Film Star Politicians

Manoj Tiwari is a rising star today in Delhi politics. I am not so sure about the future.

I have not been able to crack the secret behind the failure of Hindi, Bengali and Bhojpuri film stars to grab the coveted chair. They pull crowds, orchestrate wins, fall behind, and ultimately get lost in obscurity.  Someone told me that the stool examination parameters for South Indians are different from those for ordinary Indians. I do not know whether the information is correct, but the parameters in case of the chair seem to be definitely different.

I feel that more often than not, materialistic success is obtained and sustained with crookedness and manipulative people skills. Whether one is a scientist, a teacher, an artist, a lawyer, a sportsperson, a journalist, a film star, an industrialist, a politician or a commercially successful Guru – whether one reaches and remains at the top depends upon the presence of these two elements in progressive order. I fear that Hindi, Bengali and Bhojpuri film stars fall short somewhere when the time comes to grab the chair.   

Talking of film star politicians, the death of Vinod Khanna shocked me. This hugely admired and envied star looked pathetic in his last days. Everyone must die, but this way? Though I neither liked nor disliked him, his departure left me sad. Life need not be devoid of grace, even for film stars and politicians.

Morning Musings

One

A man is walking his dog. It is jet-black, somewhat ugly. It belongs to one of those dwarf species that cost a bomb. The dog comes near a car. The tyre, much higher than the dog, draws its interest. The dog lifts a hind leg and sprays a shower of urine on the tyre. The man waits patiently for the dog to finish its business. The car doesn't belong to the man, but what is a splash of urine between two cohabitants of a locality?

I enter the park. An old man is teaching yoga. Many elderly people, mostly women, sit in front of him. All sit with their fingers on their closed eyes. That is, all but one person. He removes the fingers and looks around. Satisfied that everyone has the eyes closed and fingers on them, he sits straight and places his fingers on his eyes. He has formed slits and looks through them.

Two

The park has a tiled area near the entrance, marked Gau Seva. It doesn't appear to have been cleaned in months. The water tub is filled with filth. I enter the park. A man walks from one bench to another, chanting 'Jaye Shriram, Jaye Sitta' in a classic tea-seller tone, coughs, spits, and begins the return journey in the same fashion.

A group of three men overtakes me. The tallest one declares, "Lifecycle Mein Bohot Sara time railway station, airhport Aur taxi Mein Beet Jaata Hai." His companions remain silent. He emphasises, "Bohot Sara!" They still remain silent. The man says, "Railway station, airport Aur taxi Mein!" I exit from the park.

Three

I hear the music of small bells. The tinkle approaches closer. No footpath being available, I walk on the edge of the road. I hear the warning of a man.

"Is it a bullock-cart trailing me," I wonder. 

A donkey emerges on the road. And then, another. Both have tiny bells tied around their neck. A man rides the rear donkey. A dog performs an excited dance in front of the donkey. The donkey takes no notice. It moves on, business-like. 

I enter the park. A man is teaching yoga. Ahead, an RSS shaakha is being held.

I continue walking. Just as the donkey did!

Four

Clutching my copy of the daily Hindustan Times, I walk past the speed breaker. A bicycle waits here. It has black tyres with green border. The chassis is green. Two ten-year-somethings are on the bicycle. Both wear red T-shirts, and both wear shorts - one white and the other black.

One of them seeks my attention. "Uncle, Woh Aage Jo Kutte Hain Woh Kaattey To Naheen?"

I confidently reply, "Naheen!"

Seeking reassurance, the boy asks again, "Ek Bhi Naheen?"

As if the question is about me and not about the dogs, I reaffirm, "Naheen!"

The boy whispers, "Dekha, Maine Kahaa Tha Na!", and starts pedalling.

The dogs watch them. As the bicycle comes near, an e-rickshaw comes between the bicycle and the dogs. 

The dogs lose interest. So do I.

Five

The first step out of the building, and I notice the brown dog. It is a female. I admire it for the grace with which it accepted the death of its little one last year in a car accident. I also admire it for the ferocity with which it tackled another dog which unnecessarily went to the accident site to examine the remains. Clearly, the admiration is one-sided. The dog does not respond to my greetings. On my return I spot another dog, a white one. This one appreciates my greetings with warmth. We walk in opposite directions. A few steps, and I feel a nudge on my hand. It is the dog, bidding goodbye to me. I become happy and wave at it.

Six

I enter the bathroom and stand under the shower. I enjoy the flow of cold water on my body and begin lathering with a bar of soap. I realise that I must shampoo my hair as well. I look for the shampoo on the bathroom cabinet. No, the fancy black bottle cannot be that of shampoo - it has Tresemmé conditioner printed over it. I look hopefully at the two small transparent tubes. They are of Nature's Fusion shower gel. The fourth large bottle, too, cannot have shampoo in it it; it has the label of Nivea care shower. The shampoo must be in the dressing table drawer.

I call Rani. No response. Old age! 

I call her again. Again, no response. 

I try to whistle. Even I have difficulty in hearing the whistle. 

I shout her name. She is in the kitchen, frying fish, but still manages to hear me.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Give me the shampoo, please!," I demand.

"That large bottle on the bathroom cabinet is that of Garnier shampoo," she points.

I look at the cabinet. The shampoo bottle is right there. I start using it. 

Old age!

Seven

The temple at the corner of the road keeps blaring Kirtans sung by old women in a fatigued voice. You can't decipher the words but can catch the tune. The present one is being sung on the lines of 'Aayee Ab Aantee Ki Bari'.

Your English Betrays Your Age

I was struck by the ‘to-morrow’ and the ‘to-night’ in the Bram Stoker classic, Dracula. ‘To-morrow’? What kind of spelling is that? Well, the answer is, Dracula was published in 1897, in English as it must have been prevalent then.

1897 happened more than a century back. No wonder, the syntax and the spellings underwent sea change in these 120 years. What perplexes me more is that the language used these days is already so different from the one taught to us, the Nesfield and Wren & Martin disciples. I find it strange saying, “I have been receiving your emails”. What is ‘mails’? Doesn’t ‘mail’ remain ‘mail’, whether singular or plural? Same goes with ‘thrice’. Why it can’t be a more gentlemanly ‘three times’? I get absolutely floored when someone sends me an ‘invite’. What happened to the good old system of sending invitations? Or, is it so that people now ‘invitation’ by sending ‘invites’? If I pinch myself to be sure about the reality, it is to see ‘if I were awake’ and not ‘if I was awake’!

I rise at ‘6:00 AM’, which is old fashioned. These days it is ‘6am’, something that I find difficult to adjust to. The same is true with all other units which are now shown immediately after the digits. Should I write ‘10ohms’?  I will, if you insist upon it, but I prefer writing ‘10 ohms’.

I fail to understand ‘360 degrees apart’. Would you not be exactly in the same direction if you rotate by 360 degrees? An advertising man once asked me to send my ‘coordinates’. For a while I seriously thought of sending him the readings of the longitude and latitude of my location.

I prefer to keep ‘anyways’ and ‘anywheres’ nowhere near me. However, I have given up protesting when someone says, “I enjoyed the movie!” Puritans insist upon placing an object after the verb ‘enjoy’.

The more a language evolves, the stronger it becomes. As the younger generation modifies the language, it moves farther away from me. My English betrays my age. Days are not far when after reading my piece you will react, “What kind of writing is that?” And someone will answer, “The aged write like that!”