Coming Soon

Okay. Exactly after 40 minutes of not knowing where to begin from, I’ve begun.

After the 20-20 frenzy, the fifty over version seemed like a Karan Johar film.
Boring, & unending, both.

And I am talking about an Indo-Pak encounter in Pakistan, not a second division league match played in Warwickshire.

Chasing 300 to win, India achieved the target in 42-odd overs. Sehwag seemed bored, even as he went past his own 100. Maybe his boredom had to do something with his receding hairline. Or dwindling endorsement deals. Or both. Commentators seemed bored as they didn’t have ‘That’s a Citi Moment of Success’ to scream. Spectators seemed bored as the home side was putting up one of the most uninspiring of fights. And viewers like me were deprived of biting our nails, and were equally deprived of ‘Cheerleaders’.

The very thought of cheerleaders made me feel better. I began to wonder what would happen if Pakistan was to allow ‘Cheerleaders’. It seemed like a brilliant idea to me. Imagine women, clad in burqas, dancing to qawwali tunes with the only exposed parts of their bodies being their eyes. It might have made a pretty sight I thought. And some smart marketing savvy brain could also run a contest asking ‘How many cheerleaders have green eyes?’ SMS your answer to 786 and you could win a date with her*.

* Conditions apply. Date for two sponsored by us. If her Miya and a dozen chilcdren come along, you'll have to bear the expenses.

In between a mélange of such thoughts, I also managed to watch some cricket.

But like I mentioned earlier, when Afridi smiles back at Sehwag after being smacked for a six, you prefer watching Star Plus for your dose of melodrama instead of cricket.

I began to ponder what would a cricket match be like, with players from bollywood and commentators from cricketwillow. And thus BPL was born in my mind. Bollywood Premier League.

BPL Rules & Regulations:

1) Every team can have a maximum of fourteen players and one coach.

2) It will be a 20-20 format, and in certain cases even a 10-10 or 5-5 will be considered.

3) All players will be from the Indian Film Fraternity. There will be no Icon Players, but there will be Superstar Skippers.

4) The coach has to be compulsorily a film Director with at-least two released films in his kitty.

5) The playing eleven must have two veterans (60+), four players of the fairer sex (and under 25), atleast one music director and one compulsory hollywood player. The rest can be extras, spot boys, cameramen, actors or other technicians but the captain, has to be a Superstar Actor.

6) Only Production Houses can be Team Owners and the BPL Association will take no responsibility if the Production House fails to honour payments to players as committed. The players, however, have the right to recover dues in case of any disputes arising over payments.

7) The spirit of the game must be maintained and no ego clashes on the field will be tolerated.

8) Official appeals, disputes and complaints will be heard by a special jury comprising elite members from Bollywood and select underworld dons.

9) Cheerleaders will have to dance, even if matches are cancelled. Those dressed appropriately will have to take a pay-cut or abstain from participating.

10) Awards will be given away by convicts and the cops have to provide the highest possible security, escort from jail to stadium and back by a stretch limousine and 5-star accommodation and chartered flights, in case of outstation matches.

11) Tickets can be sold in black and there will be separate counters for the same after match begins.

12) The Team Anthem has to be an Item Number.

13) Teams can design their uniforms in their respective colours and can also employ the services of a costume designer. Dhotis and low-neck cholis not allowed. Transparent white clothing will be compulsory during rain-affected matches and there will be no interruption in play.

14) There will be one drinks break after the completion of ten overs or fall of five wickets, whichever happens earlier and alcoholic beverages (not exceeding three drinks per player) will be served. Players can also smoke during the drinks break and one hairdresser / make up person per team will be allowed on the field.

15) The Team Coach will have to double up as the team physio incase of injuries if any.

16) There will be no toss at the start of the match. Every team captain will have to run from the pavilion to the pitch with a bat in hand and break the coconut kept there. After this ‘mahurat’ formality, whoever breaks first decides to bat or bowl.

17) There will be no match referee. Swear words like ‘haraami’, ‘haraam ke pille’, ‘haramzaade’, ‘kutte kameene’, ‘suwar ki aulaad’, ‘chinaal’, ‘bhadwa’, ‘madarjaat’, ‘teri maa ki aankh’, ‘raand’, ‘gadhe’, ‘bandar’ etc can be tactically used for sledging.

