Phantom Forces

Oscar-winning director Ben Affleck will star as Batman in Warner Bros. ‘Man of Steel’ sequel. Super-heroes, phantom forces and invisible crusaders have always fascinated us. Fortunately, we have our own phantom forces that remain invisible, like Mr. India. So lethal is their influence that they can smash reputations and governments alike. If you happen to meet them, do say hello but don’t scream, “Aila, Superman!” They prefer to remain anonymous. 

The Clean Chit Giver: The final arbitrator of who is guilty and who is not, this man who issues Clean Chits is the President of the self-serving club of mutual back scratchers. He flashes a clean chit much before the investigation begins.The uncles, the son-in-laws and Godmen accused of assaulting young girls are given a clean chit in advance.

Do: Do ask him for a handful. You can use clean chits each time the traffic cop says, ‘Gaddi side ko le'.
Don’t: Don’t mess with him. You risk being crushed by a speeding truck or a sand lorry.

The Source: When the news anchor waves that sheet of paper and exclaims, “Your channel has proof,” you realize the might of the Source. The Source helps our news anchors to bash Pakistan, to seek answers from the mighty and to reveal any wheeling dealing. There is something about the source that spooks politicians across party lines. The Source is, I am told, visible only to the likes of Arnab and Rajdeep who view him through a red glass a la Mr. India. A source can. But you can’t. You can’t pigeon hole this source, that is. Is he a man, or a woman? No one knows.

Do: If you meet him, do thank the Source for exposing hidden skeletons.
Don’t: Don’t waste your time in details. Basically, the Source works in the interest of aam aadmi, so just let him/her be.

The File Keeper: If there ever was a phantom force that guarded the BJP Khand, the Congress Empire, the TMC Queendom or the SP Pradesh, it is the guy who keeps a watch on files needed by the investigating agencies. When sensitive files disappear in thin air (vanish or stolen by ghosts) one has to acknowledge the power of the File Keeper. The television anchors can hyperventilate all they like, but this formidable protector of files trumps all. No files, no case. Simple.

Do: Do admire the impenetrable air of confidence of this operative. News is that the guardian of the missing files (the additional secretary in the coal ministry) is exactly the same person who is chairing the inter-ministerial committee that has been set up to trace the missing files. Call it irony if you like. Read Here
Don’t: Don’t bash him. What Saboo was to Chacha Chaudhary, The File Keeper is to Chacha Jaiswal. The File Keeper simply follows instructions. His weak spot? A transfer order to a Maoist infested area.


Ben Affleck can play Batman, but he can never match our phantom forces. Remember 'The Foreign Hand' that used to instigate riots in the past? The same 'Foreign Hand' is now smashing our Rupee. Bang on!

All’s well that ends well

Measured in degrees of stupidity, few can match my resolve. “I will continue to use my old phone until I win a new mobile from a blogging contest.” Unfortunately, this was a public declaration made in the presence of family and friends. In my biased mind, I was fairly certain of winning one. Many are doing it, I can do it too! This illuminating streak of stubbornness has its roots in my being a true Leo. Maybe Salman’s infamous commitment dialogue played some role. I am not sure, but what I do know is that once the commitment was made, it was impossible to give up.

So far so good. I jumped at every contest which fired my imagination and offered a smartphone as a prize. Holiday destinations, tablets, Reebok vouchers were nowhere on my radar. The target was a sleek smartphone. I even dreamt of the courier guy delivering the prize, clicking a smug picture with my prized phone, uploading it on Facebook and viewing more than hundred envious likes.

Well, nothing of the sort happened.

Why I wonder, why am I not able to pen that perfect post, which can win the hearts of sponsors and judges alike? The self-esteem was bruised. The confidence punctured. Serious doubts about all the effusive endorsements dressed in hyperbole, ‘Keep writing’, ‘Good one’ ‘Enjoyed it’, began plaguing the mind.

At a time when the country is going to hell, my obscure rant may appear inappropriate. Not really! Consider the fact that some are amassing crores simply by lifting their lungis, winning a writing contest is indeed a small pleasure. And isn’t life all about small pleasures?

Unable to watch my glum face, the husband suggested a novel idea. “Why don’t you ask our son to send his old HTC? You can uphold your resolve and yet upgrade to a better phone.” Hope flickered. But as luck would have it, sonny dear somehow managed to drench his HTC bought a year ago. The funny thing is that whenever he wants a new gadget, he manages to eliminate his present one in mysterious ways.

Now I am stuck between my resolve, and my old phone which has become quite an embarrassment. The Kindles, the Flipboards and the WhatsApps are adding to my misery. ‘Read on your Kindle’, ‘Come on WhatsApp?’ ‘Click our picture’ say friends. For all those who regularly rub lemon on my poignant cuts, here is a declaration.

