एक सौ नब्बे रुपये

मुश्किलें मुझ पर पड़ीं इतनी के आसाँ हो गई।

-मिर्ज़ा  असदुल्लाह ख़ान 'ग़ालिब'

एक पुराने दोस्त से मिलने की तद्बीर एक अरसे से हो रही थी। तो सोचा आज ही मिला जाए।

जेब में, इतना ध्यान था मुझे, कुल मिला के पाँच सौ रुपये के अलावा अलग से छुट्टे पैसे रखे थे। दोनों ने कॉफ़ी पी, तसवीरें खींचीं, कुछ खाया, और तीन सौ तिरानवे रुपये ख़र्च कर वहाँ से चल दिए। रह गए एक सौ नब्बे रुपये।

मेरी दोस्त ने कहा कि उसे घाटकोपर स्टेशन तक छोड़ दूँ। हम दोनों bike पे सवार हुए, चल दिए, और क़रीब पंद्रह मिनटों में घाटकोपर स्टेशन के बेहद क़रीब आ गए। यहीं पहुँचके पता चला कि bike के सामने के पहिए में हवा बाक़ी नहीं। शर्मिंदा-ओ-मजबूर होके मुझे अपनी दोस्त से कहना पड़ा कि आगे का सफ़र उसे अकेले ही तय करना होगा। मेरी लाचारी समझ, मुझसे गले मिलकर वह विदा लेके चली गई।

मैं वापस अपना ध्यान अपनी bike पे लगाता, इतने में मेरे भारी बसते के दाएँ पट्टे ने जवाब दे दिया। "ख़ैर" मैंने बाएँ काँधे पर बसते का भार डाल, आगे बढ़ने का फैसला किया।

राह चलते लोगों से नज़दीकी गराज का पता पूछ पूछ कर मैं जैसे तैसे वहाँ पहुँचा। Bike को स्टैंड पर रखते रखते बसते का दूसरा पट्टा भी टूट गया, और बस्ता धम्म से गिर गया। "ख़ैर" मैंने bike को स्टैंड पे रखा और बस्ता उठाया। दुकानदार बाहर आया, और बिना कुछ पूछे, बिना कुछ कहे वह अपने काम पे लग गया।

कभी कभी यूँ ही हमने अपने दिल को बहलाया है...

"एक सौ नब्बे रुपये..." "एक सौ नब्बे रुपये..."  यही मेरे दिमाग़ में चल रहा था। मैंने खुद से कहा, "सौ या डेढ़ सौ रुपये। उससे ज़्यादा तो क़तई ख़र्च नहीं होगा। उसने पहिए में से ट्यूब निकाला, देखा, और कहा, "बदलना होगा। यह ट्यूब तो गया"

"कितना  होगा?"

"कम से कम दो सौ अस्सी रुपये।"

"क्या! देखो भाई, फिलहाल मेरे पास सिर्फ़ एक सौ नब्बे रुपये हैं।" 

"अर्रे तो ATM से निकाल लाओ"

"भाई, मेरे पास ATM कार्ड नहीं"

"एक मिनट, पूछ के आता हूँ।" यह कहकर वह अपनी छोटी-सी दुकान के अंदर चला गया। अंदर एक अधेढ़ उम्र का आदमी बैठा पान पे किमाम लगा रहा था। दोनों में कुछ बात हुई, और दोनों बाहर आए। दोनों बाप-बेटे लग रहे थे। 

उस अधेढ़ उम्र के आदमी ने मुझसे पूछा, "कहाँ रहते हो?" 

"ठाणे" (उस जगह से क़रीब सोलह किलोमीटर दूर)

"ठीक है। अभी एक सौ नब्बे रुपये दे दो, बाक़ी के कल दे देना।"

निकलना ख़ुल्द से आदम का सुनते आए हैं लेकिन...

"पर मैं यहाँ रोज़ नहीं आता।"

"कोई बात नहीं, जब आओगे, दे देना। ख़ास पैसे देने के लिए यहाँ आने की ज़रुरत नहीं।"

"अरे लेकिन"

"लेकिन-वेकिन छोड़ दो।"

एक लंबी साँस भर के मैंने कहा "ठीक है। शुक्रिया।"

इतने में वह लड़का काम में जुट गया। अच्छाई की आदत न हो तो शक़ होने लगता है। "शायद इन्हें एक सौ नब्बे रुपये ही दिया जान ठीक होगा। बाक़ी के पैसे तो शायद ऊपरी कमाई ही होगी।" पर शक़ भी कितने देर अच्छाई को छिपाता? "शायद, नहीं।"