18) In case of a tie, the box office earnings of the captains’ last release will be considered and the higher grosser will be the winner.

19) Players can stay away from practice sessions and a maximum of three matches on occasions where:
- They have prior commitments
- They have court hearing / pending cases to be resolved
- They have a headache
- They are receiving threat calls
- They have broken up with their boyfriend / girlfriend

20) No players can write syndicated columns in newspapers / magazines until the BPL is over. However, they can blog on the internet.

Teams will be announced sometime in the second week of July after players are signed. Elaborate Team logos and the grand trophy will be unveiled.
Till then, keep your comments flowing. Suggestions / improvements are welcome.

So get ready for lights, camera, action!

Bollywood Premier League. Coming this July to sweep you off your feet.

The Daredevil Darubaaz

Here's something I must share with all of you. And its real life drama.

After one of those lousy days at work, I was keen on ending the evening on a high. (Not the alcohol wala high, but generally on a high note!) Well that was my wish, and I didn't want it to remain just a wish. Naturally, it meant that I had to do something more interesting than working on a leaflet brief for 'Concrete Volute Pumps'.
With just a handful of bored colleagues left in the office, I had to decide fast on what to do. And that's because I was terrible at planning and executing anything alone. I always preferred somebody wiser than me to be around so that atleast he can take half the blame, should something go awfully off track. What to do, was obviously undecided.
I logged off from the internet, which made me feel much better, and switched off the computer with the thumb of my left foot, something I always did. Next, I dialed a three digit number on the intercom. The other end kept ringing for a while, and it was audible even without the receiver to my ear. And thats because the call was made to a cubicle barely 10 feet away.
Sreekant, my very good friend and a Group Account Manager then, wasn't picking up the call. Frustrated, I put the phone down and walked towards his cubicle to check if he had already left for the day. He hadn't. In fact, he was completely engrossed in a game of Pac-Man and was on 97,000 odd at Level 9 with a couple of lives left.
'Mar gaya bhen***d' exclaimed Sreekant as he looked switched glances between the computer screen and me.
'Kya karneka hain?' I posed my trademark question?
'Chal, but just two two pegs haan babu' replied Sreekant.

Cut to 'Kadambari', the legendary Bar across our agency which deserves a post dedicated to itself. We liked to call it 'Kadam Bar' because of the demographics of the people who inhabited it.

We entered and everything seemed usual.

Dimly lit. Smelly. And almost fully occupied.

We were ushered to a corner table, right next to the loo. With hardly any choice of seating left, we occupied the table and pretended to throw a fit at the waiter but the strategy back-fired. Nothing seemed to be working for me that day. And neither for Sreekant.

Casually I said 'Sreekant, aaj ka bill tu bhar de, I am short on cash'
'Fuck, good you told me, let me check if I have enough' said Sreekant.

Both of us had a couple of hundreds and a little more, enough for the two-two drinks that we had sweared upon earlier. (The best thing about Kadambari was that we could enjoy without worrying too much about the bill. On one occasion, Sreekant had paid the bill by his Visiting Card. Ya, I mean it. He gave his visiting card to the manager and asked him to collect the money from office next day. See, having a bar near your workplace has its benefits as well)

We ordered the customory Old Monk and the disinfectant called Thums Up and began our usual talk, which was bitching about everyone else in office.

Midway through our session, suddenly all waiters got active. Hyperactive, in fact.

All unaccupied tables were brought together and joined. Around twelve chairs were kept around the arrangement as if an urgent boardroom meeting was summoned.
And before we could realise what was happening, the men walked in. Clad in white pants and shirts, sporting oversized red tikkas on their foreheads, with Kolhapuri chappals adorning their non-pedicured feet, the men huddled before taking respective positions around the table.
Amongst them was a Shakha Pramukh, whom everyone listened to. Someone started singing, and the rest cheered and joined him. This kept going on till a point where their minds got stuck in remembering a particular song.

'Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, thats the song' I whispered to Sreekant.
Sreekant, who was also enjoying their extempore performances nodded in affirmation.
But the fuck up was, the Shakha Pramukh too looked in our direction in a flash.

What happened thereafter was hilarious.