“I have an old phone which does not allow latest apps. Okay? It has an archaic four mega pixel camera which is as unpredictable as Ranbir Kapoor’s love life. Please don’t ask me to click pictures. Since it is a small phone, I am unable to read long posts, so don’t expect me to respond immediately.”

Phew! I said it.

Regardless, I am not buying a new phone. As I whine, my blog wins

the award for being the best blog in the ‘News and Media’ category. Phone be damned, time to rejoice and thank all my readers who visit this blog. This is my 'Miss India' moment, albeit two decades late - complete with the cupping of the face and popping of the eyes. So a big thank you for spending your valuable time here.

Finally, the resolve was about not buying a new phone. As far as I remember, there is nothing against buying a tablet or an Ipad.

Sexist Venom On The Web

Picture Courtesy Youtube.

Spare a moment for the insight of writer, Bertolt Brecht. “The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars,” he wrote.

The latest arena for abusive punches and sexist remarks is the cyber space. The web becomes even more precarious, when it provides a platform to shout the loudest without any accountability. Unfortunately, this abusive crowd comprises of so called educated and privileged netizens.

The trigger for this article is the recent YouTube Video of NDTV anchor, Nidhi Razdan interviewing British MP Barry Gardiner that went viral. It was shared among friends on Facebook. 

Nidhi Razdan asked Mr. Gardiner to elucidate reasons for his invitation to a ‘controversial figure’ like Mr. Narendra Modi for addressing the British Parliament. The continuous harping on the word ‘controversial’ by the anchor appeared biased to many viewers. In his defense, Mr. Gardiner stressed on the need to respect the Indian Supreme Court verdict.

Needless to say, I did not agree with both – neither the biased views of the anchor, nor the didactic narrative of the British MP. As a result, I proceeded to express my views on the link. I was aghast to read the comments there. Netizens took this opportunity to hurl sexist comments and choicest abuses at the anchor.

Why can’t we agree to disagree without demeaning women?

One commentator said that ‘the bi*ch should eat her own sh*t’. Someone said ‘she should die of AIDS’. Another questioned how a pathetic wh**e became a journalist. The rest of the comments were so derogatory and filthy that they cannot be a part of any civilized discussion.

As it happens, we often disagree with the views expressed by anchors and journalists. Arnab Goswami and Rajdeep Sardesai, elicit strong responses from viewers on websites, but the response is devoid of sexist connotations. All the sexual contempt against Nidhi has never been matched by words on male news anchors.

I am not sure if Nidhi Razdan is cognizant of the sexist comments made on the web, but as a woman, I am perturbed by abusive voices. No matter what I express about politics, the ‘reservation policy’ in education, or on religion, a section of readers is bound to feel offended. Dissent is acceptable but abuse is not. No woman deserves to be called a wh**e on the basis of her opinion or political views.

Unfortunately, this cacophony of freedom of expression is pandemic. It is a worldwide phenomenon. Who can forget John Inverdale’s insensitive comment on French woman Marion Bartoli who won the 2013 women’s Wimbledon title? “Do you think,” said the Radio 5 Live Presenter, “Bartoli’s dad told her when she was little, ‘you are never going to be a looker, you’ll never be a Sharapova, so you have to be scrappy and fight?”

According to this leading commentator, Bartoli was not pretty enough for her dad and the entire world. While the BBC apologized later owing to huge Twitter outrage, the twitter troll on the Marion Bartoli’s win was far worse than Inverdale’s sexist comment. A blogger said, ‘Marion Bartoli was too ugly to rape. The fat slob didn’t deserve to win because she is ugly’. Another said ‘the ugly bitch needs a b**b job’. I am not quoting other comments which were far worse, derogatory, sexist and unwarranted. Again, all the contempt against Bartoli was isolated and not matched by comments on Andy Murray’s physical attributes.

Abusive slanging matches on twitter, blogs, and chat rooms are signs of an ailing society. The acerbic voices on social media are becoming the judge, jury and the executioner and are experiencing moments of collective catharsis on the web. Sadly, sexist remarks are becoming a part of communication used by the educated class who don’t even realize how offensive this venom is. Which is a pity, because abuse is not the weapon of the civilized.



Read the entire article originally on The Hoot

Sherry On Top

Everyone is clamoring for their favorite Prime Minister nominee. Shatrughan wants Nitish, Akhilesh wants Mulayam, Rajnath wants Modi, Derek wants Mamta, Digvijay wants Rahul, Rahul wants Digvijay, and in the event of a fractured mandate, we could end up with a dynamic Deve Gowda or a suave Shibu Soren as our Prime Minister.

Since everyone has favorites, here are my two cents. I suggest the name of forty-nine year young Navjoke Singh Sidhu. Why Sidhu?

