A disconnect called Social Media

Raju Korti
As the shutters pulled down on 2016 and the new year ushered in with predictable and clique-ridden wishes, I was wracking my depleted grey cells hard to choose what to write about. The nickel dropped during my caffeinated stupor when people around were ventilating their bluster full pitch just to let you know that the new year was tantalisingly close. There is, of course, nothing tantalising about any year for someone who spends most of his time digging his pockets deep to find out what I already know about my perennially shrinking finances. But more about that some other time.
I wrote two posts, both inter-linked and triggers to utterly reckonable reception. One mildly referred to the "guilt" I could sense in Modi's pompous speech in the wake of the tumult called demonetization and the sharp divisions in the ranks of his admirers and haters, both legion. But this is not about pro or anti Modi. It is about people who seldom keep their swords in their sheath while debating or arguing about any issue. The fact that harangues are shot like lose cannons makes these debates at once exciting and depressing. The contradiction obtains because it happens on a forum where one is supposed to make only "friends".The term Social Media has an inherent contradiction. Having stalked enough of this forum, I can safely vouch that sociability and friendship, if any, is confined to philosophical and motivational posts and feel-good photos that fool no one. Beyond this genuine or made-up bonhomie is Politics where daggers-drawn "friends" take wild swipes at each other  -- consumed by so much hatred and malice that Pandavas and Kauravas make for better brotherhood in comparison. What amazes me no end is people are more jealously possessive about a political party or a leader than the latter are of themselves. As I had remarked in jest once: More loyal than the King, more Catholic than the Pope, more Hindu than the Shankaracharya and more Muslim than the Imam. All myopic slaves to ideologies that are not perfect and nor ever will be. Having dilly dallied with all political parties and their self-styled leaders in my three-plus decades of profession, I can bet my last buck they spill their intestines laughing at the way people espouse their cause. On a countless occasions, I have seen leaders taking potshots at each other publicly but privately helping each other's cause. Politics gets free brand ambassadors.
Champions of free opinion lead the brigade by running others down. If everyone has a right to opinion, where is the question of dissent? You just concede the other view and get on with life but for the mental eczema we all suffer from.
I am prepared to concede that we are a pluralistic and diverse society (I used those words because they are so fashionable) but as far as Social Media is concerned, I feel Zuckerberg got some of his labels wrong. So here I go with suggestions which are factual but unrealistic.
There should be an option "......wants to be enemies with you." At least it will know who you are dealing with. No mortification of being saddled with motormouth venomous spleens.
The software can be suitably altered to give a "dislike and discard" option. Na rahe baans, na baje baansuri. Friendship requests should come with an undertaking. Those who add you on their own and later delete you --whatever the provocation -- should be  highlighted with a warning "Think twice before you add this person." At least intimate that a "friend" has unfriended you. It will save the embarrassment and fury of watching the same people as "People you may know." And how does one further know someone who is already known as a bad joke?
Thanks to technology, we have multiple social outlets to be stalked, bullied and harassed. There are some who say if Social Media is too much for you to handle, quit Twitter or Facebook. I try to strike a balance by being myself. Writing on the walls of "friends" can be injurious to health.
Social Media no longer performs the envisaged function of creating a positive communication link among friends, family and professionals. It has become a veritable battleground where insults fly from the human quiver, damaging lives, destroying self-esteem and a person's sense of self-worth.
Here is my unsolicited advice. Don't live your life seeking validation from people on Social Media.

Social Media did you say?

Romancing the Aadhar Card

Raju Korti
Humour is the most significant activity of the brain. It stood me in good humour when I was physically laid low after a life-threatening surgery and ominous clouds of depression hovering. It was a potential antidote in my debilitated condition.
In one such forced humorous moment, I had suggested in a post on Facebook that our honourable parliamentarians bring in a law that all valid documents like Passport, Aadhar card and PAN card be accompanied by a selfie with a pout and that pout should be associated with a unique Pout Identity Number. Of course, no one in the establishment took cognisance but the youngsters, especially my students upheld the idea by "thoko-ing" a record-break "likes". That seed seems to have germinated now. If what I have read in a news portal is true, the airlines have approached the government to make Aadhar-verified contact details compulsory for booking air tickets. The Aadhar card has already brought in your hard-earned money -- black and white -- under government scrutiny. Demonetisation has already turned the taxman into a voyeur. But wait, the Aadhar card seems to be in for a more searching role to the extent of being your death wish.

As an extension and riposte to the story I read, I wrote today that the day is not far when the guy manning the Sulabh Shouchalaya (public latrines) will ask you to produce your Aadhar card before you get set to relieve yourself. Else you have the uphill task of holding on to your bursting bladder or piddly bum until you return home.
While the people are getting to be "cardiologists" of sorts -- Voters card, Aadhar card, Pan card et al, I am looking at a possible scenario where nothing will move without the Aadhar card or the PAN card. Here are some of them. Mind you, that is not mindless humour. It should be taken with a pinch of reality.
A pregnant woman will not be allowed to deliver unless she produces her Aadhar card. The gynaecologist will want her to give a xerox. Her maternity will be linked to Aadhar card.
Likewise, a dead person will not be cremated or buried unless his relatives produce his Aadhar card.
It will be mandatory for school, college admissions and while applying for jobs. Students will be required to carry their Aadhar card instead of the hall ticket. This will eliminate chances of impersonation. In short, your academic career will be linked with Nandan Nilekani's brainchild.
Your housing society will not allow you to enter the premises unless you show them any of the valid photo documents. The security guard at the gate will have the right to shoo you away.
The chaiwala (not the one in Delhi) will ask you for your Aadhar card before serving his concoction and because you will be required to pay him through a crossed cheque, you may also have to quote your PAN number. Remember cashless economy.
Marriages will not be solemnised until the spouses to-be produce their Aadhar card. A photocopy will have to be accompanied with the wedding card. Tail of two cards! Divorce, maintenance and alimony will obviously not be granted without the Aadhar card or PAN card,
Wives will not allow family members anywhere near the dining table, less so, serve food without the Aadhar card. Your appetite will be linked with it.
Opening accounts in the social media and email will also need an Aadhar card. Every post/status should mention your Aadhar and or PAN number. It will be compulsory for you to use the same photo as your profile photo. Your correspondence with people will be linked to Aadhar card and if you don't quote the PAN number before logging in, access will be denied.
You will be required to validate one photo id proof with another photo id.
The government will name in its official gazette all those whose transactions are found to be in order.
These cards will not be compulsory for political leaders and their parties but they shall use political, religious and caste cards as and when they please.
So friends scurry to the nearest centre to get them if you don't have them, and once you receive them, cling on to them for dear life. But just one exception: You will be spared from looking at any of these cards if you value your looks.
Silly jokes like calling an Aadhar card as Udhaar card will be a punishable offence under the Official Cards Act.
A matter of life and death you see.

An Amma heroine if there was one

Raju Korti

J Jayalalitha (File photo)

