Whatever happened to that man ?

(----Part 1---)

He carefully placed his large square thick rimmed spectacles on his nose, lovingly combed his rock-star like shoulder length hair, gave the same treatment to his moustache, wore a thin plain-white half-sleeved cotton shirt that could be easily mistaken for a ganjee, pulled up his bell-bottomed trousers over his torn underwear, slipped on his frayed black leather chappals that he had himself polished lovingly last night, grabbed his colorful thelaa that contained his flute and his lunch dabba that his mother had packed and headed out of his tiny but clean apartment with a spring in his steps and a song on his lips. He felt good about himself. He was confident of his future. It was the 1970s in Bombay, the air was clean, the people were friendly and the roads and buses and trains were commutable. He was recently employed full-time with a famous band that made music for the movies and he could play the flute like nobody's business. The band had promised him lifelong employment and then a monthly pension plan after retirement, as was the case with most types of jobs back then. He believed in honesty, uprightness, hard work, doing the right thing irrespective of the outcome, respecting women, valuing people over material things and all those ideals that people were expected to follow. He didn't have much education but he knew his job will see him through the rest of his life.

His secure future brought him happiness. His days were spent playing the flute, gossiping with his fellow musicians during breaks, eating his dabba under a shaded tree in the movie studio's compound, sneakily eyeing the movie's beautiful heroine getting her make-up done, mentally tracing her body contours under her tight saree and sleeveless white blouse that was knotted in the back and transparent enough to reveal that she was wearing a black bra. He wondered why the black bra got him much more excited than the white (other colors weren't available yet). But immediately after such thoughts he felt guilty since he was taught to respect womenkind and so he made a mental promise to the heroine to never again check the color of her bra (but he kept doing it). He dreamt of having a family, with a wife more beautiful than the heroine and kids who would go to good English medium schools. His evenings were spent wandering around the city aimlessly, breathing in its sights and sounds, perhaps catching a movie with his band's music where he felt mighty proud when he heard his own flute being played. In the evening he sometimes took the luxury of gorging himself with a few street wada-pavs when he knew that his mother was going to make his much despised brinjal curry for dinner. He could afford these royal pleasures. He believed that life was perfect in his India of the 70s and his beloved Bombay would provide for him and his family.

(to be continued in part 2)

Glorifying mediocrity

Warning - This may hurt your sentiments.

Is it only me who feels the sharp rise in stupid people around them? Have you suddenly started noticing fully grown adults hell bent upon glorifying and publicly broadcasting their own mediocrities. Maybe its because of these social networking websites like Facebook, Orkut, Twitter or maybe its because we were inherently that stupid and these networking websites just gave a vent to our dumb tendencies. Visit any social networking site and you are bound to get overwhelmed with the stupidity of a zillion people. Their dumb "status" updates and their dumb comments on other people's status updates. A 35 year old woman is going through a breakup and she is broadcasting it to her entire group of two hundred people that "boys are stupid". And when she is not going through a break up she is broadcasting how her fucking dog sprays his pee and what part of her bedroom has he crapped in and what color of shit does he excrete. And you'll find two or three of her trusted friends commenting on her broadcasted message on how even their dogs' shit has been green today. I guess it must be Saint Patrick's day then, huh? Dumb bitches. Sometimes nobody replies to her messages and you see her own replies to her own messages. What a fucked up lonely life you must be living. And this is not an isolated case. Its easy to find such dumb-asses everywhere.

I get the concept of status updates, it lets you post something interesting about yourselves, some cool incident or something out of the ordinary, not stuff like "I was totally exhausted in the gym today" (like every other day), and that "Life is tough" (like we don't know that already), and that "I am going downtown for some great food" (like every other fucking weekend). Oh here is another one "KW is busy busy busy"(like we all are lukkhas upto no good). Ah here is an interesting story - one girl in my list was changing the damn carpets in her damn apartment and for that she had to move her stuff off the floor. For one whole month her status updates involved the progress like how she has now trashed that shitload of junk that she had been accumulating all her pathetic life and donated her old shoes and clothes and what not. For one entire month she described how she cleaned up her dingy fucking apartment and solicited advice from everybody in her friends list on what to do of her red platform heels and used hair clips. Who the FUCK cares?

Another self-adulatory bug that has bitten people is childhood pictures. I understand we all find ourselves cute when we were little and I don't mind seeing an occasional childhood picture of my friends. But it gets weird when entire albums are updated with them in different stages of undress, looking like dorks, mouths drooling, smiling, grinning, crying and what not. I don't want so much detail. I don't want to know that one of my friends wore a pink handkerchief as a langoti and that his penis kept slipping out through it. And there will always be some dumb fucking friends of theirs commenting on those photos "oh how cuuuutteeeeeee you look yaaar".

And whats up with all the nostalgia photos. People love to get nostalgic. I get it, its fun to reminisce about your school days, your picnics, your old friends, your college, etc. But for nostalgia to feel valuable it needs time and maybe a few achievements from your side. One gaandu just graduated from a third class college with some worthless degree and is out already posting photos of his college in an album titled "GOOOOODDD OLDDDDD DAYSSSSSSS". "Old DAYSSS DA BESSSSST TIMMEEEEE OFFFFF MYYYY LIFEEEEE".

Its also bewildering to see the bullshit lies they write glorifying themselves. Their profiles are adorned with how smart,beautiful, great, mysterious, philanthropic, ambitious they are. How they want to change the world and run great companies one day. Bullshit I say. Try to first clear that exam that you have been so miserably failing in. When terrorists attacked Mumbai last year one of my friends who was about to travel to India from US updated her status "Soon I will be in Mumbai to heal the grieving". Fucking lying baboons filled with hot-air! When she did go to Bombay her days and nights were spent partying and wasting away as always. Another contact of mine has a habit of starting e-groups "Fight against poverty", "Save Trees", "Save the earth", "Fight against Terrorism" , like he gets up in the morning, brushes his teeth, drinks his coffee, combs his balding head and starts some dumb fucking e-group. This kind of casual join-a-chutiya-group probably dilutes the efforts of those few organizations that are actually doing something worthwhile. People joining these e-groups get a false sense that they are doing something immensely beneficial to the world like "Oh I am part of the 'save the earth' and 'save electricity' and 'earth hour' group, yep, we meet online and talk about fucking bullshit". Another contact who got laid off from his dumb no-brainer job and couldn't find another job here, had to go back to India and is updating his status from India as if he still lives in the US - like how he had a steak-burger and Budweiser from a high end restaurant in Colaba or how he is excited about watching the finale of some dumb fucking American show that he used to follow here. Another one writes that he has thought of a brilliant new business idea that will make him rich - yeah rite - a brilliant idea and you are publicizing it on Facebook ?

And as if thats not enough whats up with the horrible quizzes that they take. I took a couple for trial "do your parents love you" and "what your friends think about you". I mean who the fuck would take that quiz? Shouldn't you already know? And if you don't already know you think a dumb quiz would figure it out for you? Some people say its just for timepass, for fun. Fun? Timepass? Aren't there better things for fun and timepass that you could do? Is your mental level so deep in the gutter that you have to rely on these quizzes for fun? And these quizzes are not like scientifically designed or anything, any dumb fucker anywhere in the world with a computer and an internet connection can write up any nonsense they feel like and call it a quiz.

And its never the people that you consider smart that you see these idiotic items from. The smart ones always have something interesting to say like the places they have been to or cool photographs or some interesting observations or events. Its always the dumb ones who you suspected were dumb right at birth are the ones doing this.

Why are we so hell bent upon patting our own backs, polishing our own behinds like red-ass baboons do to attract mates, congratulating ourselves, trying to figure out all the trivial nuances of our mediocre existence, figuring out our's and others' "personalities" as if it were black or white, figuring out "what people think of us", "do our parents love us", "which city should we be living in", "whats the ideal job for us " and that too from perfectly illegitimate sources. Why do we feel the need to have a graduation party for a 6th grade kid with evening gowns and a rented limo? Is it that hard to pass school?

