17 COVER STORY
Pre-Bhogali Mela: What an idea Sirji Pramathesh Borkotoky explores the modern take on traditional haats through his observations on the Bhogali Mela as the festive season grips the young and the young at heart.
1 Agartala Ajatashatru shows his newly wed bride the capital city of Tripura.
7 The Rains come from behind the Curtains Uddipana Goswami, Our guest for the issue holds up a mirror to the contemporary society through her poetry.
23 The Perfect Plan If only plans were foolproof. Let Mani Padma take you on a spine-chilling drive through schemes and conspiracies in this piece of Crime Fiction.
22 Right Turn When the world turns sinister, there is still hope for changes – for a better world. So reminds fourteen year old Nishibonya Kakoti in this prose piece.
5 Poetry REGULAR PLATTER Wise Bachelor
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Miss Cellany
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Movie Desk
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Good News
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55 Fiction
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Debanjan Bhattacharya and Myra B recast their glances at our everyday political and socio-cultural realities as the nation gets ready to celebrate Republic Day.
11 Through the lens Explore the dimensions of a new visual experience wtih Pramathesh’s experiments with his newest acquisition.
18 The Uncomfortable Star Noyon Jyoti Parasara brings you an interview with Salman Khan this festive season
Executive Editor: Pramathesh Borkotoky Editor: Myra B Other Members: Mani Padma(Senior Author & Creative Supervisor) , Kavita Saharia (Strategy Supervisor), Manimugdha Sharma (Strategy Supervisor), Noyon Jyoti Parashar (Movie Desk Editor) and Anupam Bhattacharya (Graphics Designer). Published by: Pramathesh Borkotoky, Hashan Hazarika and Rakib Ahmed for Fried Eye c/o Pramathesh Borkotoky Kenduguri, Jorhat-785010 Note by the Publishers: Views expressed in the magazine are personal views expressed by the authors. Fried Eye is not liable for it.
Contact: contact@friedeye.com
Editorial Dear Readers, Its Lohri time in the capital and its neighboring areas. The bonfires lit in every nook and corner of the city is a welcoming sight in the cold chilly January night. Families and friends gather around the bonfires offering worship to the fire god and to make merry. The atmosphere reminds me of my own childhood experience of spending every Uruka in front of bhela ghors and mejis religiously repeating ―agni prajwalitang bande‖ after the elders. It was so much fun smoking sweet potatos in the embers of the meji while the women of the household busied themselves ―purifying‖ kitchen utensils by the holy fire. As I sit writing this note reminiscing about kumol saul, tekeli pitha, til pitha and narikol larus fresh from my granny‘s kitchen back home, my Gujarati neighbor‘s children squabble over who gets to fly the biggest kite this Uttarayan. Looking up at the gloomy skies I wonder if the kids will be able to celebrate Makar Sankranti the way their cousins back in Gujarat are doing. It is amazing how different parts of the country unites in celebrating the harvest season in their own traditional ways be it through Pongal in Tamil Nadu or the Kumbh Mela in Uttar Pradesh. This year the celebration of Makar Sankranti coincides with the celebration of the highly mysticalTorgya, the annual monastic festival of the majestic Galden Namgyal Lhatse (Tawang Monastery) in Arunachal Pradesh. Newspapers-global, local and national are running coverages of these festivals with full gusto enthusiastically quoting estimate number of tourists to each of these celebrations and the profits the tourism industry will be likely to be making. Several commercialized attractions like guided tours of historic sites in the respective states and haats selling indigenous wares have been put up to turn the auspicious festivals into profitable ones for both the visitor and the host. Amidst the fun fare, one event escapes the glare of the floodlights, namely, the annual Naga New Year Festival held at Nawng Yang village this year, thanks to the ban imposed on foreigners from attending it. The only people who are allowed to freely partake of the event are the ―genuine‖ Naga people from both sides of the border. That brings back a startling reminder about the communal and ethnic clashes that infest the worlds we live in doesn‘t it? The poetry featured in this issue raises this very issue that still gnaws at the heart of our nation even as we get geared to celebrate our sixty-first year of being a Republic in just a matter of another eleven days. Our Guest writer Uddipana ‗s prose poetry forces one to rethink our own identity and thereby our contribution in creating a nightmarish world. The world gets murkier in Mani‘s story in Random Take. Nishibonya‘s fiction, featured in the Children‘s Section , too deals with living in a grey world though it ends with a positive note. Besides, not everything that looks sinister is necessarily so reminds Mani in 55 Fiction. On a brighter note, journey through the mesmerising city of Agartala with Ajatashatru and explore the Bhogali Mela as Pramathesh fills your platter with delicacies of a different recipe. As a special Makar Sankranti gift, Noyon brings to you the Movie Desk‘s tete-a-tete with Bollywood star Salman Khan. While you are at it, do not forget to drop by our regular columns Wise Bachelor and Miss cellany. With warm regards, Myra B Editor (on behalf of the Fried Eye team)
Agartala -Ajatashatru ―Mujhe mootra visarjan karna hai.‖ ―Disgusting! When will you stop mouthing cheap Hindi movie dialogues?‖ asked a seemingly exasperated Neelam. ―Knock! Knock! Reality calls! You have married a cheap Hindi-dialogue aficionado, sweetheart!‖ ―Bakwaas nai karo! Go and do your mootra…God! Tumhare saath rehte rehte main bhi aisi hi ban gayi hoon!‖ ―That‘s like my gal!‖ I patted her cheek and went in search of a toilet. I didn‘t have to look for one for long. There were plenty at the fair that we had come to attend. I had never seen so many public toilets at one place before. Later, I learnt that it is a planned city that takes good care of sanitation. I was thankful to the local civic body for me not having to pee like a doggie on the wayside.
