GOD- The Review

It’s but natural for an audience to expect a play to have a beginning, middle and an end. But in case of GOD, a play by Woody Allen they would be glad to make an exception.

GOD was staged by Cult Entertainment on the 6^th  of March at the Alliance Francaise. The director Avinash Daniel’s desire of successfully adapting a Woody Allen play with all its complexities, to a Bangalore audience was realized and how. By introducing sly local references and modifying situations which would appeal to the Bangalore audience, he truly made justice to the script.

The play starts off with an actor a director on stage discussing about an ending for their play, which is about to be staged for the Athenian Drama Festival. But it isn’t only about the ending. Through different characters in the play, important questions, some even philosophical in nature, are raised, thus keeping the audience guessing.

And just when you thought that the ticket money was spent on something serious, out come the slapstick situations and the well delivered laugh lines to lighten the mood. At some point in the play, i (and i believe others too) gave up on trying the fix the pieces and make sense of what was happening to stage and that’s when we all started to enjoy it better. There is the danger that a play might not be able to hold on to the audience, when it stops being coherent. So kudos to the script and the director for ensuring that didn’t happen, in this case.

Coming to the performances the multi-faceted actor Anirudh who played many roles, the prominent one being Bob Fate deserves a special mention. The comic timing and the body language was perfect from his end and the audience response justified it. The Gay King and Doris Levine gave out notable performances and their confidence on stage was evident of the practice that has gone behind it.

There were some minor slip-ups in the acting and the production departments but it was mostly forgotten the patrons who lapped up the humor served to them. One particularly entertaining situation is the use of light and sound for the arrival of GOD and the speech that follows. Brings a smile to me even as write this down; a month later.

There are inherent difficulties in enacting a Woody Allen play on stage. Firstly, there are the hidden meanings behind certain situations and lines, which if not executed well enough, might lose its purpose and fail to get it across to the audience. Then there are the local references, which a New Yorker or an American in general would appreciate better, than an international audience. Cult Entertainment handled theses difficulties with élan with suitable changes and thus ensuring that the audience was kept in the loop during the entire duration of an 'abstract' play like this. Substitution of Broadway with IPL is one such example. Well, you would appreciate it better if you heard it from them.

All in all it was time and money well spent on a pleasant Saturday evening. Or to use the cliche ' It was Paisa Vasool! '

Feeling sore that you missed it the first time around? Well GOD will grace us all again on the 21^st of April at the Ranga Shankara. For more details head to indianstage.in

Short or Medium??

Getting my hair cut, is usually a self decision. Although it starts off with Amma very subtly pointing out my not-so-subtle mane growth, it is a self decision.

Some days of resistance and convincing, of the need to be different, or the attempt at a new style, follow, but a look in the mirror convinces me that its time.


After the undertaking, comes the actual visit to the Salon. The Salon, mind you, not any other salon. The search for the Salon is a long, enduring and a challenging journey guaranteed to make you hair stand on end, with its endless traps and trickery. Loud mouthed barbers and unchanged blades are the prime villains among others. This is certainly not for the bald pated.

Now to those who naively question the search for the Salon, like" Pah what’s the big deal in choosing barber and all? It’s the same scissor and same half broken talcum powder box, no?” I curse them to visit Unisex salons and pay exorbitant prices for hair-styling+marriage-fairness-face-pack+ear-cleaning packages for the rest of their condemned lives.

"Kanna, My hair growth is self-regulated and changes with the different characters, i portray. Hope Balakrishnan doesn't mind..."

Its a different mane game altogether. Its needs patience, diligence and a keen eye. From my experience of having it done at 4 different places before settling down to the current one, the following factors should be looked out for:

1) Ambience: Plush interiors with Gillette shaving cream cans on the shelf, translates to one thing alone. The hair dresser is unskilled, so he is banking on the brands to lure you. Beware of such fellows, for you will be charged Rs.20 more than area average to refill the Gillette can, and end up with a bad hair style for your friends to laugh at. This doesn't mean that you visit shady ones with misspelt boards, but try to find a compromise. For example, the place which has a good balance of imitation and genuine products must seal the deal.

