dil ki baat...

dil ki baat...

dil ki baat...

common WEALTH

Commonwealth games are about to begin in a few days. And even before they begin, they are already turning out to be a revelation. And why not, they have gathered enough publicity for all wrong reasons. There are so many skeletons that have been let out of the cupboard and so much more that wait in the wings to be unleashed when we least expect them to.

But then let me look at it differently. What if I had been an official in charge of handling contracts for commonwealth games? What if I had been a politician having considerable clout over the games. What if I were to manage a major chunk of funds? What if I knew there was little or no chance of me getting caught. What if I knew that I was not alone in the crime, and that I had partners known and unknown scattered all over. What if I knew that even if I was caught, it would be extremely difficult to prove me guilty? What if I were aware that even if caught red handed I could always bribe my way through the system?  What if I knew that the Commonwealth games were a lifetime opportunity to create some wealth of my own? What if I knew it and also the same idea had been reinforced by others on me time and again that if didn’t do it, someone else definitely will.

What if I knew the Commonwealth games' wealth was provided for by the common man but could be exploited by anyone who had anything in 'common' with the Games? All you needed was to play well.

What if I were the one who had paid bribes for every certificate he had to obtain. What if the only lure I had to join a govt. job was not the salary but what topped it. What if lubricating my way through the system was normal for every bolt and nut and hinge was now rusted. What if the people managing these systems had forgotten to get it serviced time and again. What if the system itself had run out its utility and was a chunk of scrap metal which was forcing to operate the way we wanted it to. It made sounds, broke down, cracked but we would not leave it; we would not repair it; and yet night and day we would curse it.

If a decision is called for, the commonwealth games build up seems like a farce and all involved in the multiple multimillion scams are guilty. But we ignore the larger picture.

Let the games begin…..

Virtual Buddha

One day I was out in the country. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city I was providing my lungs the luxury of some fresh air. I was completely at leisure and feeling calm and serene. I thought this was another world. May be somebody in good faith had put me inside a time machine and I had travelled back in time by atleast a century. I looked as far as I could see, and I spotted not a single motor driven machine. I saw the birds flying and making various shapes as their flights one after the other went over me.

 I saw the water in the pond and it was clear; clear like the morning dew and in it was reflected the light of the evening sun- reddish. I saw the old banyan tree, with its ageing branches and the roots hanging from them. It said that timelessness was a quality to be understood and preserved. I walked up to it and now it was almost dark. But darkness was nothing but the absence of light. Soon there were hundreds and thousands of fireflies around me, and everything became illuminated. I saw wise old owl perched right on my shoulder as if whispering those words of wisdom in to my ears.

 I felt enlightened like the Buddha. This was my own Bodhi tree.

But then I walked, for stagnation was as good as resignation. So I walked across the fields in the moonlit night. I saw rows of huts and wells and small granaries. As dawn approached and the eastern sky started turning crimson, I saw bare-chested men sleeping in the open wearing nothing but loin clothes after a long vigil through the night to protect their crops. As morning descended, I washed at a spring and it was the sweetest water I ever drank.  I felt blessed and thanked God for everything he had provided mankind with. My hands folded, I kneeled down under the blue sky and my lips said a silent prayer. It was heavenly and like a dream. I never wanted to wake up.

Suddenly there were bright lights and then total darkness. I felt as if I had been sleeping. Then I remembered that voice. I had been there at the start instructing me to breathe easy and relax. Now it said:

“Abhishek, your balance of Rs. 1.5 lakh has come to an end, so we have had to terminate your ‘virtual bliss’ session abruptly. Kindly recharge to avail of our services.  To know about premium offers press 8, to listen to……… blah, blah and blah”

Hell!! I thought. This was just virtual reality. How could anything like that be actually true? And I walked out on the street where vehicles were zooming past me. Some of them skidded on the street while most were up in the air zooming past apartment windows, none of which were open. There was a lot of noise and even more billboards. Even the sidewalks carried advertisements that were changing. Promotional campaign was being played in the open air (not on a screen) at all places through the similar virtual reality techniques. It was difficult to tell real from virtual. Perhaps the more perfect they looked; the further they were from reality. And then I spotted my own public carrier as the device in my ear announced its arrival. As I was vacuum-sucked in to with maximum comfort, my thoughts took me again below that Bodhi tree. I felt foolish for not realizing that something as wonderful could only be virtual.