Neelam and I got married at the dawn of the New Year. Although the wedding went smooth, we couldn‘t agree over the honeymoon destination for several days. I actually had to appeal to her Punjabi spirit of enterprise to explore the ‗Paradise Unexplored‘ with me. Later, I resorted to emotional blackmailing, and within two days, we had our ―Mela to dekh liya,
air tickets done to the first stop of our honeymoon travel—Agartala. now what are you showing me next?‖ I like the curious look that Neelam
gives me whenever I take her out. ―Palace dekhna hai?‖ ―Idhar palace bhi hai?‖ ―Tripura was a princely state, sweets. In fact, it was the only Northeastern state that wasn‘t exactly a British dominion. In 1849, Maharaja Krishna Kishore Manikya made present-day Agartala his capital, as it made it
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easier to be in touch with British Bengal. Tab se lekar ke aaj tak, this city has been the capital, even when Tripura finally became a part of the Indian Union in 1949, and became a state in 1972.‖ ―Ab history chaddo ji, take me to this palace.‖ Off we went to Ujjayanta Palace, which houses the state Legislative Assembly. It was completed in 1901 and was designed by celebrated British architect, Sir Alexander Martin. The earlier royal palace of the Kingdom of Tripura was located 10 km away from Agartala, but a devastating earthquake in 1897 destroyed it and was later rebuilt as Ujjayanta Palace in the heart of the city. Neelam was delighted to see the Mughal garden–style ground adorned with fountains and such exquisite rooms like the Durbar Hall, Throne room, China room and so on. We also went to see the adjacent temples, Lakshmi-Narayan, Uma-Maheshwari, Kali and Jagannath. ―Tum Mughal Mughal karte rehte ho na, kuch unke jaisa bhi kaam Neelam had a mocking tone.
kiya
to
bahut karo,‖
―Accha? Aisa kya karna chahiye mujhe taaki main unke jaisa lagu?‖ ―Shah Jahan ne apni begum ke liye Taj Mahal banwaya, tum mere liye Ujjayanta jaisa ek palace banwa do.‖ I could see that coming. ―Soniyo, Delhi mein flat le raha hoon na twadde vaaste? Aur ek aisi jagah dikhau jo tumhe is palace se bhi accha lage toh?‖ ―Ummm…fir tumhare Delhi waale flat mein reh lungi. Ab woh kaunsi jagah hai mujhe batao.‖ ―Chalo Neermahal!‖ The ‗Water Palace‘ was built in 1930 in the midst of the Rudrasagar Lake. Its architecture is inspired by both Hindu and Muslim styles and reminds you of the lake palaces in Rajasthan. It is about 53 kilometres from the city. As expected, Neelam liked the place a lot. She even had a wild idea of taking a swim in the lake and later sunbathe at the palace. I had to remind her that we have come for sightseeing, not to shoot an episode of The Little Mermaid. She was angry. She didn‘t talk to me on our way back, which gave me some time to observe the city from the window of our cab. Agartala appeared to be a growing city: a city that got acquainted with modernisation not too long ago. The roads were decent and the city skyline was dotted with several high-rise buildings that housed malls and apartments. In the years to come, it would become a major city in the east, I thought. What struck me was the low police presence on the roads. I could only see a few traffic policemen and few check points. On the way, a pilot car crossed us with just a couple of escort vehicles. Our cab driver told us that it was the state Chief Minister‘s cavalcade! I wondered if our Chief Minister Shiela Dixit could dare to travel with such light escort: a thought that even Neelam shared.
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We stopped at the Kaman Choumohani, the main market place, and I bought her a traditional Tripuri dress. She was immediately back to her jovial self. Girls have a thing for shopping, I tell you. It just acts like therapy. They will shop when they are happy, and shop more when they are sad. Neelam herself says she is an ―irritatingly feminine‖ girl. And I have always wondered what that means. ―Walk pe chale?‖ Neelam proposed. ―Itni raat ko? Khaana khaane ke baad?‖ ―What‘s the problem? Delhi mein to mana nahin karte? 12-1 baje bhi we have met at the India Gate, haven‘t we? So stop being lazy and let‘s go.‖ It was an order that I had to obey. We took a stroll towards the city centre, towards Ujjayanta Palace. It was all lit up and looked beautiful. We spent some time there, holding hands and enjoying the tranquillity of the place. It feels good to escape from the din and bustle of a metro and spend some time in quieter climes. The next day, we went to the Raj Bhavan or Pushbanta Palace, which is another architectural marvel in Agartala. Although we could see only those parts that were open to the public, yet we could make out the beauty of the place although we could only imagine the greatness that lay We also went to the Sipahi Jala animal resort and zoo but had to return soon as it began to rain.
inside.
―Damn, the rain ruined it al!‖ Neelam cursed her luck. And later blamed it on my not taking her to the famed Buddha Temple in the city. ―God ne hume punish kiya.‖ My girl tends to be a little superstitious sometimes upbringing.
even though she has a completely metropolitan I had no intelligent answer to this, but a logical explanation. ―Agartala has a monsoon influenced humid subtropical climate with high levels of precipitation almost all throughout the year.‖ Later, when it cleared, I took her to the temple of goddess Tripura Sundari, after whom the state of Tripura has been named. We also went to the banks of the Haora River, which runs along the city stretch, and spent some
time. in a
All the while, we both were comparing it to the Yamuna, which is dangerous state, but which could have given Delhi another peaceful
getaway. Since it was our last day in Agartala, we had to make the most of it. So, we went to see Malancha Nivas, where Gurudeb Rabindranath Tagore used to stay. At the time of our visit, it was being renovated, so we couldn‘t see much of it, but I felt surrounded by greatness. I wanted to know Neelam‘s thoughts on this, but she was more interested in knowing how they were conserving the building. We also went to see the new railway station in Agartala and were quite amazed to find it akin to a palace. Everything about the city is grand and regal. If developed further, it could become an important city and a prominent destination on the world travel map, I thought. On our return flight to Guwahati, Neelam kept on asking me about other places in the Northeast and about my home state, Assam. She seemed to have enjoyed Agartala a lot, and so, was very curious about other places in the region. ―Abhi aur kahaan jana hai?‖ I asked her, pinching her nose.