2) Magazines/ Newspapers: Although this might sound trivial, it really hits you when you have a dog eared copy of Star Dust of February 1993 with a Ravenous Raveena Tandon on the cover for company, while you wait your turn. A recent edition of the same or a respected newspaper at the very least, (if not The Hindu) should be present.

3) Television: Everybody wants to know how Claudia is faring in Bigg Boss or the formation of Telengana from the idiot box, barbers included. Even though you might enjoy the occasional Dr.Raj songs while getting your hair cut, the attention of the barber is not on you. With small cuts behind the ear and the nape, i stand as testimony against these fellows. Therefore radio is the only contraption of entertainment that he can possess. With Docomo ads being aired every other minute, he will be fully involved in giving you the best hair cut.

4)The after hair-cut "plz-sir-it-will-relax-you" head massage: The snip snap is done. You feel light in the head and the barber starts right away with the massage, without registering your protest. The karate chops land on your scalp with increasing rapidity and angle variation, leaving you to regret the oncoming headache. Its like paying to watch 2012. A sorry state of affairs.... So find the one, who understands your predicament or the one who massages in the true sense of the word.

After these important factors are taken care off and the list of potential hairstylists have come down to a handful, only then can you start insisting upon hygiene, voluntary change of blade for the straight razor etcetera.

 "No Hair Cut, No Cry..."

The salon that I visit, is one of those not-so-flashy ones and yet well-to-do. It’s minimal, with the right balance of products as mentioned before. The owner of the shop is unobtrusive and a gentleman. We exchange pleasantries and local gossip, while he tries hard to come up with a decent hairstyle that suits my odd shaped head. That I chose to go on Tuesday helps, because the superstitious types don't believe in letting their hair down on this inauspicious day. This saves the effort of having to read through his reasonable magazine collection, as I am served straightaway.

 

I mention "Medium", to the query, “Medium or Short?” and settle down, for him take over. The blade for the straight razor is voluntarily changed, which makes me feel content, on having made the right choice. The haircut is done, so is the customary massage, the sprinkling of powder (whose logo-design seems familiar but not the brand), the brushing of the residual hair and the admiration of the new style at different angles in front of the mirror.

The Salon is an important place in a man’s life. When the mundane things in life like shaving and dyeing one's hair, is being performed by an expert on you, who wouldn't feel pampered? And besides, which other place offers you the thrill of playing around with the elders back home, by threatening to touch something before the bath…??

d/dt(constant)=0

This piece was written a few weeks ago, for the Transit 09 fest souvenir in college. The theme was change. And the above title did not go into the souvenir... So here it is:

The audience was ready. The audience being retired gentlemen, from the households of Vijayanagar. The meeting place was the lone tree shelter near Manuvana. Mr.Shetty had special rituals conducted at the nearby Maruthi mandir, for the safety of this shelter from the marauding Metro construction nearby. It seemed that his prayers hadn’t been in vain. Atleast for now…

Mr.Murlidhar sensed the discontentment in the gathering. He assumed that the recent political turmoil in the state was causing it. Clearing his throat, he said,"Fellow members, I feel that we should all be more proactive with the issues that concern the state. What do you all say?".

This was met with a round of guffaws from the members, with some of them incoherently mumbling, “What a joke!!” “Why do you say so Murli?” asked Mr.Shetty. “Well, its definitely better than grumbling about the situation and seeking a change…”

“But how does it matter? Does it stop governments from ending their power struggles? Does that alleviate the condition for the flood affected? Does that end the mindless destruction of greenery in the name Metro? We are helpless after the application of the indelible ink.” Thundered Muniyappa, fondly called Vajramuni.

“I agree with Vajru on this one, we should have a communist rule like China, what discipline… what progress…Otherwise it’s a hopeless situation” said Mr.Shyam, which was emphasized by a round of tapping the walking sticks.

