Chak De India

Is the story of determination, of dreams and of success. It is the jubilation of a young team, brought into cohesion by the efforts of one man, who seeks to redeem himself as a coach by making them achieve what he could not as a player.



What's the Story?
The movie opens into the final of the mens' World Hockey Championships, where India and Pakistan have locked horns, with Pakistan leading 1-0. Into the final moments of the game, India is awarded a penalty stroke, and to take that comes the captain, Kabir Khan. Khan strikes, fails to score and India lose. A shroud of silence drapes over the Indian camp even as Pakistan erupts in whoops of joy. For having lost the match, and congratulated a Pakistani team mate, Kabir Khan is slapped with charges of match-fixing, named a traitor and shorn of his place in the Indian national team.

Seven years, three months and fourteen days later, he walks into the Association meeting room, seeking an appointment to coach the Indian National Womens' Hockey team - a post which no one is keen to take up. Khan is given 16 of the best hockey players in the country, and his problem is that they know how to play against, but not with each other. On the one hand he has to cope with the inter-state cultural differences; on the other, the senior players' indiffererence. He starts with the basics, and begins to untie one knot after the other, and succeeds in uniting the team - against him. And when they can bear his strict, almost Hitleresque regime no more, the team decides not to practice under him, and Khan resigns as the coach of the team.

A day of reflection passes, and the team realises that there is no point in having Khan sacked, that for all his histrionics, he had indeed succeeded in making them more productive as a team than the day they had walked into the camp. The next morning at 5, Khan is back on the field training his girls. Polarised and charged up, looking at a distant dream, their game begins to rise. But they are cut down to their place when the Association drops the plan of sending them to the World Championships for lack of sponsors.

When no amount of convincing works, as a last resort, Khan challenges the Association's bronze medal winning mens' team to play against his team. He knows his girls are underprepared, but he uses the stinging remarks of the Association office bearers to good effect. The girls eventually lose, but their fighting spirit is given a standing ovation by the mens' team and the Association sends them to represent India at the World Cup.

The team arrives in Australia, with a lot to prove. Kabir, to win this World Cup, and let the world know that he indeed played and plays for India. Vidya Sharma, the Indian goalkeeper, to tell her husband and in-laws that a daughter-in-law need not be confined to the kitchen. Preeti Sabarwal, forward, to show her boyfriend (and Indian cricket team vice-captain), that hockey means as much to her as cricket to him. Bindiya Naik, center-forward (most experienced and miffed at not being made captain), seeking to bring down the coach and captain.

After a humiliating 7-0 loss to Australia in the first round, the initial euphoria of having come to the World Cup settles, and the team begins to become aware of its lacunae. The loss manages to ignite the fire in the team, and match after match, the team begins to advance towards the final like a hungry lion devouring its prey. You don't need me to tell you what happens next, do you?

What's good in it?
Lots. Maybe for the first time since Swades, Shahrukh has put in a sober performance sans any overacting. On certain occasions, like the one where he is called a traitor, or when he stands in the rain after a humiliating defeat, he conjures up a controlled performance, which is worth sitting for once more through the movie. However, Yash Raj does give him a chance, and when he says "sattar minute" nine times in a single monologue, you feel he has suddenly reverted to Captain Veer Pratap Singh of Veer Zaara saying "Main Quaidi number saat sau chiassi..."

The scenes inside of the dressing room have been brought out well. It shows how seniors can gang up together and influence the team against the coach or the association. It depicts how senior players can cut juniors down to their place - when a junior runs up to congratulate a senior and says she is glad to have met her, the senior responds, "Achcha? Toh naacho". Or when the seniors say, "Ye coach kya samajhta hai, subah uthke 20 km daudne se hockey achcha khelenge? ye koi tareeka hai national level players ko treat karne ka? Kya hum training nahi jaante?"

Comparisons cannot but be drawn to cricket. You begin to wonder if Sourav may have said the same things when Greg Chappell said he did not show up at training sessions. While on cricket, ample effort has been made to let the powers-that-be know that hockey, though the national sport, has been always under cricket's shadow. Harmless fun has also been poked at the Hockey Association, and it provides humourous interludes.

The acting team has been trained well to play and the playing team has been trained well to act - the camaraderie shows on screen. Editing is crisp and the movie moves ahead slickly, dragging only at a few places. Songs are hummable, and during the film raise goosepimples on your arms. Excellent background score by Salim-Sulaiman, especially a couplet which goes "Maula Mere Le Le Meri Jaan". This movie has the right mix of patriotism, sport and human nature, and it has been shot and cut well to ensure commercial success. In Indian cinema, this will be hockey's answer to Lagaan. After Ab Tak Chappan, this will be Shimit Amin's second bull's eye.

Reco: Must-watch.

Gandhi, My Father

... is a poignant story, bringing out the angst of an unsuccessful son of an iconic father. It throws into spotlight the extreme emotions undergone by Harilal, who is overawed by his father’s aura, and wants to emulate him in his own life, when Gandhi, with his stubbornness and his inability to draw his lines where the country was concerned, always manages to put a spoke in his wheels.