I had the first dekko of Jayalalitha in late December 1987, much before she became "Amma" to the populous multitudes in her home state of Tamil Nadu. The circumstances in which I bumped into her had a peculiar twist to them.
M G Ramchandran, who held an unchallenged sway over the masses as an actor and politician, had just passed away. The talking point then was, was there anyone with enough charisma to succeed MGR. Speculations were rife, and not without reason, that his protege was the potential inheritor to the chief ministerial throne in a state where hero-worshipping has been an unbreakable tradition. But things weren't as simple as they looked. The pitch was queered by the presence of MGR's wife V N Janaki who seemed to be riding the sympathy wave and was considered a strong contender. There were cold vibes between the two for obvious reasons but as it finally turned out, President's rule was clamped in the state with people going hysteric and berserk after MGR's death.
I saw Jayalalitha completely shattered by the death of her mentor but she was composed enough to speak to the Press and it was here that her body language said a lot about her political ambitions.
Her confident demeanour reflected on her glowing face but it was her articulation and impeccable English that came so resonatingly from her magnetic personality. The film industry, however, liked her more for a qualification which the south is notoriously famous for, if you excuse the oxymoron. She was a great hit with her buxom figure so much so that she also acted in a 1966 Hindi film Izzat with Dharmendra as her lead co-star. Jayalalitha played second fiddle to Tanuja but her song in the film "Jaagi badan me jwala saiyan tune kya kar dala was" as a runaway hit.
The star student did better than her mentor and saw through five terms as the state's CM.
That she had the blessings of MGR was obvious. When she joined MGR's AIADMK, her political rise was meteoric. So it was not entirely unexpected when Jayalalitha withstood and countered the faction headed by Janaki and proclaimed herself as the sole political heir. She was feisty enough to emerge from the shadows of her charismatic idol. She didn't prove the people wrong. When Karunanidhi became the chief minister in 1989, she gave him a tough time as an opposition leader and the old DMK patriarch was no political pushover.
To a gathering of journalists, Jayalalitha made no bones about her angling for the state's highest office. Though a lot of people had written her off as a temporary phenomenon who was just trying to cash in on her celluloid appeal, somehow it appeared to me that here was a woman who meant business. She had guts. When she was convicted in a disproportionate assets case, she bounced back by winning the case in the high court to return as the chief minister again.
Her political tenure was eventful but actually nothing much to rave about. She hobnobbed with the Congress and BJP when it suited her party but she stuck a phenomenal equation with the masses, portraying herself as the messiah of the poor. To some extent, she outdid MGR.
I still recall her as a very fair looking and determined woman who knew how to juggle her cinema and politics. I have seen her totally undeterred when she was rightly or wrongly referred to as the desi version of Imelda Marcos. Jayalalitha was made of sterner stuff and had the audacity to take on her political rivals. As a political lreader, she was not the one to cede and never ever hesitated to take a confrontationist approach if she was convinced that it was in the interests of her state, and by extension, for her own political good.
To me she epitomised the idiom "Hell hath no fury like the woman scorned." Here's to the fiery and spunky Jayalalitha.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WDk6_YMq8w

Gone with the demonetisation

Raju Korti
There cannot be a bigger paradox in human life than money -- or "rokda" as our "motabhais" from Prime Minister Narendra Modi's Gujarat may like to put it. As the country grapples to evaluate and comes to terms with the financial implications of the Modi Government to demonetise the currency, reactions, looked at mostly from political prisms, are making rounds thick and fast. The key issue here is the impact this is going to make on the economy.

File photo from the net. 

Contrary to what is being drummed up in the social media about the move targeting black money holders, it appears majorly to be a move to arrest the circulation of a pestilence called fake currency. The fact that the government wants to come out with a technologically advanced chip-based currency is a strong pointer towards that direction. If collaterally, that also brings those who have stashed black money, in its ambit, it is a fringe benefit.
Black money is so much a part of our white economy, a malignant tumour right in the centre of the brain. You try to remove it and you kill the patient. For a market that has had a track record in insider leaks, it is rather difficult to believe that large amounts of black money hasn't been already offloaded. All it needs is a simple hawala transaction to launder the tainted money. If you looked at the well calibrated moves of the government, this was coming. The move to come out with amnesty schemes in the last few months was not just a regulation liberal move to curb black money. It was harbinger of a more audacious move to demonetise the currency. To that extent, it is only a partial master-stroke by Modi.
Skewed as they are, economists have different takes on demonetisation. There is a certain amount of cynicism that demonetisation doesn't work as effectively as it seeks to portray. In 1977 the Janata Party government had demonetised Rs 1000, Rs 5000 and Rs 10,000 notes with limited success. Mind you, the finance ministry was then headed by H M Patel, who served as the Governor of Reserve Bank before. To be fair to the then Morarji Desai government, the demonetisation didn't happen as abruptly, reason why the situation this time is more chaotic. The very premise that demonetisation will help eradicate the menace is over-rated.
Just how much black money will be unearthed and what will be its fiscal concussions will be seen in the months to come but it is a promising beginning to start from the home turf although as of now there is a status quo on the black money stashed away in offshore tax havens. The general view is this might inconvenience the people now, but it will be good in the long term for a cashless economy.
The ideas of economists and political philosophers -- both when they are right and when they are wrong - are more powerful -- than is commonly understood but there will be a crisis for some time. Economy will slowdown for a while. The two big sectors, bullion market and real estate will be hamstrung because the entire effect is likely to witness what is called as "market correction." On the flip side, the downward pressure on prices will boost housing demand which has been sluggish in recent times. Secondary market will witness some upheaval unlike the primary market which largely uses the banking channel. The resale market is bound to feel the pinch.
At the moment, issues like the impact of demonetisation on political funding are not weighing heavily on my mind. Just before the government came out with the shocker, I parted with five 100 rupee notes to automen and vegetable vendors, happy that a couple of thousand rupee notes and some five hundred rupee notes would still take care of my frugal needs for the next fortnight. Now I am rich and yet poor in a country where successive governments have desperately tried to cover up the country's deficit budget by printing as many currency notes.
Currency -- plastic or paper -- has no soul, no feelings and the only currency I am stuck with right now are my two rupees on an issue that I don't understand head or tail. In my limited cash and wisdom, what I do know for sure is that the present austerity is forced on me. 

An acid test for vintage cricket

A sight you will never see in T-20 cricket. (File grab)

Raju Korti
Having grown up with the finesse of watching Test cricket and its steady decline, I am waiting for that mortifying day when I will soon have to write its epitaph. Call me old fashioned or stuck in the past. My unequivocal verdict is the shorter versions have killed the ingenuity and astuteness of the game. When power and money take over, subtlety and elegance take a backseat.
The most saddening part about the death knell of what once was dubbed as "gentleman's game", is players themselves pitching in to advocate the end of the longer format. The latest to join this bandwagon is former Australian skipper Mark Taylor. Taylor wants the five-day version to be abridged to four days so that spectator interest is sustained on better "attacking intent". For someone who has reaped a 7500-plus run harvest in 100-plus Test matches with 20 centuries, this is decomposed thinking. If "attacking intent" is the only criterion, what is wrong with T-20 which has already made the 50-over format almost redundant? Better still, they can introduce a five-overs-a-side match with only the rival team bowler on the ground. That will ensure the entire World Cup is wound up in a day and the money-swollen cricketing boards can laugh their way to the banks without taxing their infrastructure. Ditto for the players. If a player gets a lakh of rupees for every six and a catch taken, who the hell wants to sweat the whole day for a pittance? Right! No one wants to shell out money to watch a classic defence play. So slam, wham, bang and get out.
The shorter version is like a viral fever gone from international cricket to domestic level now and below that with youngsters trying to play the shots they see animatedly on television rather than learning from the copybook. My fear is not about Test cricket dying. It is that it is being allowed to die. If you are a Brendon McCullum or AB de Villiers, there is always going to be a lucrative T-20 deal. The game's best talents are going to disappear off into an IPL sunset two or three years before they actually have to go. The switch-over from the red ball to the white ball is also symbolic of how the game is being bled white even as its red corpuscles rapidly decrease.
Actually, it is not T-20 that I worry about. We have too much of cricket now. So much that even die-hard fans don't know which country is hosting which, when, where and what version. Problem of plenty. Players have short careers and want to rake in the moolah as much as they can. Let's take the case of de Villiers to explain why Test cricket is on death bed. He is paid about Pounds 170,000 a year by South Africa for international cricket but earns about Pounds 700,000 for six weeks at the IPL. And there are de Villiers in every cricketing country.
Sample this. Way back in 1982, I recall the last wicket partnership between Jeff Thomson and Allan Border in the Boxing Day Test at MCG when the unlikely pair almost snatched an incredible victory. Regardless of its increasing popularity, the white-washed, counterfeit three-hour game can never produce such gripping moments. Lose a match today? Never mind, there will be another one tomorrow, the day after that and again the next day. The force-feeding is endless.
The idea of cricketing values can be poked fun at as a relic of the snobbish British Raj but the modern version of the game has been stripped of the virtues that made it great: Intelligence, patience, Determination and Perseverance.T-20 with its crass money-making underpinning, is a game that suits our times. It appeals to a population without patience, an audience constantly distracted by flashing lights, loud music and extravagant personalities. We are a generation that panics at the idea of quiet. A baseball-like aerial slog appeals to our senses more than a copybook stroke where the ball is caressed to the fence.  
It is not as if there are no ways to turn this around. Pitches are vital. If they are flat and have nothing for the bowlers, the excitement in the game becomes lop-sided. Ticket prices too. One cannot believe that the Mr Moneybags boards who have the money to pay outrageous sums to the players cannot make them cost-effective. Day-night Tests, pink ball, better remuneration are some other options. Most important, the players need to change their temperament and outlook. The pride to play for their country should be paramount but if they are getting paid higher for a shorter version, they prefer the easier option. Boards also need to think in terms of making Test career more financially viable. Look at the West Indies. All their cricketers chase the T-20 buck. Test matches need proper marketing, not just lip service. Why do administrators not understand the concept of less is more? Make Test cricket special again. Have a proper context to a series and bring in the World Test championship that was strangled at birth. And to keep spectators out of the loop would be be wrong. I dread to think that we may have virtually no Test cricket unless the people running the game start eschewing short-termism and begin to act as true guardians of the game. After all, it takes two to tango.