Hardly did I know then that hordes and hordes of our ancestors were laughing at us and crying at the same time.

Breaking News

    There was a time when Doordarshan used to air news twice a day. Then came in liberalization and cable television and there were dozens of channels. Competition set in big time. So the usual strategies of marketing had to be applied. Some became generalists while others specialized.

Some channels applied STP, and even Porter and Kotler would have been proud. Hence were born the hindi news channels.

Segmentation: Desperate housewives, Grumpy husbands, carefree teenagers, just about anybody who had time

Targeting: Catching attention when surfing channels

Positioning:  As live entertainment. Blurring boundaries between fact and fiction.

 So when there was no news, it could be created and manufactured. It became news when Dhoni sneezed. They suddenly found aliens. They rediscovered Ravan’s Lanka and his private jet 'pushpak'.

They suddenly knew about celebrity affairs even before it happened. They knew about actresses’ cat fights, their fantasies, and their diet plan, their puppy, their toilet floor tiles and even their lingerie.

They made heroes and villains at the drop of a hat. And of course make a celebrity of common women and men. As prince the child went for a toss in a trench, he came out victorious and a national celebrity. Suddenly it was a media trend. More and more children started falling in trenches to attain that elusive ‘princedom’.

Here I present some of the actual headlines ( of course collected from multiple online sources…. How I am jealous of their creative facilities) :

·      AMITABH BACHCHAN KO THAND LAGI (Big B catches cold)

·  Chajje  pe billi rani (cat on the terrace)

·    COMMISSIONER KA KUTTA MILA (commissioner’s dog found )

·      Sanjay Dutt ate only fruits in jail (as if we care)

·      Dhoni gets a new haircut. (getting a haircut seems to be more important than getting runs)

·      Junglee Chudel ne aurat ke baal khiche (wild female ghost pulls the hair of a woman....newer traits of ghosts)

·      Hatyara baap beti ke pyaar ka dushman (murderer daddy enemy of daughter’s love)

·      Aaj hogi Shivani ki shaadi (shivani marries today…. But who is she????)

·      KYA KEHTA HAI AAPKA BHAVISHYA…ABHI PHONE KIJIYE (dial to know your future…………..but they missed the terror strikes and the recession…howcum)

·        Kya prince gaddhe se nikal paayega (will prince be out of the hole)

·       World cup me jeet ke liye anushthan (religious ceremony to win the world cup)

·      They even predicted the end of ‘Kaliyug’

And there’s more to come…..

Kaliyug doomed to its end……and ..and There would be ‘Satyug’ again

And many more….Changez Khan and Timur to re-emerge from history books and attack….…….

And how a ghost steals your clothes (from where.. ...wardrobe, laundery or your body)

About secret chants and your pleas to goddesses …….Who the hell is Madan maharaj????  :)

And some more….. like they found this soul emerging from the earth…and a dwarf from the 

deep..'horror'  !!

So what is the learning……

Now after going through a couple of marketing courses last year and some niche courses this year…

You know that what you have just seen is revolutionary…

·      

• ·      It  brings forth the latent demand for useless news
• ·      Our sadist instincts and fears inside us (attacks of Timor and ‘Chudail’ stories)
• ·      Uses celebrities for free advertising (Amitabh, Dhoni) Cost cutting measures
• ·      Zero cost product (news out of nowhere)
• ·      Now-a –days has expanded to laughter shows and film music…. And yes…BABA RamDev

The result:

• ·      Happy housewives and saved marriages as TV kept them from fighting
• ·      New lease of life to religion…as the world was ending
• ·      Large revenue gain for all kinds of tantriks, bangali babas, astrologers as the culture catches up
• ·      Prospective cricketers taking good care of their mane
• ·      Any news is good news
• ·      Creativity is inversely proportional to the availability of quality news
• ·      News the best form of complete entertainment

Well that's breaking news .....