What's the story?
The film begins with Gandhi’s displeasure of his son getting married, although it was he who approved the alliance. After marriage, Harilal joins Gandhi’s self-styled ashram in Phoenix, SA, where he helps his father in odd jobs at the press while preparing himself for a scholarship to go to England to study law. However, it is Gandhi’s desire to have Harilal help him in his grandiose plans for India’s freedom. Initially, Harilal acquiesces, in the hope that his father will somehow pull some strings and get him the scholarship. But when Gandhi refuses his education as a mark of protest against Western education, the seeds of discord are sown between the father and the son.

During a protest rally in SA, Harilal gets arrested. His hopes of his father pleading his case are shattered when Gandhi uses him as a guinea pig to test his new theory of passive resistance. Harilal is jailed as his father offers him no defence, and he sees his dreams of further studies going down the drain. His only source of strength is his wife Gulab, who keeps renewing Harilal’s dreams of being successful. But when he sees her leaving for India after he is jailed, Harilal realises that his father is employing arm-bending tactics to retain him in SA.

Once released from jail, he plots his return to India without his father's consent but is unsuccessful and father and son have a chat, where Harilal stresses that he is a common man, and the air of expectancy lingering around him due to his illustrious father is too much for him to bear. This is one of the many landmark points in the film which has you taking sides - while on the one hand you think Gandhi was just in retaining his son for the freedom movement; on the other, you also feel that Harilal has his own niche to carve.

Back in India, Harilal has one more hand at his studies, fails, gets himself a job, and manages to keep his life going. Gandhi returns to India, and gets busy with the freedom movement. Harilal approaches his father to lend him some money for business. Gandhi, as was his wont, pleads his inability as he does not maintain a "personal fortune" and will not ask any others for favours. Instead, he asks Harilal to come into his folds and join the freedom movement. Hari will not have any of it, and leaves.

Never having a business mind, Harilal stocks up on western fabric to sell them at a premium after the World War, but Gandhi brings in the swadeshi movement, and Harilal incurs losses. In his shortsightedness, he teams up with a team of sycophants, and allows them to collect funds in the name of Gandhi and make away with a sizeable fortune. When betrayed people approach Gandhi for redressal, Gandhi issues a public statement claiming his son does not have his backing anymore. This catches the attention of the Muslim fraternity, and they pay up the loans of a debt-ridden Harilal in a godfatherly gesture. Being almost disowned, Harilal decides to hit back on Gandhi by giving himself unto Islam and becoming Abdullah Gandhi. Nevertheless, his being a Gandhi secures him preferential treatment, which does not go very well with the Muslims, and Harilal reconverts to Hinduism by associating himself to the Arya Samaj.

In all of this, the tag of being Gandhi's son weighs down on him. Every action of his is judged whether it is worthy of someone who has a father like Gandhi himself. Drunk, ill, and hopelessly confused, he wanders along not knowing where he would get his next meal, when he hears of Gandhi's assassination. It is too much for him to bear. Five months after Gandhi died, his eldest son breathes his last in the cold corridor of a government hospital like a lone street urchin, brought in by the police, and ignored by everyone else.

What's good in it?
All the actors deliver a staggering performance, which may well be their career-best. The best performance will, of course, be debatable. While Akshaye does deliver a class-act everyone will remember for a long time, Darshan Jariwalla plays Gandhi to the hilt. In fact this man oozes Gandhi, and rightly so, is being talked about after the release. However, it may be attributed to the fact that Gandhi's mannerisms were known to the public through numerous films, and we have a notion of him. You only have to say Gandhi, and we have in our minds a dhoti clad "half-naked fakir", with a bald pate and a bright smile. And because no one knows how Harilal was, the absence of a original may just be a factor in not appreciating the imitation, and we may just have underrated Akshaye. Shefali Shah and Bhumika Chawla impress in their roles as Gandhi's wife and daughter-in-law.

Cinematography is top-notch, with scenes fading in and out at every logical cut-to-event. In fact, a very meticulous approach has been taken, and the hard work has paid off. This movie will be counted as one of the classics in Indian cinema, an extraordinary improvement in the quality and detailing of movies made on true events.

Recommendation: Must-Watch!!!

Guess who's back?

Back again - after a long hiatus. Though this wasn't as long as some of the other breaks I have taken, it is long in the sense that a lot has happened in between, and I'm left like "Hello, is it less than a month since my last post?". The weather has changed for the better, atleast it's sunny for most of this week - so the mood is upbeat. And an upbeat mood makes for a makeover, and hence this change.

Don't be too judgemental about the colours though - I had a look at Sony VAIO C Series and the grey and orange gave it a cool look, and I was hooked. I'm not entirely satisfied with the appearance yet, but hey, give it some time - may be it will sink in.

How long did you say I was away, again? Come to think of it, I don't remember having shaved since my last post. So there's a three-week old stubble (or is it more?) dimming some of the radiance. And while I was away, I watched Shrek - The Third (4/5, Donkey's got some cute kids), Die Hard 4.0 (3.5/5, some overly unbelievable action, but extraordinary gadgetry), Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (1/5, it's better than Nehlle pe Dehlla), Apne (2.5/5, longish, predictable and Paaji looks weary) and ... let me think ...