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―Jahaan tum le chalo…‖ I knew there would be no further argument between us in matters of travel. I wanted to ask her if she had a specific place in mind, but by then, she had already dozed off, holding my arm. Poor girl, she has hopped so many places in the last two days with little rest that she was tired. I closed my eyes too, trying to zero in on our next stop.
Ajatashatru and Neelam Soni got married in such a rush that Fried Eye could not invite its readers to the wedding. We apologise for that and would like to invite you all to join us in congratulating the young couple for tying the knot. We are also thankful to them for sharing their travel experiences with us.
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Saffron, White and Green -
Myra B
History Written. Erased. Redefined. Witnessed. Forgotten. Recounted. She paints herself with a thousand countenances. In a myriad of colours. Colours that become more than a palette Colours that become history herself. Colours that speak of vivid moments Of realities whitened out and silenced That rise to scream in saffron …and green… Holy colours both saffron and green. They speak in their own hues about the ways of true life. Once upon a time (apparently) united in their mission of peace In the purity of a white and bright tomorrow, They soon made voluble their irreconcilable variances; In a tensed truce valley, a line of control , a no man‘s land… Saffron, white and green. Revered colours Of an identity, of an ethos, Of a journey, a struggle and a dream Of a history and her remaking… Today the mouldy moss over the ruins echo their own shade of greenness, And the editorial columns turn white with a rapid frequency As blood splattered streets continue to turn saffron in the evening sun. Here again is history Written. Erased. Redefined. Witnessed. Forgotten. Recounted. A thousand canvasses already painted. Some framed up, others discarded. Yet others vandalized… forcefully destroyed… Saffron, white and green The palette hasn‘t changed…
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Foster Child -
Debanjan Bhattacharya
Hopping across the brooks running down the Patkai Pestering Bhaiti reaping his paddy, Running aimlessly chasing the dragonflies. The mist on the tea-leaves Bhaiti‘s bamboo shoot rice, The pretty niece Well include the first kiss! My weird accent , Taunts at school They were just plain ignorant.. I was no immigrant. The cold eyes of Bhaiti,the gun slung across, Freedom,Liberation,Revolution Surely its not me they want to oust? The ouster,the heartache, The last of the quiet woods Nightmares,grinning faces,schadenfreude.. A decade of wandering The cities,the bruises,the closed half-cabin. The loner nursing his whisky And the pangs of nostalgia seep in. A need for belonging and homecoming! The only place I could call home To one day go back to a peaceful Ahom. But the taunts,the cold eyes, Foster Child You never were one of her own!
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The Rains Come From Behind the Curtain Author of the poetry collection We Called the River Red: Poetry from a Violent Homeland, Uddipana Goswami is also a researcher and media consultant. Her area of expertise, both as writer and researcher is the Northeast region of India – often called India‘s troubled periphery. She has been addressing issues like insurgency, conflicts, militarization, nationalism, migration, displacement and ethnic reconciliation in Northeast India through her writings. She has worked with some major media houses, like the India Today Group and National Geographic Channel (India), before turning to sociological research. Her academic and creative writings and occasional translations have been published in print as well as online from Australia, New Zealand, the UK, the USA, South Africa, Bangladesh and India. She is Assamese literature editor of Muse India, a literary e-journal. She blogs at www.jajabori-mon.blogspot.com. A few centuries ago, we first awoke from a deep sleep. We saw the world as a beautiful place, so giving, so loving. It was some time before a few of us took a peek behind the curtain where dreams floated. What lay beyond was a nightmare. Others among us had entered into a pact with the world and created this nightmare. When the nightmare threatened to engulf us, we also entered into a contract with the world – we agreed not to look at the world, and those in cahoots with it complied to leave us alone. Thus we had continued for centuries and thus I thought I would pass by. But he jolted me out of my complacence – the naked man in the park. They said he was mad. All he did the whole day was sit on the pavement and draw shapes and figures on the concrete. And he laughed the whole day, all by himself. I knew he was laughing at me and at all who had signed the contract. He had not. I looked at him and marveled; I looked at his drawings and shuddered. The world was there, naked. And all its people – distorted, disproportionate, unsightly. I had known it was like this all along but it had taken a madman to define it for me. I was sane. So I had always looked the other way to avoid embarrassing the world. The madman dared to look straight at it and all its naked, ugly people, to point at them and laugh. He did not turn his back. So they called him mad and connived to isolate him so others would not be influenced by him.