You say I should just shut up and quit social networking if I have such negative feelings about normal people. But its like a Jerry Springer or a dumb reality TV show; you hate it but you just can't stop watching it. And its an easy way to keep in touch with the people you do appreciate. Maybe its a way to keep in touch with reality, to see what interests people. Maybe its a way to make you feel good about your own existence, by allowing you to deride other people's existences. Maybe I am a dumb bitch too.

Shayari continued ...

Arz kiya hain .....

Dil ke dard ko dil todne waala kya jaane,

pyaar ke rivajo ko ye zaalim zamaana kya jaane,

lagti hain kitni vaat neechey kabar mein,

yeh upper se phool chadhaane waala kya jaane

Naa tum terrace par aati,

Naa main deewaana hota,

Naa tum aankh milaati,

Naa main tumhaara parwaana hota,

Aur naa tum woh patthar maarti,

Naa main aaj kaana hota!

(Ouch!)

Bhagwaan, Allah sub jagah par hain

Khuda bhi sub jagah par hain

Idhar Khuda hai, udhar Khuda hai,

Jahaan dekho wahaan Khuda hai,

Idhar-udhar bus Khuda hi Khuda hai,

Jidhar nahi khuda hai….udhar kal khudega saala!

(This inspiration probably struck our Shaayar in Bombay while driving on potholes with occasional pieces of road sprinkled in between.)

More can be found here 

Courtesy www.jammag.com

Batuk Chand

There is a security guard outside a famous bar in Irla,Andheri. Most of you may have seen this bar but may have never been inside because it is a "ladies" bar. This guard is interesting because he is about 2 and a half feet tall. He is a fully grown man but short. Little people they say as a euphemism. This is also strange because this is a ladies bar, a place where testosterone runs high, middle aged men who are mostly well to do and some not so well to do, all married with kids, holding respectable positions in society, bored with their wives, high on the smell of money and horny as hell get drunk and get nasty. How in the world do they expect this guy to break a fight as it usually breaks out. Out of curiosity I asked him one day -

Me - Batuk Chand kaise ko jee. (How are you)

Batuk (smiling) - Bus bhaijaan, masti chal rahi hain. Aap batao. (Just being naughty brother.)

Me - Kuch tamasha hua aaj? (Any fight broke out today)

Batuk (engulfed in smoke coming from my mouth) - Haan woh Bharat bhai ne aaj phir Tania Junior ko propose kiya . (Customer proposed a girl again today for marriage!)

Me (a little surprised that he was a Gujarati) - Woh Bharat Mehta? Gujarati? Arrey uski to shaadi ho chuki hain naa?

Batuk - Arrey "phipty parsant" se jyaada idhar Gujarati bhailog aatein hain. Sub ki shaadi ho chuki hain. (more then fifty percent here are Gujarati, a language my folks speak, so kinda like my community)

Me - waah ri duniya, yeh bataa re, tereko kaise jamta hain yeh bewdey logon ko control karneka? (how can you control these drunkards). Woh sub terese minimum double size ke hain. (they are twice your size)

Batuk - arrey size ka kya karega bhaijaan, lund bhi to badaa hona chahiye naa? Mera sub se badaa hain. Mereko teen (three) paav (legs) hain. (My penis is bigger than them all. So big that I have three legs.)

Me (embarassed imagining Batuk balanced on a tripod) - Arrey yaar, kya bol rahaa hain. (what are you talking about dude.). Achha bataa, yeh sub log idhar kyon aatein hain?

Batuk - seedhi baat hain bhaijaan, aur kuch karne ko nahi hain, life mein aur koi interest nahi, kitaab padhte nahi honge, duniya ki kuch jyaada padi nahi hain, logon ki parvah nahi, jee rahein hain, pee rahein hain, nashe mein jhoom rahein hain. Pahle ladki, phir daaru, phir charas gangaa, (Not much to do in their lives, no interests, no tension, no reading, so they are always looking for the next high, sex, alcohol, drugs, etc.)

Me - waah kya baat kahi hain. Chal meri bus aa gayee, mein jaata hoon. Engineering drawing assignment hain mera kal. (Good philosophy dude, my bus is here, I have a heavy load of engineering drawing to finish tonight.)

He made good company while I waited for the bus sometimes. Batuk Chand. Interesting guy. He was the only earner and had like 5 kids if my memory serves me right.

Another was old Mohammed bhai, outside Sinhal's classes. Bright red hair (natural red head) and bright red beard (artificially dyed). He was always looking after the students waiting like cattle outside their classes at 7 in the morning. Making sure we were all right. Soothing influence. Always remembered my name. Pulkit. Always coerced me to stop smoking. He was a cool guy. Saw him after a long time, had grown much older. Couldn't recognize me.

Repetitive lines in qawwali.

Just something interesting I figured -

The origin of qawwali was without any repetitive lines. Like the song would start and end real soon, in one shot. People weren't paying much for it. The wordings and feelings were beautiful but the artists weren't able to capitalize on this and they were living meagerly. One little newbie punk thought of a revolutionary idea and figured they could bore the audience a little bit and then excite them a little bit. Bold idea because audience can get real nasty sometimes. They tried it one day by saying something like "Artist needs encouragement for singing, so please shower them with $blessings$".  It worked. The Artist would start singing and start repeating the same line without moving forward and some audience would go to the stage and shower them with $blessings$. And hence came the repetitions.  Now its an art form, in the Indian/Pakistan royal gharaanas who still pursue such fading but unbelievably brilliant  art forms of India. "Thoda abhi, thoda baadmein."

Another random etiquette if you ever go to a qawwali concert - don't ever "throw" money on the performers. They are very respected and there is no direct contact with them. Walk slowly towards them, smiling, with respect and leave the money near his feet. You can dance a little bit if you want. You can usually tell the novices from the gharaanawaalas by how respectful they are.

Blog quality

I use a service that tells me what people search for when they end up on my blog. At first I didn't pay much attention to it but now the more I analyze it the more concerned I get. It seems some considerable amount of interesting people are landing on my blog. I am sure many of the readers are perfectly normal people but I seriously doubt the purpose of these random people and their lifestyles who land on my blog after google searches. Here a few terms that led to my blog, mainly from Mumbai and Delhi....

how to get desi aunty in bed.

punjabi aunty love.

chikni girls of dombivli in train.

thoking kaamwaali bai.

pyaari si sexy teacher on bed lying nanga on bed loving loving.

getting tution teacher history Padma to cry

Making neighbour boy loving not hating

doing hiding pyaar in baaju waala green park.

bad smell sandhaas of wife

I am wondering what kind of junk am I writing that this is happening. I need to write more sensible stuff like emotions, passions, dreams, love, heartbreak, ambition, altruism, higher goals, achieving your true potential, being strong and kind, but never never never never never ......trying to get tution teacher Padma to cry!

Moving lyrics, revolutionary ideas, listen carefully

Must watch - new movies

Some of the new movies that are a must see -
1) Yun hota to kya hota
2) Mumbai meri jaan
3) Dasvidaniya
4) Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye
5) Sirf

to be cont'd....

Ghajini

    At the risk of offending some Amir Khan fanatics I will go ahead and say Ghajini was a total letdown. Mindless violence (if I really wanted just gore there is much better stuff out there), Amir's weird angry contorted facial expressions, Asin's cheesy acting and her countless repetitive dialogues on how Sanjay Singhania fell for her, her oh-so-touching "help the apaahijh people" nature (I am sure even a guy like Ghajini would help a blind person cross the street if he ever came across him), Amir's business attire with tight-sleeves folded all the way to his neck (like a sexy blouse or as if he was going to win a business deal not by his intelligence but by scaring the competitors with his biceps), his computer generated toned body (come on, you are Amir not Salman, thankfully), the endless songs that started at the drop of a hat and the sheer elastic length of the movie, saala itna kheecha phir bhi khatam hi nahi hota.

