Where do we go now?

I was working on an article for YourStory late last night when I decided to take a break. I must've signed into Facebook around 2:00am looking for a new message or two from friends in all corners of the world. Well, no such luck on the front but, as usual, I was confronted with tabloid-style conversational blurbs, a few oblique comments on pictures not to mention the ever-faithful notifications of Premier Football and Knighthood. I scrolled down the page looking for something to keep my attention without luck, so I scrolled back up to the logout button. Well, that was when I read one of the status updates. My friend sounded distressed by something happening in Mumbai.

I headed over the Google news and did a simple search for 'mumbai'. I stared blankly at the screen for a bit. All the initial headlines were painting a distorted picture of terrorism, bloodshed and 5-Star hotels in Mumbai. One of my closest friends works in the JW Marriott, so I immediately repeated that search adding 'marriott'. Up popped the words -- "Unconfirmed reports of gunshots in the Marriott". I picked up my cell and decided to call her immediately. As I was scrolling down my contact list, I switched on the TV and flicked past the two Champions League games (momentarily noting that both English teams had taken the lead) before heading for the news channels. It would be pretty redundant to recount what I saw given the coverage over the past 24 hours. However, I will say that the man spearheading the Times Now coverage was trying very hard to dilute his excitement with an appropriate amount of disbelief. Every few seconds the words "Newsflash!" or "Latest" or Breaking News" flashed across the screen to the score of a very dramatic voice. But details were few and far between once more and I still didn't quite know what was happening. Meanwhile, my Vodafone-Nokia partnership was persistently yielding 'Error in Connection' but I kept redialling her number guessing that the network had been affected by the obvious heightened volume of calls.

I continued surfing from news channel to news channel until I my blood ran cold when I saw the JW Marriott. Then came clippings of sniffer dogs and army troops patrolling its premises. My situation wasn't helped by the fact that the Marriott report had just ended and I was watching the outro which read like a cold open. Next followed the words "Mumbai Burns" arriving like the title of the blockbuster before the montage squiggled its viewers on to the studio, the Taj, the Trident, Nariman Point and the other terror spots.

When I finally heard her phone ring I felt the embers of composure glow brighter. But they were extinguished when she didn't pick up. Early reports spoke of these terrorists taking civilians hostages which naturally sent my imagination into overdrive. I cut the second call midway through and messaged, "Are you okay?". No reply. Over the course of the next 4 hours I must've sent about 3 more messages, hoping, praying for a reply. Well, it wasn't till about 7:15am that I got a reply. But until then, I was worried. Very, very worried. My little room was echoing the voices of clueless news reporters babbling incongruous bits of information.

Watching the Taj burn on the news last night, strangely brought back images of Boris Yeltsin's seige on the Duma (the Russian White House). While I'm not really trying to compare the two situations, but the footage we've been watching on TV does bring back hazy memories.

It must've been about a month since I'd celebrated my 10th birthday when this happened. I really didn't understand any of it back then. I remember one evening hearing a lot of commotion in the parking lot downstairs. The cacophony comprised of yelling, the dull rhythm of countless military boots clunking against the asphalt and dogs barking. All the lights were turned off in the house and my parents told me to be very quiet. Like I said, I didn't understand any of it but I knew that something had my family worried which translated to my state. For about 20mins, my dad stood at the kitchen window and peered down into the parking lot where we he said hundreds of troops had assembled. Their voices were coming up to the 9th floor but they were getting distorted on the way. At times they sounded Russian and bizarrely, at other times, they sounded American. We weren't sure what was going on because none of us spoke Russian. Turning on the TV wouldn't be of much help given that the only English channel available was CNN (which woke up the the crisis a little late).

We ate in darkness that night. I kept asking my dad what was going on, but he didn't have any answers at the time. I shut up after a while. The clinking of forks against mom's heavy bone china plates continued and I continued munching noisily. Funnily, I remember that and the fact that no one bothered to say, "Mone, close your mouth and chew". Our silhouettes pitched against the dull, red glow of the Moscow cityscape were transfixed in some place far, far away.

