Y U No Show Love To Madrasis?

Posted by - Rohit

I watched her face beam with happiness, complimented by that sinister smile. I looked at her with utter disbelief when she said..."Let's watch Student Of The Year". 
The doors opened. We were in.

Seven hours and thirty seven minutes later: 
We walked out of the exit door, with none of us looking at each other's faces.  Something had hit us really hard and made us feel small, unwanted and frivolous. We asked ourselves the same question that a Pendant hidden in Pamela Anderson's cleavage would ask itself - "Am I really wanted in this big world?". The reason this disappointment was jutting out of our faces was - THERE WAS NOT EVEN A SINGLE SOUTH INDIAN IN THE MOVIE. 

(North Indian) Student of The Year, is a movie about a rich boy, Rohan Nanda, who wins a race and comes back to meet his friends after 10 years with a tattoo on his neck. He also has a poor friend, Abhimanyu Singh who cheats him with his cheater girlfriend, Shanaya Singhania, whose Hindi was dubbed by Claudia Ceisla. That's about it. 
So, all you Nairs, Nambiars, Mudaliars, Venkateshwarans, Iyers, Gullapallis, Goudas, Naidus, Reddys, Raos and all those people who have friends who say they know their language by saying "Yenna Rascala", I feel sorry for you, but for once, let's try to empathize and try to understand what could have been the thought process behind Johar excluding South Indians (which includes Malaysians and Arabs) from his movies.

For instance, let's just say that the rich son-of-a-business-tycoon boy, who wins the race and gets cheated, Rohan Nanda was named Rohan Nandakishoran. The crux of our assumption itself lies flawed. One, a rich South Indian either works for a rich business tycoon or a software company. Two; south indian boys are not allowed to race after school, three; how could one ever justify a hot girlfriend for a guy who has that kind of a last name; four, 10 years later the guy would be an Engineer in the US and would have new friends.
Now, let's think, What if the female lead in the movie Shanaya Singhania, who cheats her son-of-a-business-tycoon boyfriend was named Shanaya Subramanium. Again, our hypothesis is flawed. Question yourself, Shanaya Subramanium...is that name Loui Vuitton enough? What couples itself with a last name like Singhania is an attitude akin to - "Mera naam hain Shanaaya...aur lagta nahi ki tumne hain aaj Nahayaa" (Meaning - You heard my name...now get going.) And as far as a Subramanium is concerned, when you think of someone with a last name as that, you instantly start debating about world economics. 

When Krishnan Iyer M.A left his legendary mark in the erstwhile Agnipath, the younger Johar had one opportunity to cast a similar South Indian character for his remake. But then, the same question arose - Is the character Loui Vuitton enough?

In movies like Kal ho na ho, what if the central character, Aman Mathur, was named Ambati Gullapallis? One would have thought that the central character died because his last name was too heavy to be carried along and would have been happy for his death. There flies the sole purpose of the movie.
I tried to dig into every character that Karan Johar has created while directing a movie and looking at the list of Khannas, Malhotras, Mathurs, Talwars, Sarans and Khans for that matter, even a Venkatsubramnaniumramakrishnan seems microscopic.

After watching Student Of The Year, I couldn't sleep without being sorry for myself. I had Karan Johar in my dreams along with Renzil D'Silva conversing about the possibility of having one south indian character for their movie - 

Renzil D'Silva (RD): What do you think of Preethi Badrinath?
Karan Johar (KJ): What baby?

RD: What about Sukumar Parmeshwaran?
KJ: No Pomeranians in my movie hun, only Barjatyas use it.

RD: Tamil Selvan?
KJ: ...could you just pass me my purse?

This went on and on and on...and then I suddenly woke up shouting out loud "Rahul Anjali ka Jhagda...Rahul Anjali Ka Jhagda...Rahul Anjali ka...". My mom came running after hearing this cry of agony and she could feel my diminished self respect. With her eyes brimming with tears she patted my head and kept on saying "Mira Nair Beta...Mira Nair...Mira Nair...". I went back to sleep.

PS: Karan Jaganmohan Jagadeeshan,  (Hah! Take that Johar!) you are just not Joy Allukas enough for us.

My Rain forest.

Posted by - Rohit
I'm currently associated with a Social Organisation named MAD which cater to underprivileged kids. During one of those teaching sessions taken up by my fellow MADsters one of the students came up with absolute brilliance to create his own wonder world with his simple imagination.
The piece by this little 13 year old is about an imaginary rain forest, where in one of the pines was apparently created by his friend Vishal. Read on...

Here you go - A poem on Rain forests by Aniket 'Jordan' Jadhav.

"I am in the jungle
watching my friend dinosaurs uncle.
Why are you so huge and wide?
Because you take animals and make it fried.
To eat there are trees like Wollemi Pines
Who invented Wollemi Pines?
I am so fine!
There is one more tree whose name is Bristlecone pine,
Vishal invented it because he is so kind.
There are animals in the forest tiger, cheetah etc
Imagine there is a man called Mandera .:P
There are lakes rivers and ponds.
However they are nice but they are life for plants.
This is my rainforest.It gives us more gain,
when it rain.
But every body like the rain because it is so cool and friend.
This is what my imaginary jungle.
It is nice, humble."

