Strip Clubs of Jo’burg and the Bars of Kolkata

The difference between the strip club in Johannesburg and the bar in Kolkata is that of transparency. While the ‘sleazy’ part is handled with care and passion and yet there is no air of artificiality about it in the former, the latter defines the word.

A strip club! What it means to a pair of Indian ears is sleaze. Deceit and illicit affairs. While in reality it’s different. A strip club is part of mainstream culture and mainstream is the word underlined here. Married couples unwind here, enjoying the music, beat and most importantly, positive energy all around. Married women hold out 100 Rand bills with the help of their lips for the dancers sans a single piece of cloth and their husbands seem to genuinely appreciate the gesture. Not like the 100 Rupee bills in Kolkata, the whereabouts of which are completely unknown to the wives.

Oh yes. More importantly, the strip clubs of Jo’burg don’t play the ‘choicest’ of numbers like the ones played or performed in the bars of Kolkata. Contrary to prevalent concepts, the strip clubs play tracks that are popular and the dancers act them out. They perform to the words, calling on the audience to join in the celebration of poetry, music and above all life. All with a delightful mastery called professionalism.

The dancers are friendly and are more than able to differentiate between an authentic compliment and a comment adulterated with sexual connotations.

I guess it’s a proven fact that women of the world form the smartest lot in the planet and one doesn’t really have to be a dancer to master the art.

The DJ is groovy, funny and always on the ball. He calls it a day and only he can take the call with witty statements with an air of finality about them. ‘Lovely ladies and gentlemen, the club is closed. Please go home and make lovely kids.’ This is usually after 4 o’ clock, after at least 5 hours of serious partying.

It is of course a sex shop where one can buy half-an-hour pleasure for 200 Rands. And there is no facade. It’s run openly and professionally. The word T-R-A-N-S-P-A-R-E-N-C-Y is written in bold letters all over it.

On the other hand, the bars of Kolkata don’t indulge in ‘unlawful activities’. They serve alcohol till the time the government allows and employ ugly singers to entertain the clients. The women are usually overweight, loud, look a little smarter than domestic helps and can’t say ‘do’ from ‘me’. Nobody in his right mind can think of such an existence outside the four walls of a Kolkata bar, dimly lit, inviting you to someone’s idea of ‘the other world’, created with all that stand no possibility of existing in the real world of a sane man. A couple of drinks and the atmosphere assures to do the rest. While a strip club in Jo’burg can make you drink and forget about the last beer.

Nobody in his right mind can get an erection looking at those horribly ugly women of the Kolkata bars.

Yet there’s an air of secrecy about the Kolkata bars. The waiters move about with an attitude. Something that tells you, they are associated with something ‘important’. To take care of others’ illicit pleasures. Something that their parents couldn’t even dream for them. While the waiter in a Jo’burg strip club reminds you all the time with utmost humility that his is the most boring job and he wants to be the most unassuming character around. He has no other motto in life other than serving you alcohol.

When will we grow up? When will we be free enough to be ourselves?

Film Reviews: How Reliable are They?

Movie reviews became interesting once I discovered Khalid Mohammad’s style of writing. It took me less than three weeks to find out that Mohammad was an amazing writer and three months to figure out that he knew jackshit of movies.

I don't remember a single flick that wasn't criticised by Mohammad and when he directed his first movie, I obviously thought it would be one of the most out-of-the-world experiences. Hindi movies coming of age and stuff. Fiza, Mohammad's first film and a Karishma Kapoor starrer turned out to be really depressing. Imagine Karishma Kapoor and still a dud!

Mohammad's credibility diminished in my eyes. I would still read a moview review, written by him. I would still appreciate his style of writing but won't take a call on the movie.

The problem with Mohammad or conversely, us readers is that we pay at least a little bit of heed to the subject-matter of a non-fiction article, a movie review in this case. But for someone like Mohammad, it's all about style. He is a brilliant juggler of words, but of no use to those, who are looking for reliable information. If I remember correctly, Mohammad didn't have very kind words for Dil Chahta Hai and I don't remember the reasons behind it. As in, I am not trying to hint at something going wrong between Mohammad or Times of India (his reviews were published in TOI those days) and the makers of DCH. I meant the reasons (if any) why DCH was not a decent watch, put forward by Mohammad in the review.

Recently I saw two movies and subsequently, read the reviews. It made me wonder how reliable these reviews were. Rocket Singh, salesman of the year, reviewed by Taran adarsh and 3 idiots, reviewed by Raja Sen. Both the critics seemed convinced that these movies didn’t have much to offer to the audience. I, on the other hand thought, they were amazing and poignant.

