‘09 in Status

Overlooked and Uncollaged

[Ashish Gajera] is excited about Goldspot concert on Feb. 13th!

[Ashish Gajera] enjoyed Ustad Amjad Ali Khan and Scottish Chamber Orchestra. After a mesmerizing fusion of the two, he’s got a guess for the next Grammy for World Music winner.

[Ashish Gajera] wants everyone to vote on the new Facebook layout: http://apps.facebook.com/layoutvote/?ref=sta

Music!

Vh1!

World Environment Day. Weekend. Shopping. Fun. Blogging. Google. Painting. Laziness. Photography. Nothingness.

Shuffled Relapse. Rated 5/5.

Saturday. Birthday. Friends. Fun. Prayers. Love.

Viva la Vida!

My Balcony View: A Developing India

His legacy begins my mornings every day with “The Way You Make Me Feel” playing as the theme song for the Good Morning program on Vh1 India. MJ rocks, pops, and lives forever!

If stuck in reverse, let Chris Martin fix you!

In Surat for Diwali celebrations… Yahoooo!

My brother: With all the things in your hands, what more would you like to expect, if given a chance? Emptiness. :>

Listening to Cry by James Blunt. Beautiful!

Happy Diwali to all of you!

We are realists, we dream the impossible! – Che Guevara

TED is my new love.

Got an invitation to preview Google Wave!

<I liked this message> Invite others to Google Wave: Google Wave is more fun when you have others to wave with, so please nominate people you would like to add. Keep in mind that this is a preview so it could be a bit rocky at times. Invitations will not be sent immediately. We have a lot of stamps to lick. Happy waving!

“Me and my guitar play my way. It makes them frown. But little pieces by the highway bring me down. Mine is not a heart of stone, I am only skin and bone, And those little pieces are little pieces of my own. Why don’t you give me some love?” James Blunt

How difficult is it to communicate change to the world? Very.

Accenture’s recruitment ad today: …Just another day at the office for a high performer. (hmmm..not ‘for a Tiger’ anymore?!). hehe..

Hah, that was it. Almost a year on Facebook and I’m just loving it. I Hope I get better at this status-business in ‘10. Work it, make it, do it, makes us; harder, better, faster, stronger. Btw, Aditi had some really nice things to say. Now you know that this post is actually her idea and I must say ‘thanks, Aditi’ for that!

Blood Brothers by Karmacy

This is still the reigning, most-popular Gujarati rap song ever. A brilliant piece from Karmacy’s debut album “The Movement.” Rapped in Gujarati and English with synthesized sitar and flute, the song is about the conflict between two brothers, one who emigrates to the U.S. and the other who prefers to stay in homeland.

Lyrics of Blood Brothers [After almost an hour of repeated listening to the song, at various decibels!]

Aay hie, soo chaleche yaar?
Kasoo nai, bhai; laj, chokri, ne paisa,
Mare toh America javu che, ne millionaire thavu che.
Evu che? Tya su karse? Aena karta aiya re.
Tane khabar nathi padti, India maa kasu nathi,
Aakho divas bhanvanu ne cricket ramvanu pan aena pachi su?
Papa su bolse, mummy tho radsej, kahu chu tane taari saathe badha toh ladsej.
Ema su, khasi ja, have hoon jou chu, mari jindgi pachi lau chu, avi rite moto thau chu,
Badhane kai de hoon garib nathi revano.
Badha ne kai dais, tya America ma revado.
Navai lage che, dharma ni yaad nai, thodik dookh bi nai,
Lagan karis? Koni saathe?
Mare pivu che, toh piva de aa navu paani.
Toh jaa, pun maru dil toh rehsej ahiya.

Maru dil, my heart, maru loi, my blood, from the start,
Mari naat, my family, two worlds apart.
How do I move on, bhai?
Kevi rite jais? Cuz no matter where I go,
My soul is in the same place!