We woke up early next morning and found the parking lot thankfully deserted. Mom and sis were watching CNN which would sporadically focus on the Moscow situation. I didn't bother to watch during those first few days because I remained preoccupied in my own world of toys and video games. It wasn't until Yeltsin called in the heavy artillery that things caught my attention. That morning I remember the sharp rays of sunlight flooding part of the house as the loud sound of rotor blades reverberated across the rooftops. Dad and I ran from window to window looking for the chopper without luck. I had just about entered the bedroom, tracking the path of the sound all the way to my balcony. I struggled with the handle completely forgetting that both the door and the windows had been sealed with newspaper and scotch tape to keep us insulated. That is when it crossed straight over my balcony, complete with rocket launcher pods, missiles and a gunman stationed behind one of those massive machine guns we'd associate with Vietnam. I remember getting very excited, jumping up and down while clapping like a looney. Yes, well, it would excite most 10yr olds, but I was a complete airforce nut back then. I really, really wanted to become a fighter pilot for the longest time (as would suggest my large collection of books on combat aircraft and model aircrafts -- some of which can still be found around the house). My dad arrived the moment the chopper had disappeared out of sight over the opposing multi storey. I was babbling non-stop about the missiles, the gunman and the fact that the chopper had passed right over our building. Like I said, I'd turned into a looney.

I watched the TV for hours that day hoping to catch a glimpse of that chopper on the news, but all we saw were other transport choppers.

I remained obsessive till the next day and I recall getting very upset with dad because he said I must've seen an ordinary military transport chopper, not the gunship I said I had.

Then came that big moment which I still remember. Someone called my dad from the Indian Embassy and asked us to turn on CNN immediately. There was the Duma charred in parts, bullet ridden with automatic fire still very much audible. But then another camera suddenly shifted slightly to a line of armoured vehicles coming down the giant road, oddly leaving some sort of trail behind. Well, on that grainy reception I thought they were armoured vans until they changed formation to drive side by side. That's when I caught side of barrels -- tanks!

Yeltsin was a maniac. Who the hell brings in tanks to deal with a rebel faction in the Duma? That said, I have to admit, he was providing a 10yr old the most excitement he'd ever seen his whole life. Whats more incredible is the fact that these tanks would then open fire on the building.

Meanwhile, CNN was reporting that hundreds of people had gathered to watch the events unfold from right outside the Duma. These people stood openly, unprotected, unnerved by bullets whizzing past, watching the armed forces exchange fire with those holed up inside the building. Many of them were shot. Many of them died.

On some level, I'm guessing these images are echoing the visuals we have been watching on television over the past two days. Today, I think of the lives that were lost all those years ago, I think of the lives we've lost two days ago and I wonder what has violence solved?

The only difference between then and now is the media circus. There weren't 50 cameramen swarming around cops, commandos or survivors in Moscow during or after the ordeal ended. None of the journalists harped on and on and on and on about the heritage and the symbol of the Russian democracy being destroyed. However, they did speak of the loss of lives though. I didn't quite appreciate it back then. My judgement was clouded by age and the fact that we'd subsisted for 9months on James Bond, Die Hard and other commando operation movies where extras dived about when a pouch squirted tomato sauce in their pocket, or a puff of smoke when off in the hero's toy gun. Those journalist had a sense of perspective. The Duma was rebuilt in a matter of days but, unfortunately, the lives lost will never be replaced.

I see Kamte, Karkare, Salaskar and the other faceless heroes who laid down their lives for our people. What do you see?

Russian police said, on 8 October, 1993, that 187 had died in the conflict and 437 had been wounded. Unofficial sources named much higher numbers: up to 2,000 dead.

The kids of the colony returned to their beloved playground -- the parking lot, even though the fierce gun battle waged on only 10minutes away from our compound. I accompanied my circle of friends for a walk around the compound that evening. There was a Pakistani boy named Ali Saleem Mallick, a Nigerian boy named Sydney and this deaf and dumb boy we called Mongolian (because he had the facial features and everyone called him that to begin with) -- all of whom I've lost touch with sadly. Every now and then, the sky would light up and we'd dart out from under the trees to catch a glimpse of the orange beams of strafer fire passing over our compound. We were kids. We were impressionable. We were naive, but not anymore. Its about time some people grow up.

Images taken from the Slate archive.

A blog for no one

I have spent the last hour listening to this song on repeat. I'm sorry I'm posting this Youtube version cause the audio is frankly appalling but its the only way I could share it with the rest of you. There are a few songs somewhere out there in the world that have the power to slowly take control of your mind, dictate your emotional state of being and have absolutely no regard for your feelings. Much like a cranky, whiny, little brat throwing all his expensive, breakable toys out of the pram. You could slap the little twerp or give him a good telling to, but strangely, you really can't do much with a tune once its started. If someone told me that this was one such song, then I wouldn't argue...or perhaps something in the song instructs me not to...