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But the madman did not care. He only sat and drew. He knew he need not go in search of kindred souls – they have a way of coming together, these souls. And when they come together? Do they all sit down and draw? Would you find me tomorrow on the pavement with the madman? I don‘t think so. I don‘t have the courage yet. I am sane yet. Where then am I different from the rest of the world? Or am I at all? I like to believe I am not in the cabal. The rains are though. Last night, they came and washed it all away – the madman‘s etchings on the pavement. For days now, I had tried to sidestep them as I walked past them on my way to the institute, only to see them being trampled under desperate feet trying to keep up the façade: nobody likes to be caught in the nude. The madman only sat down to draw again. The world continued to conspire. And last night, the rains also conspired with the world. The rain joined hands with the people. The rains washed it all away. The rains came from behind the curtain. -Uddipana Goswami uddipana@gmail.com
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Good News P C says ‘good news’ soon for people of Northeast New Delhi: Union Home Minister P Chidambaram, on New Year‘s Eve, said there would be ―good news‖ for the people of the region in the days to come. The minister expressed confidence that something good would emerge from the talks with the Northeastern militant groups. Chidambaram said the government has made significant gains with regard to the ULFA militants and talks were at an ―advanced stage‖ with two or three other groups in the region. ―All but two or three leaders are in custody and we have offered talks to them if they give up the demand of sovereignty and surrender. As far as the two or three ULFA leaders, who are still not within our reach, I am confident that there will be good news in the days to come,‖ he added. Chidambaram said the Centre‘s interlocutor, PC Haldar, was in talks with militant groups in the Northeast and the discussions were ―progressing well‖. ―Haldar is in talks with the militant groups that are in the North Cachar Hills, the Karbi Anglong area, and the Bodoland council area. With some luck, we can have some settlement with these groups. I think these are good signs,‖ the home minister said. –FENS
Naga music icon wins Northeast excellence award Kohima: Guru Rewben Mashangva, often referred to as the ―father of Naga folk blues‖ has been conferred the Northeast Excellence Award in Music for 2009 for his contribution to Naga folk music. The award was given away at the inaugural session of the 5th Northeast Business Summit on 8 January at Hyatt Regency in Kolkata. The gathering included Minister for DoNER Bijoy Khrishna Handique, chief ministers of the northeastern states and foreign delegates from Southeast Asian countries. The event was organised by the Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry. –FENS
Now, mandatory voting in local Gujarat polls Gandhinagar: In a first in the electoral history of this country, the Gujarat Assembly, on December 19, passed the Gujarat Local Authorities Laws (Amendment) Bill, 2009, which seeks to make voting compulsory in elections to local self-government bodies such as municipal corporations and panchayats. Moving the Bill in the House, Gujarat Urban Development Minister Nitin Patel said the main objective of
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making voting compulsory was to involve the voter in strengthening the democratic process, and bring him to the polling booth. It empowers an election officer to be designated by the State Election Commission to declare the voter, who fails to vote in the elections, as ―defaulter voter‖. The government will prescribe by rule the disadvantages and consequences to be suffered by the ―defaulter voter‖, Patel said, adding, ―It‘s not the sole objective of the government to punish the voter who may fail to vote, but to encourage him to spare some time to exercise his right to vote in a local body election that comes once in five years.‖ Meanwhile, Himachal Pradesh is also planning to adopt the Gujarat model of the law soon. –FENS
Refugee kids bring to Delhi traditional art from Swat valley New Delhi: It has been in the news for all the wrong reasons, but now, the world is finally taking notice of the good things that Pakistan‘s Swat valley has to offer. A Lahore-based NGO, Idara Taleem o Aagahi (ITA), set up a stall at the Dilli Haat that had on sale items of daily use adorned with the traditional ‗truck art‘ of Swat valley. But what most people did not know was the fact that these items had been prepared by child refugees of the region, 170 of whom ITA had provided shelter and education to. Truck art is inspired by the colourful designs on trucks in Pakistan. The items were in such high demand that the NGO sold most of the items that it had brought for sale in the eight-day exhibition of crafts from SAARC countries that began on December 29 and ended on January 5. –FENS
National education scheme in Nagaland gets Rs 85-crore boost Kohima: The Rashtriya Madhyamik Shiksha Abiyaan (RMSA), to universalise secondary education during the 11th and 12th Five-Year Plan is to be implemented in Nagaland. A sum of Rs 85 crore has been earmarked for this. The approval came in the second project approval board meeting held on January 7 and 9. According to the Nagaland education mission society, it is an ―unprecedented experience‖ for the School Education Department of the state to have a very comprehensive and innovative Perspective Plan up to 2011-12 amounting to Rs 577.4 crore, and another Rs 40 crore for model schools and girls‘ hostels. Nagaland Chief Secretary Lalthara informed the board meeting that despite the state being a ―late starter‖, the government will take all possible steps to successfully implement the RMSA, model school scheme, girls‘ hostel scheme and even the Mahila Samakhya. A detailed project report for the said schemes is being submitted, Lalthara added. –FENS
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Through the Lens: Nikon D5000 -
Pramathesh Borkotoky
This time, I had the best new year so far. Fried Eye was started and I got the 12.1 Megapixel DSLR Nikon D5000 from my brother as a new year gift. There were other good things also, but this is not the right platform to discuss this. For the first week, I could not believe that I have a DSLR now and I did not use it. But last weekend, I spent some time with it. A very heavy camera which gave a firm grip and clicking pictures without shaking became easier. I am used to all manual SLR so at first, understanding the mechanism was difficult. The camera does not have auto focus built into the camera and has a autofocus mechanism in the lens, so the first thought came to my mind is about the different modes that were provided. I thought, ―What is the use of different modes if you don‘t control from the camera?‖ I could not understand anything just by looking at the camera. Then the Wise Bachelor told me, ―When nothing else works, read the manual.‖ So I read the manual, but it was of little help. It was very cryptic while trying to be over user friendly. So, I went for trying it myself and I am presenting you with the pictures I could manage. I have shot on different lighting conditions and varied colour contrasts. After using it for a day, I feel quite comfortable with it. The pictures were not good, but every camera says, the first 10,000 pictures are bound to be bad. I have not edited them except compressing them and putting my name in it.
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Pre-Bhogali Mela: What an idea Sirji! -
Pramathesh Borkotoky
On 10th to 13th of this month, annual Pre-Bhogali mela was organized in NEDFi Haat, Guwahati. 70 selfhelp groups of women and NGOs from different parts of Assam set up stalls for selling different delicacies by different tribes. It was a very innovative step by NEDFi. The fair was very well organized and people enjoyed it very well. Bhogali Bihu shoppers from all over Guwahati and nearby areas thronged to NEDFi haat. The fair not only had stalls selling Bihu delicacies but also a village like environment was created where different people were seen preparing the delicacies. This was very educational for the city kids as well. This was a major attraction of the fair and many people visited to the fair only because of this. As Dilip Dutta says, ―I never buy pithas from the market. This is my first time. I came here for some fun and could not resist buying.‖ Everything in the mela looked very well planned and the organizers have done a good job. ―Bihu Gift Hampers‖ were a big hit. It is a package which has loskora (coconut laddoo), pitha, gur, til laddoo, malbhuk chira and maakhorai. Apart from the Assamese dishes, Nepali and Bengali delicacies were also seen, of which Seal Pitha and Akhoi Laddoo were the most popular. As the melodious strains of Bihu songs fill the air, one can sit down and have a plate of sizzling hot tekeli pitha and a laddoo made from coconut and gur (jaggery) with a refreshing cup of tea. On an overall, the fair was a major success with sales over 20 lakh and a very good customer experience. Each year, the fair is getting better and better and we hope to see more and more innovations in the forthcoming years.