While I feverishly hope I am not flogging an about-to-die horse, my friend N S Krishnan nails it with something that inspires optimism: "Have hope friend. The classic never goes out of fashion."

A mosquito called Karan Johar and a super-giant called Mohammed Rafi.

Raju Korti
Ranbir loves Anushka but she meets with an accident and is thought of as dead. Aishwarya comes in RK's life after a break-up with Fawad and they fall in love with each other (what else?). Meanwhile, Aishwarys is critically ill and the only (intelligent) person who knows this is herself. Anushka comes back into Ranbir's life (what else) but meets with an accident again. A dying Aishwarya donates her organs and saves Anushka's life. Ranbir and Anushka name their child after Aishwarya. Fawad does what we all expect him to do even otherwise -- commit suicide.

Thus ends a stupid, puerile story which seems to be the work of some mentally retarded person. For someone who has a meritorious history of dishing out one trash film after the other -- and each worse than the earlier -- Karan Johar maintains his consistency to produce first class garbage as only he can. Right! Consistency is the virtue of an ass. Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham (which I fondly describe as Kabhi Khujli Kabhi Ghaam), Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, My Name is Khan, Student of the year -- and the torture continues -- come from the stable of a person who thinks no end of his alleged intellect and conscience. For all the articulate gibberish that he spouts in his silly interviews and ridiculous coffee-talk shows with frightening regularity, Johar's capacity to make biodegradable films is unmatched and legendary.
With Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, Johar keeps his congruence with absurdity and shallowness. But its not about his towering flap-doodle that I am interested in. His latest three-hour non-sense has a dialogue attributed to Anushka Sharma in the film: "Mohammed Rafi gaate kam aur rotey jyada the." This 44-year-old yet-to-grow-up dickhead was hardly eight when Rafi passed away and his Lahore-born father Yash Johar was just a non-descript face in the 4-lakh massive crowd that had gathered to pay its respects to India's greatest playback singer on the day he left the entire nation weeping. It was the biggest funeral in the history of Mumbai.Thirty-six years later, it has occurred to Johar's juvenile mind that Rafi sang less and sobbed more. The trouble with most of our film-makers is they expect people to gobble up, accept and appreciate their shit in the name of artistic expression. And if freedom of expression is the ultimate foundation of all debates, I will stand up to say my shit is most certainly better than yours.
If expressing an unreasonable opinion is artistic expression, our film-makers who never fail to carry the "liberal" badge on their sleeves, should take even the bitterest of criticism in their stride but what this tribe wants is only accolades. You criticise them and they start snorting like mad bulls, freedom of expression be damned. Let Johar enjoy as many births as he wants but he won't be able to do even a hundredth of what Rafi did in just five years of his forty-year career. Worst is he has demeaned an illustrious and legendary figure from his own crassly commercial industry. If this is what he thinks about a skyscraper of his own profession, one shudders to think what he thinks of others. That is if he can at all think and if what he calls inside his head as his mind.
I am sure like other ill-informed and half-baked of his tribe, this man will come out with a specious excuse that it is just a dialogue in the film and people need to understand from that perspective. What an astonishing drivel!
I understand one of the characters in the film wants to be a Mohammed Rafi. That's fine. Whether one wants to be a Rafi, Kishore or Sanu is one's call but that doesn't give one a licence to derogate anyone. If someone being inferior to others is the yardstick of others being superior, this man doesn't have a right to be anywhere near even a photo-shoot. The dialogue insulting Rafi is a cheap, poor and dreadful publicity stunt just to corner attention and capitalise on a debate that follows.
As a Rafi historian, I have chronicled the life and times of this great man in my book "God's Own Voice" and I can assure you that time produces such a personality only but once. Johar's father had not even thought of him (Karan) when Rafi was already the established real hero behind the gas-filled screen heroes. It is a measure of Johar's asininity that he has chosen to utter a name that his garrulous and slimy tongue is not worthy of. He himself belongs to the made-by-the-asses-for-the-masses clan.
For many, blasphemy and sacrilege are an easy option to gain limelight.Worse still, they know there is no shortage of label-head liberals who will defend them should they land in soup. Karan Johar chose to do it with a titan who is not alive to respond to it. Knowing Rafi, I am sure he would have maintained a dignified silence even in the wake of such a needless and abusive provocation but this deranged film-maker probably doesn't seem to know that Rafi's fans who are legion and only keep multiplying by the day, are not going to take this monumental hogwash in their stride. To them Rafi is a demi-god, no less.
Just how stupid it has got to is evident from the fact that the name of the film draws from Rafi's own song from CID (1956) "Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yahaan" which is still the signature song on Mumbai. If Rafi has sobbed in that song, Johar and his co-writer need an urgent appointment with an ENT expert. And maybe with a psychiatrist too.
      

In praise of our motormouth RJs

Raju Korti
With due apologies to all the radio jockeys and digital jockeys floating on air waves these days, each time the words are uttered, I am reminded of a popular brand of underwear. Apologies because for a garrulous and chatterbox RJ it is anything but an "aaram ka maamla." To hold forth for a long time with witless humour, inadequate information and puerile mimicry without any pause is no mean task. I am saying this at the risk of being panned by the huge fan clubs RJs have, especially among the younger generation. But then that is only fair given that anything before 1990 is old and archaic for today's youngsters.

Sketch from the net for only illustration purpose

The radio jockey has been an institution since the early 1930s in the West but in India, they became febrile only after the advent and proliferation of private radio stations. The temptation to use the word febrile was just irresistible with one of the FM channel called as 98.4 which we all know from our childhood is the normal body temperature.
I personally know a few RJs. What really strikes me about them generally is the supreme confidence and demeanour with which they handle their mikes. This is one section of the media where the radio anchors know they have said something wrong and believe people have not heard it. But to be fair to this clan, they more than make up with pun, spontaneity, fluency and a soothing voice. The job becomes that much more tricky given that RJs also have to raise topics of concern, design subjects for discussion and interact with callers and listeners via phone, email, social media and SMSs. Even a moment's monotony can break the spell. So talk, talk and talk till they themselves drop dead.
For someone who has never been able to summon the gumption to talk furiously, hardly breathing between the words, I have adulterated admiration for most RJs. If only they could do some home work before they launched into their verbal fusillade.
This morning I switched on my antique radio which stirred to life with an RJ on some FM channel (some because most are known by their frequencies) waxing eloquent on the country's most deified and somewhat vilified songstress Lata Mangeshkar, today being her birthday. The song selection meandered from the 1970s to 2010 making me feel I was older than the singer. You have to understand and feel the plight of senior citizens like me when one knows that the first song that she sung was almost a decade before I started walking in this mortal world.
That begs a question. Who does the ground work for programmes that call for deep research? Or is it that there is little or no research because the RJs can keep letting off their steam while we hapless listeners snort through the programme? But then, who wants (to) research when it is more important to run through the programme than be bothered with its content?
Today's programme on Lata was not without its humour -- inadvertent though. After every two songs, the RJ kept playing the lines from a Rafi song "Baar baar din ye aaye, tu jiye hazaaro saal, happy birthday to you." I am still trying to figure out who should be more mortified -- poor me or poor Rafi or poor Lata Mangeshkar. That calls for a vintage Lata song from Parichay (1954) "Jal ke dil khaak hua, aankh se roya na gaya."
I don't know if RJs are paid royalty but what is royal should get royalty. Simple logic.
    