मरम्मत होने पार उन्हें एक सौ नब्बे रुपये थमाके मैं bike पे सवार हो गया। 

वह जो एक शख़्स तुझसे पहले यहाँ तख़्त-नशीन था 

उसे भी अपने  ख़ुदा  होने का इतना ही यक़ीन था 

-हबीब जालिब 

उन्होंने मुझे अपने पास बुलाया, सो मैं bike से उतरके उनके पास गया। "तुम्हें घर भी पहुँचना है, काफ़ी दूर तक जाना है। तुम्हारी जेब में कुछ नहीं है।" जो पैसे मैंने उन्हें दिए थे, उसमें से बीस रुपए निकाल कर उन्होंने मेरे हाथ में रखा। पान पीककर, मुस्कुराए और दूकान के अंदर चले गए।

आँखों को वीज़ा नहीं लगता - गुलज़ार

आँखों को वीज़ा नहीं लगता,
सपनों की सरहद नहीं होती।

बंद आँखों से रोज़ मैं,

सरहद पार चला जाता हूँ

मिलने महदी हसन से।

सुनता हूँ उनकी आवाज़ को चोट लगी है,

और ग़ज़ल ख़ामोश है सामने बैठी हुई।
काँप रहे हैं होंठ ग़ज़ल के।
फिर भी उन आँखों का लहज़ा बदला नहीं 
जब कहते हैं...

सूख गए हैं फूल किताबों में
यार "फ़राज़" भी बिछड़ गए हैं,
शायद मिले वो ख़्वाबों में

बंद आँखों से अक्सर सरहद पार

चला जाता हूँ मैं।

आँखों को वीज़ा नहीं लगता,
सपनों की सरहद कोई नहीं।

-गुलज़ार 

मकान की उपरी मंज़िल पे अब कोई नहीं रहता - गुलज़ार

मकान की उपरी मंज़िल पे अब कोई नहीं रहता।
वो कमरे बंद हैं कबसे।
जो चौबीस सीढियाँ उन तक पहुँचती थीं वो अब ऊपर नहीं जातीं।
मकान की उपरी मंज़िल पे अब कोई नहीं रहता।

वहाँ कमरों में इतना याद है मुझको,
खिलोने एक पुरानी टोकरी में भर के रखे थे।
बहुत से तो उठाने, फेंकने, रखने में चूराँ हो गए।

वहाँ एक balcony भी थी,जहाँ एक बैत का झूला लटकता था।

मेरा एक दोस्त था वह तोता|
वह रोज़ आता था, उसको हरी मिर्च खिलाता था।
उसी के सामने एक छत थी जाहाँ एक मोर बैठा आसमान पे रात भर मीठे सितारे चुगता रहता था।

मेरे बच्चों ने वह देखा नहीं; वह नीचे की मंज़िल पर रहते हैं।

जहाँ पर पिआनो रखा है, पुरानी पारसी स्टाइल का फ़्रेज़र से ख़रीदा था।
मगर कुछ बेसुरी आवाज़ें करता है कि उसके रीड्ज़ सारे हिल गए हैं, सुरों पर दुसरे सुर चढ़ गए हैं।

उसी मंज़िल पर एक पुश्तैनी बैठक थी जहाँ पुरखों की तसवीरें लटकती रहती थीं।

मैं सीधा करता रहता था, हवा फिर टेढ़ा कर जाती।

बहु को मूछों वाले सारे पुरखे clishe लगते थे।
मेरे बच्चों ने आखिर उन्हें कीलों से उतारा।
पुराने न्यूज़पेपर में उन्हें महफूज़ करके रख दिया था।
मेरा एक भांजा ले जाता है फ़िल्मों में कभी सेट पर लगाता है, किराया मिलता है उनसे।

मेरी ही मंज़िल पे मेरे सामने एक मेहमान ख़ाना है।
मेरे पोते कभी अम्रीका से आएँ तो रुकते हैं 
अलग साइज़ में आते हैं, वह जितनी बार आते हैं।
ख़ुदा जाने वही आते हैं या हर बार कोई दूसरा आता है।

वह एक कमरा, जो पीछे की तरफ़ से बंद है,

जहाँ बत्ती नहीं जलती,
वहाँ एक रोज़री राखी है वह उससे महकता है।
वहाँ वह दाई रहती थी के जिसने तीनों बच्चों को बड़ा करने में अपनी उम्र दे दी थी।
मरी तो मैंने दफनाया नहीं, महफ़ूज़ करके रख दिया उसको 