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The Uncomfortable Star -
Noyon Jyoti Parasara
As Salman Khan gears up for the release of his ambitious Veer we catch up with him for his views on topics right from stardom to state of Indian politics, apart from of course Veer! Read on Ask any celebrity and be sure he will brag miles about loving every bit of the stardom he rides on. And that he does not mind all the attention that comes along. For many of them, a line from Baazigar where Shah Rukh Khan says ‗Kuch Paane Ke Liye Kuch Khona Parta hai‘ is survival‘s most essential trait. But then exceptions are what make a rule perfect and Salman Khan has always been ‗the exception‘. A part of the formidable Khan-trio Salman has always admitted that he was never an actor. And the same attitude continues when he talks about his much talked about star status. In a short tete-a-tete with us Salman agrees he never wanted to live like a star, and neither did he want to be one. ―I just want to live a normal life. I don‘t want to live a star‘s life. I want to ride my bicycle and travel in rickshaws. I want to live the way I want to, and talk like everyone does, without being politically correct. If you guys want me to do be a star I can‘t!‖ says Salman about his assuming behaviour which has often created controversies. And he even rules out that he has been controversy‘s favourite child. ―I am not . You are making me. I am relaxed but the media is hassled. They just make stories!‖ he adds. In Salman‘s talks of being the ordinary guy there is also a childlike simplicity, and to some extent almost an idealist attitude. Stories of simple honest men appeal to him. Fairy tales appeal to him too. That‘s why probably when he picked the pen to write something the characters that inspired him were nothing but similar. The actor has earlier written Baaghi which featured Nagma and himself in the lead. He is also credited with the story of the Sridevi film Chandramukhi. And as he got down to write again the best era he could get was the 19th century when people, according to him, were good. ―I think human beings were more correct back then. The last of them would be Mr Gandhi,‖ he says. Veer Pratap Singh, the character that he plays in his forthcoming film Veer had to be set in those times. In unabashed honesty he adds that his movie is about real men and real men are not found anywhere today. On la lighter vein, of course he does admit that living in today‘s circumstances make each person nothing but a ‗veer‘. ―At times when going out to the Taj or Oberoi for a dinner can be so dangerous, everyone is a veer! Today if you go out of the house you are veer and the same applies if you stay indoors. You are a veer if you do something or if you don‘t. Times are such!‖ he quips. And this, the actor laments, is because the attitude of the average Indian is not helping in anyway. ―Indians have become very indifferent today. If we know one person is getting beaten up or had an accident you will stand and look on or pass by but never help. What‘s worse if people don‘t even react if they go through tough times themselves. We are too content thinking things could be worse!‖ says Salman. ―The day every person stands up and takes responsibility for the country we will see a change. The country is moving too,‖ he adds.
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And for all of these dreams, he admits, we need a better breed of politicians. He does agree there are great people like Rahul Gandhi, P Chidambaram, Sachin Pilot, Milind Deora, Jyotiraditya Scindia working for the better. But unlike many other stars who have used their charisma and contested to win in election Salman is more content campaigning for certain people rather than getting down into the rot himself. ―I am happy with Being Human, my own little effort. I don‘t want to get into politics. It is a very difficult country to rule with so many different parties and everybody wanting their own thing,‖ he says. ―Eventually things will work out as soon as the education system gets better and people will go and vote for the right people,‖ he foretells. Being Human is his foundation which is aimed at helping children and they have silently treated over 400 people with various diseases. The money for all of this comes from what Salman earns. Soon they will also have their own lines of T shirts so that more money flows in. ―The T-shirts will be out by March,‖ says an excited Salman, as he signals indicating we are nearing the end of our conversation. He promises we shall have more talks before each of his movies as he gets along with his other interviews as a part of the promotion of Veer. He sounds as confident of Veer as he sounded of Wanted, which was one of last year‘s highest earners. ―Aal is well. Watch Veer. It‘s turned out to be a nice film,‖ he signs us off.
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I tend to represent ordinary women -
Miss Cellany
Dear Diary, What makes some of us extra-ordinary and why? The other day my friend Urmi and I were watching a television program. I don‘t recall exactly what they were showing as I had only one ear cocked towards it. Suddenly Urmi sighed ― How minuscule and ordinary we are, aren‘t we? I mean look at them, so extraordinary. Achievers. And here we are, still struggling with our daily routine, doing nothing worthwhile. ‖ She seemed sincerely upset and to console her with some funny comment, I blurted out, ― so what is so extraordinary in being extraordinary and what‘s so ordinary in being ordinary ?‖ I honestly thought I was being funny but I found Urmi staring at me with a new found wisdom, eyes alight, smiling with gratitude. Err… what did I say now? Something stopped our conversation and turned it elsewhere. Later on at night I started ruminating about what I had so innocently uttered and how it impressed my most level headed friend. You see I don‘t easily impress people. It impressed me as well. (#PJ) Hmmm…achievers and underachievers…I sometimes wonder why everyone is so obsessed about achievements and extraordinariness. I mean, why do we have to try so hard that we get desperately obsessed with it? Not that I have anything against achievers or extraordinary people. I swear, it‘s not a case of sour grapes if you are thinking so. Nor is it a – give a damn attitude or smugness .I do admire them and look up to them for inspiration. They are the bright spots in our dull life. Believe me, I really mean it. They either worked hard or were bestowed by nature (sometimes its a combination of both) and now are basking in its glory. Fair enough! And I do feel pleased and proud when someone I care about accomplishes an extraordinary feat. But should that make me feel like a failure? Urmi is a working girl. She takes home a DECENT salary from her job. She has hobbies, I wonder how she manages to squueze in time for those, and she manages home, taking care of parents and pets. A lot of young women do the same. But should that necessarily make us feel minuscule? You give your best, you work hard, you believe in what you do. You are ordinary as defined by the world. But, sometimes He has other plans for you, so hard work and our so called extraordinary plans fail. Sometimes I feel extraordinary plans are meant to fail. (REALLY???) Nature is known for its asymmetrical symmetry (or was it symmetrical asymmetry? Ah…Whatever!) When will we accept this fact and stop being so morose about it? I fail to understand WHAT IS WRONG IN BEING ORDINARY? I believe comic cartoons reflect our society. The most popular cartoons are based on ordinary man, look at Chacha Chaudhari, Common Man, Suppandi etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Even our very own Wise Bachelor is an ordinary man. It sounds a little warped but it is our ordinariness that makes extraordinariness so special, isn‘t it? We will always want to excel, we will always set targets for ourselves. That after all is the way of bettering one‘s own life and living it the best way possible. I believe that God put us on this world to be ordinary and not extra-ordinary. This sounds a bit clichéd but, as someone said (Arghhh… I keep forgetting names), ―Nothing is cliché, when it is
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happening with you.‖ I hope I do not get sucked into the rat race to such an extent that I forget to enjoy what I have achieved so far however ―ordinary‖ it may seem to the world. Anything hard earned is an achievement an ―extra‖ to our ordinary living. And I hope I do not forget this little truth. This is what makes my bed-ridden grandmother, my government employee father, my housewife mother and my school going siblings EXTRAORDINARY. Somewhere it makes me an achiever too -every time I brew that perfect cup of coffee to keep myself up through cold nights full of work or write that perfect report for a company meeting amidst a dozen odd anxieties. I wanna stay ordinary, EVERY SINGLE DAY, SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, MAJOR HOLIDAYS INCLUDED. I wonder if Urmi felt the same when she looked at me with those grateful eyes… P.S. – That almost 90 N.D. Tiwari is super extra-ordinary.