First things first. What do we expect from a film review? An honest, personal opinion that’s substantiated by sound logic as regards whether the critic liked the flick or not and why or a lame guess at the box office returns of the film?

Now, I believe that no sane person would have suggested that Gadar was a decent watch in the 21st Century but it still did amazingly well. So, we know it for a fact that a critic can’t predict the box office returns of a particular movie and we don’t expect a prediction. We expect an opinion.

This is where the critics fail. Sen must be feeling like a stupidass or a little more pompous as quite opposite to his predictions, idiots have broken all records in less than 5 days after he predicted it to be a dud. Rocket Singh, I believe hasn’t done well but at the same time I’m quite sure that the urban audience would love it. Adarsh thought that they would hate it as there wasn’t even a single song. I don’t know why. I think only country bumpkins expect songs to make a movie seem worth a watch and I didn’t expect Adarsh to be one.

As for Rocket Singh, I thought it was an amazing movie. It was different (and I mean it) and it announced the arrival of one of the most natural actors in the country today who has successfully taken the myth that good looking guys are worthless by its horn. Ranbir Kapoor portrayed the role of a quintessential Sardar with panache and made it evident that Saif Ali Khan or Akshay Kumar or Sunny Deol wearing a turban looked anything but a Sardar. The film had an amazing supporting cast and an outta-the-world story. It dealt with ambitions and yet didn’t go overboard even once.

No one knows which flick would do well and why. The least the critics could do is understand their locus standi. It’s that of a sensible viewer who can write. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes We Can !!

There is a war on terror. Agreed. There is fair ground for an immigration officer to frown upon a Muslim surname. Particularly so for an American immigration officer post 9/11. Sounds gross but agreed nonetheless. Then Shah Rukh Khan is detained as a result of these two reasons. Should we agree on such a situation too?

Now I am not a SRK fan but I certainly realise what SRK is. He is the biggest filmstar ever produced outside Hollywood. He has a humongous fan-base that is spread all over the world. He is called an Islamic icon these days besides an Indian superstar because he’s hugely popular all over the Muslim world whether it’s a Middle-Eastern country or Bangladesh. And that definitely doesn’t mean that Muslims love all Muslim filmstars because it has never happened with an Iranian or Indonesian filmstar.

Now that’s Shah Rukh Khan and a good-hearted, responsible American immigration officer decides to interrogate him further after the primary interrogation, doesn’t let him use his cell phone for a while and asks him stupid questions. All in the name of War Against Terror.

Justifications have been put forward, one by our very own Salman Khan, who never looked a sensible man in any of the characters he portrayed in films. Sallu says, it’s all good. He praises the Americans for being so strict and he also concludes that it’s only because of such sincere attitude, another 9/11 hasn’t happened.

There’s another one put forward by the Americans. They say that India has a ‘VIP culture’. If a businessman from Delhi is asked a few questions by an immigration officer, he behaves as if he’s an important person and doesn’t deserve this.

Both points are valid. Sallu for once has spoken sense.

Now let’s once again try and consider the incident that led to this article in view of these justifications. It still doesn’t make sense.

Now let’s try and apply logic. An immigration officer, whether American, Austrian or otherwise has not heard of Shah Rukh Khan. Okay, his GK is poor. We haven’t heard of all the Mexican superstars either. Mexico has a disadvantage though. We in India have the numbers anyway, add to that a substantial number of non-Indian Muslims and you know that no Mexican star could ever be half as popular as SRK. Nonetheless. When a man, Shah Rukh Khan in this case, discloses his identity and reportedly a colleague of this officer swears by him and he still doesn’t realise that he’s making a mistake that would lead to an international debate, it clearly shows that he is an asshole.

Now there is no dearth of assholes in America who think that the Sun revolves around the US of A. How could I write that! AMERICANS DON’T THINK. They know that the sun revolves around the USA, the moment they step outta their country, it’s a jungle where half-naked human-like creatures dance around the fire and perform black magic and wherever they land in India, the moment they look up, there is The Taj.

Wikipedia reveals another fact. Americans don’t even read the American magazines as according to Newsweek, Shah Rukh was the 41st most powerful man in the world in 2008 and four years prior to it, Time magazine had named him among the 20 under-40 achievers of Asia.

Instead of chanting Yes We Can hysterically like a bunch of imbeciles, Americans could do well to educate their lot.

Do You ‘Dream’ of a job?