Cut to both me and Sreekant being forcibly seated with them, not the brawny kind of force, but the verbal type. We gave in to their insistence and joined them.
We introduced ourselves to them like the way we do before a client presentation.
After a dozen handshakes, we nervously sat down.
I was already worrying what would happen if they left without paying the bill. We hardly had any money to pay for ourselves, forget paying for twelve animals who were feasting on the most expensive looking items on the menu.
I knew that Sreekant would not want to pay by his Visiting Card again, a fact that even he knew.
The discomfort started growing with every passing second and after mustering some courage Sreekant said 'Chalo chalte hain Sir' to the Shakha Pramukh.
'Bill hum log bharenge, aap chinta mat karo, aap sirf gaana gao Sir' came the reply.
Sreekant, and I hate him for this, quickly looked in my direction and said 'Yeh bahut acchha gaata hain'
Twenty four eyeballs rested on me, waiting for me to start singing as if I was there for an Indian Idol audition.
'Arre aap log itna accha gaa rahe ho, aap log heen gao' I managed to reply.
'Naheen, hey naheen chaalnaar' warned the Shakha Pramukh in chaste Marathi and smiled.
Not knowing what to do, I hesitated for a while. But before I could know much I was already singing 'Tadap Tadap ke', a song that ironically summed up our position too.
Song after song after song, I grew in confidence and started feeling like a 'Satara Road Idol' already.
The drinks were on them and so were the snacks. The decibel levels were crazy and I knew someone would intervene. And thats what precisely happened.
Singing stopped and my throat was relieved. What I wanted now was Strepsils.
And what the Bar Owner wanted was to see all of us thrown out.
A visibly drunk Sreekant looked at me and smiled. He always does that when he is drunk.
I reciprocated.
The only human looking fellow from that gang asked us to leave immediately and warned us that a brawl is in the offing.
Petrified, we got up to leave after exchanging Visiting Cards with the Shakha Pramukh.
Ignoring the rest, we stepped out.

Special Sound Effects took over. Bottles were being liberally thrown around. Glasses were hurled like missiles. And we were trying our best to beat the traffic andget on to the safer side of the road, away from these daredevil daarubaazs.

The 'Gentleman' from the gang chased us, but it was only to check if we were okay.
We calmed down.

The 'Gentleman' said 'Yeh to hameshaa hota hain. I am used to it, By the way I am the Editor of Baghban, the Amitabh Bachchan starrer'. He, from no angle looked like an Editor. I grew suspicious if we're up to something else now. Not knowing how to react I muttered 'Oh, glad to meet someone from the film industry'. Sreekant too nodded and smiled.

After relieving our bladders behind the row of parked trucks, we hit the parking lot of our office.

Cut to Sreekant dropping me on his Royal Enfield.

'Kya scary tha na' exclaimed Sreekant.
I replied 'Of course, but the good thing is all this was free entertainment for us. Dekh apna ek rupaiya kharch nahin hua'

'You bet' said Sreekant in his unique style.

And yet another eposide was added to our list of misadventures. And the best thing being, I could pass on 50% of the blame on Sreekant.

Cut to office the next day. The search on Google confirmed that the 'Gentleman' was indeed the Editor of Baghban. We decided to avoid Kadam Bar for a few weeks now.

It was Seven forty in the evening.

My telephone rang. I know it was someone on the intercom.
I picked up, paused and said 'Okay, but strictly just two-two pegs'

Khao khujao, batti bujhao.

Well, speaking of Bars, there are fundamentally two distinct types.

The first being the 'quarter system' one, which caters to all and sundry, letting any alcohol-seeking social animal derive a substantial high even on budgets that are lesser than a shoestring. In my opinion, about 80% of the Bars fall in this category. In fact, if you go by the BCG Matrix which is based on the theory of product life cycle, you may call it the cash-cow model too. Basically, its a business model that makes you tons of money; day after day. (or rather, evening after evening!)

Steady business. Steady revenue. Steady profit. Unsteady customers.

These Bars are called 'Bar & restaurant', clearly indicating that it is meant for people who mean pure, unadulterated drinking. Come. Drink. Eat (not recommended). Pay. Go.

The other category is the 'Restaurant & Bar' . More importance is accorded to the dining aspect than the wining one. The alcohol served here is on a 'per drink' basis and the rates are quite steep. Usually 'Family' is prefixed to create a perfect descriptor for such places. Hence, the name goes like : 'So & So, Family Restaurant & Bar'.