    The only saving grace was Mr. Ghajini himself. I awoke from my stupor only when he came on screen. I was almost cheering when he busted Asin's head and was hoping in the end he emerges the victor but was letdown again when Amir busted his head instead. After watching Rang De Basanti and Taarein Zameen Par and after all the hype of Ghajini I was expecting something much more engaging. Something that kept me on the edge of my seat by its intelligence (like Memento from which Ghajini is supposedly copied) and not by heads being smashed with iron rods. If you like that kind of stuff (and I do too but at a much gorier level) watch Hostel by Eli Roth and many more like those. In such movies you know what you are going in for and you get exactly that. You don't feel cheated. 

    In Ghajini I felt cheated by Amir. I was like the sage Vishwamitra who was calm and happy because I had mastered the art of saving lots of money by steering clear of watching horrible Bollywood movies in expensive theaters. But then came along Amir in the form of Menka the seductress. He performed a nangaa naach showing off his six-pack abs and tatoos in the previews and glimpses of how thrilling this movie is going to be. It broke my meditation and forced me to buy the tickets and then he fed me this horrendous tamasha and after seeing my sorry face and empty wallet rolled on the floor laughing and screaming "yay tereko chutiya banayaa, yay yay yay!".

Chaila dus dollar barbaad. Huh.

Morning surprise

Yes you have seen old Desi aunties walking in crumpled salwar-kameez and tennis shoes amidst sharply dressed New Yorkers. Yes you have seen them in frumpy sarees with oily hair tied in a bun, backs bended with countless years of sufferings and sacrifices, proudly pushing their grandkids' strollers in sunny California parks. Yes you have seen them walking on curbs sweating in the dead Texas heat carrying grocery bags, heads covered with their pallus. But have you ever seen them working out, pumping iron, kicking some ass? This was my morning surprise as I entered the gym today (see pics below). This woman, atleast sixty, spent atleast one hour on that machine. Phew!

Janitor Strike

A couple months ago on a sunny California afternoon the Bay Area came to a screeching halt. The jhaadoowaalas and kachrawaalas went on a strike and stopped all work without prior notice. Drains were clogged, trash overflowed, toilets became un-inhabitable and this once-smooth-flowing pipeline was disrupted causing human intestines to get embarassingly backed up. A sea of janitors was protesting outside corporate offices to get their wages raised. Banners and everything. "Hamaari maange poori karo, nahi to tumhari sandhaas poori nahi hogi". It was a riot. Everybody was hit. Intel, Yahoo, Cicso and all behemoths were drowning in a sea of chaos. Engineers refused to work in refuse. It was a day that will be remembered in the history of Scatology as a "black baasi Monday".
The janitors are an unknown lot. They arrive regularly, on time, clean up your junk, throw you a fake smile (because seriously there is nothing to smile about for them) and get out of there. Sometimes they catch you on your way out of the toilet, just after you took an obnoxious crap, and you know that he knows that it was you. You smile at him knowing very well that he is going to have to clean up your mess. He smiles back but in his mind he is crying and cursing your entire family tree.
There is never a "good" time for this kind of disaster to happen, but this strike happened at an especially opportune moment. There was a big conference being hosted by a company that week (name withheld upon request). Big ideas for the next generation mobile technologies were being discussed. Well respected men and women from various fields were presenting their research. Rich investors looking to fund projects were present too. Everybody was looking to make the world faster, better, to move it forward. But they forgot that more importantly their backwards needed to keep moving too. They were hit by the strike and didn't have a clue on how to fix it. They didn't think that the janitors would have anything to protest about.
But the janitors wanted a place in the conference to air their grievances. They started protesting outside. Security was called to calm them down, but calm down they won't. Finally the CEO of that company, alarmed by this situation, came down and talked to the protest leaders. A few enthusiastic protestors had banners like "Don't you like it clean?" or "Wanna use the forest instead?" and apparently that had an effect on the CEO. He allowed a woman janitor to take a place in the conference.
This woman, in her mid forties, slightly overweight, low on confidence, oiled hair tied in a ponytail, took a seat next to some of the richest men in the world. This was a day of unprecedented importance. People who moved the world forward and people who kept it flowing backwards, sitting side by side, under one roof, discussing issues and resolving crises. This was bigger than Obama being the president of USA. But this woman had a hard time expressing her ideas because the elite men and women didn't give her a chance to speak for a long time. People all around were screaming technology jargon like "Decrease processor size", "increase transistor count", "more processor cores", "less cores but faster". Tired of this constant shouting that she couldn't understand the woman gave up and screamed "GAANDU LOG TUMHARA SANDHAAS SAAF MANGTA HAIN KI NAHI ?!?!". The room went silent. People listened to her speak about her issues. Her demands were met and the strike ended. Business resumed, forward and backwards.

(For more information on this historic event please google search or check out this link -

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/05/20/BUL410P59Q.DTL)

Desi first date continued...

In a response to one of my posts I was asked by someone to stop ridiculing people for their ideas of romance (See "Desi First Date" below) and was challenged to come up with my own idea of it. I pondered over what defined Indian romance in its true colors and came upon the following video which just nailed it. No words neccessary.

Granny gone wild

    In a small village in Gujarat we have our ancestral house. There we've spent a few summer days lazing on its large wooden swing solving a majority of the world's problems. The house was maintained by an old woman, in her eighties. She was unmarried. Taking care of the house was her only passion. She loved it and she loved us. She cooked and cleaned for us. She told us stories of witches and daakus at night. The few days that we spent at the house was what she looked forward to for the rest of the  year. She had thick long gray hair which she was very proud of and hoped that that would make a handsome young man fall in love with her. We provided her money enough for food and clothing. She was at the house for more than 20 years until she passed away. We called her Dosi Maa. This story is of her passing away.

    One morning, in the summer of 1990, she didn't come out of her room and a low thumping sound was emanating from it. We knocked and enquired whether she was all right. The thumping ceased and she said she was not feeling well. We concluded she just wanted some rest although it was very unusual of her. We did not see her all day and to let her rest we ate our meals at a neighbour's house. The neighbours were surprised too because Dosi Maa was very active for her age. But they did mention her disappearing at times for a few days and they also heard thumping sounds in the middle of the night sometimes. We played outside until we were tired and returned home and immediately collapsed in our beds.

     After a few hours, around 2 in the night, a few of us were awakened by a sudden sound. It was the same thumping, only much louder. We waited for a few minutes, stared at each other and decided to go downstairs. The electricity for the entire village was knocked out so it was pitch dark and we had to rely on candles. We knocked on Dosi Maa's door but got no response and the thumping continued. After a half hour of knocking we decided to break the door down as we were very concerned. A few of us started kicking it. The thumping got louder and, raising our concerns, we heard an angry moan, almost like a cat's. After a few kicks we managed to break the door down. And we were horrified at what we saw. Dosi Maa had stripped herself of all her clothes. Butt naked. Her shrivelled skin hanging loose over organs that had lost all shape and form. Her thick long gray hair was left open. She was jumping up and down vigorously on one leg. The other leg was balanced in the air like a yoga pose. She was smiling wide but moaning angrily. Her face was happy but her voice was terrifying. She also had a shaving blade in one hand. We were shell-shocked for a few seconds and didn't know how to react. We implored her to calm down but to no effect. One of us ventured close to her to hold her still but she violently pushed him away. Then, as if irritated by our efforts, she dangled the raw blade and suddenly began to shave off her head with it. Her hair started falling out in clumps coated with blood from her scalp. She didn't seem to get affected by it. By this time the neighbours were at our house. One of them thought that she was possessed by a ghost and the only way to get her to calm down would be to beat her with sticks. Beating our beloved Dosi Maa with sticks ! What a terrible thing to do. But we did it. We started thrashing her with bamboo logs. But it made no impact on her. It was as if she was made of iron. Our sticks broke but she still kept jumping on one leg, now completely bald with a bloodied head and face, naked and still screaming.