“If that is how you all feel, let me give you a situation, Imagine your loved one who is suffering from a forbidden disease and the doctors at Hospital X, have given up hope. Would you give up hope? Wont you take a second opinion, perhaps rush him/her to another hospital? In other words, wouldn’t you do all that’s possible from your end, to see your loved one happy and healthy again? Then, why this apathy when it comes to the society?...” countered Murali.

“But Uncle, How do individuals, without the backing of powerful contacts and means to money, be able to make a significant contribution to the society?” asked Ravi the lone youngster in the group.

"This is where the misconception lies. It’s the intention the matters, not the quantum of money or the publicity it generates. Let me tackle Vajru’s points.

Why should the struggle of power affect you in helping the flood affected? Haven’t you heard of companies offering to build shelters for them? Haven’t you heard of noble individuals cooking rotis and making sure it supplied to the helpless? Assist these efforts to extend their reach. Otherwise cajole others to contribute to a fund started by you and make it your responsibility to visit the affected places and make sure that the money is well spent. This would surely enthuse many contributors to donate to your fund… How does red tape or bureaucracy stop you from doing this? "

“Interesting”, mumbled Mr.Shastry, while making a silent prayer, when the street lights came on.

“Coming to the Metro, appeal to the local authorities if you feel that nature is being irrevocably damaged. If that falls on deaf ears, start a peaceful protest to achieve you end. If no light is visible at the end of the tunnel, initiate efforts to recover the green cover lost in this mayhem. Start greenery drives, by encouraging the youngsters to plant trees. Wouldn’t that be helpful to the city and its people?”

“We can’t stop the preaching once it begins” whispered Mr.Ram to Vajru, much to his indignation.

“Alright uncle, you did mention some measures which can adopted by all of us. But how do we sensitize the citizens of Bangalore, to these issues and others? Hygiene and civic sense for example…”asked Ravi.

“Well Ravi, charity begins at home. First try to sensitize the ones whom you are close to. Adapt your methods based on how effective you are. If the speech, like the boring one that I am giving you now, doesn’t work, use innovations like a street play or media like theater or movies to put your point across.

Most importantly practice what you preach. People easily identify to the cause if they can identify it with a role model. That’s why we are social animals. Some of us are self willing, others need the catalyst.”

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” concluded Mr.Murli

“Wonder who said that? It’s at the tip of my tongue.” butted in Shastry. “It was bapuji himself. Shastry, you and your memory.” quipped Vajru, much to the amusement to everyone.

“Alright everyone, can the pleasantries be exchanged over a cup of coffee?” suggested Mr.Shyam. The very idea of coffee found a whole hearted agreement amongst them. The collective sound of the jostling walking sticks, faded amidst the evening noises.

The curious case of my teeth

"Now Shivu, you need to hold the tissue carefully, else you will end up giving post-procedure pain to the dear boy..." says Dr.SS who drives the cutting tool farther down the 3rd molar.

"ah?!", laments I...


what is it about CCD?
that's makes me so uneasy...
is it the others around me?
Or the prices which make me say, "Wowee"...

So went my lame attempt at poetry, whilst waiting for Anna and M at the nearby CCD. As always, the cafe maintained its reputation of playing totally inane music. That combined with the incessant tittering of a couple sitting beside my table, made me to work more on my quartet...


The arrival of M and Anna, saved me the label of acquiring the poetic abilities of Vogons (as fans of H2G2 might recall with pleasure). The observer that M is, she asked me about the puffed right cheek. "Didn’t get into any trouble, i suppose...” she adds naively... Knowing fully well, that if i did, the damages wouldn’t have stopped with a puffed right cheek.


So to end all the mystery, i begin the narrative of the Curious case of My teeth. A case, whose 'what-the-what?' quotient is so high that, it will make the identity of the final Suitor of Rakhi Sawant and twitter updates of Ashton Kutcher, seem passe.

The narrative had many timelines to it, so i tried to pull of a Memento trick on the duo, but on her insistence i was forced to take up the linear technique.