Hook and crook of Trump-Clinton debate

Raju Korti
The sparring between presidential aspirants, Republican Donald Trump and Democratic Hillary Clinton, during the presidential debate yesterday reminds me of a James Hadley Chase thriller. The stronger boxer loses the fight because he does not remember the cardinal principle of boxing: When you hook with your right, make sure your left side is protected.
I doubt whether any presidential election has defied conventional wisdom in recent times as this one. For one, it pit a political neophyte and reality TV star against the better half of a former president and two, no other debate was perhaps as hotly anticipated for reasons more than one. Both didn't let down as acidic barbs flew thick and fast as expected since the Twitter was already an excited host to their fireworks.
In a preview of the combat on the small screen, both needled each other. Electoral planks and issues figured at the centre of what both claimed as outright lies. There has been enough evidence in the past that the first debate is compelling enough to make or mar a candidate. In majority campaigns in the television age, the opening debate has shaped the trajectory of the elections -- John Kennedy in 1960 and Ronald Reagan in 1980 being the prime examples. They typically have had the most impact when an incumbent president isn't running and when the candidates come in with something to prove and when the contest is close and fluid. I am not sure if there ever was a contest as close and as fluid as this one.
During the entire campaign, we saw Trump in two different avatars. The debate before the debate was about which Donald Trump would show up -- a provocative and outrageous Trump who unexpectedly claimed Republican nomination when there were at least a dozen others with stronger political resumes or the one who toned down his grandiloquent rhetoric in the run up to the debate. In the rough and tumble of such a mutated scenario, it is tricky to answer what made Trump pull even with Hillary on the national battleground. As is his wont, the original Trump showed up.
It was no surprise that the debate degenerating into a slang match,headed overtime with both the rivals socking each other in a fierce exchange. It was Trump as promised as he portrayed his foe as a political hack and describing her as all words and soundbites. The number of times he interrupted when she spoke would have given our own Arnabs, Rajdeeps and Barkhas a run for their money. The only difference was the moderator of the debate tried with only limited success to keep control.
Hillary's demeanour showed her as a counter-puncher. But she was bang on target when she painted Trump as a questionable businessman with no plans in his head and a limited grasp of facts. She too repeated jabs at Trump's "Trumped-up trickle down" economic policies and accused him of racist for questioning Obama's birthplace. But her best salvo was asking him what was he trying to hide by refusing to reveal his tax returns while they were being audited.
By far the most amusing spectacle was the two blaming each other for almost everything including except why they were born. Sample this:

Smiles before the scowls.

Trump: Mrs Clinton lacks presidential look and doesn't have the stamina.
Hillary: He can talk to me about stamina when he accomplishes as much. He has called women pigs, slobs and dogs.
Trump: I had planned to say something extremely rough to you and your family but decided against it.

Mercifully, Hillary didn't call Trump the son of a bitch and Trump didn't question her husband's stamina that was so much in evidence when he was having a fling with a 21-year-old White House intern. But while Trump huffed and puffed his way through, Hillary's responses were marked by more amusement than anger. Yet it was a debate between arrogance and experience if you know who should be the rightful claimant for those labels. In the complicated maze of truth, exaggeration and old falsehoods, it makes tactical sense for Hillary to let Trump caricature himself because no one else can do it better.
It is said that half of the American people have never read a newspaper. Half never voted for President. One hopes the other half uses discretion.

Some thoughts about Pakistan and its nuclear threat

Raju Korti
Look at the picture, photo-shopped or not, accompanying this piece below. It makes light of Pakistan's military capability against India should there be a war. To me, it is a telling commentary on the economy of Pakistan -- a country clueless and /or impassive about tackling its own burgeoning domestic problems but never losing an opportunity to throw on India's face its readiness to press the nuclear button at the slightest provocation.
So what is it that makes this rather failed State, where non-State actors have been calling the shots for over two decades now, rely so furiously on the nuclear threat? Why does even something as routine as cancellation of talks for normalisation of bilateral relationship, makes it step on the gas and indulge in fulminations of a nuclear war?
Each nation has a doctrine to deal with possible nuclear threats. For Pakistan, it is majorly India. For India it is Pakistan and China. For the US it is Russia, China, North Korea and many more where it often pitches in as world policeman. On the brink given the problems that surround its neighbourhood and helpless because of an intransigent and crazy military establishment, this doctrine stares India in the face with alarming regularity. The number of Indians who believe that it is time for India to call Pakistan's bluff and get into a fight-to-finish war increases each time Pakistan perpetrates an outrage against Indian civilians and army. The threat of a full scale military offensive was never as pronounced as it is now after the attacks in Pathankot and Uri but the Indian response continues to remain calibrated and somewhat frustrated. Pakistan has nothing to lose. India far too much. The dynamics of what accrues between the two countries in the wake of their tumultuous division and subsequent deep-rooted hatred has gone far beyond the realms of conventional diplomacy.
There is still a faint glimmer of hope to believe that the Pakistani military establishment realises it would be a blunder to provoke an attack that would spell end to its country's existence on the world map. But it will not need much for the country's army -- which has thrown all civilian and democratic norms to the wind -- to acerbate a war having lost three wars in 1965, 1971 and 1994. What began as a bluster from then President Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto about staging a "thousand-year war with India" has now assumed a grotesque obsession to acquire nuclear weapons on the perceived threat from India. It seems to have gone unnoticed that there seems to be a perceptible change in the way Pakistan is seeking to harm India. The strategy now seems to be attack military installations rather than civilians.
If, after another terrorist attack on India, Indian army penetrates into Pakistan, inflicts heavy damages and occupies its territory, there is a lurking chance that Pakistan's army would use the nuclear deterrent to stop it. That is what prompts the general belief in India that defeating Pakistan below the threshold would perhaps avoid an escalation. But with Pakistan there are no guarantees. There is also a school of thought that isolating Pakistan as state sponsor of terrorism, slapping sanctions, economic embargoes, abrogation of the water treaty and withdrawal of Most Favoured Nation (MFN) status would be the best option. On the face of it, that sounds sensible since it supposedly reduces the risks of a major conflict but it does little to stop the elements that Pakistan has been shrugging off as non-State players. Diplomacy and terrorism pose challenges poles apart.
I am sold out on the theory that Pakistan should be allowed to die under its own weight. A debilitated economy and the ferment in Baluchistan, Karachi, Punjab are proof enough of its dysfunctional politics. Pakistanis are themselves not very optimistic about the country's future as a secure, developing and modern country. There is a talk that Pakistan relies on the US but they know that this economic and military aid is not without its pound of flesh. The Americans have always been prompted by their Geo-political interests that seek to serve their expedient politics. Delhi and Rawalpindi know this very well. As far as China is concerned, it is obvious that there has been some buttressing of Pakistan at State level but on other fronts there is scope for lot of justified scepticism. There is little social or cultural or emotional attachment between the peoples of the two countries. The Chinese don't have to be intelligent to know that Pakistan is a convenient shoulder to fire at India. They are known to pursue single-minded their own narrow interests. They do not contribute funding for health, education and other forms of development in Pakistan. In past crises with India, China is not known to have done even much of what Pakistani leaders wished. My gut feeling is China will not do anything to underwrite or protect Pakistan if it comes to a full fledged war. They know that the best weapon against any enemy is another enemy.
Crippled with inherent problems of militancy, unemployment and low growth rate, Pakistan lags behind India on almost all parameters of national growth. Raising the nuclear war bogey frequently is an attempt to show that its power emerges from its weaknesses within.
Pakistan can administer to itself a lethal injection and does not need any external threat to use it.      

Dire Straits of Pakistan (From Facebook)

Nothing Right, nothing Left in West Bengal

Raju Korti
Unlike the Left, which has a distinct ideology of its own -- acceptable or unacceptable -- the Trinamool can at best be described as Congress weed. Both of them do not seem to have any agenda in the state they have flourished except engage themselves in a war of words that often degenerates into a physical clash. A quick look at the Trinamool Congress' website shows that its main discourse is Islamic fundamentalism, Populism and Democratic Socialism, not necessarily in the same order all the time. Do not bother to exercise your grey cells what those mean because Trinamool leaders themselves have no clue.