And oh, I bought a bicycle (summer's here, folks!!).

Sivaji...Cool

The hype: Sivaji released yesterday in 52 countries, amidst electric expectations of the combination of superstar Rajni, and prolific director Shankar. With a top secret plot, astoundingly hummable songs by Rahman, and the crowd pulling stature of Rajni, this was bound to create the wave it has. This broke all records for an Indian film in the UK, with back-to-back shows in five Cineworlds in London alone and upto two dedicated screens, in Cineworlds all over the UK. And boy, does the crowd love Rajni? In Milton Keynes, which has less of the Indian diaspora than other bigger cities in UK, I could get only the first day - third show, and many people watched standing. And once I came out, what do I see, the entire South Indian populace of our company and elsewhere making a beeline hours before the show, to get a good seat. Never before in my six months of Cineworlding (watching movies just for the heck of it) have I seen such a thing!!!

What's the Story? Just for this one movie, I will not reveal the story here - there are a lot of you guys out there who haven't got tickets yet, so won't kill your enthusiasm. :D

What's good in it: Shankar, like in Anniyan and Mudhalvan, again relies on his favourite plot of his protagonist fighting against a dishonest system - and does justice to it. The make-up artists have done a tremendous job, and Rajni looks much younger, younger than in Baba. But his age shows in his fight sequences. However, his mannerisms touch a new high - the way he bounces chewing gum into his mouth, the way he tosses up a coin and makes it land into his pocket etc. There are no particular punch dialogues though, like "Khatam gatam" or "Naan oru thadavai sonna, nooru thadavai sonna madiri". The closest which comes to it is "Coool".
Vivek, with his humour, provides excellent support to Rajni, and Shriya looks exceedingly beautiful. Suman is believable in his role as Adiseshan, and Manivannan stands out in his limited scope. Sets are artistically done for the songs, and Rahman provides superb music, the pinnacle being "Wah ji Wah ji Wah ji, en jeevan Sivaji".

Reco: If you go to watch it as a movie, you might be a tad disappointed, but if you go to watch it as a "Rajni movie", you will come out whistling and dancing "Dhingi-chaka-dhingi-chaka"!!!!

"Respect" and craze for the superstar was such that for the thirty-odd seconds where S-U-P-E-R-S-T-A-R R-A-J-N-I flashes across the screen at the beginning, the four screens nearby could have heard the cacophony of the whistles and cat-calls. I thought people would throw change as well, but they didn't. (I would have - I had even collected a sizeable number of 1p and 2p coins - I just got late, and forgot to pick them up)

Update: Don't miss the comment by Beryle here.

Fracture...

... is a good battle of wits, with some excellent acting by Anthony Hopkins.

What’s the story? Ted Crawford (Anthony Hopkins) is an engineer, who discovers that his wife is having an affair with another man. Unable to stomach it, he shoots her in the head, and when the police come, he confesses to his crime, and is whisked off to prison while his wife is rushed to a hospital, where she slips into a coma.

Willy Beachum (Ryan Gosling) is a highly successful prosecutor for the government, and is on the verge of getting into a private law-firm, when he is asked to take up this case. With the confidence of his 97% conviction rate, and the strength of a verbal confession, Willy decides to wrap this up before his exit from the government office.

But when he is brought to court, Ted pleads not guilty, and says his confession was forced as the officer who took the confession was the one who was having an affair with his wife, and that his life was at risk had he not confessed. Willy is unaware of this, and having come grossly unprepared, he is shattered to the core. He is left with no more evidence to produce, and his job at the private firm is in danger if he loses this case. Following this, Ted moves for acquittal, as there is no evidence against him, and the murder weapon is not found. The acquittal is granted, and while Ted walks, Willy is flabbergasted by this old man shoving defeat into his illustrious career.

With the newspapers making a joke of his famous loss, and his private job offer retracted, Willy becomes obsessed with the case. He jumps headlong into a search for the murder weapon – thinking hard on where it was hidden, especially when the police had searched the house soon after the crime. Meanwhile, Ted authorises the hospital to pull the plug on his wife, as her condition was not getting any better. A final brainwave occurs to Willy as he realises, in horror, the thorough planning of the crime. A brilliant confrontation makes for the climax.

What’s good in it?
Anthony Hopkins shines through, coming across splendidly as an eccentric old man, who plans out everything. He is lovably irreverent – scrawling NO on legal documents and drawing structural sketches on a notepad when the trial is going on. Ryan Gosling’s acting however, is a tad overdone. The rest of the characters do justice to their roles, their relevance being mediocre to plot or performance. The plot is tight, and the movie moves ahead slickly except for some parts where you wait for the family conversations to end so that the courtroom drama may begin.

The Belgium Trip - 2

Sorry this is late in coming...too many tasks, too less time.

The next day, we got up to a hot shower and some sumptuous breakfast - which was included in the price - and enquired at the reception for tours.