    The local priest was brought in. He concluded that the only way to get rid of this ghost was to threaten to throw her from a big height. We decided to take her to an abandoned five storeyed building. Six of us caught her with great difficulty as she was biting and scratching us, tied her up, threw her in the back of a tempo and drove towards the building. While driving we could hear her jumping in the tempo and screaming. Upon reaching there we got her out of the tempo and carried her to the top floor. It was dark and we had only a few lanterns for light and she kept biting us constantly. We dangled her from the top floor but she only got louder and more violent. This method did not work. We were in tears and dejected by the horror. The local priest then said the only way now was to chop her head off and when the ghost leaves the body you could sew it together and she would still live. We were confused and did not know what to do anymore and that made us very vulnerable to bad suggestions. We did it. We chopped it off. With an axe. In one blow. The head came off and rolled on the floor. And to our horror of horrors it started screaming and bouncing up and down on the floor like a football. The headless body just stood erect balanced on one leg. Most of us just fainted at this sight. I caught hold of the head and stomped on it a few times to drain its life out but it didn't matter. Instead it slipped from under my foot, bounced behind me and gave me a sharp bite on my left buttock. I still have the marks to prove it. And it continued bouncing. Then in one final desperate attempt we flung the head out of the building. It went down in slow motion, chattering, screaming, looking angrily at me until it faded into the blackness of the night.

    And then I woke up from my dream, sweating, with my heart beating rapidly, thanking the Gods for alarm clocks.

Night out in the city

    After spending many weekends either watching movies or playing cards or nerdy games with friends or just plain-old-reading, Sejal and I decided that we should act like a young couple and enjoy a night out clubbing. So we decided to go to Santana Row, the only club-able area in the south bay. We dressed up in our finest party clothes, sprayed an entire bottle of perfume (we are Gujarati) got in our ride, cranked up the latest hip dandiya number and drove towards the partaay. The first requirement of a good night life scene is that you should have a ton of trouble parking. Not here baby, parking was a breeze. That pretty much told you how exciting the club scene would be. We started walking alongside various clubs and saw wine glasses and giant round plates on the tables with just a drop of what is considered food in the centre - aaila gourmet style. Aunties and uncles everywhere, talking softly, mostly quiet. We quickly moved away from those dead zones and towards where the music was blaring. The second indicator of a good night club is people crowding outside to get in. Not here; all clubs were empty with bouncers swatting flies outside. We spotted a club that had a few people inside apparently enjoying the music (as evidenced by the rythmic slow bobbing of the head in sync with one leg) and drinking. They seemed to be talking but I didn't see how you could carry a conversation in such a noise. It seemed so uncomfortable and pointless. Yes for single guys and girls it was a nice way to check each other out, exchange sexual vibes and make it worth the 10 dollar cover charge and 4 dollar beer. But for the Desi married couple it made no sense, especially because the resulting divorce could be very expensive. And of course I did enjoy clubbing in Austin during grad school. A bunch of desi enginerds, low on money, high on testosterone, sweat and body hair, dancing rowdily with a large handkerchief in hand, forcing everyone to do bhangra, all of 5 feet 7 but drunk and stupid enough to pick a fight with the biggest of the bouncers. The idea was that the more loud, obvious and vulgar you get the better the females would notice you. We are desi, we have to be obvious and explicit. It never worked that way and you ended the night with the same nerds you began it with in the same tasteless apartments. 

    The club also had no dance floor; atleast that could be fun. Since it didn't make any sense there we decided to check out other places where you could atleast hear each other talk. We found a nice outdoor club with lounge type chairs and low decibel music and filled with good looking women. That seemed ideal. I asked Sejal to put on her burkha as there were some good looking guys around too. Upon entering we were told that we would have to share the table with another couple. The concept of sharing isn't alien to me - you often shared a table at a cheap restaurant in India where the other guy just kept eating and ignored you as if your hungry self waiting for the food didn't exist - sure we've done that.  So we agreed. I was secretly hoping that some gorgeous women were sharing our table because clubbing is all about seeing and being seen, isn't it? Thats why I gave Sejal a small window in her burkha so she could see but not be seen. What we saw instead was an old couple looking straight in our direction. 

    At last we settled in our chairs and stared at each other. Then we wondered what to talk about. Is there a special club talk that you need to engage in with your spouse? Should we stare at each other with promiscuous eye and lip movements. I mean, what do you do in a club with your spouse that you cannot already do in your house?! All around we saw large groups of people engaged in laughter and fun. We also saw couples like us sitting and staring at other people. So we decided that the next time we go clubbing we will get a group , even if we have to pay them god damn it! And we ended up talking about how bhangaar this club scene is and how much more fun Austin was and the extreme importance of partying in a group. A drink later we packed up, headed back to our car, put back the dandiya music and went home. 

chaar aane ki murgi, baar aane ka masala, huh.

p.s. Things related to burkha and dandiya music were fictional and added just for creating some excitement in this thakela post. 

Arz kiya hain...

Courtesy www.jammag.com

Yeh teri zulfein hain yaa raat ka andhera,

Yeh teri zulfein hain yaa raat ka andhera,

Ho jaa ganjee, kar de sawera.

Lohe ko Loha kat ta hai ... 

Sone Ko Sona Kat ta hai... 

Jaher ko Jaher kat ta hai... 

Isliye apko Kutta katega 

Woh to aaj bhi hamein dekh kar muskurate hain 

Par unke bachche bade kameene hain 
Jo hamein mama, mama kah kar bulate hain 

Tajmahal ko dekh kar, 
Bola shahjahan ka pota, 
Aaj hamaara bhi bank balance hota, 
Agar dada deewana naa hota... 

Jab dekha unhone tirchhi nazar se, 
toh hum madhosh ho gaye, 
Par jab pata chala ki unki nazare hi tirchhi hai, 
toh hum behosh ho gaye...

Bewafa tum ho to Wafadaar hum bhi nahi, 
Besharam tum ho to Sharmile hum bhi nahi, 
Pyaar ke is mode par Aake kehte ho 
Shaadi-shuda ho ? 
To kya hua darling... Kunwaare hum bhi nahin!

Jab jab gire baadal, teri yaad aayi 
Jhoom ke barsa saawan, teri yaad aayi 
Bheega main, lekin phir bhi teri yaad aayi 
Kyon na aaye teri yaad? Tune jo chatri ab tak nahi lautai... 

Aaj kal tum muskuraati ho bohut 
Mere dil ko bhaati ho bohut 
Dil kehta hai le jaoon tumhain dinner per 
Par suna hai tum khaati ho bohut! 

Chehra tera nazron ke saamne se hat ta nahi, 
Tere siva koi aur mujhe dikhta hi nahi, 
Ab toh bas ek hi dua karta hoon khuda se...
Ki tu thodi patli ho jaye, 
Aur mujhe baaki ke log bhi dikhayee de! 

Har khushi ko teri taraf mod doon, 
Tere liye chand taare tak tod doon, 
Ek baar tu has ke dikha... 
Tere sare daat tod doon! 

Sher sunne me sunane me maza aata hai 
Jab asli ka sher samne aata hai 
Tab bhaagne me maza aata hai 

(bhaiyya language)

Tuhaar chehraa moti samaan, 
Tuhaar chehraa moti samaan, 
Moti hamaar kutte ka naam!! 

