays worth taking and talking about are foreign ones. Who wants to see India, I heard a kid scoff  last week.

How on earth do young parents deal with this nasty zabardasti? Should moms be totally candid with their kids and admit how tight the money situation really is? Should dads be discussing EMI problems in front of  innocent bachchas?How should harrowed parents deal with the disappointment of children who expect them to produce funds and plan swanky holidays – just like the parents of their more affluent friends in school and college? Tough, tough, tough. Today’s kids are well informed and cunning. They think nothing of ‘shaming’ their parents into shelling out money for what in the old days were called ‘wasteful expenses’. An older generation of more cautious parents knew how to traipse around such landmines. Not that it placated kids. But at least, kids didn’t make them feel guilty and inept for not whisking them off to Mount Titilis. These days, the bachchalog have become fully besharam! They not only make unreasonable demands but hold the parents responsible for not fulfilling them. The comparisons with Sweety’s dad and Munni’s mom, never end!And kids don’t really care where parents produce that extra cash from – so long as it’s there!

This year’s top ticket destination is Turkey. I am headed there myself. Am I glad I don’t have pesky kids in tow. But what’s the bet, the flight to Irresistible Istanbul will be packed with brats bleating, “Papa… Papa…  forget visiting Topkapi … let’s go and see JohnAbraham’s home from Race- 2 .” Abraham’s ‘home’ in the movie was, believe it or not,  the super fabulous 560 rooms Mardan Palace Hotel in Antalya Why not? Bollywood has always been the most reliable tour operator in India.The Bosphorus beckons. And I am right there! The hell with those EMIs.

Paisa pheko, tamasha dekho....

My Istanbul moment.....
What an incredible destination! Layered and complex.... it takes several lifetimes to reveal itself to mere mortals like ourselves. Like India, in many ways. I have great images... let me know if you are interested.... and I shall post them here taada taadi....
                                                                                         *************
This appeared in Asian Age today....

                     IPL-6 –UPA-2  -  Paisa pheko, tamasha dekho!

Of course, the joke’s on us!The biggest one! A smaller version was enjoyed earlier this week in a brightly lit cricket stadium. The other one, has been running for nine years. Think about it. Is there much of a difference between the IPL and the UPA? There’s even an overlap of scandalous, disgraced players !Cynics might sneer – same- same, but different. Sure. But both brands are guilty of an identical crime – they have taken India for a jolly good ride. The country has indeed been taken to the cleaners. And in a way, we asked for it. Both brands (for that’s exactly what they are) have systematically shredded India’s reputation  -  globally as well as within India itself. And that’s an awful feeling. The dreams and aspirations of a billion plus people have been taken for granted, and collective sensitivities trampled on. Worse, precious hopes have been cruelly shattered. The IPL muck that continues to surface in bits and bobs  (adding up to precisely nothing), has underlined the basic rot within the entire system. A rot, so corrosive and pervasive, that it extends well beyond the cricket field and pretty much sweeps everything into its voluminous fold. So far, the names of political biggies (who are as much a part of the conspiracy to cheat the public as those tainted players), have been carefully shielded.Ministers are quoting vague laws. The writing on the wall is abundantly clear : nothing is going to happen to anyone. Had the government in power not been as blatantly corrupt , chances are, cricket too would  have been less corrupt. It is because of the rampant abuse of power by leaders who rule us from Delhi, that the dangerous goons who hijacked the IPL had the guts to do what they did  - not just to the well loved  game of cricket, but to millions of  believers across the world.Remember, cricket is a ‘religion’ for diehard fans.

Sham is a pretty powerful four letter word. These days Indians have been forced to confront it on a daily basis. Nothing is as it appears. Everything is naqli. Most of what you read is fake. Nearly every action in that stadium (as in parliament) appears to be stage managed and manipulated. The shadowy figures controlling crores of rupees in illegal betting, are no different from the equally shadowy figures who control the IPL and are a part of the sarkar. Someone’s son, someone else’s son-in-law.  Even as we struggle to decode Coalgate or the 2G scandals involving billions of our money, we also watch open mouthed as disgraced cricketers, bookies and brokers, discuss dirty deals supposedly orchestrated by the D-Gang in Dubai. And while Delhi cops make a big show of how efficiently they’ve cracked this particular racket, bewildered citizens are left as confused as ever. It’s come to a stage where whatever goes wrong in India – be it in politics or sports -  is blamed on Dawood! It’s our best bet. It shuts mouths. It provides a convenient alibi. But why does nobody ask  – is India so weakened that we have allowed an overseas gangster to take charge, take over and assume absolute control ?

The UPA-2 has given itself high marks in the report card. Sly, off-the-cuff remarks quoted in the press suggest all is not hunky dory between 10 Janpath and 7 Racecourse Road. That’s a pretty cunning way to relay an important message.If our Madam so wishes, she can downsize anybody – the P.M. included.The truth of the matter is, the track record of UPA -2 is as abysmal as the sudden  fall from grace of IPL-6. The masks are off for both.The halos have disappeared.There is the bigger issue of zero accountability, zero transparency, zero punishment. To say nothing of autocracy, sycophancy, and plain nepotism . If the IPL bossman Srinivasan was allowed to run the franchise like a dictator from a banana republic… if his son-in-law Gurunath is suspected of collusion in several cricketing deals, how different is the story from Sonia Gandhi’s , as Srinivasan himself has boldly and brazenly pointed out?? She too has controlled the UPA in a dictatorial fashion for nine years. She too has had to deal with son-in-law issues. The one thing both tarnished brands continue to have in common is big talk and tall promises. There’s far too much at stake for either to come clean and make amends. Both are in the same business, as it were. And that business involves duping countless trusting citizens, emotionally and financially.