One often comes across elaborate write-ups on how to crack an interview and bag the ‘dream job’ these days. All these articles talk about certain characteristics of a human being about to face an interview panel and the first advice they give is almost always to deny those characteristics and emotions and be someone that one actually isn’t.

For example, all these write-ups would inevitably ask you not to be nervous. While it’s common knowledge that being unnecessarily nervous about things which are beyond one’s control doesn’t help (whether it’s an interview or a football match) in any whichever way, the writers seem to suggest that there must be a chirpy, feel-good, festive mood about it, whereas the reality is that someone would have not gone for an interview in the first place if it wasn’t of some if not utmost importance to him.

Then they go on talking about the perfect style of dressing, gesture and posture before, during and in cases even after the interview! They advise people to be confident and smart even if they do not know the answer to a very specific question. The idea is to utter the unspoken words ‘I’m Bond...’ somehow even when one is simply not doing well during the interview!

These articles promote hygiene in so far as they ask you to cut and file your nails before an interview. They though don’t advise you to brush your teeth in the morning and bathe. I guess they assume that every interviewee does so without any ‘expert’s advice’. In that case, couldn’t they leave the rest of the decisions such as cutting nails and dressing up to the wisdom of the interviewees?

These articles ask you not to be a rambler. They advise you to speak less and in precise terms. It does make me wonder about all those colleagues I had who seemed immune to any form of counselling or medication to cure their verbal diarrhoea. How did they manage to bag the ‘dream job’! Were they successful in fooling the panel during the interview or did the panel itself was in dire need of good advice from another set of experts to look through the veil of the interviewees? Or, maybe it didn’t matter to the panel whether the person on the other side was a rambler or not as long as he seemed eligible for the post applied for and spoke sense?

Now is the time for some food for thought. From my personal experiences of being associated with the media for some time now, I’ve seen that it’s almost always the responsibility of someone to specialise on these vague, absolutely worthless topics, who was the least impressive among his/her colleagues during his/her own interview. Would or could a journalist (nowadays even the guy who’s in-charge of the car pool of a media organisation claims to be one) be genuinely interested in writing these articles? Or, would any editor summon his best reporter to write such articles?

Now, there are certainly captive readers of these articles, even if all of them say the same things over and over again. There is no dearth of job-seekers all over the world and in their moments of anxiety, it’s but obvious that they would look for another opinion on a topic that apparently interests them, particularly when the opinion is published in a newspaper or website widely read. But isn’t it a classic case of exploiting human weaknesses in another form? To make matters worse, some of these so called journalists have now decided to write books on this ‘immensely important’ subject!

I am of the opinion that there is nothing like a ‘dream job’. And if someone ‘dreams’ of working for someone else or in other words, bagging a job then he/she could do a great favour to the world by not offering his/her two cents worth on someone else’s dreams or aspirations.

The Indian Story of Discrimination

Travelling in an air-conditioned compartment of the Geetanjali Express from Calcutta to Bombay, I once again come face to face with the reality, the two different Indias that exist side-by-side. While me and my co-passengers in the air-conditioned compartment crib about the battalion of cockroaches that keeps coming out of the window seals and the rags, inhabitants of the Other India line up in front of the general, unreserved compartment at every station during the journey of almost 2000 kilometres.

As a student, I had once travelled in the unreserved compartment from Pune to Calcutta. After I reached my destination, I swore never to board the unreserved compartment again. Today when I look at my fellow countrymen fighting with each other to get a toehold in the unreserved compartment, I can’t help but feel guilty of being born in the privileged section of the society in a country that is often described as a poor country of rich people by observers. As I think about this glaring discrimination in every walk of life in this country of contradictions, a railway worker silently appears outside my window at Chakradharpur station in Orissa. His job is to wipe the water off the windows of the AC compartments since it’s raining outside.

The book that I am reading currently also talks about discrimination that has led to a bloody revolution in certain parts of the country. Titled Red Sun, Travels in Naxalite Country, the book is one among many that try to trace the root of the Maoist movement in various states of India. Even the most ignorant member of the India that I represent is vaguely aware of such discriminations but most of us choose to look away from such gloomy realities. We simply don’t have enough time to spare for the Other India.

I decide to take a break from reading and watch a movie. The one that I pick from a collection of about 200 in my laptop is the 2008 Hollywood blockbuster Milk starring Sean Penn. Ironically enough, the movie is about the gay rights movement in the United States in the seventies. There is simply no running away from discrimination it seems.