Itna khoobsurat kaise muskura lete ho, 
Itna qatil kaise sharma lete ho, 
Kitni aasani se jaan le lete ho, 
Kisi ne sikhaya hai... Ya bachpan se hi kamine ho? 

Courtesy www.jammag.com

*************************************

And one last original shayari from me ----- 

Door se dekha to sher khadaa thaa,

door se dekha to sher khadaa thaa,

maaila, paas gayaa'ich nahi.

MIA desi hain !

A few days ago I was listening to a San Francisco radio station for Alternative Rock and a very strange and curiously familiar tune came on. It sounded so much like an 80's Mithun movie song. It went like "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, aaja aaja aaja". Oh wait, it was *indeed* from an 80's Mithun movie "Disco Dancer"! Then a strange African congo beat took over but still interspersed with "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy". I immediately Shazam'ed it (for primates who don't know what Shazam is, its an iPhone feature that tells you the song name just by "listening" to it). It was by an artist called MIA. Strange name. Whatever. So I looked up a few more songs from this artist and got hooked. She had some unbelievably funky songs with beats from multiple cultures and always something desi about it but you couldn't point your finger to what it was. Then I read up on her and was shocked, amazed, astonished, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, maa-kasam'ed to discover that MIA is desi, aaila! This is the first desi (ok second if you count the Parsi bawaa Firdaus Bulsara a.k.a. Freddie Mercury from Queen as Desi, not kidding.) artist getting somewhere in mainstream western music. Her music is fascinating and makes you wanna dance. She is Tamil and hot. Her family fought with the Tamil rebels against oppressive Sri Lankan government. She has stayed all over the world, has strong opinions on social causes, freedom, injustice and what not. Naachti bhi hain mast. She is too much, yaar. Without further adoo garlic here are some of her more famous numbers.

Marathi iPhone

Found this from another blogger. Its high-larious !

(Courtesy http://crucifirex.blogspot.com/2008/03/aaifone-technological-marvel.html

)

Couple of days back, Steve P. Jobs unveiled the world’s first custom made series of touch screen phones, affectionately titled the AAIFONE (aaiFone). Targeted specifically at the Maharashtrians, this phone is the result of a recent collaboration between Apple (or SapharChand as its partners call it), RMNS Corp. and Shee Cena (wholly-owned subsidiary of Ball Tak Inc., Ulhasnagar) The product was launched in a high profile press conference held in Bihar on Feb 14th. Steve P. Jobs appeared on a bullock cart wearing a Pheta with the aaiFone held high. He was accompanied by Aaj Phekrey (CEO, RMNS) and Uthake Phekrey (Chairman, Shee Cena) on either side. “This starts a new chapter in the history of touch screen phones”, said Steve. “I have always wanted to give something back to my fellow maharashtrians and this is my Valentine’s Day gift to them. I am and always have been one of them. For the uninformed, my middle name is Padgaonkar and not Paul as some people assume it to be. Mee pann ek Marathi manoos aahe”, confessed Steve in front of a massive three member audience. aaiFone weighs a good 5 kilos and is sturdy, lathi-resistant, shock-proof, oil-proof, water-resistant and blood-proof. “It has been designed keeping the average activist in mind. We want people to use it during bandhs and rasta rokos and that’s reason we have made it this strong”, Aaj was quoted as having said. Encased in a violence-inducing orange, green and black metal case, this Phone is an internet-enabled multi-touch, multimedia masterpiece. Based on the Jijabyte chipset (named as a tribute to Shivaji), it has a virtual keyboard, touch sensitive buttons and 0.3 Megha-pixel (named after Steve’s daughter) camera. The initial models won’t have xenon flash or auto focus (though the consortium says that the later versions would have a North Indian focus!). But what truly makes it a portable must-have of the ordinary Marathi manoos is its software and interface. Apple’s proprietary software – Mac ki OS is at the heart of this phone. The default language of the phone would be Marathi (Devanagari being the only other option.) Mr. Uthake was quoted as having told the audience that they could have any other language on the phone as long as it was Marathi. The aaiFone would come pre-loaded with wallpapers and screensavers of Tigers, Shivaji maharaj, Vada pav, Arun gawli etc. The themes would have a distinct orange, blue and green tint to them. Famous Marathi tunes such as the Nashik dhol, Dhagala lagli kalla and Jai Jai Maharashtra mazhaa would be included as a standard set in the cell’s multimedia gallery. In terms of connectivity, the phone would have an inbuilt browser called Swarajya and files could be exchanged wirelessly using proprietary software NeelDantha. For promotional activities, they have tied up with actors Shreyas Talpade & Mohan Joshi. The advertising would be handled by Bhen & Mather Pvt Ltd. An ‘apple-eating tiger’ is the proposed logo and the propossed ad jingle is – Tujhya aai cha, Mazhaa aai cha, Saglyancha aai cha aavadta AAIFONE. The consortium has vowed to make this phone available ONLY to real Maharashtrians. After a careful screening process (to be done by company activists and not network providers), only the TRUE marathis would be able to lay their hands on this baby!

Found the namuna

Maa kasam, I found the guy's website! This is the same guy I was talking about in this post. And the website is http://rajkumarkanojia.com/index.htm.

His photos, his achievements, aai haai fidaa ho gayaa. He is my next Mithun, my next Govinda. I am religiously going to track all his serials and movies, although it will be hard to actually spot him because he has acted for a total of sixty seconds in his thakela career.

Desi First Date...

I come across many a Desis' ideas of an IFD - Ideal First Date (on various educational and social networking websites. Ok fine Orkut, which I realize is reaching addiction levels now). Many Desi IFDs are directly dhaapofied from a ghisaa-pitaa western idea of a "date". Desi dudes and dudettes, but mostly dudes and many of them well into adulthood (trust me I check everything from age to marital status to profession to number of scraps and fans) romantically claim their IFD to be "a night on a beach, just the two of us, candle light dinner and fine wine". And I am wondering bhenchod tera baap baitha hain na tereko poora beach khaali karke dega? The millions of people getting some much-needed breathing space are simply going to vacate the beach for you or what? Moreover the beach havaa will wreak such a havoc that it'll bujhaao your candles even before you light them. The stink of machhi will penetrate your nostrils so stubbornly that no amount of fine wine smelling will get rid of it. The bhikari urchins will be standing around your table tugging on your date's mini-skirt (or worse, taking a good peek into it) asking for a bite of that gourmet misal-paav crying "de de maai de de, bhagwaan tera bhalaa karega, chaddi kheechu kya teri?". And how does this candle light fit into the whole Desi thing? The only times we've had candle light dinners was when there was a power outage in the society.

Huh, chala muraari romance karne, cha-maaila!

iPhone in India

So finally the iPhone has arrived in India. I have been following launches in a few countries since the past few months. Most of the launches had some music and some celebrity appearance and a tiny little interview with the first iPhone customer in that country. But nothing beats this video of the launch in India. They have cheerleaders (a new phenomenon courtesy IPL Cricket where, hired girls, after travelling in jam-packed trains from lower middle class neighbourhoods of Dombivli and Thane, initially cheerled in golden sarees and punjabi dresses but soon complaints were filed and were quickly moved to wearing Shiamak Davar type dresses and pom poms. Not sure about the saree part, but what the heck , I would pay big money to see saree clad cheerleaders). Back to the main story. This first iPhone customer in India was an unexpectedly funny guy. He totally cracked me up. First when he dances with the cheerleaders in a fulltoo gaavti style and the cheerleaders totally don't acknowledge his presence. He tries to mimic the cheerleaders and also makes pom pom style motions with his fingers. Next when he poses with the iPhone as if he is posing at his wedding. But the killer move is when he talks. And boy he talks. Its his moment of fame and he makes the most out of it. His smile, his grace, his innuendos, marshallah, mar jaavaa! The final punch comes at the end when asked what will he do with the iPhone tonight. He replies he intends to spend some quality time with the iPhone in a place where he gets some privacy and freedom from his nagging wife - the toilet!

p.s. The ambience is a little noisy - Mumbai hain baap - so be patient, turn the volume up and you will be rewarded.