Syed Shah Geelani (file grab)

The long-standing rivalry between the TC and the Left, amusingly, often brings them on the same platform to take swipes at each other. The latest trigger comes in the wake of the leaders of both parties desperately wanting to seek an audience with Kashmiri separatist leader Syed Ali Shah Geelani through an all-party delegation. Trinamool leader Saugata Roy hurriedly opted out of the delegation when he came to know that CPM leader Sitaram Yechury was also a part of the team.
The Trinamool has nothing to do in West Bengal despite being in power while the Left is gainfully unemployed in the state which was its bastion for decades. Having more or less a similar mindset and yet being political rivals, it would have been very amusing how the two parties would have taken their agendas further during the meet with Geelani.
For all their political wisdom, both did not realise that Geelani was fuming while he turned down J&K Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti's invitation for talks on the Kashmir issue. The delegation was reduced to a comedy of sorts with four of its opposition MPs breaking away from the group and deciding to reach out Geelani separately. Separatists meeting a separatist leader?
Obviously the all-party delegation with assorted biscuits like CPM leader Yechury, CPI leader Raja, JD (U) leader Sharad Yadav and RJD leader Jay Prakash Narayan headed by -- of all the people -- Rajnath Singh -- did not have the common sense to understand that a hardened separatist leader placed under house arrest would be the last person to meet them.
Roy did not miss the chance to take potshots at Yechury. He said "Yechuri had to do all this because the CPM has nothing 'left' in West Bengal now. But the tug of war between the two reminds me of an archetypal story I read in children's magazine as a schoolboy.
A king on the deathbed tells his prince son to tour the country, see how administration functions and gain some experience before ascending the throne. The prince sets out for the tour and after a hard day's horse-ride decides to sleep under a tree. When he is fast asleep, two cobras emerge, happy that they had someone to bite after a long time. However, they start fighting, hissing loudly over who should bite him first. Hearing the commotion, the prince wakes up and kills both with his sword.
Moral of the story: Strange bedfellows never make for holy alliances. The end.

Some thoughts about cynicism

Raju Korti
If there were to be a University for Cynicism, I would be its Dean for lifetime. This rare qualification came to me from my father who died without making a will, but he bequeathed this property to me as his sole heir. He would often tell me: "You see son, there is always someone who is worse than you" and my response invariably would be "so what?"
A cynic is a person, who when he smells flowers, thinks there is a coffin around. The Oxford Dictionary couldn't have found a suitable mascot for the word. It is not easy to be convinced and sceptical enough to believe that the future is bleak and people act only out of self interests all the time. I am waiting for the day when friends and relatives who keep bombarding me with motivational quotes and essays on positivism day in day out, scratch the cynic in me. They will sure find a disappointed idealist.
A journalist which I have been for more than half my life, requires a fair tempering of cynicism. It is a scientific temper of a craft that often calls for keen observation of people and surroundings in every conceivable situation. It is also a touchstone of a journalist's alchemy through which he hopes to discover a non-existent bunkum called objectivity. The only true objective journalist is the dead one.
Having banged my head in the profession for more than three decades, I have come to realise that cynicism is a shield which a journalist wraps around himself for protection. There is no one more enlightened than a disillusioned journalist. Not that there is anything special about the people who deal with news. They are as dishonest, noble, cowardly, mean, ridiculous, courageous and truthful as the ordinary run of the people but in their case, cynicism also masquerades as wisdom as it has done in my case.
The trigger for this diminutive blog is a post I wrote on Facebook today, the Independence Day. I wrote "Hail our martyrs for one day. Debate their credentials for the rest of the year." Friends "liked" it but I am not too sure they appreciated. Truth and choice do not necessarily make for great companions. Knowing me as a die-hard cynic, they have probably given up on me as a bad joke. That spurs my cynicism to newer heights. Or newer depths.
It takes a clever man to turn a cynic and a wise man to be clever enough not to.

Making a song and dance about Vyjayanthimala

Raju Korti
Some time around 1987 when Ms Twinkle Toes Vyjayanthimala was done with her long but eventful career in films, I happened to meet the lady more by fluke than design.

In (then) Madras for a professional commitment, I was told that the dance academy "Kalakshetra" run by the nimble-footed actress happened to be close by. My impulsive decision to go and have an informal chat with the actress was also governed by justified apprehension, having heard any number of stories about her idiosyncrasies and unpredictable ways. Later, actor-director Vijay Anand had told me about the "tough time" she had given during the making of 1967 hit Jewel Thief. She had been dating Dr Bali (whom she later married) and would often disappear in the midst of the shootings.

As expected, Vyjayanthimala welcomed me with a frosty smile but put on a friendly demeanour in no time. I strongly suspect that my association with The Hindu and being a south Indian catalysed her into warming up faster than she did with many of my tribe. I didn't beat around the bush. You don't do that with someone blunt like Vyjayanthimala. I told her I was overawed by her dancing skills and was keen to know how she could blend those with all those evocative numbers she sang on-screen.
It immediately stuck me that she was a dancer from head to feet. So while I sauntered around, she waltzed her way while showing the Academy. The way her disciples reacted to her presence made me feel she was a goddess to them, no less. I broached the conversation in a way that instantly got her animated. I sought to brush up her memory with a song sequence from Leader (1962) where she swishes her steps on the stones in a pond. She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Look at the larger picture. I was blessed to be able to articulate so many divine numbers that came my way. The one film that showcased the real me was Aamrapali where I played the royal courtesan. I just danced and sang my way through that film. Thanks to Shankar-Jaikishenji who got four ethereally beautiful Lataji solos composed for me. Jao re jogi tum jao re, Tumhe yaad karte karte, Neel gagan ki chhaon mein and Tadap ye din raatki. When these songs were being rehearsed, I would often take time off my acting schedules to be present at the recording room. I was an established dancer already, but Jao re jogi spurred me to greater heights.”But didn't you put so much passion and gusto in that nine-minute dance-song from Jewel Thief Hoton mein aisi baat mai dabaake chali aayee (1967 with Dev Anand)”, I responded weakly. “You think so? It was a great song, great composition and I had to summon all my energies to do that. But there was more folk and less classical in that song. I recall I had winked at Devsaab after the song was pictured and told him how I had beaten him in the song. And when he carried the reputation of being a bundle of energy himself..”
The mention of Bimal Roy's Chandramukhi she essayed in 1955 made her nostalgic. “Oh yes. There was this classic Burmandada composition: Jise to qubool kar le wo adaa kahaan se laun." The feisty actress had refused to accept that year's Best Supporting Actress award since her role was as important and had the same footage as Suchitra Sen.
Vyjayanthimala was born to dance. If anyone thought that she was cut out for only Bharat Natyam and Arangetrums, you were mistaken. The tall, stately dancer born in an orthodox Tamil Brahmin family, could carry off even peppy numbers like Mai kaa karoo ram mujhe Buddha mil gaya. “The song had not been particularly appreciated by the Censors given its innunedoes, Besides, both me and Lata were known for our fastidious ways. Probably the audience couldn’t reconcile to the dance I did in short slacks and a seductive top. It was panned by critics as vulgar. And to think of the crude dances choreographed these days”.  The actress recalled that among her other films where she made a great team with Lata was Nagin (1954 with Pradeep Kumar), Madhumati (1958 with Dilip Kumar), Amar Deep (1958 with Dev Anand , Kathputli (1959 with Balraj Sahni), Gunga Jumna (1960 with Dilip Kumar), Dr Vidya (1962 with Manoj Kumar).
No surprise she seemed to have particularly fond memories of Madhumati and singled out Salil Choudhury’s folk song-dance sequence Zulmi sang aankh ladi. “Aaja re pardesi was, of course, more haunting. But I loved doing  Zulmi sang aankh ladi and Ghadi ghadi mora dil dhadke.”
As the conversation got intense, I told her something that really made her stood up, her pink face lit up like a smitten teenager: Lata Mangeshkar says that Vyjayanthimala was among the actresses who did full justice to her songs.”
“Oh really? You made my day. Looking back, I realise her contribution to my on-screen success. Even Asha Bhosale sang for me in films like Naya Daur, but I think Lataji suited me best. Her voice had so much sobriety. Among my non-dance numbers, I rate her Aurat ne jam diya mardon ko (1960 Sadhana) as an all time classic.”
Vyjayanthimala has bowed out from the celluloid but her footprints linger. She still dances as gracefully and her sprightly movements can put even the youngest of dancers to shame. A lesser known fact is she is also also a trained Carnatic singer.
So here is to Vyjayanthimala on her 80th birthday.              
      

Madhumati for a lifetime (File grab)

Jack without the European Union!