Red Sun, written by Sudeep Chakravarti, a journalist of some repute and who also comes across as a sympathizer of the Maoist movement throws up disturbing facts. It is a well known fact that Chhatisgarh, the state in central India is where the nucleus of the Maoist movement is. Decades of discrimination against the local people of the state, mostly tribals have led to an armed rebellion today. Chhatisgarh was earlier part of Madhya Pradesh but the story of discrimination continued unabated even after the separate state was formed.

Surprisingly, both Madhya Pradesh and Chhatisgarh have witnessed stable political establishments in the last decade. Both Shivraj Singh Chauhan and Raman Singh, the respective BJP Chief Ministers of these states command respect from all sections of the society for their clean public image. Still, the rebels run parallel governments in certain parts of these two states.

Discrimination in India though is not everywhere defined by armed rebellions. It’s pretty much in-your-face wherever you go. If you travel in the big cities, you get an impression that India is indeed on its way to become a force to reckon with, if not a superpower. BPOs compete with each other to set shop in these cities as according to industry analysts, India has more English speaking people than most of the developing nations. Shopping malls, multiplexes, discotheques and an ‘upwardly mobile’ urban population dutifully decorate these cities. Figures show that engineering and business graduates from India form the backbone of a number of companies in the US and UK. The number of post-graduate students from the country in various universities in different corners of the planet is also proof enough that India is going places in the 21st century. At the same time, one can’t possibly miss the huge army of homeless people, beggars and the ones who don’t even enjoy the basic civil amenities such as electricity and water in these cities.

I had once met a guy called Koos Stellema. He was from a village near Amsterdam. At the time when I met him, he was working as a nursing assistant to my father who is a doctor. Koos had come to India through a student exchange programme and like most foreigners, had quickly adapted to the lifestyle of middle-class Indians. He used to travel by bus when most of the ‘upwardly mobile’ section would simply frown upon the idea and he used to smoke Wills Navy Cut, an immensely popular but not expensive brand of Indian cigarettes which according to him was one of the best cigarettes he ever smoke (I take pride in mentioning this particular fact as I also smoke the same brand).

When I drove Koos to the cheap, shabby hotel where he was putting up in Calcutta one night after dinner at home, he said something that embarrassed me. He said he had never seen a country where contradictions had reached such a level. While he came across the aristocrats of Calcutta in Calcutta Club, Bengal Club and similar places, who according to him resembled the European elite in every possible way, he routinely came across beggars asking for alms right outside these clubs.

It only added to my embarrassment when he asked me to explain this contradiction. I was sixteen or seventeen then and I had no clue. Not that Koos was the first to point out such contradictions to me. I, as I do now, lived with these contradictions all around me even then.

Among the members of the privileged section of the Indian society, it’s almost a norm to show off with a handful of exceptions who in my opinion are the truly educated ones. Whether it’s a fat paycheque or a degree obtained from a university abroad or a simple gadget, it becomes a prize possession in no time. Whereas, there is hardly anything that the inhabitants of the Other India could be proud of in their daily struggle to stay alive. A handful of rice or a roof above the head could justifiably be a reason to be satisfied, if not proud for them.

India with all its English speaking junta, the sexy, skimpily clad bollywood babe lookalikes who can’t sleep at night unless they ‘shake a leg’ in the discos and its ‘upwardly mobile’ population that promises to define its future can’t feed all its citizens, can’t provide a roof above every head, can’t provide electricity to all the houses and can’t unite the two different Indias with a sense of togetherness. The inhabitants of My India refuse to even acknowledge the inhabitants of the Other India as their fellow citizens. And the textbooks approved by the government keep teaching the students about a farcical term that according to the self-proclaimed patriots is the essence of the Indian society: Unity in diversity.

Darjeeling Diaries 2

I came to Darjeeling with a fear that it would turn out to be a dirty, congested town. One of the many disadvantages (the advantages though outnumber them) of going to a place after almost every living being. A friend asked me on the phone, “Isn’t it too congested?” I was pleasantly surprised to note that it wasn’t. The tourists were of course there in large numbers, making the place crowded. But in a country of more than one billion, wasn’t it always going to be a daunting task to find a place that was completely detached from the rest of the world? Unlike some of the North-Eastern states, where in spite of the natural treasures, the tourism is yet to flourish, Darjeeling has been a tourist attraction since the pre-independence days.

Also, I think when these people talk of congestion they somehow choose to ignore their own surroundings. Darjeeling is not even 1/1000th as congested as Calcutta and it would take it millions of years to even reach that mark. This emotion would have been easier for me to appreciate if these people were from Lausanne or Christchurch. Surprisingly, tourists from these places agreed with my observations.