McCain for president !

I hope McCain wins this one (heck, anyone but Democrats). I am not saying this to simply go against popular sentiments but after understanding the democrats' stand on global trade it scares me to imagine Obama as the President. If Obama wins (and actually implements what he claims today) it will be a serious dampener on global trade that will adversely affect outsourcing and cause some major global industries (manufacturing, technology, exports) to suffer. Obama and Clinton fired up popular and illinformed sentiments about "saving American jobs" and got tremendous support from the public. But they conveniently ignored numerous reports that show that globalization is ultimately good for the country. A few do suffer but for the majority of Americans it has turned out to be a boon. People get so emotional deciding who leads the country that they completely forget the economical implications if someone like Obama or Clinton takes over the White House. They get so swept over by the romantic, rebellious, screw-the-big-old-white-boys-club feelings that they are ready to elect somebody, anybody, "different" regardless of what policies they advocate or how it will affect the country in the long run.

Globalization is good. It helps the world and Americans stand to benefit the most from cheaper goods. Don't stop it now. McCain for president. Heck anyone but Democrats!

Birth of the Vada Pav

Courtesy www.mid-day.com

40 yrs after Ashok Vaidya invented the gastronomic miracle, his sons join the Shiv Sena’s vada pav relaunch campaign

 

HE STARTED IT: Ashok Vaidya (centre)with his wife, two sons and sister. Ashok started the first vadapav stall in Mumbai

Each time, Vinayak Vaidya went for an interview, he hoped his future employer would ask the one question, he waited to answer — ‘what does your dad do?’ For the answer, filled him with pride, every time. 

“I would tell them my father, Ashok Vaidya, invented the vadapav! It made a difference. In fact, we’ve learnt a lot from his business acumen and entrepreneurial skills,” said Vinayak, who is an MBA, and is not involved in the family business.   

Flashback

In 1966, Ashok started the first vadapav stall in Mumbai outside Dadar station with help from Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray. Now, 10 years after Ashok’s death and 40 years after the day that changed every Mumbaikar’s gastronomic destiny, whatever the social strata, the Shiv Sena, as approached the Vaidyas to start selling their ‘invention’ under the Sena umbrella — the Maharashtra Vadapav Vikreta Sena. 

Now

Sena leader Sanjay Raut said, “Ashok was a hard-core Shiv Sainik. We’re happy to have his family on board. He was the pioneer in this business.” 

Ashok’s wife Mangal said they have ensured there’s no compromise on quality. “When we started out, the price was 20 paise per vadapav, now 42 years on, we have priced them at Rs 6, because of the hike in fuel prices,” she said. 

Their stall in Dadar sells 600 vadapavs a day. 

Said Dinu Randive former chief reporter of Maharashtra Times, “Big restaurants have opened in Dadar, but Ashok’s vadapav is still sought after.”  

Vinayak and his brother Narendra (31) said, “We owe everything to the Sena and especially to Balasaheb Thackeray. It was Thackeray who personally requested them to stop harassing my father, when he first started selling vadapavs.”

Nain Se Nain Milaa

Khopdi we called him. It meant skull. In his case it meant numbskull. His real name was Pankaj. Nobody knows who gifted him this horrible name, but it was right after Nukkad was aired for the first time on Doordarshan where they had a drunk character named Khopdi. Pankaj was not a drunkard though. He was just a kid, a year older than me. I was in eighth and he was in ninth. A rich kid with porcupine like hair. Although he had no dum he loved picking fights. I considered him a friend, not a good friend, just somebody I hung out with or walked back home from school with. He had a girlfriend too, Meena. Atleast he thought of her as his girlfriend. She had other plans though.

Meena was a well-endowed, fair, long haired, horny, dumb-as-a-rock Gujarati girl who had failed a few times and was six years older than everybody in Khopdi's class. She was the quintessential spoilt, last bencher, stay-away-from girl. The girl who has had "experience" with guys. Khopdi and Meena hung out like boyfriend-girlfiend, holding hands, taking pappi and what not.

Enter Suleman. Suleman bhai he was called. He and his nine brothers owned an illegal tabela (place where mum-bhaiyyas maintain their prized possessions a.k.a black beauties a.ka. bhains a.k.a buffalos). Suleman bhai was supposed to be a goonda, mavali, angootha-chaap, tapori, hafta-collector and generally a great guy to hang out with. He could be found spread out on a khatiya in front of his tabela. His tabela was halfway between our residence and our school. It was actually an oasis in our daily treks between school and home. Our walks were very exciting wherein we passed the "good" middle-class localities where people had their own toilets and then we passed the "bad" localities where people - men, women, children and dogs alike - took a crap out on the open roads. You must have heard of the saying "The world is your stage and you are the actor" but where we walked "The world is your sandaas and you are the hagria" made more sense. I am not kidding. This is before the sulabh-sauchalay days where now you can pay one rupee to take a dump. We literally went through shit during our school days. His tabela was a haven where we could rest a little bit, drink some water and prepare for the struggle through the humongous piles of shit and smell that lay in vast expanse before our eyes. But thats besides the point.

Suleman and Khopdi were chaddi-buddies (term plagiarized). At one point Khopdi used Suleman to beat up some boys who were harassing Meena. Suleman in return asked Khopdi to "intro" him to one of the school girls because "uska dil aa gayaa ladki pe". The girl was 15 and Suleman probably 30. It didn't work out.

The real masala began when Meena failed her ninth grade (again!). Khopdi, dumb as he was, did manage to pass and moved to the next grade. I moved in the same class as Meena who still kept her seat on the last bench. Unfortunately I too was placed amongst the last benches. The first few days were normal with me staring out the window to my left, steady like an iguana, while teacher after teacher taught sleep-inducing subjects on warm humid sweaty afternoons. One day by mistake I turned right and caught Meena staring at me. At that time and age I hadn't discovered girls as objects of interest (I was a late bloomer) so I just ignored the stare. For the next few days the stares just increased, in terms of duration and shamelessness. First she used to look away as soon as I caught her. Now she continued staring and also began to smile a little. I found this very amusing and not the one to be backed down stared right back at her. It turned into a game and at one point it became so intense that we sat out entire hour long classes just staring at each other. Of course the stares were interspersed with smiles, winks, eyebrows movements, lip biting and what not. Never a word spoken or a move made as I still didn't get the purpose of all this, just that it was devilishly exciting.

A move was made after all. One evening my dad handed me a jhag-mag purple envelop containing a pink card. He had already opened and read it because in Indian families your mail is my mail is public mail. It had a few kisses and hearts drawn over it and said in a caligraphic script "Pulkit, I am hopelessly devoted to you". I snatched the card from my dad's hands and rushed to the toilet, the only place where you could get some privacy. While taking a crap I wondered who could it be. Why would my secret admirer not write her name on it. And then I saw it. Snugly ensconsed between two kisses was written "MEENA". Holy shit. This was the first (and only) love letter I got. What do I do now. How do I respond. It was all so confusing. This was my friend's girlfriend. But I didn't really like the friend and I didn't really like the girl ! So I decided to get the maximum mileage out of it.

Next morning in the first class when the teacher was done with roll calls and Meena and me were in the midst of our first session of stares I sudddenly stood up and announced "Pooja Miss I have a very serious problem. I am getting love letters from a girl in this class. I can announce the name and expose the culprit." Again, since there is no concept of privacy in India the teacher asked me to announce the name. I pointed my finger right at Meena. She still kept staring at me and now the entire class of sixty students was staring at her. She had no idea what hit her. After a few minutes she burst into tears. She was taken to the principal's office and reprimanded. I was instantly a hero for exposing a lover. (of course in hindsight it actually exposes my immaturity but back in those days, a middle-class no-love-business mentality was hard to shake off).