Our breakfast of bread-butter-jam and cornflakes. There was coffee, too :D

The idea was that in the day and a half allotted to Belgium, we would go outside of Brussels on the full day, and the city itself could be covered in the half of the next day. So we took a tour of Ghent and Bruges, to leave at half-eight in the morning, and to return by five. (When travelling with a group for tourism, I make it a point to hit the road by 8 - this helps me in two ways - one, I make good use of the daylight; two, I pull the others out of the bed. It is a different matter though, if you are travelling alone, or are vacationing in Maui, Hawaii, where all you do is ogle and sleep ;) But then, I digress!!!)

The council building at the town center

The first thing that strikes you as you enter Ghent is the size of the buildings - they are mammoth and overwhelm you like no other. The flipside is that, like all of Belgium, it is aesthetically ugly - you have a fantastic piece of architecture, remnant of its glorious Gothic heritage, and just next to it is a glass building with your in-the-face neon lights. Well, that's Belgium for you!!! I'm sure if you ask, they would tell you "hum aisech hain" in Dutch.

There is this beautiful church in Ghent, which houses extraordinary glass paintings. On the outside of the cathedral is a vast quadrangle, having a fountain, statues and benches to sit on. On a perfect morning, you could come there and sit on the benches, eating a waffle and soaking up some sunshine. Or you could come there and sit on the benches, eating a waffle and soaking up some sunshine, and it would be a perfect morning. :-)

A statue in the church quadrangle

Inside the church

The inside of the church has striking paintings, both showing passages of the Bible, and abstract art. Some of the paintings are really breath-taking. They render you so speechless that you forget to let the abstractness sink in. Or maybe that is what being abstract is all about.

Abstract Art :O

But Ghent is more famous for this walk along the canal. I forgot what this place is called, but the buildings you see across are special. Each one of them is built in a style of a different century. From the fifteenth to the nineteenth century styles - you have it all. (This prompted my friend to ask whether they waited a hundred years to build another...).

Ghent has about three tall cathedral towers around the town center, so it is very easy to get lost. So the next time someone yells at you, you know where to come. In fact, this getting lost and not hovering around the guide is a big problem in conducted tours. You get very little time to enjoy the surroundings and NO time at all to capture your "orkut photos" - the ones where you have your face in the foreground and the most recognisable edifice of the city in the background which you upload with a caption "Been there, Done that!!".

Architecture of centuries, standing together in harmony

I saw a lot of middle-aged people walking around with closed umbrellas raised high like an Olympic torch. I looked up. The sky was clear, and the sunshine was pleasant. But before I could wonder any further, our guide held out her umbrella high, and I realised that all those middle-aged people were in fact guides asking their group to assemble. Whew!!! I followed my torch-bearer as she led us through a narrow alley back to where we came from. This walk is famous, they say, for the graffiti on it. I was reminded of the song "Mera rang de basanti chola" from "The Legend Of Bhagat Singh" while walking through this dark winding alley.

In the alley
Another one

The best tip for a tourist here would be to look around - not just at the buildings, but at the cyclists too. They don't ring the bells, nor do they show any indication of avoiding you. If you show some sudden movement, like jumping away in fright, they look at you as though you have come from outer space. The roads are cobbled and give you blisters if you don't have good shoes on. Walking becomes slow and painful on the cobblestones, and as if that was not enough, they have rails on that, for the trams to pass.Cobbled roads...tramways...left-hand drive

A quick circumambulation of the center is done, and we now proceed towards Bruges, and the guide says we will be stopping for lunch. Mmmm :)

Planes make a cross against the steeple of one of the cathedrals in Ghent

The Belgium Trip - 1

Two countries. Three major cities. Four days of semi-backpacking. And memories to last a lifetime. A tour of Belgium and the Netherlands.

Most travelogues begin at Day One, but since we wanted to start fresh, and took a flight on the previous night, this will start from Day Zero. On Day Zero, a Thursday evening, we drove from Milton Keynes to London Heathrow, to catch a Brussels Airlines late evening flight into Brussels. We left London at around half past eight, but as we were flying East (and Belgium is an hour ahead), it was already half-ten in Brussels when we landed.

Zaventem, as Brussels' international airport is called, is well connected to the city. In fact, there is a train station directly below the airport. Trains run at regular intervals from Zaventem to Brussels North, Central and South stations. We picked up a free city map, and took the escalators to the underground station. (BTW, an escalator takes you up. What do you call an automated step machine which takes you down?). There was an automated kiosk selling tickets, and also a normal counter. However, the counter was closed. Surprisingly enough, the kiosk selling tickets would not accept credit cards. And we had been stupid enough not to carry cash of lesser denominations than 10 Euros. Not that it would have mattered anyway, because only the coin-slots were working and not the note-slots.

This is a map we clicked, because it was more detailed than the free leaflets.

Back in the airport, we learnt that the counter in the underground station closes at 21.50 (it was nearing 11 now) and that we could purchase the ticket on the train as well. So we sat on a cold bench in the dark underground station and ate parathas rolled in aluminium foils. The underground station seemed very primitive when compared to the London tube stations, but I noticed one thing special - the escalators had a step sensor at the boarding point, which would bring the elevator to rest if it did not detect a step for a reasonable amount of time. I'm sure given the number of commuters, the escalators in London would not rest even if they had the sensor, but still.