Raju Korti
In a historic decision the people of Britain have voted for an exit from the European Union. There seems to be much belly-dancing over a decision which is being seen as having major ramifications for the nation, but no one seems to have a clear word on the political course in store after this referendum.

A file grab from Encyclopaedia

As expected the decision has warmed the hearts of Euro-sceptics around the country. On the flip side it has also sent the European economy into a tizzy with the Pound hitting an all time low since the last thirty years. Prime Minister David Cameron who resigned after the referendum outcome was known, has dropped hints that it will take at least a couple of years for the divorce to come about. This road-map, however, is fraught with uncertainties and poses a formidable challenge to his successor. In a carefully cultivated language that is patently British, Cameron has sought to outline his limited role in near future. "I will try everything within my means to steady the rocking ship but I think it would not be right for me to captain a ship that should steer the country to its next destination." Considering the upheaval it has caused in economic terms, two years are not much for Cameron's successor to reflect on the future course of action.The Euro-sceptics are already rejoicing. They believe the Brexit is a great opportunity for the country to find its voice again even as global markets have become nervous like never before. The biggest question is the uncertainty after Britain formally exits from the EU because one would expect the country to draft its trade agreements all over again. At the moment, given the flux, it is not clear how the country is equipped to tackle the market and economic volatility. There are pluses and minuses on both sides.On the one hand, the European countries have every reason to keep trading with UK since it happens to be a large importer of goods and services. On the other, foreign companies will be less inclined to invest in the country. The bigger worry is they may be forced to relocate their headquarters if Britain loses access to EU's single market. However, one thing is absolutely clear: With the country voting to exit EU, it will not have to pump in billions of Pounds every year to the Union's budget. Little wonder many are convinced that this would serve as a major shock absorber for the present economic turmoil that won't last much longer.There are other question marks. For instance, what happens to the British expats in other European countries and issues relating to immigration. Likewise, one also cannot put a finger on how the Brexit compromises on Britain's ability to fight terrorism. It is also not without reason to argue that the UK will now be much less influential on the international stage because it won't be in a position to get involved when crucial decisions are made. Even bigger is the question will the Brexit rip EU apart?

A similar but possibly more niggling echo might be heard in Ireland long divided between a protestant North that's part of the UK and an independent Irish republic in the South. If the tensions today are are minimum it is because EU rules guarantee the right to move across the border. There is every likelihood that the UK withdrawal from the EU might lead to border tensions. One outcome could be Northern Ireland could unify with the rest of the Ireland.
There is a lighter side to this drama as well. If reports are to be believed post-Brexit, Britishers are said to be going on an overdrive Googling "What is the EU?". Imagine, of all the people, the British starting to wonder about the implications of their choice. That is so un-British!

Jack without the European Union!

Raju Korti
In a historic decision the people of Britain have voted for an exit from the European Union. There seems to be much belly-dancing over a decision which is being seen as having major ramifications for the nation, but no one seems to have a clear word on the political course in store after this referendum.

A file grab from Encyclopaedia

As expected the decision has warmed the hearts of Euro-sceptics around the country. On the flip side it has also sent the European economy into a tizzy with the Pound hitting an all time low since the last thirty years. Prime Minister David Cameron who resigned after the referendum outcome was known, has dropped hints that it will take at least a couple of years for the divorce to come about. This road-map, however, is fraught with uncertainties and poses a formidable challenge to his successor. In a carefully cultivated language that is patently British, Cameron has sought to outline his limited role in near future. "I will try everything within my means to steady the rocking ship but I think it would not be right for me to captain a ship that should steer the country to its next destination." Considering the upheaval it has caused in economic terms, two years are not much for Cameron's successor to reflect on the future course of action.The Euro-sceptics are already rejoicing. They believe the Brexit is a great opportunity for the country to find its voice again even as global markets have become nervous like never before. The biggest question is the uncertainty after Britain formally exits from the EU because one would expect the country to draft its trade agreements all over again. At the moment, given the flux, it is not clear how the country is equipped to tackle the market and economic volatility. There are pluses and minuses on both sides.On the one hand, the European countries have every reason to keep trading with UK since it happens to be a large importer of goods and services. On the other, foreign companies will be less inclined to invest in the country. The bigger worry is they may be forced to relocate their headquarters if Britain loses access to EU's single market. However, one thing is absolutely clear: With the country voting to exit EU, it will not have to pump in billions of Pounds every year to the Union's budget. Little wonder many are convinced that this would serve as a major shock absorber for the present economic turmoil that won't last much longer.There are other question marks. For instance, what happens to the British expats in other European countries and issues relating to immigration. Likewise, one also cannot put a finger on how the Brexit compromises on Britain's ability to fight terrorism. It is also not without reason to argue that the UK will now be much less influential on the international stage because it won't be in a position to get involved when crucial decisions are made. Even bigger is the question will the Brexit rip EU apart?

A similar but possibly more niggling echo might be heard in Ireland long divided between a protestant North that's part of the UK and an independent Irish republic in the South. If the tensions today are are minimum it is because EU rules guarantee the right to move across the border. There is every likelihood that the UK withdrawal from the EU might lead to border tensions. One outcome could be Northern Ireland could unify with the rest of the Ireland.
There is a lighter side to this drama as well. If reports are to be believed post-Brexit, Britishers are said to be going on an overdrive Googling "What is the EU?". Imagine, of all the people, the British starting to wonder about the implications of their choice. That is so un-British!

For the love of bike!

Raju Korti

Friend-colleague Sharad Rotkar on a Bullet.

I do not recollect how and when my love for bikes turned into an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I suspect the transition had something to do with driving four-wheelers. When I started driving cars some thirty years back, I realised that there was not enough stirring in it to send my adrenaline soaring. I found -- and still feel -- driving four wheelers was no fun, no adventure simply because there was no balancing involved. What's the fun when the car is brought to a halt without those last minutes of anxious wobble? The bike assured a breath-taking and screeching halt almost as effectively as you see in advertisements. Riding a motor-cycle, unlike driving a car, was like wearing a badge of masculinity on the sleeves.  If you wonder what provokes this blog, it is a picture posted by an old friend and Indian Express colleague Sharad Rotkar astride a bike with an expression Arnold Schwarzenegger would have envied. But knowing him, I know it was more of an advertisement for Jawa which we all dreamt of having under our butts. Our limited finances, however, made us do peace with the toy Lunas and mopeds. Riding a Jawa or a Bullet happened occasionally when a friend was magnanimous enough to lend it for a short while.Discussions on the technical advantages and disadvantages of different brands were dissected threadbare with each one of us holding forth on which motor-cycle was the best and why. By and large, we were all hooked onto Bullet and Jawa, which to us, were ultimate symbols of macho. A few of our friends never hid their pride at owning a BSA American which was far beyond our hopelessly limited finances. But dreams don't cost a dime and our imagination never failed us on what it would be like to ride a BSA American or a Harley Davidson.
Our obsession ensured we were exceptionally good drivers which was much before the government decided in its limited wisdom that driving without helmet was unsafe. Whenever friends loaned a Bullet or a Jawa, we would go for long rides out of the city as if we were the real owners. The bike was loaned but our prides were not. They were our very own. We were good even if the machines were uncharitably dubbed as mean. The smell of an engine stirring to life and its strokes was music to our perennially pricked ears. If nothing else, we would park ourselves in front of a bike showroom and soak in those brand new machines wondering when would the good day dawn when we would own one.
While driving, however, our heads would be firm on our shoulders. Rash driving was out of question. Rather we thought there was a greater sense of fulfilment in driving at cruising speeds. Driving was a pleasure we wanted to cherish. Only on one occasion I remember the two of us had gone to a place some 70 kms away to meet a friend. That visit turned out to be more exciting than we had thought. We ran into some bootleggers there who were considerate enough to offer their lethal concoctions to us in rusted pan masala tin boxes. It was only when they started climbing on us in their drunken stupor that we realised it was time to take a quick exit. That was the only time when we drove so fast, we were practically standing on the accelerator. If we didn't met with an accident it was more by fluke than judgement.The one thing we were unanimous about big bikes was there was no need to tonk horn. The mere look and the engine sound was enough to scare people out of the way. The big bikes usually called for wearing shoes because for a vehicle like Jawa the kick-start was hard and tough. The bike was mostly used by hefty "doodhwala bhayyas" carrying large milk cans on either sides. The Bullet was a slightly more polished variety because of its regal appearance and the quality of drive it offered although a kick backlash spelt a potential disaster.
As it happened in other spheres of life, the bike world underwent a cosmetic transformation from early eighties when the 300 cc machines were replaced by the 100 cc and 150 cc varieties like Yamahas and Hondas. For us, hard-boiled for years on heavy machines, these were poor variants -- the same difference between gold and rolled gold. We drove the newer, leaner machines but that sense of satisfaction always eluded. Sadly, the heavier ones were almost edged out of the competition. Jawa stopped production after mid-nineties while Bullet has become a no-no because in terms of fuel it is not as cost effective. In our estimate, however, the gratification took precedence over the cost.
The Bullet also known as Royal Enfield is now only a few owners' pride and many others' envy. I have often seen 100 cc bikers casting jealous glances at an occasional Bullet driver whizzing past them. A Harley Davidson or other such brands can be found with only the rich and enthusiasts like Dhoni and John Abraham to whom money is not an inhibiting factor. Bahut naainsaafi hai.
Today, these motor cycles are pages almost lost in history. After all, we live in times when life itself is a crazy ride and nothing is guaranteed.