अब उसके बाद एक-दो सीढियाँ हैं, नीचे तयख़ाने में जाती हैं।

जहाँ ख़ामोशी रोशन है, सुकून सोया हुआ है, बस इतनी सी पहलू में जगह रखकर,

कि जब सीढ़ियों से नीचे आऊँ तो उसी के पहलू में बालू पे सर रखकर गले लग जाऊँ, सो जाऊँ। 

मकान की उपरी मंज़िल पे अब कोई नहीं रहता।
कोई नहीं रहता।

-गुलज़ार 

मजबूरी

सारी रात देखता रहा चाँद मुझे,

शायद हमदर्दी की उम्मीद थी उसे मुझसे |

सारी रात सूरज का आईना बना रहा वह |

बूँद-बूँद पिघल, बरसा चांदनी बनके |

और मैं,

और मैं निहारने के अलावा कुछ न कर सका |

थोड़ा आगे तो सरकिए

कहते हैं कि बंबई में सर्दियां नहीं होती | यहाँ पे सिर्फ़ दो मौसम हैं - एक गर्मी और एक बरसात| मगर कुछ लोग बंबई की सर्दियों को बख़ूबी पहचानते हैं... ख़ास तौर पे जो ट्रेनों में सफ़र करते हैं |

कुछ ऐसा सर्द ही दिन था | धूप मानो सुहानी सर्द हवा को चीरती हुई आ रही थी | और प्लेटफ़ॉर्म पे खड़ा मैं ट्रेन का इंतज़ार करते  कानों में earphones लगाए रेडियो सुन रहा था |  फिर लौड़ स्पीकर पे किसीने कर्कश आवाज़ में ट्रेन की आमद का ऐलान किया और देखते ही देखते प्लेटफ़ॉर्म पे भीड़ जमा हो गयी |

मैं ग़ज़लों का बड़ा शौक़ीन हूँ | रेडियो पर ग़ज़लें चल रहीं थी | "रंजिश ही सही दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ..." | कुछ ही पलों में ट्रेन प्लेटफ़ॉर्म के उस सिरह पर दीख पड़ा | इस ट्रेन का सफ़र इसी स्टेशन से शुरू होने वाली थी | ज़ाहिर था की भीड़ ज़्यादा नहीं होती | सब ऐसे तय्यार होने लगे मानो दुश्मन ने हमला किया है और अब उसपे फ़तेह हासिल करनी है, चाहे कुछ भी हो | मैं इस फ़िराक़ में था की यह सारा हुजूम ट्रेन के अन्दर चला जाए और मैं घुटन से बचने के लिए दरवाज़े पर ही ठहर जाऊँ |  

जैसे तैसे सारे मुसाफ़िर सवार हो गए | मैं दरवाज़े पे ठहर गया | अब दरवाज़े पर आराम से चार लोग ठहर सकते हैं | शोर और हंगामे से अलग रहने में रेडियो बहुत अच्छा मददगार साबित हुआ |

लोग कभी दोस्तों के सात सफ़र करते हैं या फिर संगी मुसाफिरों के साथ दोस्ती कर लेते हैं | पर मैं, मैं तो किसी अजनबी से दोस्ती तो दूर, बात तक करने की हिम्मत नहीं कर सकता | इसिलए रेडियो पर ग़ज़लों का साथ मुझे अच्छा लगता है |

दरवाज़े पे मेरे पीछे दो लोग थे और मेरे आगे एक लड़का था |  उसकी उम्र  शायद २४  या २५ साल की थी | मुझसे थोडा नाटा था | दरअसल मुझे उसी जगह खड़े रहने की आदत है जहाँ पे वह खड़ा था | इसी उम्मीद में की वह आते किसी नज़दीकी स्टेशन पर उतर जाएगा मैंने एक कान से earphone निकलकर पूछा "भाई कहाँ उतरोगे?"

उसने सर उठाकर मेरी तरफ़ देखा | उसकी आँखें लाल और नम थीं | लब उसके काँप रहे थे | उसने कहा "स्टेशन पर ही उतरूँगा |" इस अजीब जवाब को मैंने हैरानी से, पर चुप चाप क़बूल कर लिया | पता चला वोह बेइंतेहा परेशान है | शायद कोई ज़ियादती बात होगी |

