From The Iron Jawed Angels…..in oranges and women, courage is often mistaken for insanity

The way we go

Of all the stories Ma told me when I was young, I remember most vividly the one about the young man to be hanged. It was not dark and it was not tragic but it was pointless in its point then, as the culprit was not the boy’s bad deeds but his mother’s inability to stop him when he did wrong. Ma went on and on, upping the magnitude of the boy’s crimes, as he grew older.

Since then, I have often thought about the boy. Because as I think, as I have thought over the years, I want to tell Ma, and one day my kid, another story about two brothers who had a drunkard father. One brother adopted the father’s ills, spiteful and angry at fate for giving him such a parent; the other brother however, aspired to learn from his father’s example and be a better person.

The two stories have often baffled me for no reason. They have come back in the most trying of times and most placid moments. They are my deepest source of strength when everything else fails me. And they have come back to me, as I fight back tears and a lump in my heart, for no reason.

Thoughts on IPL Modi

Skeletons and corpses being pulled out of Lalit Modi’s IPL and earlier years appear like a joke. The BCCI, the government and the media are zapped at how Modi channeled IPL moolah to weave a royal, jet-setting life for himself. But the dirt that these conscience keepers are blowing into the faces of people like me, was it ever hidden, unknown or impalpable?

I admit I never followed state elections that led to Raje’s fall in Rajasthan, but why did I not get to read about her corrupt lackey, Mr Modi? Why did no newspaper or channel ever wonder aloud about Modi’s connection to the Burmans? Were overseas trips, a jet-taxi, the hotel suite and his brashness so discreet and sweet that they were utterly forgivable and forgettable until Sania did not fly off to Pakistan and leave behind a paparazzi gap that begun to see potential as soon as tweeting went overboard?

Before Modi spilled the beans on Pushkar and her sweat equity, why did she never bless the gossip columns? Why is Tehelka adopting a holier than thou tone in reporting an interview it conducted with the potential Mrs Tharoor with golden hair. Women move up ladders, strike alliances of convenience to benefit and in some cases lead to a man’s fall. There is nothing new about it all and there is no victimastion here.

For all the righteous frenzy that surrounds IPL at the moment, the truth is, this is no witch-hunt. It is a power game, where the current head is being cut off to re-grow a new head of mutual convenience and benefit. One day all of a sudden, Modi and his dark deeds would disappear from the media glare, and we will move on to a new blockbuster of love, sex, business, lecherous gurus, political alliances and dhoka. Business would be back to usual.

Face wash

It is said if it said that we grow with time. If we do then it is probable we put on layers of growth every time the “TIME” spins a new googly our way.

In my case, it seems, every experience is simply a cleanser that wipes some more black from my face. After every face wash I open my eyes to see a bit more of ME in the mirror. If so then many bottles of face wash later, I am sure to discover my true self san makeup.

But if life is to be lived, till the last breath, then during my last moments in this life, when I have nothing to lose, I may finally be rubbed clean to reveal that purest and truest of myself. But then I will promptly be signed off with canisters of ghee and the lick of flames and a blow to my poor skull that would all remain when the flames are done.

PS: watched The Ghost Writer (TGW) yesterday. Two thoughts!

1. Does an actor make a role or does a role make the actor? Wrong English? Never mind! Pierce Brosnan does not tug at my heart the way Akshay does despite the tragedy called “Singh is King”. I have watched Mr Brosnan in bits as Bond and hold on to my belief that Daniel Craig bought more sense and brawn to the role in his first tryst. I have watched Brosnan in “The Thomas Crown Affair”, “Mama Mia” and now TGW and beyond the good looks, suaveness and sleekness; I have failed to understand his style. His acting feels like my cooking skills that end up making every dish I concoct, taste the same.

2. I forgot!!!!!

Soch

A long-distant friend told me she was unhappy because she thought too much. I advised her to stop thinking and get busy like I am, in straightening cushions, smoothening creases out of the bed sheet, buying flowers, doing grocery, cooking in a while, bitching and other mundanities.

She asked if I ever gave in to thinking?

I admitted, I did, on weekends, when there were no omelets to be whipped, 8:30am trains to catch and office machines to be punched before 9am. And when this happened-that thinking and thoughts assaulted my mind, my self, bereft of a routine, I felt depressed.