Dear bro, it’s been a long time since we talked,
Four years since I stepped off that plane, how’s mom and pops,
As for me I’m workin’ hard learnin’ the ropes of the game,
I went from a nobody to lots of fortune and some fame.
In my own eyes, I think I’m doing really well,
I got lots of money, so tell nobody to worry about my wealth,
But for my health, well, it could be a little better,
But take care of yourself, love your bro, I’ll storm through this weather.

Maro bhai, mane laage che ke tane bahu faave che,
Saru toh jivan jivo, pun tabiyat kevi laage che?
Mummy ne papa ni yaad aave che ke bhuli gayo?
Emni tabiyat bagde che, jyaare tu paisa pachal padi gayo,
Haari gayo, aa jindgi aave che ne jaai che.
Saru toh maro bhai, saro bhai tu maro dhai,
Chu tu maaro bhai, lu tu maro dil chu,
Seni mate aavi rite jivan jivu chu?

Maru dil, my heart, maru loi, my blood, from the start,
Mari naat, my family, two worlds apart.
How do I move on, bhai?
Kevi rite jais? Cuz no matter where I go,
My soul is in the same place!

Hello my brother, how are you, bhai, kem che?
You like my new suit, just got it tailored, Sergio Valente.
Aaa mari vahu Meena ne apri baby Shivani; besi ja, kasu kha: cha, nasto, ke pani?
Here’s a gift for your wife, a baby doll for your girl,
I can’t wait till it’s my turn to bring a new life into this world.
Toh lagan kyare karis? Trees varas pati gaya!
There’s no time for all that and I refuse to do a biodata.
Family joiye che, pun lage che ke mali gayu,
Tu ne tara paisa, taru lagan thai gayu.
Let it go, let it flow, I already know where I stand,
What I have, my two hands, my one life and my fame,
Aa vaat khari che? Ke tu khali khali bole che?
Why do you keep on asking me this, you know that you know it’s true.
Evu che? I guess that’s it.
Ave hoon America jau chu!
No I would never let you go what I’ve gone through!
Maru dil, my heart, maru loi, my blood, from the start,
Mari naat, my family, two worlds apart.
How do I move on, bhai?
Kevi rite jais? Cuz no matter where I go,
My soul is in the same place!
Hello my brother, how are you, bhai, kem che?
You like my new suit, just got it tailored, Sergio Valente.
Aaa mari vahu Meena ne apri baby Shivani; besi ja, kasu kha: cha, nasto, ke pani?
Here’s a gift for your wife, a baby doll for your girl,
I can’t wait till it’s my turn to bring a new life into this world.
Toh lagan kyare karis? Trees varas pati gaya!
There’s no time for all that and I refuse to do a biodata.
Family joiye che, pun lage che ke mali gayu,
Tu ne tara paisa, taru lagan thai gayu.
Let it go, let it flow, I already know where I stand,
What I have, my two hands, my one life and my fame,
Aa vaat khari che? Ke tu khali khali bole che?
Why do you keep on asking me this, you know that you know it’s true.
Evu che? I guess that’s it.
Ave hoon America jau chu!
No I would never let you go what I’ve gone through

Maru dil, my heart, maru loi, my blood, from the start,
Mari naat, my family, two worlds apart.
How do I move on, bhai?
Kevi rite jais? Cuz no matter where I go,
My soul is in the same place!

et•cet•era: read and write

Sometimes I write because I want to, I write because I read. Sometimes I write because I can’t write that piece any other time. I write for pleasure, Couéism, and leisure. I write for you, my readers. Sometimes, out of some nonsense obligation, I also serve brilliant stuff like this (btw, I feel it’s not all that bad; maybe that’s why it’s still up) that I have tried so hard not to move to trash! Sometimes I write so that you don’t stop after the first sentence. Sometimes I write so that Josh Olson can recognize that I can write.

In this wonderful, funny piece (a must-read), screenwriter Josh Olson offers the following:

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you’re in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you’re dealing with someone who can’t.