Presently, the train comes, and out comes a guard in a grey uniform and a funny cap. He issues the ticket, and goes back into his cabin. Somehow, he strikes me as a cartoon, and the train itself is like a toy train. We sit back, take photos and try tracing the route on the map, using the passing stations as a yardstick. And one station before Brussels North, we figure out from the map that our accommodation is closer to Brussels North than Brussels Central - even though the directions on the booking confirmation seemed otherwise. I go and ask the guard, and he says we are right. Fine, I say to the boys, we get off at Brussels North then. The conductor unfortunately did not understand a lot of English - so, unable to direct us to our hostel, he went to the driver, and asked him to translate the directions for us.

Those directions, though correct, did not stand us in good stead, because the area outside Brussels North Station is very shady - and I'm not talking about the trees. A few steps, and we found a pub offering "peep shows". There was no one around. And so ... we had no one to direct us to our hostel. (Ah, you dirty minds, I know what you thought ;) hah!!). The directions on the booking confirmation were descriptive enough, and we found ourselves slowly trudging along the streets of north Brussels at midnight. Presently, we came across the Sheraton, and the multi-lingual receptionist confirmed that we were on the right track, and to top it, he also gave me a more informative and localised map of the city.

The Sheraton. Sorry for the sad quality. We were dead tired.

The Vincent van Gogh hostel is one of the best in Belgium - what with a rating of 92% on hostelworld. It is quite near to the main tourist district - Belgium Central - and scores well on all other counts. The rooms had no keys - only access cards, and we got new bedsheets for the duration of our stay. They could not accommodate all six of us together, but we got a double room having two bunk beds, and one other room with two normal beds.

I know, it looks like the hospital in Dear Heart, but then, what do you expect when, after a day of travel, all you want is something warm and soft to tuck into?

The facilities were excellent too - there was a bar just beside the reception, which stocked the best of all Belgian beer, there was a pool table nearby, and the toilets were clean. Showers had hot water flowing, with automated stoppers to regulate the flow of water if you just forgot and walked away. The staff was quite helpful, and provided us with information and leaflets on what to see, and how to get around. And after a game of pool, and a discussion of how to spend the two days in Belgium, we hit the sack. Tomorrow, we take a guided tour to Ghent and Bruges. Till then, these pics ...

The view of the entrance from my room window.

The main road leading out of the hostel

Another road - it is left-hand drive in Belgium, so you drive on the right side.

Bliss

Last Sunday was a treat in itself.

If you discount the sole exception of Khushi, Mungaru maLe was the first KannaDa movie I watched in a theatre, after say 15 years. NanjunDi KalyaNa, starring Malasri and Raghavendra Rajkumar, was the last. I am quite critical when it comes to KannaDa cinema - chiefly because there is a lack of originality - most of the so-called hits in KannaDa cine world are usually remakes of other hits in Tamil and Telugu film industries. Agreed that there is no dearth of classic films like Nammoora Mandara Hoove, Amruthavarshini and America America, but a great majority of Kannada films are just chaff, with below par stories, loose direction and poor acting. Anyway, debates will never cease if I choose to dwell on that.

All I have to say is that I enjoyed Mungaru MaLe immensely. And the 45 minutes travel from Milton Keynes to Southall, London, having spent almost three times the ticket money on the travel, was redeemed in full. It was the first time in 4-5 months that I encountered so many people speaking KannaDa. So much so, that we had to consciously make an effort not to spring up any expletives, because otherwise, the kannaDa we speak at our bachelor pad is the one mothers tell their young children to avoid.

Apart from the movie, the other high point of Sunday was the food. I enjoyed an unlimited breakfast at Chennai Dosa. For three pounds and a half, you get unlimited helpings of idlis, uppittu, and pongal, followed by a dosa item of your choice AND a poori item. All of this packed in and followed up by a cup of rich filter coffee. Burp!!! And of course, pani-puri, and rasmalai at a Punjabi do at Southall. It is because of this reason, and this alone, that I am content, and not swearing abuses at her for time and again rambling about delectable Indian food. :-)

And unless something more interesting happens, the next few posts will be of the holiday in Belgium and Netherlands. The 2300 odd photos from all the four cameras are sorted and ready. Anyone offering free prints, please???

Update: The screening was courtesy the Europe Kannada Sangha. Its still a fledgling, but shows a lot of promise, judging by the Ugadi celebrations and the movie screening. Last heard, there was still a waiting list of 100-150 kannaDigas, eager to see the movie, but lacking a screen. The sangha has an orkut community here and a new blog here.

Update 2: The movie screening was carried by a kannaDa newspaper. :)

And here is a video of the most famous dialogue of the movie.

100...

... could not have come at a better time.

This Friday brings an end to an eventful week of living out of backpacks. The long weekend was well-spent in a semi-backpacking holiday in Belgium and the Netherlands, while the rest of the week was (well, let’s say it just was) at Ipswich.

