How Bad Can It Be?

If ghost stories don’t scare you anymore, your newspaper will. According to the news, we are doomed. The rupee is flirting with 67 to a dollar, onions with 80 to a kg and crude with 40 to a barrel.
As it happens, my newspaper tried to spook me with all the bad news at its command. Having learned to deal with it, I’m not scared anymore. Because it is an annual unfailing exercise. It is that time of the year when onion prices kiss the skies with the notoriety of Mika locking lips with Ms Sawant. So, if I don’t party for a month, I can easily scrape through the onion crisis. Experience tells me that the new crop will hit in September, and life will be back to chopping onions.

Just when I decided not to worry about chopping onions, the global markets turned choppy. My newspaper threatened me with platitudinous bunkum - Monday Mayhem, Markets in a Tailspin, Bloodbath on Dalal Street, Global Jitters, and Commodity Crash. No, Sir. I refuse to be terrorized.
See, the good thing about not being too rich or too poor is that you don’t really care if the rupee deflates, crude plunges, gold gains or commodities crash. Who cares for the devaluation of the Yuan unless you are planning a vacation to China? Who cares for the plummeting rupee unless you are planning to send your kid abroad? Who cares if gold glitters unless you are Bappi Lahiri? And who cares if Washington apples, imported chocolates, kiwi fruit or imported liquor become costlier, because those who consume them don’t really care about a few bucks here and there.

The mayhem on the water-logged street next to my house bothers me more than the mayhem on the Wall Street. Moreover, the thing with onions and stocks is that nobody really knows how high the onions will go, or how low the Nifty will settle. Nobody really knows if the present crisis is a buying opportunity for both - onions and stocks.

While watching the commodities crash on television, I noticed an interesting phenomenon. While CNBC-TV18 clearly said that the free fall in global commodities market was due to the slowing Chinese economy, a panelist on CNN-IBN blamed Modi for the slowdown. Similarly, while market analysts on NDTV Profit blamed the market panic on global cues, mainstream NDTV engaged in the usual Congress versus BJP slugfest. Which makes me wonder why our mainstream media loves to fish in troubled waters - from terror to politics to economy?

During such episodes when my newspaper unleashes fear, I withdraw into the most familiar comfortable place – optimism. Since I am a firm believer of what goes up, comes down, tears of joy trickled down as wholesale onion prices dropped sharply this week. The markets obliged too, albeit marginally.
There are other drivers for my optimistic streak. You see, bad news is a headline but gradual improvement is not. Since onions make me misty every August, I refuse to cry at the dinner table. Plus we’ve been in recession for a decade, so there is nothing more to recess. The fear about the flight of capital does not bother me as there is no other market in the world with consumers bursting at the seams. And the crude can go wherever it wants, because I just cannot drive on Gurgaon’s potholed roads in schizophrenic traffic. When you have nothing to lose, nothing scares you.

Revenge Reloaded

While Sholay completed forty years, we completed sixty-eight years of independence. Like Sholay, revenge - a pet Bollywood theme played in the Indian Parliament. But, with several twists.

Wo 44 aur tum 280, phir bhi GST pass nahi kara paye?
Before your imagination runs away to Ramgarh, know that Gabbar here is not a person. Instead, he is symbolic of all that is wrong with our governance. Whether the Thakur is from the BJP or the Congress, when in power, he is helpless without the hands of the opposition. 

The monsoon session of the house resembled a battle zone, said President, Pranab Mukherjee. No, he didn’t use the Sholay analogy but like most of us, he lamented the waste of the monsoon session. Returning from a sabbatical, riding the Congress horse, God’s gift to mankind, Rahul was there to fight every cause, join every dharna and support every protest. From mobilizing farmers, to FTII, to municipal sweepers, to net neutrality, to OROP – Rahul Reloaded held an entire nation to ransom. Loaded with ammunition provided by news channels and cheat-sheets provided by party veterans, he threatened political ‘soocide’ unless Sushma Swaraj resigned. Despite being called an ‘expert without knowledge’, despite verbal bullets from Sushma’s oratorical armor, despite the social media jeers, the energized version of Rahul had only one thing on his mind. Revenge.