Rolling Stones Editor, David Fricke comments --

It goes in circles and it climbs but it never seems to reach anywhere. And Eric doesn't do a whole lot. He plays this chord progression which is actually very chunky and is again very funky in a way. And Jacks vocals is very powerful -- very operatic and, again, climbing, you know? Its, as if, he's trying to reach something and is not quite getting there. The secret power of 'We're Going Wrong' is Ginger's drumming because all of the action of the song is underneath Jack and Eric. Its in the tom rolls. When Cream did that song at the Albert Hall, and I saw three of those shows, every night that was the killer.

I guess we reach a point in our lives where things must change. Perhaps this is because everything seems to have its own 'Best before' date. But change is not always for the better and, more often than not, accommodating change is an ordeal in itself. I am not talking about Obama's promise of 'Change', however, if you aimed your bayonet at my throat and demanded an opinion, I'd quote Wenger when he says --

“What made everybody happy in his election was that nobody knows what Obama's ideas are, but the system has brought someone to the top just because they have the quality and nothing else. I think that is right.”

Honestly speaking, the world don't know what's in store but there seems to be a promise for a brighter future. *waffle alert* Objectively speaking, Dubya is most definitely not a tough gig to follow so America would've done well even if they'd elected Jeremy Clarkson as President. Yes -- The Top Gear guy! And for those of you with doubts, please read the Clarkson Manifesto. *at ease, soldier* But what would my blog posts be without a little waffle? Largely blank with a sprinkling of post-modernist bleh, I'm guessing. But for the moment, waffle aside, when I speak of change I'm talking about it at an individual and also, a personal level.

The greatest thing about college was that it introduced me to a whole set of real characters. Perhaps introduced is too civilised a word -- exposed would be more like it. There was this chap who slapped the Grinch in the corridor accidentally within the first month. Another one answered a question on Hamlet with an illustrated dialogue between Papa Hamlet and Baby Hamlet. There were also generous smatterings of Mama Hamlet, Sister Hamlet and, reportedly, Doggie Hamlet. Another one, aptly named The Kong, was a queer mix of Jughead Jones, Big Moose and C.M.O.T. Dibbler. You simply had to name your tormentors and Kong would be more than willing to inflict pain and suffering at the rate of Rs.250/- (or a 7 course meal with double helpings of everything) per rib cracked. With the message of peace embodied in all the weed and alcohol floating freely around campus, Kong would've done a whole lot better if he offered his services to campus politics. Yes, I mean The Judean People's Front and The People's Front of Judea. Also, amongst the Judean Hillbillies was the diminutive aneelirh who consistently walked out of every exam 15mins to half an hour before it got over. She will tell you that she ran out of things to write about but her scores would argue otherwise! There was one called Bob because...well...her head went *bob* *bob* *bob* all the time. In the far corner, wearing a black t-shirt with an elephant walking a tight rope was the one they called Deep. He was to be visited twice by the incorrigible, invisible, single Su-borrowing, spelling disaster -- El Nuntu. Gah!...Nostalgia attack! rat-a-tat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-a-tat (i.e. sounds of blazing machine-guns for those who haven't read Tintin comics) Man the hatches! Every man for himself!...*sigh*

Unthinkable as it seemed during the first few months, some of them became very, very good friends and I miss them now that our Judean adventure is over. I guess I'm dabbling with a few universal truths here but it just that I feel this way sometimes. The music is still playing in background and Ginger is still going strong with those now overtly familiar tom rolls.

Jack Bruce, the man who wrote the song, says --

It has become deeper to me than when I first wrote it. Songs take on their own lives, they become entities. They disappear and then they come back. They're like kids or something. They change.

Well, perhaps just like the song that disappears and reappears, so will some of the people we've left behind now. And just maybe the future will find all of us with another set of even stranger acquaintances who'd make us feel right at home -- like one of their own, dragging us onwards , kicking and screaming to another chapter in our lives. But until then, we're allowed to walk along dusty roads, kicking small stones about and brooding over change, aren't we?

Virtual Insanity

I'm having a Steven Tyler moment this morning. But before you go foraging into the undergrowth of bad lip humour --- no, there is nothing wrong/different about them today.

I'd just like to borrow a couple of lines from 'Livin' on the Edge' to sum things up --

There is something wrong with the world today,
I don't know what it is...

In case you just missed the wonderful notice...here it is again in HD...



So how does one react? I know what's going through my head at this moment: three lines from a song by this band called OMC which goes ---

How Bizarre! How Bizarre! How Bizarre!