Gender-bending James Bond

Raju Korti
There is a great sense of achievement, testosterone and fun being able to live out your masculinity when you play an action role or an action-adventure or a real tough guy. If the latest ferment on the internet and western media is to be believed, the patented machismo of 007 James Bond is seriously threatened by an aggressive brand feminism that one has come to see in the last couple of decades.

A file grab of the trailer on female Bond.

Having read almost all of Ian Fleming in my impressionable school days and left awestruck by Bond's on-screen stunts peppered with technology advances scientists would fantasize, there was this unshakeable but utopian image of his character in my head. From time to time -- or so I felt -- this image took a little beating when the Bond switched his skin from Sir Sean Connery to Roger Moore and Pierce Brosnan to Daniel Craig with assorted hunks like David Nigen, George Lazenby and a Timothy Dalton thrown in. So hooked we were as youngsters on Connery that it took sometime for us to reconcile that anyone else could also be licensed to kill. We had animated discussions on who was the real Bond until a few movies later we began to placate ourselves that Moore wasn't a bad choice either. I recollect as having read that Moore and his son were once sitting in a restaurant when in walked Connery. Seeing him, Moore's son said not-so-charitably "here comes the real Bond". Moore just smiled but there is no means to know whether it was genuine or forced. In all probability Moore Junior was also brought up on From Russia With Love, Goldfinger, Thunderball, On Her Majesty's Secret Service and You Only Live Twice. The Bond image was assiduously built up on a masculinity that no male -- of for that matter female -- could resist. This masculinity now is confronted by a pushy feminism even if that sounds like a feminist remark. However, a female Bond could redefine the James Bond franchise in the best possible way if it hasn't already escaped your attention that the women in Bond movies are no less enterprising, adventurous and have as many tricks up their sleeve.
Bond, Jane Bond, sounds as much interesting if you are prepared to accept Bond's change of gender. From what I have read, it is now a race between Emilia Clarke and Gillian Anderson (with our own Priyanka Chopra no less interested) and Leonardo Di Capri as their Bond boy. There is also a long list of men who are rumoured to be the one who will drink his Martini, shaken not stirred. Speculations are also rife that if cast, Idris Alba would be first Black Bond. So it is not just the gender but also the colour of his skin.
In her pitch, Clarke is convinced about this role reversal as a defining moment. Casting a woman is not merely about change of name and looks. A Jane Bond may not be shown as grappling with gender equality or issues that stand up as metaphors for the obstacles real women fight every day but It would be interesting if she does that in her movies as a sidebar. The battle begins with clinching the role in the first place and convincing that a female Bond could work well when the male protagonist is so firmly entrenched in people's psyche.
Bond films often portray sex as a weapon in and against 007's favour but if it comes to a female Bond, the idea would seem diluted. So her image would have to be suitably de-constructed, a challenge for the likes of Albert Broccolis and Guy Hamiltons. Jane Bond cannot afford to be just a bewitching woman in a male fantasy but a well rounded character who sticks to the core idea of being a secret agent compatible with a women's empowerment story. This is a chance for Bond makers for a gender correction to create a strong female hero. Still, that acceptance could be tough because there is this majority conviction that the swap won't work. The idea of woman taking the position of a man when you know James Bond has been an unwavering and accepted convention. It would be a tough call for Bond makers to reboot a 53-year-old franchise and package it for an audience for whom the very concept can be jarring.
A female Bond may or may not materialise but there is also this radical proposal that it was time the Bond was politicised. So far the Bond's raison d'etre was to safeguard the postwar order in the West. A case is being made out that the new 007 should go political and take on the real-life politicians who want to plunge the world into war and climate chaos -- issues like violent Jihadism, Russian intransigence, Chinese expansionism and refugee crisis. That would alter the Bond that Fleming had conceived in the fifties and make the hero more contemporary although I cannot resist wisecracking that it would be a case of Bond with the worst.
The concept of a female Bond may appears misogynist at the moment but why not experiment with misandry for a change? If James Bond can womanise, Jane Bond can have her share of men too. After all, to err is not always woman.

Bach ke rehna baba, hum patrakar hain!

Raju Korti
Many of my colleagues who have banged their heads in this thankless profession for decades like I have done; are going to pan me for this but truth be told. Unvarnished and unadulterated truth though some of them will sweat themselves dry on the semantics of what is truth. More so when truth gets meshed in a tangle of lies, half lies and half truth.
I went into Journalism to learn the craft of writing and to get as close to the world as possible. Its not for me to sit on judgement on how much of that has been achieved but being ingrained that objective journalism and opinion columns are about as similar as Bible and Playboy magazine, I am condemned to hear a journalist being dubbed as a presstitute in the social media.
When I entered the profession sometime in 1979, it was not as if the profession wasn't without its taints but not as rabid as it is today. There was still a semblance of professional ethic. As rookies we were all led and guided by men of mettle. Seniors would routinely throw shoddily written reports into the dustbin unlike today where even as rewritten press handout get a byline. I still recall the expression of my first news editor when I felt that an interview I had done deserved a byline. He looked at me as if I had committed a sacrilege. "Byline aur isko?" he retorted like the heroine of a Hindi film telling the villain "Shaadi aur tum se?" As it happened with most of us, my first byline came well after three years and that too as if my boss was doing me a great favour. We all thought that getting a byline was as good as conquering Mount Everest. Most of us youngsters at that time didn't realize that this was the foundational regimen to make us do better and better.
I am saying this because most newspapers even then had their own affiliations and leanings. They were and are still owned by businessmen and politicians as mouthpieces. Vested interests were restricted to mostly the owners while the journalists did their bidding not as blatantly as it obtains today. But professional ethics always take a back seat when commercialisation takes over. Today, journalists are no longer pawns in the hands of unscrupulous owners running their media shops, they have become power brokers unto themselves. The advent of TV news channels in the eighties and their proliferation in the nineties changed all that and took away whatever piety was left in it. Faced with stiff competition and a question mark hanging over their survival, the newspapers too started falling into line. One media house criticising another was by and large alien and unethical but it is common these days to see newspapers and channels taking swipes at each other out of professional rivalry.
Until the late eighties, jobs in journalism weren't hard to come by. A nominal interview clinched the aspirant a job and although rewards were a pittance, people stuck around for the satisfaction of it. It was something you went to college for. Many came and polished their skills to become excellent writers. From that point it has come to a stage where the job avenues are many and returns far exceed the professional's calibre. On the other hand, journalism colleges are producing graduates like a factory. Little wonder many end up as "content writers" with neither content nor writing. Not everyone realizes that to write a really good piece of journalism can be intellectually demanding.
As a neophyte I remember having been asked to cover a meet-the-press and I was confused like hell how it differed from a press conference. My seniors told me that you could grill people holding the press conference but at a meet-the-press, you must treat the person as guest and therefore no awkward questions were to be asked. Interestingly, even the journalist unions endorsed this view. Compare this with what you see on the TV channels day in and day out. People, most of the times politicians and bureaucrats, are "invited" to the studios only to be made to look like first class idiots and treated with disdain. Worse still, the invitees take all this in their stride because they still have to depend on the media to get their point across. The TV anchors, often judgemental and opinionated, have a verdict even before the hearing has begun. These are the know alls either goofing up on "facts" or cooking them up to sex up their stories. Media houses are brazenly run like shops with no pretensions of any serious journalism. Journalists have outdone owners in this exercise. Opinions have made short work of information and people are none the wiser as "facts" vary from one media house to another. Attempts to regulate the media have been met with stiff resistance. Sad as it is when the media on its own should be fair and balanced. What do you do when newspaper pages from first to last read like editorial pages? The critical importance of honest journalism -- though agreed that hundred per cent objectivity is humanly impossible -- needs to be dispassionately debated but who will bell the cat(s)?
Its a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vital as Journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy and complacence and generally stuck in stagnant mediocrity. Journalism as a recipe has now an added ingredient called arrogance. Broadcast licences are given to political philosophies and personal opinions instead of people. It has reached a stage where people -- and in most cases journalists themselves -- think there is no difference between news and entertainment. The more celebrity-driven it is, the better. Lack of information, misinformation, disinformation and a general contempt for truth have killed the very spirit of the profession. In the era of TRPs, ratings don't last, good journalism does. Good journalism was happening even when there was no Twitter. The social media has become a breeding ground for people who masquerade as writers throwing up bile through personal prejudices. There is less truth in journalism than fiction even though it is famously said that journalism is literature in hurry. I have deliberately avoided giving examples because we all know them. The social media is doing that job perfectly.
The tragedy is journalists have not made peace with the fact that the world is inured to the power of journalism which at best only serves to outrage people. Money, eyeballs and software brands don't have much shelf life. Journalism has taken all hues except black and white.
We watch and carry on.