थोड़ी देर में ट्रेन चलने लगी | हौले हौले रफ़्तार पकड़ती ट्रेन हम दरवाज़े पे खड़े मुसाफ़िरों को सर्दियों का एहसास दिला रही थी | हवा चुभ रही थी और धुप सहला रही थी | अचानक उस ने एक सवाल पूछा, "भाईसाहब, एक बात बताइए..." | मैंने एक earphone निकाल, उसकी तरफ ध्यान देने की कोशिश की  | "कोई अगर सुधरना चाहे तो क्या सुधर नहीं सकता ?" "सुधर सकता है न !" मैंने कहा " क्यों नहीं" | यह कहकर मैंने earphone को वापिस अपने कान में लगा लिया | मैं ज़्यादा बोलना नहीं चाहता था | एक तो वह एक अजनबी था,  न जाने मेरे कुछ कहने से उस पर क्या असर पड़े? और तो और रेडियो पे ग़ज़लों पर से ध्यान तो मैं पल भर के लिए भी नहीं हटाना चाहता था |

देखते ही देखते ट्रेन अगली स्टेशन पर पहुँची | कुछ लोग ट्रेन से उतर गए, और उन से ज़्यादा ट्रेन पर सवार हुए | तरस आ रहा था उन पर जो ट्रेन के अन्दर भीड़ का शिकार हो रहे थे | ऐसे में सारा भीड़ हम "द्वार के यात्रिओं" पर कहर ढाते हैं | भीड़ में से कोई इल्तेजा कर जगह माँगता, तो कोई गालियाँ देकर | कोई किसी मुसाफ़िर को कोसता, तो कोई एक ही साँस में बाक़ी सारे मुसाफिरों को | कुछ ही देर में दो लोगों के दरमयान बहस का आग़ाज़ हुआ |

पर अब मेरा ध्यान न तो कम्पार्टमेंट के अन्दर चल रही "लफ़्ज़ी कुश्ती" पर था, और न ही  ग़ज़ल पर | मेरा ध्यान उसके सवाल पर टिका रहा | उसके सवाल में शायद मदद की गुहार थी | दरवाज़े पे अपने आप को संभालते और ठंडी हवा से आखे मींचते हुए मैं यही सोच रहा था की शायद उससे बात करूँ तो उसका मन हलका हो जाए | यह सोच ही रहा था की इस प्रोग्राम की आख़िरी ग़ज़ल चलने लगी  |   

"ज़िन्दगी जब भी तेरे बज़्म में लाती है हमें..." इस ग़ज़ल के आख़िरी लफ़्ज़ और मैंने earphones कानों में से निकाल दिए | बात करने के लिए लब खोलने ही वाला था कि सामने से कुछ ही दूरी पर एक ट्रेन आ रही थी | एक तो चेहरे पे ठंडी हवा के थपेड़ों की वजह से मेरी आवाज़ तो वैसे ही दब जाती, और अब यह ट्रेन अगर बग़ल से गुज़रे, तो उसे ख़ाक कुछ समझ में आता | अब तक वोह ट्रेन यहाँ तक नहीं पहुँचा, तो मैं ठहरा रहा की ट्रेन आए और गुज़रे |

लेकिन इससे पहले कि यह सोच मेरे दिमाग़ में से गुज़रती, मेरे सामने खड़े इस लड़के ने ट्रेन के आगे छलाँग लगा दी |

ट्रेन बग़ल से गुज़री | उसके गुजरने की आवाज़ में मेरे और मेरे साथ सफ़र करने वाले बाक़ी मुसाफ़िरों  की चीख़ें भी दब गईं | और वोह, वोह शायद चीख़ा तक नहीं |

इतने में कम्पार्टमेंट से एक अजनबी आवाज़ आई "भाईसाहब, थोड़ा आगे तो सरकिए |"

No Room for Violence

Hindustan Times of January 9^th, 2011 carried the following headline: Uddhav condemns the police for beating MNS legislator. Please do go through the article before you read any further.

Maybe Mr. Thackeray has forgotten his own stance when it comes to violence. Oh! The Sainiks love violence. It is, perhaps, high time someone asked the Thackerays why did they have an opposing opinion when it came to them resorting to violence?

If your memory is low, sir, let me show you these...

Morality and Politics?!?!?! What a farce!

2010 – The Year of the Tiger, has been publicized by both the media and politicians alike as the year of scams.

A few days ago BJP President Nitin Gadkari was interviewed by Rahul Kanwal on Headlines Today. The issue being discussed was the 2G scam and why has the Opposition decided to become a bunch of cry babies and not allow parliament to conduct business.

Gadkari was prompt to blame the government for the ruckus that the Opposition had caused. However, Rahul Kanwal was equally quick in reminding Gadkari that even the BJP does not have a clean image either. When the Adarsh Land Scam broke out, the Chief Minister of Maharashtra offered his resignation immediately, but when another land scam broke out involving the Chief Minister of the BJP ruled state of Karnataka, this CM was allowed to continue in his post.