(By the way, here’s a simple way to find out if you’re a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you’re not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)

26/11, Mumbai, India

Iam.not.whatIeat/IamwhatIeat

Hello Mr. Manager,

Believe me. When I say that I am not a south Indian thali or a north Indian thali, a Russian salad, a biryani, an a la carte dish, or any damn vegetarian dish available there. I am not a sandwich, a samosa, an idli, or a dosa. And certainly not the water that I never drink, the smoke that I have to breathe, a glass of (we’ve) pineapple/papaya/apple/grapes/orange/banana/pomegranate/sapodilla juice (which one, sir?), a cup of American sweet corn, or a free scoop of the cheap-pink ice cream that you try to lure some of us into by attaching it with biryani or something. What am I made of, then, really? Do you think I am what I have been eating all these days? I mean, my lunch on weekdays here, particularly? No. Thankfully, what I breakfast and eat for dinner is utterly different from what I lunch. And that’s why, I have been feeling that what eat in lunch… sucks! Actually, it’s not what I eat that sucks, but what I eat at your cafeteria that sucks. But does it really matter to you? To me, it does. It’s been more than two years, so why should it not? Your beloved money-spinner cafeteria counters serves food-that-sucks to many more like me working for companies housed in this giant building.

I have complained to you (personally and in public, but you are still of the same color!) and provided suggestions for improvement, and that’s how you know me. I am sure you still have the same strategy when I approach you. Either you say hi and smile without a break and listen to me like an idiot who’s committed the same mistake time and again and then smilingly promise me to correct it the next day. Or, you simply try to avoid me. I would say, keep it up. Why the hell should you care when you have exclusive control over hundreds of employees who, to use that cliché, can love you, hate you, but can’t ignore you? But you know what, I have always dreamed about taking over your business and then laugh at your guilty, frustrated, angry face. I wish that either my imagination come true or somebody kicks your ass and makes you get your acts together. Another simple, democratic idea says that we, not you and me but me and the rest like me, should all stop eating until those who allowed you inside shows you an emergency exit. This is a classic, proven formula that always works in a democracy, but who really allowed you? Maybe you did it all by yourself, comfortably. Your crooked, wicked business practices lurk out every time you smile, you know! I have noticed that, apart from the ever-missing taste in your food. So when would you change, huh? I think that would happen only when you would be made to eat such food every day, all the time. This is one more crazy little idea of my imagination, but it should work for people like you.

Also, if you didn’t know, I have stopped celebrating the Biryani Festival, that twice-a-month feast of biryanis with four to five balloons (three red, one yellow, and one white, mostly) hanging only on top of that counter, where you place all of your extras just to make sure that the show is sold-out before the everyone comes to know about its poor performance! The guy at the Russian salad counter remains angry and jealous on that day, he tells me, because those balloons are attracting everyone who is hoping that this time it would be better than the last one. On that day, like a talent hunt show, how daringly you would give a chance to new hands, tender fingers to just try out asking them to cook something out of their new hands, try and judge that something with their tender fingers, and see if they can do without salt! And then numerous plates of biryani take shape in that huge vessel around which we all line up to celebrate the festival, for a biryani-festival biryani at a price higher than the non-festival biryani. And we try a spoonful out of the huge pile that you had asked your men to create so that it looks like a biryani served with a big heart, showcasing your festive spirit. Even before the spoonful reaches our stomach, we shockingly realize the number of fingers that would have been present inside the kitchen. Those tender fingers must have been dirty, one would come to know by looking at those almost-black slices of onions that you provide with the biryani.

Talking about your crooked, wicked business sense, you’ve carefully designed the thalis—south Indian thali is one-of-a-kind, while the north Indian thali has three variants. The north Indian thali has three different counters, rates, and dishes because most of your customers are from northern, western, or eastern part of India who are accustomed to such food. They are like outsiders, staying in shared apartments or hostels. Most of them do not have time to prepare their meal or prefer not to do it. On the other hand, the one-of-a-kind south Indian thali does not have many takers because those who like this food do not even know if you serve something like this. Being the residents of the city, they get their food from home. I remember those days when we would come to eat the south Indian thali and find that salad is no more a part of it or a papad would not be there to make that crunchy sound or the rates have increased. You’ve always surprised us. In a way that stretched you smile a bit.