Sitting in the lounge at the Ipswich office, for the first time, I felt that joblessness is frustrating too. Soon after coming back from holiday, I went to Ipswich on a “company assignment”. By hearsay, I knew that Ipswich was a sleepy little town with a lot of local cafés, and it certainly looked so at first sight. But somehow, all the stars and planets connived to deny me the pleasure of enjoying its laid-back laziness. My stay at Ipswich was a comedy of logistical errors.

First up, the guys there did not know I was coming so I did not have a desk to sit at or a computer to work on. Added to it, there was no information of what I would do, and who would oversee it. Hovering around friends’ desks was not a viable option as they were all busy in their own work. So all day long, I just sat in the lounge, fiddled with the stylus and browsed the net on my PDA-phone over a GPRS connection (appearing to be someone doing something important), and finished the issues of Wired and OK! in the lounge.

Upon that, the budget bed-and-breakfast I checked into was very moderate. Well, I can’t blame it for the low rate and the short notice I got it at, but then, it could have been a little cleaner. It was managed by a brown-turning-silver haired old man, probably in his sixties, who obviously was struggling to maintain it by himself. Half the house was painted, while the other half was smudged with strokes, and had paint buckets and brushes on the floor. The room had a creaky floor, and floorboards stacked nearby, so he was evidently doing some repair work.

The room I got was dank and mildly emanated a wild unidentifiable aroma. In the room below, his daughter maintained a solitary existence. She had a cat which roamed all over the place. My room floor had visible hair which the cat had moulted. The room had windows which couldn’t be opened and there was a note asking to keep the curtain closed at all times. The kitchen was lacking utensils and food items, and had a note to keep the door closed when cooking to prevent the tadka from choking them.

However, the man himself was good to talk to – he took me for a “round” in his car and showed me the nearest bus-stop and over a cup of heavenly Portuguese coffee at the local coffee shop, he told me that his son had been to university in America, and was now in the Metropolitan Police in London, and that his house had been let to Indian tenants too. He asked me if I had been to Brazil, an obvious reference to the “Universidad Sao Paulo” on my T-shirt, and said his son had been there as part of a Met Police exercise.

Once I was back in the BnB, I looked at my task-list –
1. Clear mailbox (company has a limit on the mailbox size :( )
2. Transfer money
3. Pay credit card bills
4. Market going up – make some money
5. Leave feedback for ebay sellers
And I was stuck there, stuck without internet!!!! Though I managed most with the GPRS connection, a few things spilled over to today (which was better, because the market scaled a considerable height today). Yesterday afternoon I told them they could request my services when they had the logistics ready, and took the next train back to MK – and had a good night’s sleep.

Weekend drama shall unfold in a few days. :)

The happy family

He swung his car into the parking lot, and killed the engine. Getting out, he extracted his jacket from its hanger in the rear, and put it on. He pulled out his briefcase, and beeped the car shut. Tall and handsome, he cut a smart figure as he walked across the parking lot. He carried his age with élan, in fact, the greying temples, and the light horizontal wrinkles on his forehead gave him an air of maturity and commanded respect. A high-profile lawyer, he was the Midas of the court-room. A home in the suburbs, a swanky car, socialite evenings and a neat sum stashed away for retirement. The perfect life. He smiled at the waitress as he walked into the restaurant for lunch with the family.

The estate agent slowed as she entered the driveway, and smiled at the valet as he came over to collect the keys. He recognised the car and its owner very well. She was svelte, attractive and vivacious and received regular double-takes from young men passing her way. Must have rendered many a men breathless in her prime, he mused to himself. They came in on the third Thursday of every month – the lady, her husband and the kids – and joked and laughed over an extended lunch. It was almost a ritual, and he wondered whether a family could be ever so happy. He watched her shaking her head as she saw her husband smile at the waitress.

From his corner office at the investment bank, the son saw his father walk into the restaurant below. A glint of red at the corner of his eyes told him it was the valet parking his mother’s car in the guest lot. He straightened his tie, and pulled his jacket over as he walked down the stairs into the restaurant. He joined the older couple just as they were about to sit down. The maitre d’ picked up three menu cards, and then he took one more – for he knew there would be four. Sure enough, the young girl came huffing and puffing, and kissed her mother before she took the seat opposite.

She was an art-student, and presently, in faded jeans, dull ochre top with swastika and Sanskrit motifs and a cross-bag, she stood in stark contrast to the spick, formal attire of the rest of her family. But then that was how she was – bubbly, vibrant and a beloved – she brought colour and fun into the family folds. Her stories of the impressionists, the way she explained the styles of Renoir and Rembrandt always fascinated the other three. It was as though she was living their dream.

They lunched for a long time, devouring the steaks and wine with great relish, laughing together, and enjoying their meal and time. As if they didn’t care for anyone else on the outside of the general vicinity of their table. The maitre d’ noticed that for the entire lunch, they never spoke business. It was always about the fun they had, or general small-talk. This cosy table, set away from the rest of the restaurant, should be the hotel’s happiest table, every third Thursday, he thought to himself. By dessert, the family was almost at home – ties loosened, collars open, cuffs folded back, vanity bags set away and everyone sitting back and letting the meal settle.