Picture Courtesy Wikipedia

Stick with me and I will tell you why.

Cometh the hour, cometh the laughter. I am guided by ideas that reflect my personality. Being of incurably funny nature, Sidhu is my nominee because his dour and uncommunicative predecessor has done nothing to make me laugh. Ask any girl “What do you want in your man?” The likely answer is, “A good sense of humor.” When the ultimate aim of human life is to be happy, Sidhu is the ideal candidate for leading a gloomy nation. So what’s as obvious as Akhilesh’s nose to me cannot be lost on my fellow citizens? End result? With Sidhu as our PM, the guy with a cheesy grin (read Diggy) will not know what hit him.

“Khatak.”

Motivator par excellence. In case of any threat from pesky neighbors, our Prime Minister’s motivational fusillade will create a firestorm. Familiar with his aggressive streak, we know that a volley of his inspirational quotes will motivate our forces. Haven’t you heard him say, “When you choose to live like a Tiger in a jungle, you can't afford to be humble?”

Simply Sidhu. Sportsmen are great leaders. Cricketer Imran Khan, Olympic medalist Sebastian Coe and African footballer George Weah have shown that professional sport is the perfect training ground for politics. As a sportsperson, Sidhu knows how to play fair. God knows, our country needs accountability. Sidhu will bring accountability because there is no blame game in sports. It is a measure of Sidhu’s versatility that both Arnab and Rajdeep give him due respect. For someone who has Arnab’s respect has inherent attributes of Superman, Spiderman and Phantom, rolled in one.

Eloquence at its Best. Given Sherry Pa ji’s phenomenal ‘tongue cum lung’ power, we will finally have a Prime Minister who can match Obama’s oratory. His verbal arsenal is so potent that you want to shake the person next to you and say, “Look, this is what leadership is all about - quotes, votes and jokes.” Yes, he is that good! Cricket fans were glued to the IPL more for Sidhu’s ding-dong than any cheer girl’s boogey-woogey, or Sreesanth’s hanky-panky. So what if he was sacked from ESPN for swearing on air? “Nobody travels on the road to success without a puncture or two.”

I can sense some tut-tutting at my suggestion. “Some are as confused as a baby in a topless bar. But my suggestion is as innocent as a freshly laid egg.” Enough of starched khadi and Nehru caps. Time for fluorescent turbans, neon ties, black suits and unbridled laughter.   
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And venture belongs to the adventurous,” says Sherry. Thoko Taali. 

As Beautiful As Your Work

Beauty and brains are not an exclusive preserve of young working women. Right? Let me introduce you to an unlikely muse – an elderly homemaker, living on her own in a quaint little bungalow. So fierce is her passion for life, that she defies other stereotypes of beauty.


Is her work as beautiful as her looks? Well, you be a judge of that!

Her life was a fairy tale. A loving husband, two kids and an active social life - she had it all. Years flew past, her daughter got married and her son moved abroad for work. Then one day, it all began to fall apart. She watched the love of her life slip away, as the emperor of maladies snatched her husband at a time when she needed him the most. Her house was burgled. She had to wrestle with the UP police, threatening calls, income tax authorities and uncooperative banks. For a tech-befuddled lady, who never stepped out alone, challenges came from every direction. She knew that the only way out of difficulty was through it. 


When she decided to live on her own, treasuring her independence, she made her first impactful presentation.

When she enrolled in a computer class at age sixty-five, she made her presentation. Read Here

When she refused to pay a bribe, stood in the queue for hours to get her passport renewed, she made her presentation. “Why didn’t you pay a travel agent to do it for you?”
“I’d rather buy a ring with that money,” she quipped. And she did.

When she traveled to the US and held her own against a rude immigration officer, she made her presentation. “Why do you come here every year?” insulted the officer.
Misty eyed she replied, “Who wants to come here? If it wasn’t for my grandson, I wouldn’t visit your country.”

When she teaches underprivileged children associated with NGO’s, she makes her presentation.

Today, when she fights for pension, rectification of inflated electricity bills or errors in house-tax computation, she continues to make her spirited presentations. 

Ma with her grandson

 She is my mother, aged seventy. She zings up life with unbridled optimism to be a part of everything that is contemporary. Unlike me, she laughs easily, owns an exquisite collection of saris and loves meeting people. As I write, she pings me to FaceTime on her latest gizmo. No, it’s not about a recipe. She wants inputs on downloading a new app. I don’t know what or who guides her to face such tumults at this age. What I do know is that when one loses hope, one loses everything. And Ma thrives on hope.

Ma, you show what courage is all about,

And we are proud of the things you do,

I am no poet but I would like to say

Your work and your style are as beautiful as you.

Someone rightly said that age is just an opportunity in another dress. As the evening twilight fades, the sky is filled with stars invisible by the day.