In my pursuit of heroism I had completely forgotten about her boyfriend Khopdi and of course Suleman Bhai. For a few days I avoided them by taking a different, longer, route to get home. Finally one day they caught me. It had to happen. Meena was present, still staring at me but with anger this time, the winks were gone. Khopdi was furious but he didn't scare me; I could take him anytime. Suleman Bhai was what made me poop in my chaddi. I was sure that Meena had cooked up a story that made me look like the villian outraging a woman's modesty. As my defense I wanted to educate them on the illicit activities between me and her but quickly realized that my kharaab time was going on and kept shut. After a few well deserved jhaapads from Khopdi and Meena, Suleman Bhai asked everybody to stop. He was a cool Bhai after all. I was made to apologize profusely to Meena ben and the matter ended there.

After I graduated SSC and went to college, Meena ben got married to a rich gujju jeweller, Khopdi went to work at his dad's business and Suleman's tabela was demolished. While navigating the streets of Borivli every so often I passed her and her jeweller husband and I still felt our eyes lingered at each other a bit more than what seemed accidental.

Waiting Watching Praying

Wednesday, 23rd April, 2 p.m. This is what I have been waiting for all my life. If I get a GPL *again* this time then it rudely proves exactly what I said towards the end of an older post ( here ), that the forces are working against me. They don't want to see me happy. If I get a GPL again it'll be a repeat performance of this. If I get a GPL again then sayings like "you can't straighten a dog's tail" or "laatoon ke bhoot" or "fool me twice shame on me" will have another brilliant example to provide.

Good luck to me. May the fat lady sing. May Goddess Lakshmi shower me with her blessings. Happy Diwali to me. Happy Birthday to me. And finally, to appease the Gods, I offer them this nangaa taandav.

Happy times or a dead cat bounce?

I am not able to believe my eyes since the past few days. The financial markets are jumping higher than high school cheerleaders. My thakela phatela marela financial portfolio is showing signs that it might survive the g**nd faadu massacre that has been relentelessly hitting the markets in the past few months. Technology is starting to look like a bull market again. But. But. But. A dear friend tells me this is nothing but a dead cat bounce. He is a perpetual bear. Always gloomy, negative and ready to douse any flame that shows hints of hope. He is a single falsetto in a room full of baritones (quote plagiarized). He gives you so much dukh. I wonder why they didn't name him Dukhiya. When the entire world starts to dance gleefully, Dukhiya's pessimism rears its ugly head and provides statistics like "from 1968 to 1982 markets were essentially flat". So investing at that time would essentially make you a pauper (considering inflation etc.). Then your shiny happy party suddenly comes to an end. You start thinking if god-dammed Dukhiya is really right. Should you stop the party and get back to work?

I say bullshit. This is a bull (not a bull-shit) market. The world will keep marching forward. You are not going back to the stone ages or hunt for food or steal women to procreate (although in the last case the world is still in the stone ages, but thats besides the point). Keep the party rolling. Let the birds soar, let the lions roar. Open your expensive champagnes, your vintage wines, your single malts, your saambhar masalas and your dhokla packets. I know Dukhikya is silently ridiculing and casting multiple narkutis on this parade, but for today there is no place for him here. Rock on bulls!

Here is the transcript that prompted this post. Dukhiya's name changed to protect his identity.