Those who had energized the Bunny, failed to understand that young India enjoys a tit-for-tat tale only in the theatres, and not in the Parliament. Funny, that a wise old party allowed its newly minted crusader to launch himself with an irrelevant idea that had demolished them in 2014. Why is it so difficult to understand that any hindrance that throttles the aspirations of Ramgarh, is unlikely to reap positive political dividends. No wonder, the messiah of causes was sent packing by ex-servicemen as they did not want their angst to be hijacked by any farcical photo-op.

As a bitter retribution saga played on, it was heartening to see leading businessmen sign a petition to put an end to the revenge politics. But wise Congress veterans ignored their pleas despite the fact that they need corporate tycoons to fight elections. They ignore the fact that every citizen aspires for a suit-boot, even if their Energized Bunny wants a pyjama party. How do you plan to win a battle when your basic strategy is flawed?

In the past forty years, while Bollywood has moved away from the script of revenge, our netas are stuck with the theatrics of revenge that does not resonate today. With both sides engaged in a bitter battle, Ramgarh is unlikely to get rid of Gabbar anytime soon. And it is not a reassuring thought at all. It seems as if the Congress is saying, ‘I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for’. Fine. Go ahead and hate each other more than you care for us. But know that the man who seeks revenge digs two graves. 

Romance Routed?

It is almost a ritual. After deadly doses of negativity emanating from news, I listen to a couple of old songs before calling it a day. Mellifluous voice of Rafi, and dulcet notes of Lata ensure that Arnab does not appear in my dreams, drenching me in cold sweat, asking me to resign from life.

So when ‘Aapki Ankhon Mein Kuch Mehke Hue Se Khwab’ was seducing me to sleep, it dawned that most songs today are bereft of romance. Where is the hero who engaged the heroine over charms of poetry? Poetry as a vehicle for romance is on its way out. Perhaps, it is in the nature of evolution that we do things differently. Lyrical admiration where eyes close, nostrils flare and chins quiver without the quintessential shaking of limbs, has lost meaning in a world where actions speaks louder than words. No wonder, poetic imagery of yesteryears has paved way for live action replacing the magic of words with the beat of music. What we have today is more of teasing, dancing and celebrating, minus poetry drenched in an overdose of emotions. Not surprising at all, because the pace of life reflects in the rendition of songs too.

Moreover, not many girls would appreciate meandering lazy poetry loaded with an emotional surplus admiring their beauty. Rather than smiling coyly and fluttering eyelashes, girls would perhaps cringe if their beau decided to close eyes and sing ‘Chaudhvi Ka Chand Ho’. In digital times, any ode to lustrous hair, soulful eyes, pretty smile or alluring walk would perhaps invite ridicule. Is it any surprise, therefore, that far away from the sophistry of ‘Kabhie Kabhie Mere Dil Mein’ we have ‘Sexy Dress Mein Bomb Lagdi Mainu’ which is funky. But crass. Above all, it is impossible to sing along.

Given that current songs are meant to play at dance parties and marriages from Haryana to Bihar, we have an assortment of colloquial words interspersed in the lyrics. Moreover, the party scene has changed drastically. The party songs of today are not about playing the piano and singing songs of self-pity, betrayal or admiration. A hilarious satirical video by AIB starring Irrfan Khan is spot on. It tells us how party songs objectify women by portraying random bikini clad girls in a mandatory pool sequence with the hero spraying booze on her, err, body parts.

Many are lamenting the rout of romance as the musical palette of Enriques’ ballads and Bryan Adam’s songs is fading against a flashy cocktail of meaningless lyrics. As Suhel Seth wrote recently, romance is not about falling in love with someone. It is about being in love with love itself. A leisurely walk in the park, handpicked flowers, a handwritten note and candle light dinners are passe, but romance is not dead. Because when it comes to Bollywood music, Arijit Singh’s ‘Tum Hi Ho’ and Mohit Chauhan’s ‘Tum Se Hi Din Hota Hai’ prove that a soulful rendition replete with effortless prose is always appreciated.

While it is perfectly unreasonable to expect present day songs to go back to old fashioned leisurely romance, there is relief in knowing that I can always melt into the gentle soulfulness of poetry. After angry, vindictive political discourse around dinner time, poetic imagery is a big relief.