This is not just you but a gang of fellas like you doing the same business in such an organized way across corporate headquarters and IT parks across Hyderabad and in many other cities of India. Anyways, I have already decided not to eat at your cafeteria unless I have no other option. I would rather walk a kilometer or two and eat what you don’t serve. Something that doesn’t suck. And yes, I am waiting for a day when some angel investors would flap their wings on my head so that I can show you the way out. That’s the idea, which would give me immense pleasure and nice food to the rest like me. Finally, I find a nice relief by writing about your dirty business. Well, thanks for that, you monopolistic idiot!

2012 @ Talkie Town and Other Movies

Yesterday, I watched the movie “2012” at the Talkie Town theater in Hyderabad. As some of you would know, the theater is reputed for its bad sound system that becomes worse while playing an English movie, dirt-cheap tickets, national anthem at the beginning of each show, and a whacky mix of young audience—IT professionals, construction workers, chaiwallahs, beggars, etc. I went there despite all of that and against the good wishes of a friend who was almost ready to pay for my tickets if I agreed to see the movie in some other theater. Alas, I lost on that chance.

And yesterday, I added one more thing to that list when I could not get my tickets without breaking the etiquettes of queuing up sincerely. Avoiding the longest queue in the history of Talkie Town, I handed over the printout of online-booked tickets (rather a proof that XYZ seats have been reserved) to the boy much in demand. The box office boy refused blatantly.  I looked at an aged, kind-looking, Telugu-speaking man in queue who wanted tickets for today’s evening show, unknown to the fact that all the shows were booked. I pointed him to the Houseful sticker on the box office glass and requested him to get me tickets by showing the printout to the boy still in demand. He agreed to that. I said he was kind, no? More out of formality and less for the verification purposes, the BO boy asked the aged and helping man for an e-mail address that was provided while booking the tickets online. How would he know? I did not have the time to fix these minor details beforehand. Additionally, I had trouble recollecting it because the tickets were booked by a friend who could not make it to this show, and by the time I remembered it, the BO boy glanced at me and refused to give tickets. Pity that. Then, I asked my friend who had come along to do some tricks. He applied the same trick, looked at the boy and shouted the e-mail address (BO seems to be a delightful place for the hackers and spammers!) without missing or misplacing the dots and the at sign, and got the tickets exactly five minutes before the show. By the time we reached the first floor, the national anthem was over and the non-professional young people, seated in those filthy-cheap rows close to the screen, had already started their anthem of whistling and cheering. To them, the whistling and stuff seemed to be an essential to the movie. To the rest like me, it seemed to be the part of the movie.

Now, let’s talk a little about the movie. To begin with, has Roland Emmerich gone crazy? At least, he seems to be nuts about shattering the planet. And he is really angry that you have built skyscrapers without his permission. He’s angry that there are a hell lot of cars and other big vehicles, flyovers, cruise liners, and jets. And he’s very angry to know that there are men, women, and children living on this planet. Therefore, he makes movies like this, this, this, this, and this! Well, never mind it because we’re sick of such movies or Ronald’s work sucks or he’s finding it way too impossible to scare anyone of us like he managed to do so in a few of his previous flicks.

Mostly, “2012” is a lukewarm movie with dialogs sans authenticity in emotions, tepid performances (Do anyone really look scared out there? Nah!), and occasional scenes of everything on the land leaning towards the sea and the sea trying to hug everything on the land! The special effects are ok-ok, predictable, and not at all groundbreaking. The storyline is good, but far from equaling the hype that it created. The climax was good with a bunch of us still alive after the so-called end-of-the-world. With years of progress of the human race on hand, how happy they’d be to know that they wouldn’t have to start from scratch? I would surely welcome such an event if, and only if, I get to live beyond 2012. At last, nothing really works for this movie and I didn’t like it at all.

Also: Over the last two weekends, I watched three movies and a documentary—MJ’s “This Is It,” which was simply entertaining! I must say that he’s truly hardworking, humble, and taller than his achievements of being a great musician and dancer. I also watched “London Dreams” (crap!), “Jail” (my second worst movie experience, “Provoked” being the first!), and “Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani,” a nice, funny romantic comedy.