After adjusting my position to that of a dental veteran...


{which involves stretching the legs, leaning on one of the arm rests and a mock adjustment of eye glasses with a distant look and masterly ordering hot choco latte for everyone, taking a gentle sip and...}


"So it all began, in the middle of a fine dinner circa 199x (x=6,7) when i complained of a Mamatha Banerjeesque tooth which refused to fall and was promptly seated on a dentist's chair, in the neighbourhood. The Dentist frowned at the condition of the tooth, the jaw and mumbled about the complexity of the case, before he loudly announced, “the tooth must be extracted and everything will be fine".

(" 'Everything will be fine', was always the phrase, which would be followed with no-holds-barred pain and horrors in my dental history...)

Cheap numbing spray and a few yankings later, I got to say goodbye to my first tooth. And thus began the journey of extractions, a journey which took not the beaten path of losing teeth by natural means, for ex. falling from bicycle, swallowing the about-to-go tooth, fighting etc. But the glorious path of artificial means which involved machinery and procedures of such beauty and complexity, it would have made any engineer's eyes moist with wonder."

"Even i have had extractions: P" interjected M. But to the reply, "Have you had 16 of them?" made her decide not to interject any more.

"16 extractions I have had dear and i don’t lie. 8 of them milk and 8 of them permanent. To the effect that, I am making do with just 24 out the 32 god gifted tools with which man has achieved so much." At this point she :O ed and took some time to regain her composure and i ordered another latte in good measure. Anna says, " But you don’t look like someone having 75% of human teeth.." (Probably expecting 8 empty slots neatly lined up..)

"That’s the X factor. The shape of the jaw and teeth and their sizes make up for the loss such that you wouldn’t notice. (I wink for the final touch).

"After the first extraction, my dad suggested that I consult a dentist capable of handling my case. And the visits to the White House clinic on St.Marks road began from thereon, a frequent haunt for 7 years nearly."

"Some from extractions followed and the foundation for Orthodontic treatment or teeth correction was laid during the middle school years. Braces firmly fixed upon admission to high school. But the extractions continued unabated. The only cheerful aspect of this episode was the brief mention that someday my case might make into the Journals of Dentistry. International recognition for my teeth was indeed heartening."

"People inculcate the virtue of Patience from dealing with warnings in Vista or Dial up internet connections, but I inculcated that from my visits to the clinic. The agonizing wait for the dentist, then the wait for the anesthetic to act (during extractions), the wait for the visit in itself to get over with; were tests of patience far greater than the pre 1991 telephone/cooking gas/car procurements..."

"There was a brief lull (with the completion of correction treatment), during the PU years and the 2 years of engineering, which gave me a false sense of contentment that the epic was drawing to a close. But a week ago, during a routine checkup, Dr.SS announced, “4 wisdom teeth have to be removed immediately." Abhi kahani bakhi hain mere dost, slurred SRK in the Reception room TV."

“After a while, I experienced a return to familiar territory. Having personally witnessed the evolution of Dentist chairs, equipments and procedures over the period of my treatment, I felt, there’s nothing more that ain’t prepared for. Horror stories of others’ wisdom extractions failed to unsettle me. ‘Bring it on’, I said to myself.

Although the extraction was complex enough to involve Maxillo-facial surgeons and innovative methods like breaking the tooth to 3 pieces before removal, I took it in… During the entire period of extraction, the final ten minutes of Requiem for a Dream played over and over again in my head. (The only movie segment, which unsettles me and gives me goose bumps, even when viewed in broad daylight… the music, the sequence of images brrrrrr….).

And thus the right cheek got puffed up…” said I ending the narration, much to the relief of my audience, who were bored enough to count the number of times the adverts had repeated, on the OOH TV plastered to the wall.

“So now I get that fixation of yours in expecting well maintained teeth from others,” says M. I sheepishly agree, much to the amusement of the duo.