Simply Delhi

If you’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be a rabbit accosted by a pack of wolves, without actually venturing out in the woods, go visit the New Delhi railway station. And if you don’t like the jungle analogy, here’s another. Arriving at the New Delhi Railway station, without booking a registered cab is like being the Delhi CM – master of your own will, but helpless. You can cry hoarse saying “Sir, please don’t trouble us, we just want to go home,” but you won’t be spared by the mafia of cab hounds.

Expecting the Shatabdi to arrive Delhi on time, we did not book a cab to drop us home. Since nothing pretty much changes when it comes to railways, no points for guessing that the train arrived late. Yes, we could have booked a cab while in the train, but expecting achche din, like idiots, we succumb to the optimist in our head that says, “You are not alone. Any cab will drop you home.”

As soon as we emerge out of the station around midnight, a battalion of scruffy, smelly men accost us with a volley of, “Sir/Madam, taxi hogi? Kahan Jaana hai?” Suddenly, we are prey to the sundry members of the ‘Kaali-peeli’ cab tribe who menacingly play with their key chains in the index finger. One of them follows us with resolute doggedness, almost forcing us to surrender. “Gurgaon,” we say. “Fine, come with me,” he says. “No, thank you. We’ll take a pre-paid cab,” we say. “You won’t get a pre-paid cab to NCR at this hour,” he says. The moment we engage with him, his scruffy compatriots look at us with contempt. As if we’ve committed a crime by ignoring the rest of the pack. Even before the final amount is settled, this man takes our suitcase and hurriedly heads towards his cab. Now, unless you’ve won the steeple chase at school, you can’t jump across sleeping passengers and their luggage strewn around in a war zone.

Try to walk as fast as we can, we can’t match the lanky strides of the man with our suitcase. Moreover, only he knows where his vehicle is parked. Is it any surprise that when we reach his cab, heaving and panting, our suitcase is already shoved in his cab? Rather reluctantly we sit in the cab, kicking ourselves for not booking a registered cab. Once in the cab, an uncomfortable feeling envelops me and my husband. The cab reeks of cheap alcohol and the song playing on the radio does nothing to soothe our nerves. The driver begins to circle Connaught Place instead of driving us home. The man is polite, says nothing, but instinct nudges us to clamber out.

“Excuse me, what are you up to?” we ask. “Five minutes, I have to take CNG,” he mumbles. The long queue at the petrol station is a blessing. We open the door and get down the cab. “Give back our luggage,” we say. “We don’t want to travel with you.” The man is polite, but stubborn. “If you didn’t want to come with me, you should’ve said so earlier.” At which point we’ve had it. We pick our suitcase, get down and call a registered cab. While we wait at the petrol station much beyond midnight for our registered cab to arrive, the man stands across the road giving us an ominous stare.

There is no violence, no indecent act, no attack, no cheating, and yet the discomfort of going through this agony in the heart of the city makes you wonder if anything has changed in the past twenty years. Regardless whether Congress, BJP or AAP rule the city – chaos rules Delhi after midnight.

The Phantom Source - The Ghost Who Talks

Back in the eighties, there used be something called the ‘Foreign Hand’. On the political terra firma, every second riot or disturbance was attributed to this invisible ‘Foreign Hand’. Today, social media and phone cameras have ensured greater transparency. However, there is another entity that remains as elusive, as mysterious and as intangible as the ‘Foreign Hand’. In media parlance, it is called the ‘Source’. In Hindi language, we know it as the ‘Sutra’. Not the erotic Kama variety, but the esoteric media archetype. Such is the power of the source that we instinctively believe whatever comes, ‘Sutron Ke Hawale Se’. 

There are many ways to quote a source. ‘According to sources’ is one of them. ‘Reportedly’ is equally effective. As is ‘Sutron Ki Maane To’. Likewise, there are different kinds of sources. The source behind Bollywood grapevine is rather innocuous. It tells us how Ranbir Kapoor went down on his knees as Katrina Kaif rang in her 32nd birthday. How Anushka and Virat enjoyed at the ‘Sabi Sabi Earth Lodge’, a safari destination in South Africa. Or how Kat-Bir were spotted in the picturesque city of Prague, even though mama Neetu disapproved. Only a source can read mama Neetu’s mind. This gossip peddling variety ranges from celebrity drivers, fellow air travelers, avid fans, hotel staff and jealous contemporaries.