To top things off, I just received a friend request from the most unlikely source. Let me see, how do I put this? Okay, what if you waltzed into the zoo and stole a chattery Scarlet Macau named Meeku. Why steal? Cause your ethics were accidentally sucked into a threesome while partying on lsd in the pool of scantiliy clad women of Ibiza. Moreover, you have decided to undergo a complete image makeover and the parrot fits the part. Now, since no self-respecting pirate can go around with a parrot called Meeku, you christened him Red Rackham. Arrrrrr!

Even though you decided to flee to the jungles of South America with Red Rackham you never counted on the zoo keeper actually being an Amazonian woman. So inevitably you find yourself flat on your back, tongue sticking out at right angles with a blow dart sticking out of your arse and in the dappled light of the forest you can vaguely make out a semi-naked woman (It sounds so much better with the word naked, no?) approaching while yelling, "Meeku! Meekuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!". You smile a weak smile as your preservatory instincts kick in, not because you think you can see up her leafy skirt.

The zoo keeper is not particularly pleased when she discovers that you have renamed her beloved 'Meeku', Red Rackham. She makes her displeasure know in a low, menacing growl and then vanishes into the woods. In the ordinary world, you wouldn't be expecting a Christmas card from her, would you? Well, one must say that stranger things have happened on Facebook!



Till later.

Jump Ship?

Decided to blog today after what I'd call quite a long day. I'm tired but I'm pushing myself to put these thoughts down before they get lost like all the other phantom posts between now and the last one.

I dropped by college earlier today for some work. That got postponed and I ended up going back to the department after what seemed like an eternity. While I was standing at the ledge one of my juniors stepped up to me and decided to engage in some football banter. Or, well, what he considered banter but turned out to be something smelly, gooey and undesirable...much like egg on one's face. Junior said something along the lines of "Its time you stopped supporting Arsenal. You should hang your head in shame." Meanwhile, D-Man, another ledge occupant, suddenly perked up at hearing the word 'Arsenal'. You could not for a moment question the authenticity of his expression of sheer disbelief for his jaws were doing an impersonation of an aircraft hangar and his eyeballs were gravitating out of their sockets towards me. There stood before him a real, live, Indian, Arsenal fan. *Gak!* For the uninitiated, Arsenal fans in India occur as frequently as sightings of the Royal Bengal Tiger in your backyard...unless, of course, you live in the Sunderbans, in which case, I'm guessing, its not much fun.

Anyway, Junior decides to dive deeper into the dingleberry soup when he asks D-Man which team he supports. Dumb question! Paddy Power, Ladbrokes, UKbetting, William Hill and the rest no longer take bets on Indian football supporters. EVERYONE knows that Indians have a dedicated OCD for Manchester United. "Manchester United?", scoffes Junior. "Erm...yes. What are you?", asked D-Man, blissfully unware of the way he'd phrased his question. "Real Madrid!", smirked Junior, "You people and your Premier League. *points to himself* Premiera Liga**! *superior smirk*"

So supporting a continental team instantly elevates you to a higher plane? Why didn't someone tell me this before?!?!?! All along I was supporting a lowly, 2 bit English team. In fact, what the hell is wrong with the rest of my countrymen? Manchester United? What were you thinking? Ah well, lets all go support Wisla Krakow or Grasshopper-Club Zürich!

I support Arsenal because of Wenger. Because of his track record, his brand of fabulous, 1-touch football, (modelled closely on the principles of Total Football) and his ability to work within the financial limitations of the club. Again, I don't support Real, Chelsea, ManU(re), Liverpool, Barca because I'm not a glory hound. I'd rather sacrifice the titles and the bragging rights for a team that knew how to play entertaining football. If I had to pick a Spanish team, I'd go with Villareal over Barca or Real. If I had to pick an Italian team, I'd go with Atalanta over the Milans or Juventus. If I had to pick a Dutch team, I'd go with Ajax Amsterdam because they invented Total Football. If I had to go with a French team, I'd go with Marseille -- not PSG or Lyon. And, lastly, if I had to go with a Portugese team, I'd go with Sporting Lisbon, not Benfica or FC Porto. If I had to go with a small team at the World Cup, I'd go with Japan or Ivory Coast.

For those of you who know a thing or two about football, you'd probably get the fact that I've picked the underdog on most occassions. You may have your own reasons for supporting your team but, thankfully, not everyone supports the Greatest Circus the World Has Ever Known, Real Madrid.

** There is no such thing as the Premiera Liga. You can either call it the Spanish League or the Spanish Premiera División or La Liga.