S/HE

The sun was setting. It was a red and orange sky. But soon black would take over and it would be dark. Dark for some hours before the sun returned from its sabbatical. Everyone needs a break. Well almost everyone. But not your heart, not your mind – no, they need to work all the time. Even when we are deep in slumber or dreaming wide eyed. For if they stopped, we would stop. So they work night and day without complaining for they know stopping once means stopping forever. Life would never give them a second chance. We must keep our hearts healthy and our brains sound. This was a good conclusion. But she felt she should hurry now for she was standing on the banks of Yamuna river and foul stench filled her lungs. Staying there for few more moments would anyway mean death irrespective of however hard the heart and the brain tried. Over the years the Yamuna had got reduced to a mere drain of black filth discarded by the city of Delhi. This black glowed in the red of the day’s last light. Very soon black would prevail.

She walked away from the bank. She walked to the road and hired a rickshaw.

“Where to?” – asked the driver.

“Connaught place. How much?” Better to negotiate the fair beforehand, she thought or Delhi rickshaw drivers could loot you.

“Seventy rupees and not a penny less.” 

“But I paid sixty just yesterday.” She had no idea of the fare anyway.

“I don’t deny that. You would have paid it, but it is getting dark. We don’t get customers on the return trip.” People could justify things easily.

Fair enough, she thought.

“OK just make it quick. I am in bit of a hurry.”

Delhi was as busy as always - lights and billboards and people. The air smelt better gradually and soon the stench was gone. Delhi air had definitely become better in recent years. They now used compressed natural gas or CNG as fuel. Every mode of public and private transport was running of CNG. There were more trees too. But today the stench remains in her nostrils. The streets, shops and landmarks zoomed past her as the scene got blurred and mixed. The auto rickshaw driver was playing a hit and groovy Bollywood number. At times the only emotion you feel is numbness and a strong desire to throw up.

Cool fresh air is what doctors always recommend. It does a lot good to you. She felt better when she got out of the rickshaw. Seventy rupees were paid in haste. She definitely looked as if in a great hurry. Showrooms zoomed past one after another. It was this apparel store and that one. Garments were picked up at random and then put down. Thus she walked and kept walking. There was the Mercedes showroom by which she stopped and watched for a minute or two, and then shifted her gaze away. Her cell phone was ringing but she cared the least about it. The message beeps interspersed with phone calls created some kind of stupid music and made fellow pedestrians stare, but oblivious to the accompanying cacophony she walked. The multiplex was showing five movies all at the same time. Movies changed as often as we changed sheets or at times relationships.

With time the streets got less crowded, then lonelier and then deserted. A girl walking alone at night attracts attention and much less of the good kind. And the state in which she was, attention was inevitable. The sound of metal catches her attention. She looks up to see a shutter coming down. She looks around to find fewer humans than were enough to get lost in; fewer shops to walk in and walk out. She could also spot the only rickshaw, enough to carry her away. The cold night air gushed past her. It moistened her eyes and then dried them too. She wasn’t wearing any warm clothes and didn’t even carry her stole, but felt nothing as the shivered. Outside one dark shape merged with another with steaks of light in between. Everything got mixed up. In gushes of cold air she could hardly find enough breath. Outside was like vacuum. Inside too was a vacuum.

The keys lay under the doormat safe as ever. The apartment looked exactly the same as she had left it. A bottle of vodka, uncapped and half empty waited in silence, as the air smelt of it. The cushions lay on the floor and there was a colony of ants all around it. She had spilled coke on them. Rest of the scene looked usual.