The waiters cleared up the table and the maitre d’ came up with a box of unordered Cuban cheroots. Setting them, he produced a Zippo lighter and addressed the lawyer, “On the house, sir, for the happiest family I’ve seen”. Father, mother and son inhaled indulgently as the daughter nibbled on the remainder of her dessert.

“The happiest family”, they all thought, as they walked back to their cars, “the happiest family, if only they had stayed together and not fought over divorce and custody”.

Of the Swedes and Slowing Down

On a mid-morning break at work, I was strolling with my colleagues in the parking lot, enjoying the sunshine and sipping watery tea of the vending machine, when I chanced upon this one.

The first thing that came to my mind was Govinda's song Chashme par unke wiper. Such innovation!!! I mean, the weather generally is snowy here in winters, and tends to develop moisture on the outer surface of the headlights. I have seen people scrape snow off their cars using a small rubber shovel. So this is not a bad idea after all. And if not that, it sure does help in flicking off the dust and grime off the glass - ensuring a better illumination. Of course, it did not click on most cars, but what the heck? It's a gem of an idea. And who else thought about it, but Volvo, the Swedish auto giant.

And while I'm on Sweden, I came across this beautiful article, by way of forwards, and it made interesting reading. It's called the Slow Down Culture, and versions of this are splattered all over the web. Here goes -

It’s been 18 years since I joined Volvo, a Swedish company. Working for them has proven to be an interesting experience. Any project here takes 2 years to be finalized, even if the idea is simple and brilliant. It’s a rule.
Globalize processes have caused in us (all over the world) a general sense of searching for immediate results. Therefore, we have come to posses a need to see immediate results. This contrasts greatly with the slow movements of the Swedish. They, on the other hand, debate, debate, debate, hold x quantity of meetings and work with a slowdown scheme. At the end, this always yields better results.
Said in another words:
* Sweden is about the size of San Pablo, a state in Brazil.

* Sweden has 2 million inhabitants.

* Stockholm, has 500,000 people.

* Volvo, Escania, Ericsson, Electrolux are some of its renowned companies. Volvo supplies the NASA.
The first time I was in Sweden, one of my colleagues picked me up at the hotel every morning. It was September, bit cold and snowy. We would arrive early at the company and he would park far away from the entrance (2000 employees drive their car to work). The first day, I didn’t say anything, either the second or third. One morning I asked, “Do you have a fixed parking space? I’ve noticed we park far from the entrance even when there are no other cars in the lot.” To which he replied, “Since we’re here early we’ll have time to walk, and whoever gets in late will be late and need a place closer to the door. Don’t you think? Imagine my face.
Nowadays, there’s a movement in Europe name Slow Food. This movement establishes that people should eat and drink slowly, with enough time to taste their food, spend time with the family, friends, without rushing. Slow Food is against its counterpart: the spirit of Fast Food and what it stands for as a lifestyle. Slow Food is the basis for a bigger movement called Slow Europe, as mentioned by Business Week.
Basically, the movement questions the sense of “hurry” and “craziness” generated by globalization, fueled by the desire of “having in quantity” (life status) versus “having with quality”, “life quality” or the “quality of being”. French people, even though they work 35 hours per week, are more productive than Americans or British. Germans have established 28.8 hour workweeks and have seen their productivity been driven up by 20%. This slow attitude has brought forth the US’s attention, pupils of the fast and the “do it now!”.
This no-rush attitude doesn’t represent doing less or having a lower productivity. It means working and doing things with greater quality, productivity, perfection, with attention to detail and less stress. It means reestablishing family values, friends, free and leisure time. Taking the “now”, present and concrete, versus the “global”, undefined and anonymous. It means taking humans’ essential values, the simplicity of living.
It stands for a less coercive work environment, more happy, lighter and more productive where humans enjoy doing what they know best how to do. It’s time to stop and think on how companies need to develop serious quality with no-rush that will increase productivity and the quality of products and services, without losing the essence of spirit.
In the movie, Scent of a Woman, there’s a scene where Al Pacino asks a girl to dance and she replies, “I can’t, my boyfriend will be here any minute now”. To which Al responds, “A life is lived in an instant”. Then they dance to a tango.
Many of us live our lives running behind time, but we only reach it when we die of a heart attack or in a car accident rushing to be on time. Others are so anxious of living the future that they forget to live the present, which is the only time that truly exists. We all have equal time throughout the world. No one has more or less. The difference lies in how each one of us does with our time. We need to live each moment. As John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.
Congratulations for reading till the end of this message. There are many who will have stopped in the middle so as not to waste time in this globalize world.

Forget the blah-blah on slowing down - I know it's the truth, and we need to stop to smell the flowers - but what struck me the most in the whole article was the logic of parking. Its almost like thinking laterally!!! I won't be surprised if the reason for those headlight wipers is something more common and obvious than cleaning the lights.

Do not watch...