He made airwaves, we floated on them!

Raju Korti
The legendary Richie Benaud once remarked that "the problem with relying on nostalgia for commentary is that people remember only the good things." What Benaud said was a rule with the honourable exception of fellow commentator Tony Cozier.

Cozier with Michael Holding (Courtesy Barbadostoday)

Tony Cozier, who died at 76 yesterday was actually more of a Barbadian than West Indian. I say this because when the West Indians were the most exciting bunch of cricketers in the fifties, sixties and early seventies, being a Barbadian carried more weight than being a West Indian. Cozier's refrain then was a simple but factual comment he would make in all the years of the island's glorious cricketing history: "The West Indies are a tremendously talented side." That was his subtle way of telling that no other cricketing nation could be considered anywhere close to the West Indies. Cozier was more West Indian than the West Indians themselves. For someone who was a charmed witness to the illustrious and resplendent chapters in West Indies cricket for well over 48 years, Cozier carried facts and figures on the tip of his tongue, never faltering even once. He defied the unwritten rule that if you are not controversial, you will never break through the din of the commentary. To his cricketing sense, commentating was more of lucid narration and expression which he did with forensic details.
As a commentator he was in a class of his own if you realise that there were other sublime commentators like Brian Johnston, John Arlott, Christopher Martin Jenkins, Henry Blofeld, Don Moseley, Alan M'cgilvray, Freddie Truman, Trevor Bailey and Ray Illingworth who were the uncrowned kings of commentary box. I am mentioning these names because Cozier himself was part of the terrific BBC Test Match Special team in those days. Commentators in those days were not the kind you see on television now. They had a tougher, non-visual medium like the radio to hold forth their commentary skills. They were so good and vivid that listeners would feel that they were watching the match live. Such was his craft that Cozier could shift gears easily to be as good on the TV if you know that skills required for both fundamentally differ. He could move seamlessly between radio and television boxes lost in himself describing the (then) domination and (later) demise of the West Indian cricket.
Never pompous and expansive in his description unlike many of his contemporaries, Cozier was born with two blessings -- an exceptional voice tailor-made for radio and TV and his innate ability to reel out facts and figures on the spur of the movement. While his colleagues always turned to statisticians for facts and figures, Cozier had them on the tip of his tongue. That gave him a fluency and edge perhaps no other commentator had.
Cozier never played Test cricket in his life but his roots from Barbados was a qualification enough. Add to that his writing skills as a journalist where the words became slave to his matter-of-fact expression. Just how good he was can be gauged from the fact that as a White, he saw the West Indian cricket flourish despite the racial prejudice that prevailed until the early seventies. A lot is being said about the tightrope Caribbean politics that Cozier may have had to negotiate at a time where even the slightest adverse comment about a West Indian cricketer could lead to a frenzied backlash. Cozier's love for the West Indies and its cricket was unquestionable but he had the guts to take on the Quixotic functioning of the West Indian Cricket Board and never crossing the line even once. He was equally fierce with those who were unfair to the West Indian cricketers. A voice with conscience, he had this ability to be outspoken without rubbing people the wrong way and being officialese. That made him a golden mean between the dryness of Australian commentary and self-indulgent English commentary.
Indisposed in the last few months, Cozier had the pleasure of seeing some revival of the West Indian cricket when the country recently won Under-19 World Cup, Women's T20 World Cup and the World T20 finals. He had been forced to give up alcohol after a major surgery but for this hat-trick of victories, he would have surely risked a liberal toast.

Dressed for the kill: Modi, Mubarak and Clinton

Raju Korti

Club of four suits: Carter, Clinton, Obama and Bush (whitehouse.gov)

Having seen Prime Minister Narendra Modi from close enough quarters even before he had made it to national consciousness, it came to me as no surprise at all. For someone who wears his name like a factory label on his sleeve, very few got the fine print when he wore that pompous coat with his name monogrammed all over as pin-stripes.
Modi's sartorial sense was never in question although he mentioned very casually once that whatever he wore, fit him well enough. To me, the key element in this "coat episode" was President Barrack Obama subtly hinting that he would not mind adding a few Modi kurtas to his wardrobe. The long sighs all over the country, however, said it all: How could the prime minister of a country put the state exchequer in the hole for Rs 10 lakh to wear an outrageous and self-glorifying attire. But in India controversies happen out of non-issues as well. The late Egypt President Hosni Mubarak had achieved that feat much before in 2009 when he wore a suit with his name inscribed into the pin-stripes. But the military and political leader could manage only murmurs as against Modi's uproar. In his country, Mubarak was the self-anointed head of state while Modi assumed power through public mandate. Mubarak was an officially acknowledged dictator, Modi the unofficial one.
This is no comparison between Modi and Mubarak. The interesting issue to me here is what makes for an ideal dress sense if you happen to be in public life and more so as a leader of masses. The Washington Post has summed up the predicament of former President Bill Clinton on what to wear when he is no longer the centre of attraction. But Clinton, who came to be almost impeached in 1998, needn't worry too much about it. His sexual escapades with a 21-year-old White House intern and then bluffing his countrymen about it are still good enough to keep him in limelight. The present presidential contender Donald Trump seems to have made an integral part of his campaign to provide refreshers on Clinton's sexual misadventures and taunting wife Hillary. The former First Lady, the true Methodist she is, seems to be taking it in her stride with a poise that has managed to stand by her so far. It is immaterial how much bearing Trump's trumpeting of Clinton's misdemeanants will have on the presidential elections but the former president, is at the moment more bogged down by his predicament on what it means to wear a uniform of power but not possess it.
Although Clinton is preparing for the role of a backstage performer with all the skills acquired from those post-presidential orations, there are many Americans who believe that his dress sense will have an influential role to play when he reels out those applause lines in support of his once wronged wife. A sizeable section of the population keenly watching the presidential election drama unfold, are keen to know whether Clinton wears something American or some fancy European import.
It is generally believed that if Clinton's campaign works for his wife, his clothes will assume a great significance because his clothes would reveal the true him. The contention behind this logic is if he doesn't stick to protocol and tradition, he wouldn't be delivering an address at the swearing-in or a toast at a state dinner. So what Clinton wears will depend much on what his stylists design for him.
Based on a survey of his photographs, the Washington Post found that President Obama used mostly two tuxedos while in office. But that that was a non issue. Clinton has been wearing a mix between the casual and informal while canvassing for his wife, ostensibly to gain public sympathy -- a perceptible effort to atone for a wrong that cost him his office.
The paper's parting shot says it all: "He (Clinton) wears a Hillary-for-president pin during his campaign trail. Sometimes it is a tasteful little H. Sometimes it's a medallion of the size of a saucer. This time, he is not selling America on itself. He is selling the country on his wife."
Now draw parallels with Modi and sketch the picture of your choice.