The political strain of the source is far more lethal. This is because for Phantom Source - The Ghost Who Walks, err Talks, with great power comes zero responsibility. Since the power invested in this source is invisible, he delivers a solid punch leaving a permanent ‘skull mark’ on those perceived as evil doers. Moreover, with no accountability, when a chain of pen wielding sources get linked to a mighty source called the politician, it can be deadly. Biased tongues, they say, can be worse than wicked hands.

Like Spiderman, the source can easily spurt malicious gooey liquid that allows media men to swing between two political buildings, climb political staircases and demolish reputations. With more and more media houses being owned by politicians, no points for guessing how unbiased the sources are. Because the purr in the ear often comes from a self-serving club of mutual back scratchers. 

Given that desperate times call for desperate sources, engineering students can also act as a Source. Whatever and whenever the nation wants to know - the source obliges. That Shashi Tharoor was pulled up by his boss for breaching party discipline was revealed by a source. That Mr. Tharoor was asked to stand outside the classroom with a finger on his lips, well, wasn’t exposed. And only the source knows if it was Arun Jaitley who revealed discomforting information about Sushma Swaraj?

Moreover, in the times of ephemeral news, unapologetic media and short public memory, who cares even if the source goofed up?
Not difficult to plant a doubt by placing a quaint little question mark towards the end, is it? Was Advani’s Emergency barb aimed at Modi? Did Amitabh demand crores to endorse a social campaign? The accused can cry hoarse by issuing endless clarifications, but the mission is accomplished. Bade araam se.

Finally, according to totally unreliable alcoholic sources, Mulayam is likely to be nominated for Nobel Peace for his well meaning ‘sudhar jao’ advice. Reportedly, ‘Selfie le le’, song from Bajrangi Bhaijaan is likely to win an Oscar in the music category. And Twinkle Khanna’s latest book is likely to fetch a Booker this year, sources say.
If anything sounds farfetched, simply add 'reportedly' in the beginning, or a question mark towards the end. Sab hazam ho zayega. 

Image Courtesy: www.comicvine.com

Ananda

Valley view in a drizzle

So we step into the month of July to celebrate decades of togetherness. Away from the concrete and glass of Gurgaon, and away from news and negativity of television, we want to surrender ourselves in the arms of nature. Our search for sublime serenity ends at Ananda, a spa destination, nestling in the very lap of Himalyan foothills.

The mountain air on the way is suffused with moist indolence as low clouds scud along the hills to caress the foliage. At Ananda, The Palace Estate of Narendranagar, a traditional arti with a ginger-lemon-honey infusion greets us with pleasant warmth. As I check in, I wonder: What is it that makes this place so special? I doubt if there is any one perfect answer. Several soft touches of quality, service and ambiance make Ananda memorable.One cant really define it, one has to feel it.

Although the main exterior building is not imposing, the spa on an hundred acre estate is indeed a soul sanctuary where traditional Ayurveda practices blend with international standards of well being. The celebrity testimonial by Oprah Winfrey, calling it ‘more like a pilgrimage than a visit’ is slightly over the top for someone staying for three nights, but a month long rejuvenating program for those with deep pockets can indeed be bliss.
Any stay is memorable only when there is great service. At Ananda everyone greets you with folded hands and a smiling Namaste. The Namaskar ritual is so ingrained that a gardener wearing a raincoat, tending to a plant in a drizzle will stand upright, fold hands and wish you with a warm Namaste. 

Dining Hall, Facilities and the Amphitheater

Depending on the package, you can enjoy the spa experience which is the highlight of Ananda. I am not a spa person, but after the Swedish massage by a young Tibetan girl, I am wondering why I stayed away from this luxury. A range of massage experience is available, each addressing a specific aspect of mental and physical well being. The Ayurveda experience is designed keeping in mind the individual’s desire to heal, cleanse, relax and revitalize. 

Other than the spa experience and the service, the most remarkable feature of my stay is the delightful interplay between the low moist clouds and the verdant foliage. The place epitomizes the kinship between serenity and nature. Whether it is a Blue Jay swishing past or a peacock dancing in all its mating glory, it is the effusive charm of nature that is casting a spell. 