This kind of a place is ideally suited for:

1) Couples (in courtship)
2) Married Couples (DINKS - Double Income, No Kids)
3) Corporate Parties (Usually thrown by the office management as a prelude to the 'No Increment, no Promotion' announcement)
4) Individual Parties (Usually & unwillingly thrown by anyone celebrating his Birthday, Bachelorhood, Promotion, Job Change etc.)
5) Affluent families with indisciplined, troublesome kids. (And lots of them)

It is here where you usually find a peculiar personality. For the sake of simplicity, lets call him the Bindaas Bewda. He's the guy who frequents the 'Quarter system' bar but on certain occasions, gets lucky with an opportunity to enjoy the luxury of visiting a jhakaas place like this. And he does make the most of such visits.

You'll find the Bindaas Bewda in his true elements in this second category of Bars only. The names of such bars vary from being fancy to being ethnic to being contemporary to being anything unusual. Basically, thoda hat ke.

Bamboo House Family Restaurant & Bar, Nisarg Family Restaurant & Bar, Polka Dots Family Restaurant & Bar..........

These Bars offer two types of seating. Open-air lawn, and air-conditioned (which is non-smoking mostly).

Generally, the open-air setting also has a lawn-like area where kids run up and down like maniacs. A slide, see-saws, merry-go-round and a swing placed at the most unstrategic of places provides them with enough encouragement, opportunity and motivation to bring out the devil in them. Ear plugs please.

You can see courting couples occupying corner tables, sitting side-by-side, which is quite a strange sight in itself, attempting to get adventerous and amorous. You may find a half-empty beer mug (half empty, so that he can delay placing a repeat order and get more time on his hands to, well, do other things with them) You may also spot an exotic looking near-empty glass of Blue Curacao or Long Island Iced Tea (near empty, because the girl wants another round of drinks before she can get into the mood for some romanch)

Married couples dont have any seating preference and are comfortable with whatever place is offered. The Husband and Wife, seated across, exchange a lot of glances and smiles, not with one another, but with strangers occupying other tables. In this case, its just the husband knocking off his whisky with soda while the wife is sippling on lukewarm or cold 'cream of tomato soup' with extra bread crumbs.

Now, in a seemingly perfect and civil setting, the Bindaas Bewda walks-in.

Gregarious and showy, the Bindaas Bewda leads a large group. So, he's either with his office colleagues for the so-called corporate party, or with friends for that birthday bash. With a spring in his step, he ushers in his group towards the reserved large table in the open-air section. Most of them can be seen subjecting their lungs to third-degree treatment with an act that is colloquially referred to as smoking.

Now, taking credit for having booked the table in advance, the Bindaas Bewda tries to earn brownies by being over-hospitable to bosses and neglecting his own colleagues and juniors. Once all of them are seated, he usually shares a lousy SMS joke expecting everyone to burst into laughter, which most of them do.

Loud and talkative, he doesn't care two hoots for the concept called decorum.

Naturally, he is a major source of embarassment for everyone around. The others in his group begin to speculate the nuisance that is about to follow. And it does follow much earlier than expected.

When its time to order, he does the honours with authority.

A 'McDowell Whisky' drinker otherwise, he'll settle for nothing less than a 'Chivas large' here to begin with.

After all, someone else will be paying for it you see.

Someone who digs into bowls of free, smelly peanuts in 'quarter bars', the Bindaas Bewda will insist on trying out a 'Pomfret Tikka' or 'Tiger Prawns with mushroom sauce' or 'Crab Butter Pepper Garlic' here. Not because he's a seafood connoisseur, but because its the most expensive looking item on the menu.

And what the heck, someone else will be paying for it you see.

As the waiter would bring his drink, he'd ignore whatever little table manners are left of him and straightaway shoot. One drink after another, he'd knock off half a dozen in a jiffy, pick up a fight, hurl abuses and make a mockery of things before he's done. The embarassed and fairly drunk group would swear not to invite him ever again, would settle the bill and get away as quickly as they can, ruining their plans of a great evening together.

The Bindaas Bewda, after eight odd pegs, would be walking on four legs.

But by then, someone else would have already paid for it, you see.

High spirits

Well, my first post is here, there, everywhere.

I have always found bars to be the more interesting places, among others, where one can get robaroo with the realities of the world. And its hazaar species.

Type 1 : The lukha loner

Loners to Bars are, what Bars are to Loners. Dost log.