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Right Turn ‗Untrustworthy‘ was the exact word that came to Oliver‘s mind whenever he reflected on the artificiality of human beings. Tricked by his near and dear ones , he couldn‘t easily trust life. That day, he was back serving coffee in motel Park. Suddenly his eyes fell on a portly woman of about thirty. She looked like a tourist with a camera around her neck and a bottle of sunscreen sticking out of her tote bag. She was sitting on the other side of the terrace, sipping lemonade and pretending to look at a glossy cruise-brochure. Her sunglasses masked her eyes, but somehow Oliver knew she wasn‘t looking at the brochure; because she hadn‘t turned a page for the last ten minutes. Oliver tried not to stare, but he couldn‘t help noticing the tiny scar across her left eyebrow. She looked familiar but he couldn‘t quite place her. Oliver went about his work. Suddenly it hit him in a flash. The car accident. The mysterious stranger who helped me out of my smashed car, just in time before it exploded. Oliver rushed back to her table. She was gone. He moved her saucer and found his tip, along with a card: ―I am deeply indebted to you. The night of your car accident, I was on my way to rob a jewelry store. Saving your life brought everything back in perspective. I now live an honest life, thanks to you. God bless you! Miss. X.‖ He shivered. The night of the car accident, he was heading for an interview … The card turned his life around and brought faith back into his dull life. He unfolded the tip she left realizing cruelty is not always the word to describe mankind.He said a silent prayer for her and continued working, a rejuvenated man… Nishibonya Kakoti Class-IX A Carmel School, Jorhat Age: 14 years
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The Perfect Plan -
Mani Padma
Monica stared at the computer screen for a long time. Finally she shook herself from her reverie and rose from her bed. The laptop was still plugged in the socketand the open programs continued to run like her wandering mind. So thats it. The end finally. What was she feeling? Grief? hatred? Relief ? Happiness? Numb? Numb! Yes that was the word. But why should she feel that way? After all she knew it was bound to happen. She had ,in a twisted way, wished for it to happen. Well, at least she would get a substantial amount of alimony .The thought brought out a humorless laughter from the depth of her throat. When will he be calling to hit the final nail into the coffin – their marriage? Going by the mail she had just read, it shouldn‘t be long., Sunita! She sighed. The love of Arnav‘s life. Arnav- her husband. The person whom she thought she knew. What a mess it all was ! She – Arnav- Sunita …The day she called up Sunita flashed before her eyes.The phone number was extracted with a lot of difficulty. She had introduced herself as Arnav‘s wife. There was no awkwardness. No anger. No hysterics. Only… It seemed not long ago when Arnav‘s and Monika‘s parents decided to cement their old friendship with the marriage of their children. Monica, young and naive, was still trapped in the childhood games of playing house. Arnav, however had long grown up. It was at Dalhousie where he went for his studies that Arnav met Sunita. Love bloomed. It was all so dreamlike, that phase of being outside home in an alien surrounding. Uh Huh! A correction. A beautiful alien surrounding. Their romance continued through out their studies in Kanpur and then onto Bangalore where they became ready for proceeding on to the next level, to a greater commitment . Everything between them were perfect except for a small hitch. His family did not encourage this relationship as she was from a different state, a different culture. Instead they managed to marry him off to Monika amidst lot of pressure. Of course he had said something to Monica about postponing the marriage. she vaguely remembered that but not the reason. She remembered her demure reply asking him to speak to the elders about the matter. For her, he had come across as an anxious bridegroom to be. How could she know otherwise? If only he had shown his rebellious side before marriage ! Things would have been lot different… Naive she was but Monica was not a fool. She sensed something different in Arnav after marriage. Something sinister, something just not right, something cold, something dead! And then she started finding evidences of Arnav‘s debauchery- in his phone, shirts, laptop… Debauchery not because of Sunita but because the rebel in him did not want to conform with his marital duties, his parents and the societal expectations. Money- he had aplenty and women swarmed around him like bees to flowers. She was shocked! She wanted to know why- but Arnav had clamped up. He simply refused to discuss matters with her. She raved, ranted, threatened, cried, begged but it was of no use. Arnav, her childhood friend, had
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completely vanished. The new Arnav was civil and generous but as far as emotions were concerned, it seemed to disappear from his life totally. She knew that the marriage was over. Her ego did not permit her to speak to his parents nor hers. At least not before she and Arnav had talked it out. She wanted her way out of this farce, but in a sudden twist of fate Arnav refused to divorce her when she asked for it. ―Why? Why should we? We are doing fine. At least it suits me.‖ He had told her tonelessly. Every time she broached the topic of a divorce, she used to hit a negative. The reasons different but it was always nought. ―We will see.‖ ―Parents will be devastated.