Gadkari responded saying “the decision of the Karnataka Chief Minister may be immoral, but not illegal!”

Ridiculous!

This implies that the CM’s office has no moral responsibility. And that we, the people of India, blindly bring them to power.

Hence I decided to rewrite the Preamble of our Constitution.

WE, THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a SOVEREIGN CORRUPT SECULAR AUTOCRATIC REPUBLIC and to secure to all its citizens:

JUSTICE, social, economic and political using nepotism;

LIBERTY of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship as long as it favours my favourite political party;

EQUALITY of status and of opportunity for the people of my community (preferably my family members);

and to promote among them all

FRATERNITY assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the political partY;

The Tipping Point of Corruption

My association with the Mint dates back to my SYBA days. It is an interesting newspaper for those interested in finance, economics, and all the allied and peripheral subjects. Pertinent words, pleasant layout and well shot images are very appealing. But, if you think I am selling this newspaper to you, let me tell you that I AM SELLING THIS NEWSPAPER TO YOU.

Last night I sat on my bed reading this article written by Anil Padmanabhan. It is indeed an interesting read on The Tipping Point of Corruption.

Hope you guys enjoy iT.

Finally...

I finally have a public profile…

This is where you can locate me

http://www.google.com/profiles/saahir.pashana

Worth A Read

Veteran Journalist Aroon Tikekar wrote an article Timidity has no room in academics in the Mumbai Mirror.

This can be read in continuation to my previous post (the post below).

http://www.mumbaimirror.com/index.aspx?page=article&sectid=2&contentid=201010032010100304471132991de375

I agree with every word written in this article. Especially the last paragraph.

Really thought provokinG.

O Judgment! Thou Art Fled To Brutish Beasts, And Men Have Lost Their Reason.

Friends, Maharashtrians, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Shivaji, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Shivaji. The noble Thackeray
Hath told you Shivaji was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Shivaji answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Thackeray and the rest--
For Thackeray is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Shivaji's funeral.
He was our friend, faithful and just to us:
But Thackeray says he was ambitious;
And Thackeray is an honourable man.

He (Shivaji) hath brought many values home to Maharashtra

Whose virtues did the general culture fill:

Did this in Shivaji seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Shivaji hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Thackeray says he was ambitious;

And Thackeray is an honourable man.

You all did see a long time ago

They (thrice) presented him a godly throne,

Which he did (thrice) refuse: was this ambition?

Yet Thackeray says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Thackeray spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

http://origin-indiatoday.intoday.in/site/video_page.jsp?vid=112899&secid=42&page=2&display=null

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Shivaji,
And I must pause till it come back to mE

Worth A Watch

I watched this show last night (22nd July, 2010) and managed to get the video today. It is damn interesting…

The Language Wars

I will not comment much on this show. I would leave this as an open discussion forum for the readers.

Fracture

"You look closely enough; you'll find that everything has a weak spot where it can break, sooner or later.”

The story is of a wealthy aeronautical engineer Theodore "Ted" Crawford (Anthony Hopkins). The movie starts with Ted discovering that his wife Jennifer is having an affair with Robert Nunally (Billy Burke) who is a police detective. That very night, Ted shoots Jennifer seriously wounding her. The servants and others suspect that someone has broken into the house and has taken the couple hostage. They call the police. Nunally arrive at the scene alien to the fact that this is Jennifer’s home. Suspecting a hostage situation, he attempts to negotiate with the “hostage-taker” who tells Nunaly this is his house and confesses that that he has shot his wife.

The case falls on the shoulders of William Beachum (Ryan Gosling) – a well known lawyer and deputy district attorney. Assuming that this is a simple case, he takes this case up and goes to trial. Meanwhile, he also plans a shift from criminal law to corporate law. Hence winning this case is crucial for him.

Ted decides to defend himself in this case. Going against the advice of the judge and even the prosecution lawyer, Ted decides to be his own attorney. The case which earlier seemed be an open-and-shut case, now becomes a challenge for Beachum as Ted retracts from his statement at the beginning of the trial. Beachum confronts Ted in jail. Ted tells Beachum that “everything has a weak spot” and that he knows where Beachum’s weakness lies – he loves to win.

While in court, Ted reveals that Nunally was having an affair with Jennifer. The prosecution discovers that Jennifer (who is now in coma) was not shot from Ted’s gun. In fact, Ted’s gun had never fired a bullet.

The prosecution is now left with the responsibility of proving that Theodore Crawford had actually shot his wife even though they know it.