I've seen loners, who come in everyday, at a fixed time, sit for a fixed duration, consume a fixed quantity of a fixed brand, order the same fixed chakna (starter), pay a fixed bill and leave a fixed tip. Needless to say, these blokes have a fixed waiter too, who basically ensures that the goddamn table is reserved for the fixed visitor in the first place.

The place
The names of such bars are un-bar like. Durga Prasad Restaurant & Bar (popularly known as DP), Vijayalakshmi Restaurant & Bar, Shabri Restaurant & Bar, Jai Bhawani Restaurant & Bar and so on.

The setting (Preferred choice of seating)
The loner (mostly, also an introvert) prefers to sit at the most unusual of tables, particularly the ones occupying the dimly lit remote corners of the restaurant with a soiled curtain proffering a perfect backdrop for a Raghu Rai masterpiece. Don't be scared to spot a lizard or two on one of those peeling walls which are also adorned by scenery posters, warped at the edges. The tablecloth, mysteriously, is perpetually missing from these tables. And on rare occasions where you find the chequered cloth in place, it is even more mysteriously placed diagonally over the table, for reasons best known to the owner. Needless to say, the cloth is soiled, punctuated by holes of near equal size and diameter. Design courtesy: Cigarettes being carelessly stubbed into the cloth directly. Reason: Well, either the ashtray was missing, or the loner couldnt get his aim right, or he just took revenge for poor service meted out to him on his previous visit. Loner Bhai however, never feels lonely. There's a dirty, rickety table fan for company, the kind seen in RGV films. Hawa aan de bhidu!

What he orders
These being quarter system bars, the loner orders a quarter (a nip, equivalent to three large pegs of 60 ml each). He, being a regular, doesnt need to go through the usual routine of asking for the menu, and pretending to read it too. (The bindaas bevda does that! We'll come to that later). The loner never places an order. When he comes, everything else falls into place. The fixed waiter comes, the fan is switched on, water gets poured from a stainless steel jar into a tall glass (as a norm, all these are glasses with the haywards branding in single colour red.)
Next, the waiter brings him the madera and places it on the table. In all probability, it has to be McDowell No.1 whisky or Bagpiper Whisky. On certain occasions, it is also Imperial Blue, if the loner happens to be under-30. Otherwise, these fellas are more loyal to their brands than their wives you see. After the quintessential quarter's discreet arrival, the ice box and plain water follow suit.

Getting ready
As the waiter opens the seal of the quarter, for a split second, there is a twinkle in the eye of the loner. Just for a split second though. The seal gives way easily. But there are occasions where the cap would keep rotating endlessly. Reason 1) Poor, low quality threading. Reason 2) I dont know, but I know the solution. (Hold the quarter firmly in one hand, ideally at about chest level. Next, with a consistent force and velocity, strike the palm of the other hand onto the base of the quarter bottle. Repeat opening act. It has to open.)

Action please
The loner likes to finish the quarter in three drinks of equal proportion.
'Sixty banau na Sir?' is what the waiter asks.
The Loner nods in affirmation occasionally accompanied by a 'hmnn sixty banao'.
Alcohol flows from the bottle onto the whisky glass. (Kindly do not misunderstand this with the haywards glass. That one is for water. This one, for the quarter). This glass has a broader base and is shorter. Two-three cubes of ice go in. Plain, chilled, tap water is poured.
Drink ready. Unsteady. Go.
Before the waiter turns around to attend to other customers, the Loner puts the glass to his mouth and gulps down most of the contents in one go. Glug! Glug! Glug! While doing so, his eyes are near-closed, and a constipated look on his face appears, caused primarily due to the taste of the alcohol. After he puts his glass down, he nervously glances around to ensure nobody noticed him, particularly, that look on his face.
He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. It has to be Four Square Special, Chota Gold Flake or Wills Navy Cut. Such men never carry matchboxes, or even if they do, they ask the waiter for one. And such men never call the waiter as 'Waiter'. Reason: They know the waiters by first names and surnames as well. Even if they dont know their names or surnames, they politely scream out to the waiter 'Baarkya, kaadi peti de. Lavkar.' Politely scream, yes.
The same pouring> ice cubes> water> act repeats itself until the loner is done.
The bill is paid, the tip is given and the loner vanishes into oblivion, only to return the next day.

More adulterated, spurious content will pour in. watch and wait. and dont drink and drive :-)