As we leave CCD, with droplets of rain coming down ever so gently upon us, I realize that although I go through those moments of “why me? Why do I, of all the people, had to go through such agony and pain?”, I must count my blessings. Unwavering support and insistence from parents (Amma especially) on getting the treatment done, Brilliant dentists on whose wisdom I trusted, and permitted to operate upon on my teeth, the opportunity of getting my leg pulled among friends about my fixation and offering them a few laughs…

Its worth it all… :)

Mumbai meri jaan...

"Have you lost faith in the city, memsahib?” Asked the driver which broke my reverie. "Why do you ask?” 

“With all these attacks and blasts, you must have felt very scared..." 

Little did he know, of what I had been through when the attacks and blasts had occurred. "The city is and shall always remain dear to me, come what may". Hearing this he smiled, and turned up the volume of his radio...

Having elaborately planned my tour to the sub-continent, my parents weren't happy that I was doing this alone. Their fear about my safety wasn't unfounded either, with incidents of harassment of tourists in the Metros being reported frequently. But I realized that with some street-smartness and compliance to the basic Do's and Don’ts while visiting these countries; I could do very well for myself. And enjoy a good trip to India...

My first stop was Mumbai. A pretty easy choice, considering it was the HQ of a dream factory, one could say. A factory that churned out motion pictures by the dozen, which carried with it the hopes and aspirations of those working with it and those to whom it was made for. Although their total disconnect with the portrayal of the Real India is a bit of a bother, it does provide a temporary escape from daily grinds of life for the audience, which is worth their ticket price.

The city's role in the colonial rule of yore and also in larger time frame of Indian history also made it easier. The monuments, the bustling and vibrant city life, the novels which had the city as its premise; just led me to it.

I was staying at the Trident, Oberoi, the preferred hotel among foreign nationals. Many of online travel buddies had nice things to say about it. The wonderful view of the sea among other things. And at the end of a tiring day roaming around the city, you would want to soak in with some comfort ;).

Three days had passed, since I landed in the city, when the sun rose on the 26th Thursday. It was my last day here and i hadn't planned on anything stressful. A visit to the Jehangir art gallery and Mani bhawan followed by an evening saunter by the Juhu beach was on the agenda.

I returned to the hotel by about 6pm and headed straight for the Spa. After having finished my dinner by 8.30pm I headed back to my room to start packing. My flight was at 2.00am. Later I found my diary replete with jottings of the journey. Going through the pictures I had clicked, as and when I mentioned something in the diary, I relived my stay, picture by picture, page by page. 

The Taxis, the Best buses, the Dabbawalas, the chats at Chowpatty, the oi-look-at-the-gori-chori ogle. {Although the attention was unwarranted} was so much fun. One thing about the Mumbaikar is that they never fail to lend a hand or offer a smile to the ones in need. Maybe I was lucky in encountering the good ones…




24 hours had passed since the terrorists had taken us as hostages. Sitting beside me was Vijay, a project leader in an IT solutions company who made a business presentation yesterday, at this very conference hall. Then there was Ahmed to my left, a server who worked in the day shift at one of the restaurants above. The others were scattered across the hall. 

We introduced ourselves to each other, keeping our faces straight, making no expressions whatsoever and keeping our voices to a whisper. 

A good number of foreigners were present in the hall. It took me a while to get a feel of the situation, to know what was happening around me. And the thought, of the anxiety that folks back home would be going through, churned my stomach. 

The terrorists were moving around with sense of purpose. There was a method to their madness. It was evident that a lot of planning and training preceded this operation. Why was I assessing them like a professional team doing an honest job? I had to keep myself sane and positive in these trying times. The smell of the two rotting dead foreigners, was overpowering us.  

We held each others hands and Ahmed lent his shoulder and also kind words of consolation, when I broke down from time to time. Why wouldn’t they understand that this approach led them nowhere? If they really cared about righting the wrongs that their brethren had suffered, weren’t other means available?...