Every character, every shot, every word stated in the movie was true to the story.

The story breaks the conventional ways of portraying the positive and negative characters in the movie. There are a lot of traits we would normally attribute to a negative character; traits such as wife stealing, indecisiveness, falsifying evidence, etc. But these are traits that have been found associated with the lead characters. On the other hand, the Ted appears to be a very calm, composed, sure, tactful, organised and a disciplined person.

The camera and the music complement each other. The lights used to portray the character are meticulously planned. They have added immense depth to the qualities of the character and the substance of the ongoing scene.

Director Gregory Hoblit has done a commendable job. This movie deserves a 4.5/5. AmazinG.

I Am Insulted... Am I?

We, the people of India, are known for our sense of humour… our ever-racist jokes on castes and communities… we don’t even care to spare anyone. But, what about when it comes to us as a country? We laugh best at ourselves. And when a non-Indian does so? How do we react?

Please go through the appended article before thinking any further. It was published in the TIME magazine by Joel Stein

My Own Private India

I am very much in favor of immigration everywhere in the U.S. except Edison, N.J. The mostly white suburban town I left when I graduated from high school in 1989 — the town that was called Menlo Park when Thomas Alva Edison set up shop there and was later renamed in his honor — has become home to one of the biggest Indian communities in the U.S., as familiar to people in India as how to instruct stupid Americans to reboot their Internet routers.

My town is totally unfamiliar to me. The Pizza Hut where my busboy friends stole pies for our drunken parties is now an Indian sweets shop with a completely inappropriate roof. The A&P I shoplifted from is now an Indian grocery. The multiplex where we snuck into R-rated movies now shows only Bollywood films and serves samosas. The Italian restaurant that my friends stole cash from as waiters is now Moghul, one of the most famous Indian restaurants in the country. There is an entire generation of white children in Edison who have nowhere to learn crime.

I never knew how a bunch of people half a world away chose a random town in New Jersey to populate. Were they from some Indian state that got made fun of by all the other Indian states and didn't want to give up that feeling? Are the malls in India that bad? Did we accidentally keep numbering our parkway exits all the way to Mumbai?

I called James W. Hughes, policy-school dean at Rutgers University, who explained that Lyndon Johnson's 1965 immigration law raised immigration caps for non-European countries. LBJ apparently had some weird relationship with Asians in which he liked both inviting them over and going over to Asia to kill them.

After the law passed, when I was a kid, a few engineers and doctors from Gujarat moved to Edison because of its proximity to AT&T, good schools and reasonably priced, if slightly deteriorating, post–WW II housing. For a while, we assumed all Indians were geniuses. Then, in the 1980s, the doctors and engineers brought over their merchant cousins, and we were no longer so sure about the genius thing. In the 1990s, the not-as-brilliant merchants brought their even-less-bright cousins, and we started to understand why India is so damn poor.

Eventually, there were enough Indians in Edison to change the culture. At which point my townsfolk started calling the new Edisonians "dot heads." One kid I knew in high school drove down an Indian-dense street yelling for its residents to "go home to India." In retrospect, I question just how good our schools were if "dot heads" was the best racist insult we could come up with for a group of people whose gods have multiple arms and an elephant nose.

Unlike some of my friends in the 1980s, I liked a lot of things about the way my town changed: far better restaurants, friends dorky enough to play Dungeons & Dragons with me, restaurant owners who didn't card us because all white people look old. But sometime after I left, the town became a maze of charmless Indian strip malls and housing developments. Whenever I go back, I feel what people in Arizona talk about: a sense of loss and anomie and disbelief that anyone can eat food that spicy.

To figure out why it bothered me so much, I talked to a friend of mine from high school, Jun Choi, who just finished a term as mayor of Edison. Choi said that part of what I don't like about the new Edison is the reduction of wealth, which probably would have been worse without the arrival of so many Indians, many of whom, fittingly for a town called Edison, are inventors and engineers. And no place is immune to change. In the 11 years I lived in Manhattan's Chelsea district, that area transformed from a place with gangs and hookers to a place with gays and transvestite hookers to a place with artists and no hookers to a place with rich families and, I'm guessing, mistresses who live a lot like hookers. As Choi pointed out, I was a participant in at least one of those changes. We left it at that.

Unlike previous waves of immigrants, who couldn't fly home or Skype with relatives, Edison's first Indian generation didn't quickly assimilate (and give their kids Western names). But if you look at the current Facebook photos of students at my old high school, J.P. Stevens, which would be very creepy of you, you'll see that, while the population seems at least half Indian, a lot of them look like the Italian Guidos I grew up with in the 1980s: gold chains, gelled hair, unbuttoned shirts. In fact, they are called Guindians. Their assimilation is so wonderfully American that if the Statue of Liberty could shed a tear, she would. Because of the amount of cologne they wear.