On a vacation, Indians always look for good food.The buffet breakfast welcomes me with tulsi water which is such a refreshing drink that I decide to incorporate in my daily life. But beyond simple soups, juices and sprouts, the chefs stay away from playing with the local raw produce. Given the focus on health, the food is different from what is dished out at other outstanding restaurants. For me, the food experience is on the lowest rung when compared to the spa and beauty of the place.

Finally, all good hotels tend to make people do what they don’t do at home. So, yes I wear a crisp white kurta pyjama, eat sprouts and meditate. If rejuvenation was the purpose of this visit, the purpose is served admirably. 

Tips:

To reach Ananda, you can take the Dehradoon Shatabdi or a flight to the Jolly Grant Airport, Dehradoon. The transport desk sends a pick up car but you can hire local cab at half the price.
The place does not welcome kids which makes sense once you visit the spa. The food is expensive so carry some ready made snacks for hunger pangs in between meals.
The valley view rooms on higher floors are recommended over the garden view rooms, only if the weather is clear. We shelled out extra for the valley view room but witnessed the twinkling valley along the meandering Ganges only for a few minutes.
Avoid carrying several clothes as Ananda provides you with a fresh set of white unisex kurta pyjama. These are not complimentary. The temperature is almost similar to the valley as Ananda is not at a great height.
Avoid going in the monsoon season, as you miss outdoor activities like trekking, river rafting and temple visits. 

(This is NOT a review.)

Same to Shame

Like Maggi, AAP is in a soup. Like Nestle, AAP is facing a crisis of credibility. Like Maggi, most of us loved AAP at some point in time. Even those who detest the political AAP, flirted with the activist AAP a few years ago. Hit by lead and law, both are in a middle class muddle.

Ever since AAP captured the fancy of our taste buds, it engaged in a battle with the Lieutenant Governor over what it sees as an encroachment of its turf. But to blame the Prime Minister for everything including fake degrees, wife beating, internal dissent, sanitation strike and overall failure to govern is as misleading as Maggi’s promise of being healthy. 

So where did the recipe go wrong? Well, in a hurry to take the two minute route to power, our Ghaziabad based Urban Gorilla ignored the safety standards by adding unhealthy elements like Jitendra Singh Tomar and discarding the relatively healthy ingredients like Prashant Bhushan and Yogendra Yadav. To make matters worse, Somnath Bharti’s wife accused him of being Somnath Marti, which led the consumers to believe that rogue elements were a part of the AAP tastemaker. So, even while the consumer demand stays, AAP is under the scanner like the banned noodles.

Is AAP a soft target as some economists like Gurcharan Das, believe Nestle is? Well, Arvind Kejriwal is not the first CM to be in power in Delhi, with a not so helpful Centre. Shiela Dikshit cooked her noodles well, maintaining healthy standards even when NDA was at the Centre. Like Nestle, Delhi CM should remember that he reached where he is on the basis of a massive mandate of trust. Like Nestle, blaming the rival brands for your own indiscretions does Kejriwal no good. Much like the Maggie slogan ‘Taste Bhi, Health Bhi’, AAP’s anti-corruption slogan sounds unpalatable when its ministers occupy positions of power on the basis of fake degrees.

The press statement that announced Nestle’s decision to withdraw their product was as vague as Manish Sisodia’s defense of Tomar’s alleged fake degrees. He insisted Tomar was innocent in the morning, but removed him from the shelf by the evening. That an antagonistic BJP is posing hurdles is as obvious as Kejriwal's stubborn, morally superior ego. In this Ajeeb Jung over transfers and appointments, the LG doesn't emerge smelling of roses either. But you can’t hide behind a shield of victim hood and continue to blame rivals.
 Barkha Dutt in an article on Maggi says, “Even if the lead detected is sourced back to ground water, as some have argued in defense of Nestle, why is it not their duty to first treat the water? Likewise, even if the Centre is creating hurdles, as most in the AAP argue, why is it not AAP’s duty to solve the issues amicably? At least move on the areas that are firmly in your jurisdiction.

Whatever the case, the Delhi CM must come good on his promises or we will have no choice but to believe that what is fast to cook is not good to eat. At least, not in politics. Needless to add that once you are thrown out, occupying the coveted market shelves becomes a painstaking affair. Unless you want to run away from the market. Again.