Darjeeling has all the features of a beautiful hill station and many more. Picturesque bungalows, snow covered peaks, pine forests, a riot of colours in the various species of orchids, rhododendrons and lilies, the Buddhist monasteries, quiet and mysterious alleys all of a sudden leading you to a breathtaking view – in short, the works.

In addition, the town has its famous eateries, coffee shops and pubs offering you an out of the world view of the Eastern Shivalik range of the Himalayas. The local Nepalese population is largely friendly and hospitable. The young crowd is seemingly carefree in their attitude and overtly Western when it comes to style statements. A group of young Nepalese singing in chorus while the world goes by is a common sight in The Mall, the heart of Darjeeling. And in my estimate, one out of every ten kids I saw carried a guitar.

I forgot to mention that it’s been more than 48 hours since I started writing about Darjeeling. I went to Shangri La twice after that first visit and currently I’m sitting at The Buzz, the most happening pub in Darjeeling which is also a part of the famous Bakery-cum-Restaurant, The Glenary’s.

I have moved from beer to whisky, back to beer and currently gin is my favoured drink. Now a lot of people say that gin causes male impotency. I know it’s not true because I’ve seen my father drink gin more than once. In any case, I am not particularly excited at the idea of growing up kids. Sorry for the heartbreaks.

As must be evident by now, I’m not really in a position to chart a detailed tour map of Darjeeling. First of all, in the last three days, I haven’t managed a glimpse Kanchenjunga. I haven’t been to the Rangeet Tea Estate, one of the major tourist attractions of Darjeeling and neither have I tried my hand at white water rafting at Teesta Bazaar. I even had to skip the world famous Toy Train ride. But I still have fallen in love with Darjeeling and like most places, I have realised that one doesn’t really have to check out all the tourist attractions to discover its charm. Tomorrow I will bid adieu to the Queen of the Hills and head for Mirik.

I so wish I stayed here for the rest of my life.

Darjeeling Diaries 1

I’m sitting in a pub (they call it a Bar-cum-Restaurant) called Shangri La in Darjeeling. It has a wooden floor, wooden furniture, a jukebox that plays anything from Reggae to Punjabi and a huge dog (a real one that almost resembles a yak!). Oh, it also has a signboard saying, ‘Recommended by Lonely Planet’. How ironic!

Sitting here, I realise how boring my life is. What am I doing here on my first day in Darjeeling sipping beer? It’s a nice and cosy place with that British sort of a feel and it’s hard to find a waterhole like this in Calcutta but at the end of the day, it’s a pub goddamnit! Shouldn’t I be out on the streets considering I’m one of those rare creatures who were born in the state of West Bengal and finally managed their first trip to Darjeeling after three decades of suffering this world?

I have a pretty solid excuse though. Quite a few of them actually. Firstly, there’s the beer. Secondly, it’s raining outside. Thirdly, this place has been recommended by Lonely Planet. I realise I’m the only one to be blamed for this. I realise what a boring person I am.

And why pray am I writing about it? It’s pretty simple. I obviously harbour this secret wish that someday someone will read about it. So, what it means is that while I keep bragging about how boring I am, I want people to appreciate all about it by reading this. Amazing!

I have been to hill stations before. I have been to Shimla, Kulu, Manali, Chamba, Dalhoussie, Khajiar in Himachal Pradesh. I was a part of the Amarnath Yatra starting from Pehelgam in Kashmir and ending at the Holy Cave, almost 4000 meters above sea-level via Chandanwari-Sheshnag-Panchtarani as a 10-year old. I have been to Bomdila and Tawang in Arunachal Pradesh as also Mount Abu in Rajasthan apart from frequent summer treks in the Western Ghats in the state of Maharashtra when I was in college. But this is my first trip to Darjeeling, the Queen of the Hills which is only 15 hours away from my home in Calcutta.

On my first trip to North Bengal, I had gone to Jaldapara Reserve Forest in Duars, about three hours from Siliguri. Darjeeling would be about the same distance from Siliguri albeit it’s a different route altogether. That was more of a jungle expedition in the summers and I was desperate for at least a glimpse of one of the handful of tigers (the official estimate was six in April 2006) in the forest.
I was briefly introduced to the beauty of North Bengal -- the lush green tea gardens and the cloud covered peaks on my way to North Khairabari from Siliguri via Chapramari. Later, after a number of unsuccessful attempts at spotting the elusive big cat (we had actually managed to record the roars of one), I had gone to see a village inhabited by a tribe named Rava.

This in comparison is more of a quiet vacation. Does that justify my presence in the pub?