This article caused uproar amongst Indians. The Indian media seemed to be after Stein’s life. But some other Indians found it funny and laughed at this saying that the writer has aptly used his creative license and felt that the media was blowing this out of proportion.

TIME magazine responded: We sincerely regret that any of our readers were upset by Joel Stein’s recent humor column “My Own Private India.” It was in no way intended to cause offense.

Joel Stein added: I truly feel stomach-sick that I hurt so many people. I was trying to explain how, as someone who believes that immigration has enriched American life and my hometown in particular, I was shocked that I could feel a tiny bit uncomfortable with my changing town when I went to visit it. If we could understand that reaction, we’d be better equipped to debate people on the other side of the immigration issue.

But as for me, I find myself sitting on the fence when I question myself about this article. Even I laughed. Even I was troubled when he referred to us Indians as “dot-heads”. But I’ve still not made up my mind and I leave this to you to decide and express your thoughtS.

HURRAY! We Are Killing Your Pawn! And Did It In Just 18 Months!

Before you go ahead reading this post, let me make it clear that I am against capital punishment.

It’s been a few days since Qasab got the death sentence. And Bombay was loud and clear with its joyfulness. The central and state governments are still patting each other’s backs with one hand, and their own with the other hand.

But is this too little done too late?

Well, many may say that justice did reach and many celebrated this verdict. I remember the newspapers flashing pictures of a tea vendor at VT station who celebrated by distributing free tea. Some people rejoiced that finally the person who killed their friends and relatives was brought to justice.

But can this really be called justice?

Take some time to think.

Qasab was a 19 year old boy from a poor and possibly from a religious family.

Even though he knew the consequences, he acted… but was this by his own free will?

Moreover, by killing him, we are fulfilling his motive, the real reason that he came here for – killing people and dying! And then become a young martyr.

I wonder what will be done about the kingpins… the master minds. Their procurement is wedged amidst our efforts to maintain an international image of being diplomatic and polite.

Qasab is a mere pawn. It doesn’t make sense in rejoicing over the death sentence awarded to him. It is inappropriate to portray him as a sole villain in our movies. It is inapt to feel that we are winning a battle by merely killing the pawN.

The Quiet American

The Quiet American is a movie that can boast of its simplicity. It is based upon a novel of the same name by Graham Greene. 

Set against the backdrop of the French-Indochina War, the movie starts with the assassination of a young American, Alden Pyle (Brenden Fraser) who was in Vietnam on a medical mission. The narrator, Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine) is a British journalist in his fifties and is posted in Saigon and has a young and attractive mistress, Phoung (Do Thi Hai Yen) who knows that Fowler can never marry her and take her as his wife.

Fowler becomes close friends with Pyle and introduces him to Phoung. Pyle soon begins to like Phoung. All this happens as Fowler is called back to London by his editors. But he buys out time to cover an important development that takes place in northern Vietnam as there has been a massacre there. They don’t know who is to blame. The French deny their involvement in this, but Fowler and Pyle (who has also reached there) feel that the communists can’t do this as this is against their interest. Meanwhile, a new force is emerging under the leadership of a Vietnamese Colonel called Thé who has broken off from the French allegiance and is fighting against the communists and also resisting the French. He has made himself a General in this new army.

General Thé is financed by a businessman and “patriot” Mr. Muoi. Fowler smells a rat as can’t understand how a businessman who owns a bicycle factory can afford to finance the requirements of such a large faction.

As Fowler is away, Pyle tries to steal away Phoung. But she snubs his proposal. Even through all of this, Pyle and Fowler keep their friendship steady.

The movie revolves around the love triangle between these three characters as Pyle confesses his love for Phoung. But in its depth, the movie is actually about the political mayhem in the nation due to the pro and anti-communist sentiments among the people, the involvement of the French forces and the interference of the United States of America.

The movie takes a twist towards the end as the greed of the American government is exposed.

Even though the movie was made in 2002, the director, Phillip Noyce, has taken efforts to give the film the look of the fifties. One might actually feel that one is watching a movie of that era, even though the sound quality is very modern. Care has been taken to keep the feel of Saigon in the movie by using a lot of natural lighting and natural sounds.

Michael Caine’s brilliant dialogue delivery, clear accent and splendid acting surely deserved the Oscar nomination that he got for this movie.