The sounds of staccato fire and grenades blasting shook us now and then. What I later came to know as a NSG counterattack, was making its presence felt. Sheer exhaustion due to hunger and dehydration made me doze of for longer periods of time. Vijay was getting agitated about the state of affairs. That innocent people were caught in something this terrible, for no fault of theirs, irked him. Ahmed tried to console him, but to no avail. I was a mute spectator to the happenings…

Two more foreigners were shot dead on the second day ruthlessly, without remorse. The remaining hostages were too shocked to respond anymore… We were given some water to drink. The thirst remained unquenched… 

Later in the evening a unit of the NSG stormed the hotel. The terrorists agitatedly ordered us to move in to another hall, a floor below. 

What possessed Vijay to do what he did remains a puzzle to me. He took one of the terrorists by surprise, shouting expletives and giving them a punch or two. The other snuffled him out within no time. I screamed out and tried to reach but Ahmed pulled me along with the others. I was too weak to offer resistance. 

The rest of the events are still fuzzy and vague in my memory. Vijay’s death had shocked me enough perhaps, to remain oblivious to my surroundings. The NSG came in, there was a lot of commotion, and there were screams, gunshots, orders being shouted out… Ahmed meanwhile, literally carried me out through a fire exit he had known to exist nearby. 

At the lobby, he made me to stand up and hold my hands up in the air as we exited the hotel. I flopped almost immediately outside the hotel, prompting some people outside to rush in and offer some help… Ahmed was dragged away in another direction perhaps. 

“Everything’s okay. You’ll be fine ma’am”. 
“Ahmed, Where is Ahmed….?”  
“Arrey teekh se pakad (the door shut). Achha Ab chalo jaldi”… 
The ambulance zoomed away…

“How do you feel Miss Jacqueline?”, this from a sprightly officer who seemed to me as a compatriot. 

“Very well, thank you. And you are…”

“John Summers, from the office of the British Deputy High Commission here. I am here to ensure your safety and your safe return back home. We have informed your relatives about your state and have made travel arrangements for you, to leave India as early as tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s very helpful of you to do so.”

“The Travel documents including temporary passport and tickets are here. I believe you lost them all in the unsavory happenings. Please do not miss the flight under any circumstances, for the city is yet to be healed from its wounds.”

“Yes, I will. Mr. John, it would also be of great help if you lent me some local currency.”

“Not for sightseeing or shopping, I presume”. “No, I had to attend to some personal matters, before I leave the city.” 



“Memsahib, this is the house according to the address.” I got down, asking the driver to wait for an hour perhaps. I stopped before opening the gates to Vijay’s house. I took a deep breath and went inside. Namrata, Vijay’s wife broke down inconsolably after I introduced myself. I told her about all the wonderful things he had mentioned about the family and told her to accept what had happened. “You are lucky, aren’t you?” she asked me.  

“There isn’t much difference in the ones dead and the ones who survived, Namrata. The scars might have healed on me, but they will remain inside me. The rage within him made him do what he did. He is more blessed a soul than those who took his life…”

After a tearful partaking and a promise to keep in touch, I headed to Ahmed’s house. He was delighted to see me and asked to me to join them for lunch. I refused politely, but thanked him profusely for saving my life. He asked his daughter to come out and said,” this is the memsahib, I was talking about. You should also achieve something in life and be brave enough to travel to another country on your own.” He laughed much to the chagrin of her and she looked at me suspiciously. “She knows memsahib, that Allah wouldn’t forgive the perpetrators of terror and that they have no religion to call as their own”. “That would be the best thing for her to know.” I replied before I left him.

"Airport, memsahib?", "Airport it is..."

Tough questions remained unanswered in me, Why does the political establishment take the Mumbaikar for granted? For how long will they keep bandying about saying the Mumbai spirit lives on? How could such a breach of security take place at the maritime borders? When will the day come, when the people can lead their lives away from the shadow of terror?   

And this song played in the background, curiously enough…
♫Ai dil hain mushkil, jeena yahan, zara hat ke , zara bach ke, ye hain Bambai meri jaan♫