One would like to believe the party is really and truly over for those who brought such shame to cricket and politics. One team ( Mumbai Indians ) has won the cup. And with the closing ceremony another IPL season has ended. India may or may not see IPL-7. But what will happen to the UPA in 2014? Political pundits insist UPA-3 ain’t happening. But that still won’t get our stolen money back!The netas in both rackets are nanga in the hamam.But who will name and nail them? If Srinivasan is the Baddie. Who are the Goodies?It’s so much easier to go  after chhota mota cricketers. Those chaps are dispensable. After a point, nobody will care. Sreesanth will receive offers galore to host reality shows, publish a book, act in movies.Even  become a member of parliament  like  Azaruddin. Notoriety has its advantages these days. But the all-party politicians who call the shots in cricket, will swiftly cover each other’s backsides and talk piously about cleaning up cricket.As always,it is only genuine lovers of the game who  will  be excluded from this  cosy party.

This isn’t cricket. Perhaps it never was….

Love is enough...

So it is!
Am taking a short break.
Miss me!
Irresistible Istanbul beckons.... who can possibly say 'no'to the Bosphorus?

Angelina Jolie's Booby Trap

This is the handsome boy with loads of attitude. Meet Schumi - Lord of the Manor at Alibag.
                                                                    **************
This appeared in Financial Chronicle...

                                        Off with the boobs…!

Surely, there were better options, Ms. Jolie? Did you really have to?  

Agreed , the wicked world has always been unnaturally fixated on Angelina’s scrumptious body parts  – all of them. But come on. We are talking about the most famous breasts in the world! Angelina has dominated the beauty space longer than any other living female celebrity. Often referred to as ‘The Most Beautiful Woman in the World,’ Jolie is recognized as the ultimate sex goddess. Desirable. Awesome. Perfect. Which is why the news about her double mastectomy last week left us open mouthed and puzzled. Why, Angie, why? Fans moaned.Angie claims to have now brought down  her breast cancer risk from 50% to less than 5%.Good for her.The faulty BRCA2 gene she says  she inherited may have been tamed by her drastic preventive method. But what about us? We ,who have happily, hungrily feasted  on her body beautiful for years? Envied it? No matter how ‘brave’ this mastectomy makes Jolie, there will be millions of fans world wide who will see her through a new filter and feel devastated. Jolie is less Jolie. Cruel as this sounds, it’s true. Such is the  immense power of  beauty. And our own pathetic need to seek perfection in those lucky enough to possess it.

 It is to Jolie’s credit that she has used this very power and special position to put her slender self  behind key global initiatives, that have helped countless people. Despite all these wonderful public deeds… despite all the accolades accumulated as a formidable actor,alas,  in Jolie’s case,  it was always about The Body. And the fascination for The Body was unambiguously driven by our fascination for her perfectly sculpted breasts. Jolie’s  shapely right leg, of course, enjoyed a life of its own after she stuck it out provocatively during a photo call at Cannes. But the leg’s reign has been abruptly cut short now. From this moment on, the leg will take a back seat to Jolie’s new, reconstructed breasts. This is serious. We are talking about breasts. Anjelina Jolie’s breasts . And yes, now that we know the originals are gone… as in, we know she had them surgically removed, we are intensely disturbed and disoriented by the act. This  incredibly gorgeous woman has made what is perhaps the toughest decision a woman can ever make –  she hacked off a part of herself . Hacking off breasts, for any ordinary woman is akin to hacking off her female identity. Sorry, that’s pretty much the deal, no matter how unpalatable it sounds to feminists.  

A woman’s relationship with her breasts is hard to decode.Let’s just say it is extremely precious and  powerful. A woman will part with her kidney or a lung if she had to, but ask her to sacrifice her mammary glands, and see the reaction. We can safely call it an irrational attachment to a mass of tissue topped with a nipple ( both have their uses). Sounds crazy, but we like our tissue and nipples. A lot! Regardless of shape or size. Breasts are comforting. Breasts are sensual. Breasts provide reassurance and pleasure. Which is why millions of women are asking  -  was it a must? I mean, surely there were other, less radical medical options?

 Jolie says she did it for her children.Even if one buys into the rationality of her argument, and hails her for taking such a  bold decision, another part of the brain says, “ Is she nuts? Not every woman who has breast cancer dies of it. There are so many breakthroughs today… there will be many more in the future. Here’s someone who has the means to get the best possible treatment if she ever gets affected. And she goes and opts for a double mastectomy? Really!

There are other basic , personal and touchy questions, too.What happens to Jolie’s sex life? Will Brad and she continue to enjoy conjugal bliss? No change? What about the odd timing for her surgery – weren’t the two of them planning a big wedding soon? And what of her Hollywood career ? Come on! Of course, there are countless leading ladies  with reconstructed breasts. And silicon does rule in showbiz. Phir bhi. Now that we all know those boobs aren’t the real things (Jolie has gone into graphic details), will we feel a little squeamish the next time we see her famous cleavage on screen? Nasty, nasty.

I so wish she had hung on to her lovely breasts. And taken her chances. Like millions of other women  . Somehow, I find that the braver option.