One could be happy in love, one could feel nice but they in love were hilarious. She was a happy-go-lucky kind of a girl who found the city apt for her exploits. She had been in to relationships, one too many. None lasted even for a month and she was fed up of jerks, all landing in her way but none suiting her palate. He was usually quiet and unusually talented. They had known each other for as long as they had known Delhi. They had occupied apartments opposite each other. She studied literature while he pursued fine arts. Your subjects always reflect in your persona. She was effervescent, moody and quirky with a clumsy sense of humor, while he was calm, patient and stable. What started as a few occasional good mornings gradually ended up in bewitching mornings after some steamy nights. You place or mine didn’t matter. It was like perfection and they set about improving it. Someone did develop a sense of humor and someone got responsible. He left her notes all over the place with funny clues which invariably revealed her either in charcoal or oil on canvas or water color. It looked as if he would fill the whole apartment with her only. She adored the walls in all her versatile moods. It was poetry sans words.

She discovered she could sleep sound and get up before it was ten. And that all men were not jerks, though vice-versa still remained true. It was all very nice. They went to movies like every couple but they also went to exhibitions and poetry readings. None understood the other’s craft much but none the less appreciated it. She had never felt so secure in anybody’s arms. And for him, she was his world.

It became better still with each passing day. They worried about nothing- not the future, not their families, nothing that could interrupt. It was fun and very enchanting, almost intoxicating. But for her, she seemed to start getting lost. She could not stand this perfection. Somehow it started getting boring for her. How could someone bind flowing water? A lioness in the city remained just that- a lioness, sedated for a while but intrinsically wild. She could feel it all fading away for no reason she could explain, but deep within she knew it would not last. He on the other hand was making the most of everything. Life for him had changed for better in so many ways. A loner had a girlfriend and the image of her beautiful face hardly let his feet fall on the ground. He was very happy oblivious of all that was churning in the mind of his beloved. He thought he could read her eyes, but the eyes that revealed could also conceal.

That was a wonderful evening. Wonderful for it was Friday, and the cushions seemed extra soft. In the dim light of the candles and the mild and sweet smelling flowers, the apartment looked pleasantly different. He looked at her in charcoal, oil on canvas and water color. She smiled at him in color and in the rich black of charcoal. He could feel her around him. In a few moments she would arrive. He waited in silence with her on the walls, in his heart. The dials moved with care and caution for the coming moments required vigil as time could sense what awaited it.

The door opened with the usual little creak. A pair of sandals walked in carrying in them weary legs; weary not of work but of contemplation. The eyes that tried hard to see reason in thought and action looked around at the dimly lit ambience as it met another gaze; a gaze of love and welcome and hands that prepared her drink – vodka with coke. One hand extended the drink while the other took it – one that was warm and the one that was cold. A pair of eyes that were once deep enough for him to sneak a peek in to her heart seemed frozen. He could sense it now. The smiles in charcoal, oil on canvas and watercolor looked different. He could  now feel what the dials knew. He felt betrayed and was mad at them, but realized that they were only adhering to her will. Now only a verbal sentence was awaited. He could feel the noose tightening, his feet struggling, eyes popping out and his tongue wriggling. The smiles in charcoal, oil on canvas and water color now looked evil and deathly. He felt cornered and helpless.

There was no reason, no complaints, nothing. There was no explanation and very few words. He knew it was over. How could someone walk out just like that? She did not love him anymore. He stood there like stone not knowing what to do. Those crowding around them with the vicious smiles offered no help. The black of charcoal as if darkened their souls and the love got colored in a way that it no longer remained love; just colorful moments of the past. Years down the line he would tell about her to his grandchildren - tales of a girl of unsurpassed beauty who stole his heart only to murder it later; false hopes of a life that was never to be. In her eyes he saw nothing; no sign of love that should have lasted years, rather forever. After standing there for what seemed like millennia, he finally left. A lifetime had just been cut short, a story terminated abruptly.

She sat in the dimly lit apartment soaking in someone’s love surrounded by her in charcoal, oil on canvas and water color as if she felt nothing. The glass kept getting filled and refilled till the wee hours of the morning. Then she walked out to merge with the crowd to forget herself, as if long ago she knew someone and now he was gone.