‖ ―I am working on a deal at the moment‖. Maybe he lacked the courage to deal with hassles that come as baggage with a divorce. But today … it should be different... She was perplexed at his behavior initially. A little bit of sneaking (scourging) of his belongings helped her find the cause. Sunita, his ex flame , his lost love– for whom he still carried a torch within his soul was back in his life…She had to come…. Her cell phone beeped. It was Arnav. Without any preamble,he said, ― We need to talk. Pick me up from Madhuban chowk at 6.30 pm sharp. Don‘t say anything to Mama papa now. We need to discuss things first. ‖ She assented. So he had assumed that she will understand about what. She started getting dressed for her rendezvous. Should she tell her mother? She decided against it. But she was confused about something. Why did she have to pick him up? Where was his car? Of course they couldn‘t travel in separate cars. But again Arnav was hardly himself these days. She thought sarcastically as she drove from the driveway. She reached Madhuban chowk well in time. Now where was he? She tried his number. But it was switched off. She was still trying his number when he walked up to her and knocked at the window. It was already dark and she could just see his silhouette. She opened the door, a puzzled expression playing on her face. Arnav got in with an overnight case and gelled hair. And Specs! What happened to his contact lenses? And why was he smiling so cheerfully? ―What‘s going on? Where is your car? ‖ ―Its in the garage getting serviced … I wanted to surprise you! We are going on a trip…‖. On seeing her alarmed face he hurriedly exclaimed, ‖ Hey! Just for a night. You and me alone. With no one to disturb us.This should have been done earlier but … Please its important …‖. She was totally confused now. Were things going the other way? What was he getting at? She was sure that he was going to ask for a separation but this looks like a romantic tryst. Surely her informant couldn‘t be wrong? ―I don‘t understand. You didn‘t say anything about a trip. I am not prepared and you said you had something to discuss… And what happened to your contact lenses?‖ ―Ah! It was irritating my eyes. So took them off … Don‘t worry. I have already packed your things this morning…‖ He felt embarrassed. ―I know I am acting weird but please bear with me for a while.‖ She looked grim, ― So where to?‖ Maybe he was really embarrassed and feeling guilty. Maybe that is why he was trying to do ―it‖ in a sensitive way. She decided to play along. ―Take the highway to Ambala‖, he replied. She said nothing and drove. There was a long moment of silence. Finally, he asked, ―you are not hungry I hope?‖
Why hope? She wondered. ―No‖ she replied curtly. Another long pause followed. Fine! He isn‘t going to say anything in the car. What was his plan exactly? Was he planning to defer talking about it until they were in bed? Not that they had a great sex life. Her lips curled with distaste at the thought. The expression was not lost on him. ―I know you are angry with me and maybe your anger is justified. Just be patient please. Everything will turn out fine‖, he muttered. They drove on in silence. Monika was not habituated to driving long distances. After a while she started feeling sleepy. Not even the tense atmosphere in the car could curb her desire to sleep. She yawned a couple of times. ―Let me drive‖, he suddenly said. ―Take a nap‖. She slowed down the car and asked, ―where exactly are we going? I haven‘t even informed Ma‖ . ―Shimla‖ he said simply. She stopped the car, changed seats and settling herself comfortably. Her last memory, as she drifted into a sleep was of a scarf peeking out of his jacket pocket. She had brought that from Kufri … Why was he carrying it along?
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As Arnav drove cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He avoided looking at her. God! What was he doing? It was insane. But everything he had , it belonged to Suni- his Sunita. Providence had brought them together again and he was going to make it up to her for the hurt he had caused in the past. This time he won‘t go wrong. If only last time she had waited for one more day after his outburst. In his desperation he had driven her away with harsh words only to realize his folly soonafter. But it was too late. She was gone and her friends simply refused to help. He never forgave his parents for what they made him do. He never forgave Monika for not cooperating in delaying their wedding. He was filled with a desire to punish her. Punish everybody. The sleeping woman by him wasn‘t going to get a single penny now.Arnav drove the car to a previously marked secluded spot near a hillock with a thick clump of trees, a little farther away from the bifurcating road leading from Kurushetra to Paonta. The road was a bit uneven, but she had slept on. Slowly and stealthily he moved in the darkness to the back of her seat and took out the scarf.He tightened it, paused for a fraction of a second and with one swift movement, jerked it around.She didn‘t provide much resistance. It was quick, neat , silent. He sat there panting watching her lifeless form… That he had really done it after days of planning stunned him for a while. Then abruptly he set out to destroy all evidence. There was none. He took out the number plate of the car. A quick check on her cellphone showed nothing much and no she hadn‘t called her mom after him. But there was an unknown number. Well leave it,. It wasn‘t familiar. Having checked n rechecked to ensure there were no tell-a-tale signs he moved towards a thicket of bushes and extracted a run down bike. The only thing left was to set the car ablaze . He was about to burn down 5 lakhs rupees . If only the alimony had been about 5 lakhs but she had filed for much much more… He rode away at a break neck speed into the night.Early next morning he dismantled the bike and disposed off its parts . After cleaning up he left for home. He arrived at the empty house with a heavy heart . It wouldn‘t be long now for her to be missed and the repercussions to start. Would they trace her disappearance to him? He tried calling Sunita. He hadn‘t talked to her after proposing to her recently. But her phone was switched off. A bit disappointed he climbed the stairs to Monika‘s room. She must have left in a hurry. Her room was in disarray. The laptop lay on her bed still running. Just like her. Careless. He moved it towards him and scrolled. The screensaver changed to … What was this?–Her Inbox ? What a piece of luck. Suddenly he froze to see a sender‘s name. Sunita Nayak ! He clicked on it, praying that the id was still logged on. The mail opened easily…
Dear Monika. Arnav had proposed marriage and as per your plans I said yes. I think this time he is going to grant you the divorce coz he seems to be in a hurry to marry me. Said he will talk to you today and settle everything this week itself. Now that you are getting what you want , I am going off too. I shall simply send him a mail stating I am off to Bangalore to consult my parents and will be back next week. I am disappearing today itself as this is causing a lot of stress . Hope you handle everything quickly. And Best of Luck! I never imagined Arnav would turn out to be such an irresponsible and insensitive monster… Glad to be of your help. Bye. Take care. Sunita Nayak