Share and let's give more impetus to his creativity.

The Lover.

Posted by - Rohit
I wake up with heavy eyes, my body filled with guilt.
I look deep into myself, I understand, I've surrendered myself again.
I walk with my conscience nagging me to death.
Realised I failed to love myself again.

The day shines on me, and I don't look at myself anymore.
I close my eyes, I reach out for you.
My love so strong for you that I don't see anything.
You...my source of pleasure, relief, love, solace, happiness.

All the while. All around me.
Voids get bigger, but you fill them everytime.
Call me addicted,
I'll call myself a lover.
Unconditional it is, repercussions...inescapable.

Pleasure takes over fear.

The Client/ Job Forsaken - II

Posted by - Rohit

I still remember those days when finding a job was as good as finding a Unicorn in Kurla. Those were the days when I realised two things; one, there were more software industries than pan-tapri shops; two, Samosa Pav was highly underrated and should've been the National Dish of India. But after 4 months, 40 odd IT companies and one bribe offer that my friend Pradeep and I were willing to give to one of the companies, we finally found that elusive job.

"9,800 per month" she said with a smile on her face. The offer was more than enough for the two of us as it replenished our hopes of being software engineers that our parents dreamed us of being. The de facto principle that every software start up adopts is - "If a client asks for your service...also offer him a glass of water along with a straw". They were what Ram Gopal Varma is to struggling actors. So, in order to cater to their needs and 10 hours of never ending love for the client everyday, we marched on with undaunted hopes.

With almost 37 days of experience, Pradeep and I were finally ready for client interaction. I was asked to meet up a client who had forayed into a new business, which was all about making juices with an imported juice maker. I had no clue, what kind of service I was supposed to give. Probable IT consultation? Or maybe he wanted to know how could he integrate or make IT synergetic with his business. I was given the client's phone number and we finally met as he arrived in an auto-rickshaw near a wholesale vegetable market. I introduced myself to him in some fake American accent which eventually sounded french and he replied back in American as well, but it still sounded Gujrati. I initially thought we were headed to his office, but we were instead headed to his home. Maybe he wanted consultation or maybe my accent was too big for his office.

We got out of the rickshaw and as he was about to pay he figured out that he didn't have any change with him. I had to do the honours, even though I made a mental note of it, I had made up my mind that I would not take money from him as it would really be a petty thing to do. 33 bucks? Really? I wouldn't even think of asking.
We finally reached his door, opened by his wife. Her little nod of acknowledgement was as sophisticated as Sharapova's to the chair umpire. By now I knew this interaction would be the right learning experience. They had a little kid who greeted me with a very innocent "Hello, Uncle". I didn't mind that jibe from the kid. No, really I didn't. Ok, I hated the kid right away. The kid went on to ask his mom "Kaunse uncle hain?" (Who is this guy?) to which his mother replied "Beta, mechanic hain?" (He is just another guy, who is good with wires.) I was shocked with this amazing act of typecasting techies into the category of mechanics. Before I could think much about it, call my mom and tell her to get me out of that place, the client asked me to accompany him to his room. As soon as I entered the room, I felt I was trapped between these walls made up of gelatin, clearly shouting out "My family is better than the one you watch on TV". He guided me to the only thing that was relevant to me in that room, his desktop PC. And then he clearly stated my purpose of being present at his place -
"I want you to print 12 labels on an A4 size paper."

Before I could look back at him in disbelief, tell him that I'm an Engineer, tell him not to judge me by my accent and tell him that I have a better purpose in life, his wife came in the room and asked "Khaana bhi yahi khayenge?" (Is he going to have food with us?) I was shocked with this act of non-chalance. Then I took a moment or two to regather myself and do what was sane and the right thing at that point of time - I started printing labels.

I was setting up the label template, getting the dimensions right so as to arrange the entire strip of 6 properly, I heard that little kid come inside the room and say "Aap ghar nahi jaayenge?" (I think you really are gawking at my mom. Don't you want to go home?). By now I wanted to tell that kid that his father is a loser and his juice business is not going to take off and that they are going to be miserable at the end of this venture.

I finally finished off all that I had to. Gave him his A4 sized pages with labels on it. he gave me a nod of acknowledgment as I kept feeling like one of those hardware engineers who would come home to repair our PCs back then in the late 90s, tighten up a screw and blame the motherboard for everything. With a sour taste in my mouth (I believe it was the Dal), I was all set to leave, I turned back to him and asked him for my 33 bucks I paid for the rickshaw.

These were the times when having a social life would have termed one a rebel, earning anything around 15k a month would term one rich and finding a job would LABEL one lucky. Happy to have lived that life, but then I still hate that kid.