According to me, this movie does deserve a 4.5/5. AmazinG!

Crimson Tide

This is one movie I always recommend!

This movie was made in 1995 by Tony Scott, who has also created milestones like Déjà Vu and Enemy of the State. The film is all about the tension onboard a US nuclear submarine (USS Alabama) as the two senior most officers of the submarine - Commanding Officer Captain Frank Ramsey (played by Gene Hackman) and his Executive Officer Lt Commander Ron Hunter (Denzel Washington), find themselves at loggerheads with each other.

The film makes reference to a phase of instability in Russia as Radchenko – a rebel and an ultranationalist – has managed to gain control over a nuclear missile base. The USS Alabama is commissioned to patrol the seas near the troubled area. Being the Commanding Officer, Captain Ramsey has the authority to launch the nuclear missiles in a pre-emptive strike if Radchenko were to fuel these nuclear weapons.

Since the beginning of the movie, Capt Ramsey is portrayed as a strict, pompous, impulsive and instinctive officer who “doesn’t trust the air he can’t see.” He is one of the few senior officers left in the Navy with some combat experience. Lt Cmdr Hunter, on the other hand, is calm, analytical and cautious. The closest he has been to combat was a policy seminar. The clash in personalities becomes evident since their first meeting.

The submarine is awaiting orders to launch the attack from the President of the US while on patrol. Suddenly, as they were receiving the orders, they come under attack from an Akula that is friendly to Radchenko. They survive this attack, but the communication systems are severely damaged. As a result, only a part of the communiqué is received. This creates confusion on board the USS Alabama. The Captain (out of his impulsiveness) wants to treat this as an order to launch the attack. Whereas, the XO wants to wait till the systems are repaired and till the communication is restored; and thus do his best to prevent a Nuclear Holocaust. But the Captain feels that this is a waste of crucial time lest Radchencko were to fuel his missiles.

This clash between the senior most officers on board the submarine results into a mutiny on board the submarine. It almost takes the face of an armed rebellion amidst the frequent changes in the circumstances.

The story is well written. Dialogues have a lot of depth. There is no dialogue that seems out of place. The movie takes a slight racist turn, but one can justify it. One can notice the care taken to even modulate the voices of the actors. I guess that the motive behind using a submarine and not a ship was to depict the immense pressure that the two officers were under; just like the immense water pressure on the submarine’s hull.

Gene Hackman and Denzel Washington are impressive in the skins of their respective characters. The tone of the colours used just adds to the tense situation under the surface of the sea; without taking away from the portrayal of these strong characters and the professionalism that is expected from these men in uniform. One can literally smell the damp and stuffy air in the submarine. The background music is par-excellence and can give anyone goosebumps.

Tony Scott just failed at one place - he failed to show the discomfort and the heat experienced by submariners once inside. Although he has managed to show the tension that arises when situations are far from being hunky-dory.

I would 4.5/5 for this movie. Just SuperB.

Crystal

It is difficult to locate Crystal on the Marine Drive promenade. It lies opposite Girgaon Chowpatty a block away from the Marine Drive Police Station and a few shops away from Sukh Sagar. Its old, small and rough façade can be missed easily. But ask the people who frequently roam the area and they will precisely guide you to this restaurant.

The best time to visit this place is after sunset. The ambience is old and hardly romantic. The restaurant has an untidy interior which unusually adds to its beauty. A few yellow bulbs are the only ones to provide light after sunset. The paints from the walls have started falling off. Agreed, that the lighting and the ambience is dull, but there is something in the restaurant itself that will compel you to visit it another time; and that is the old and historic feel attached to it.

An old uncle (who seems to have known father time since the latter's childhood) sits on the counter always wears his smile along with his spotless white kurta. The waiter who served us was courteous and there wasn't anything fake in that warm smile of his. The aroma of Indian dishes just fills the air. The dull lights and the rugged walls keep the ambience subtle. The quiet feel is worth every minute spent there... One wouldn't even notice the busy Marine Drive road once he is in! The mezzanine is a wood structure that blends beautifully with the tone of the small joint. The wooden furniture, the old Hindi music and steel plates give a home-like feel.

The food is definitely good. The prices are also low. Having the kheer or fruit cream just makes you ask for another one. It obiviously cannot compete some other high-end restraints in the vicinity, but it is a relief for those who stay in the area and want to have some inexpensive but delicious food. It is an apt place for those who would want to treat themselves or others for some small joys or occasions.

This place is worth a visit. It in itself is so welcoming that no one would feel that this place lacks class. In fact it doesn’t lack class. Try it out once and you’ll know why I say sO.