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Wise Bachelor Q. WB, I am a 14-year-old boy. The other day, I was playing hide and seek with my friends when I hid myself in a dark closet. There, I saw naphthalene balls lying, and their smell gave me an instant hard-on. Am I growing up normally? An almost normal teenager, Guwahati Ans: My dear boy, I don‘t know the hard physiological reasons for getting an instant hard-on from naphthalene smell. However, I do have some hard psychological guesses to analyse the hardness of your problem. Maybe you imagined the naphthalene balls to be over-grown breasts of a cockroach and instantly erotic thoughts came to your mind. After watching Disney-Pixar‘s Ants series of films, I am more than convinced that the insect kingdom can also have Pamela Andersons and Carmen Electras. Or maybe you mistook the naphthalene scent to be that of some strong variety of Axe deo-spray, and instantly those titillating commercials came to your mind. Or maybe you were struck by the idea (with your recollections about the last Hindi porn film you watched at your friend‘s place) that when Indians make out in movies, they do that in a dark environment, with their eyes closed. So you don‘t really have to see what you are doing when you are doing it. For that, you need to have a strong sense of smell.
If you think, my boy, that your dilemma has anything to do with the reasons I analysed, then I think you have a strong career in advertising. At least, with such vivid imagination, you will come up with better ad ideas. You should give it a hard thought! Q. WB, my husband threatens to commit suicide every time I get angry over him. I don’t know why he does that. What should I do? A pativrata naari, N Lakhimpur Ans: See, there is no reason for you to be so happy about it. He will not commit suicide, and you can‘t really get rid of him so easily. If he were serious, he would do it, without even telling you. Probably he wants you to pay extra attention to him. Husbands are not born, but made, most often by overwhelming circumstances. Some are a result of an awkward commitment given at a weak moment; some result from wry faces made by aggressive mothers (like yours truly). Try to talk to him in a loving manner whenever he throws tantrums. Also, try to control your temper. After all, he is your husband, not kid.
Q. WB, a bouncer at a disco barred me entry as I was dressed in dhoti-kurta. Why such discrimination? A humiliated Bharatiya purush, Guwahati Ans: You have actually misunderstood the bouncer, who, I think, is a gentleman. He only showed respect to our almost non-existent national dress. You would have ended up being laughed at for your dress as people out there are too immature to understand its value. Mr. Bouncer also saved your dignity. There was every
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chance of your dhoti giving way inside the disc, making you a social embarrassment for everyone. And there would have been no Kishan-kanhaiyya to provide you the extra cloth to this male avatar of Draupadi. You should thank Mr. Bouncer for all that he did to you.
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Review: Chance Pe Dance -
Noyon Jyoti Parasara
Cast: Shahid Kapoor, Genelia D‘Souza, Mohnish Bahl, Parikshit Sahni Director: Ken Ghosh Producer: Ronnie Screwvala Rating: Ken Ghosh returns after a five year hiatus. His last movie Fida didn‘t do any good at the box office. However expectations hardly diminished considering his first film Ishq Vishk was such a resounding success and loved by the youth. I am sure people are yet to get over dialogues like ‗Saloni mere saath chaloni‘ and ‗Poly Pereira tu meri main tera‘ or for that matter the loveable college kid Rajeev Mathur and Mambo so well played by Shahid Kapoor and Vishal Malhotra respectively, in their debut performances. Shahid returns with Ken Ghosh in Chance Pe Dance but you certainly fall in Ishq with this venture.
Chance Pe Dance is about Sameer Behl (Shahid) who has grown up pampered and loved by everyone due to his looks and ‗star appeal‘. When he grows up, he naturally decides to try his luck in showbiz and lands up in Mumbai. Three years thence all Sameer has managed to do is an ad film for South Indian ‗lungi‘ company. His hopes come crashing when the director who promises to launch him opts for a talent hunt for his leading man. Sameer is left broken, and also shelter-less as his land lord throws him out for not paying up on rent. Like most feel good films, love changes things for him. Chance Pe Dance surely has a story in place, however clichéd it may sound. However Ken Ghosh just could not translate it into a script good enough to make this film memorable enough. What he ends up with almost looks a trial version made out of the first draft rather than a polished script. Situations created don‘t lend enough drama and hence a feel good film falls terrible short of making you feel any better. One thing that he gets right however are the music videos. With an enviable track record of making some of the best music videos we have seen in India, Ken Ghosh takes us back to the good old days of Indi-pop when we saw some great videos rather than skimpily clad models. And Shahid shows all that he has got – dancing moves to 8-pack abs to create the extra zing.
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But dance was never supposed to be the central point of the movie. And the videos don‘t help to make the film better. Shahid‘s promising performance goes vain, almost like one of those centuries by Tendulkar when India lost. Film making is no on-man business. Apart from Shahid, there is nothing much for Genelia fans either. Chance Pe dance ends up a complete disappointment. You could be better off without this chance. Trust our fried eye judgment on it!
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Loafer -
Mani Padma
He looked utterly despicable. Long hair, torn jeans. A loafer. I ignored him and concentrated on the concert. Suddenly a stampede occurred and all hell broke loose. Somebody tore off my top. Fortunately someone else covered me and led me to safety. I wept with gratitude for my saviour. My god! It was the loafer.
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