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Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:02 AM): just saw your offline msg.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:18 AM): they call it a dead cat bounce. not a bull mkt rally
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:25 AM): as usual. i'm a bear
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:17 AM): oh please, your bear is going to get destroyed
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:30 AM): you will be left with its rough hard fur
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:32 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:44:05 AM): sure. we will see. do you know from 1966 - 1982 the market was essentially flat. unless you picked every bottom and top in that duartion
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:22 AM): holy shit
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:33 AM): you gotta be kidding me
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:40 AM): which indicator are you referring to?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:44:47 AM): S&P 500
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:45:31 AM): You have small bull and bear markets, but the market could not get out of high valuations (P/E) for a long time
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:45 AM): you are talking about 50 years ago
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:49 AM): lot of changes since then
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:57 AM): more productivity, efficiency etc
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:46:20 AM): i'm sure people said the same in 1966 compared to 1900s
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:46:57 AM): sure there is more global connectivity; but VALUATIONS ARE THE IRON LAW OF FINANCE
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:47:19 AM): who is to say what valuations are sustainable or not
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:47:38 AM): the market obviously.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:48:44 AM): the world can't retreat, it has only one way to go. you talk aout 1966 but if you bought in 1966 , 20 years down the line the market has grown gazzilion times. what about that
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:49:34 AM): i'm not sure of people's patience, but I know that I can't be patient for 15 years. You need to be a robot to see yourself earning less than a CD for 15 years
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:49:58 AM): what were CD rates from 1966 to 1982
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:50:12 AM): on average about 6 -7%
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:50:59 AM): I don't think i will be excited when the market is just 15% below its ALL TIME HIGH.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:51:15 AM): sure the market can go up. I don't know.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:25 AM): I am totally vested
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:29 AM): invested I mean
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:35 AM): classic bull bear struggle
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:43 AM): until now I have not done well
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:56 AM): but next 5 years we'll see.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:52:19 AM): I'm 50% vested, but only 15 -20% in equities
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:52:54 AM): I am less of a risk taker as you know, I rather don't make much, but I dont want to lose much.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:22 AM): we agree to disagree
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:23 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:53:30 AM):
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:37 AM): if we had this discussion in 2001 I would have won
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:40 AM): today you seem to be winning
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:53:47 AM): here is one more thing: you lose 50% you have to make 100% to break-even. think abt it.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:54:08 AM): thats just a matter of perception, if you stick with the good guys you will do well
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:54:16 AM): challenge is finding the good guys
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:54:56 AM): which is always the case. so you buy the market when it is cheap; not when it is fairly-valued or overvalued. that is a safer way to play it
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:55:27 AM): so now is it cheap or overvalued?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:57:40 AM): range of fair-value, between 14 - 25 P/E. How you calculate P/E is another long topic of discussion, but suffice it to say that corporate profits are near all-time high which is you 'E' portion, and if there is anything called as mean-reversion these profits will come down and drag the stock prices if history is a guide
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:58:03 AM): market is about fairly valued at 17 - 19 times earnings
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:58:25 AM): yep, profits is everything
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:58:44 AM): this earnings season there have been mixed results, so no clear indicator
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:59:05 AM): AGAIN, Remember in 1991, the last housing crisis more than 1000 depository institutes FAILED; we aint seen nothing yet
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:59:47 AM): markets get more and more efficient with every fall
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:00:00 AM): people correct their models, their assumptions
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:00:03 AM): I dont know this qtr or next qtr; i do know that corporate profits will fall as a % of GDP and markets wont like it at some point in time
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:00:35 AM): so basically you are saying the world will go back to primitive ages
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:01:45 AM): no. i'm saying that markets are fairly valued; it is NOT WORTH THE RISK OF INVESTING IN STOCKS when things are going good.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:03 AM): you buy when nobody wants stocks, not when everyone wants it
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:02:19 AM): that can be a double edged sword, kinda like sigmatel
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:02:32 AM): so now, the huge banks citibank etc have falled more than 50%
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:38 AM): that is why you buy the market, a good diversified set of busineess
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:40 AM): not one stock
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:12 AM): amen.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:19 AM): essentially what you are telling me is buy low sell high
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:34 AM): amen.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:03:45 AM): again, the writedowns have just started. it will be another year before we know about the total writedown
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:04:06 AM): to say that we have discounted writedowns which people dont know how much is coming is wishful thinking
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:04:26 AM): true but you think it is going to get the banks into a net loss? over the years these banks have amassed hundreds of billions of dollars, what is 20-30 billion dollar loss for them?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:06:03 AM): yes, with acknowledging that you can't pick the bottom,but when corporate profits have fallen, yes that is the time to buy. You may not be at the bottom but your returns will definitely be better than buy-hold at fair value crap.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:07:21 AM): that I agree, getting in at drops but in the big picture of 20-30 year horizons the dips seem insignificant. to each his own, if you can hold for a longer time you should be in the market , if you can't then you shouldnt
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:07:52 AM): well, if they had so much money why are they begging sovereign wealth funds for money. the terms are ridiculous, if the stocks go down further, the SWFs have negotiated a deal where they get a lower price reinstated meaning higher yields. why would these banks be so desperate if they had money
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:08:34 AM): they don't want to cash out on their "other" investments, its a credit/liquidity crisis, but you don't sell everything when you don't have enough bank balance
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:08:41 AM): it is easier said that done. that is why i gave the 1966-1982 example
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:09:20 AM): for e.g. they are digging oil rigs in nigeria, shit load of money if they find oil , but just because they have liquidity issues doesn't mean they should stop progress
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:09:52 AM): and isn't is surprising that sovereign funds are falling head over heels to bail out these "troubled" banks
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:10:01 AM): sure. you have a point. they are pretty diversified. too big to fail. but if you have to weather the storm for a couple of years, at get into huge amount of debts, not sure how long it will be before you finish paying up
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:11:53 AM): anyway, good discussions.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:11:58 AM): let the fight continue
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:12:31 AM): It will be interesting to see when you will be a 'bear' and I will be a 'bull'. maybe when S&P hits 1200
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:13:48 AM): dude,if markets fall so low, you are talking poverty, layoffs, high crime rates, shit hitting the ceiling. At that point you'll have to worry more about protecting your family and gold more than buying stocks
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:14:41 AM): and you and I would be out of jobs
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:15:14 AM): your brawn power will be more valued than your brain power
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:15:19 AM): essentially going back to stone ages
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:24:43 AM): the market hit 1100 in 2002; i am not in stone age
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:25:28 AM): the market fell by 80% in the depression and still didn't go into stone age
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:26:03 AM): depression was a horrible time to grow up, people growing up in depression have terrible memories
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:26:30 AM): pictures of squalor spring up when they think about the great depression, long lines, random corruption etc was common
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:27:41 AM): the tech bubble in 2001-2002 was pretty depressing too; ask me i worked thru that time. Markets/economy correct; all I'm saying is I'll wait for the correction. a 15% drop is not a correction
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:29:47 AM): did you buy after 2002 ?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:34:12 AM): i bought a bunch of stocks in 2002; the mistake I made was I sold too early as I was still my first stab; i did mistakes buying in early 2001. bought sun for $10 and broadcom for $40
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:34:42 AM): after my mistakes, i learnt abt value investing and bought depressed stocks in 2002.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:35:11 AM): so that turned you into a bear I guess, and of course that Maudlin cult
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:35:43 AM): I think I believe that the way to success is to not lose much.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:35:59 AM): but take risks only when you are paid for it.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:06 AM): that so so boring
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:07 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:36:14 AM): yeah. I'm OLD MAN
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:28 AM): today google announces
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:34 AM): I think its going to drop after that
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:36:35 AM): that is good. I don't want people to think like me.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:13 AM): i heard abt the ad rev drop. they kind of masked it saying it was internal report and can be wrong... some bs like that
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:26 AM): heh e
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:34 AM): dude if google drops, industry drops
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:35 AM): apple drops
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:44 AM): yeah. i've noticed.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:46 AM): and now I just got vested my first installment and I so want it to go up
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:56 AM): i hope that internal report was WRONG.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:39:04 AM): dude. if history (read sgtl) is a guide, you are a great market timer
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:39:38 AM): you know how much I wrote down in personal losses this time finally after dumping off sgtl
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:39:50 AM): any guesses?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:40:12 AM): you are a sharp guy man. you will come back. you are in a blue-chip now. not sgtl.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:40:46 AM): if i've to bet msft vs aapl over the next decade; my money would be on aapl.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:46:47 AM): u can right down over a 3 -5 year period right?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:46:54 AM): write down
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 1:17:18 PM): goog crushed estimates
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 1:17:22 PM): long live the bull market

Bollywood reel villians

Disclaimer - The following is my guesstimate of what might have transpired based on news that I have come across. It might be totally untrue. And please pardon my French.I knew it. Nana Patekar now officially belongs to the "Shakti Kapoor Hawas Ka Pujari" club. An upcoming actress Tanushree Dutta accused him of, over a period of hours, subtly making sexual passes at her. She was shooting an item number and Nana Patekar's role in it was only a few seconds long and he was supposed to go away after that. Instead, he insisted on staying back and tried to teach her the dance steps and got uncomfortably close to her. aaoo, come on baby, aaoo. Dance choreographer ko bithaa diya. And the height was that he asked the choreographer to re-write the steps so that he could get blissfully close to her. This made the nubile Tanushree very uncomfortable, and no just because she does item numbers doesn't mean she is available for groping. So she raised a storm and stopped the shoot. She bared her heart out to the media and now the MNS (Raj Thackeray's party) is marching to her house and accusing her of spreading false news about their respected Nana (marathi manoos). They say he is a senior actor and you cannot falsely accuse him like this. Nana is saying that Tanushree is like his daughter and she is making a faaltu tamasha. I say bullshit. Nana is one hundred percent the horny bastard that Tanushree claims he is. Hawas uski aankhon se tapakti hain. I am sure many actresses must have had such issues with Nana but, the raakshas that he is, nobody probably complained about him. I applaud this smoking hot young actress for being so hot. And, of course, standing up against Nana. Nana tujhi aai chi $@%&.
For those of you who missed Shakti Kapoor caught on tape in that big scandal - I got the excerpts right here baby :
Dim lit hotel room, candid camera, girl pretending to be a model, Shakti promising to give her a break on the big screen.
Candid Girl - Hi Shaktiji, aap ke role ki bahut taareef karti hoon.
Shakti Hawas pujari - Yeah yeah, thanks. (smiling)
Girl - aap ne bataaya ki mujhe break mil sakta hain
Shakti - haan zaroor milega, why not.
(Shakti and Girl talk for sometime abour roles etc. Inaudible sometimes. Then the indecent proposal.)
Shakti - To badle mein mujhe kuch to milega naa.Girl - matlab fees?
Shakti - nahi yaar, aur kuchGirl - salary se percentage cut?
Shakt - no yaar. You know.
Girl - No sir. What?
Shakti - oye, fuck re. (moving his hands depicting the act)
Girl - Sir yeh kya keh rahein ho?
Shakti - arrey everybody is doing it. No problem yaar.Girl - That is impossible sir. There are so many respected actresses in the industry.
Shakti - Arrey sub faaltu hain. Pooja, Aishwarya, Meenakshi, Madhuri sub ne diya hain re.
Girl - Kya baat kar rahein ho sir?
Girl - Ghai ne Meenakshi. Madhuri ne bhi.Girl - Madhuri bhi? Kiss ke saath sir?
Shakti- (out of ideas for a moment and blurts out) - Yash.
Girl - Kaun?
Shakti - Yash Chopra.

And to think that I enjoyed watching Shakti and Nana for a very brief period of time many many years ago (somebody please kill me). Sayaji Shinde is another namuna who also totally belongs to the hawas club. The mere mention of them makes you wanna quickly throw a giant burkha over the womenfolk. Anyway, without further ado, for your viewing pleasure, pictures of those beautiful gems.......