... Nehlle pe Dehlla (sic).

I dream of ...

... a lot of things, because I remember them in the half-awake moments when I pull the blanket tighter around me. But once I am fully awake, they have fully evaporated from my memory. Even so, there are a few which are clear, and come back to me when I’m day-dreaming while waiting or travelling.

The most common, of course, is the one where I fall off a cliff. But unlike her, I don’t develop wings, I just fall…I enjoy the breathless drop at some breakneck speed, and fall with a thud on my bed. This “thud” would usually be a sudden rolling over, accompanied by an awakening jerk. I hated this dream for the reason that it always woke me up half an hour before the alarm sounded – and it put me in a bad mood because the knowledge that the alarm would sound in 30 minutes would deprive me of any sleep lingering in my drowsy eyelids. Now though, the dream has stopped appearing – largely due to the fact that when I started falling, I would realise that it was close to half-an-hour before the alarm sounded, and I shut the alarm off even before it sounds…he he he!!!

Another consistently appearing dream is the one where my daughter is ice-skating (or doing something similar, which requires her to glide on a smooth surface) and she wants me to come see her perform, but somehow I can’t seem to make it. And it so happens that at the end of her skating, she tends to fall, and I somehow come up from behind, grab her waist and we do a lap of the rink, to standing ovation. It leaves me with goose-pimples, and I don’t know what happens before, or what happens after that. I don’t even wake up then – I only remember in the morning that I dreamt about it.

And there are the ones where I dream about a lot of insignificant things in advance, as if a few friends are sitting and discussing some movie together. Or that we are gathered in some unknown place over a dinner. Much later, when we are actually discussing a movie or sitting at a friend's place, I remember that I had “been here” before – that the guys were wearing the same clothes; that we are talking on the same topic. It’s an uncanny sense of déjà vu. (In order to explain it better, I came across and ended up seeing Déjà vu, which is not that bad a movie, after all) But what I feel is explained to the T by this quote of Dickens – “We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time – of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances – of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if we suddenly remember it!”

In the process I also learnt that when I feel that I was "there" before, it is a particular type of deja vu, known as deja vecu; that when I know that I'm falling and decide to get up, I'm actually undergoing what is known as lucid dreaming, and that jamais vu is the opposite, when you can't remember something despite knowing that you have been there - Like you know that you have seen that face somewhere, but don't know when and where!!! (Happens to us guys all the time :D) Some gyan, eh??!!! Shru, thanks for the tag, I didn't know these before.

More later... :D

Blood Diamond...

... is a diamond, which has been mined in a war zone, and sold to finance the military needs of an insurgent group.

What’s the story: In the late nineties, Sierra Leone is in midst of a civil war. Insurgents of the Revolutionary United Force (RUF) have swooped on the newly-found diamond mines in the country and are selling it to unscrupulous persons to finance their arms and ammunition. The government is trying hard to cut down on the smuggling of the country’s natural resources. And thousands are dying amidst the gunfire of these two warring factions.

Solomon Vendy (Djimon Hounsou) is a fisherman, who has been captured by the RUF and is made to search for diamonds. One day, he finds a huge diamond – of a size that no one has ever seen – and is caught by the captain of the RUF while trying to bury it. But before the captain can lay his hands on it, the government troops launch an attack, and arrest all of them. In all the gunfire and fighting, Solomon is separated from his family, and his son taken away to be a child-soldier. Danny Archer (Leonardo DiCaprio) is an ex-soldier from Rhodesia , who smuggles diamonds from Sierra Leone to Liberia , for his former commander, Colonel Coetzee. Caught while smuggling, he is now in prison. He is in desperate need to find something of value to bargain his life and way from Colonel Coetzee, for the diamonds which were confiscated when he was caught. Maddy Bowen (Jennifer Connelly) is a journalist covering the civil uprising in Sierra Leone , and is trying to find proof that the illegally flourishing diamond business is actually funding the war, and that the largest diamond corporation is actually buying these diamonds to hold the reins of an ugly game of demand and supply. However, she has no one who will go on the record to give her the details.

So when Danny overhears the conversation between Solomon and the RUF captain in prison, he realises that the huge diamond might as well be his ticket out of this situation. He strikes a two-way deal – with the Colonel to find the huge diamond as repayment for the diamonds which were confiscated while he was caught, and with Solomon to help find his family for the huge diamond. He gets himself and Solomon out of prison, and under the guise of a person genuinely helping a homeless man, he asks Maddy to help find his family. But when she finds out that he is actually a smuggler, Maddy refuses to help him until he goes on record and gives her the details for her story. Danny gets under immense pressure – with his commander prodding him for the diamond, Solomon prodding him for his family, and the RUF searching out Solomon. His only hope is Maddy, who can find Solomon’s family, and lead him towards the mines as members of her press convoy. Watch the movie to find out what happens next.

What’s good in it: Top of the line acting by Leonardo DiCaprio. He sports a look and feel not very different to the one in The Departed, and gets a good hold of the Krio. Watch out for his infectious rendering of “yeah yeah”, when he nods in agreement. Jennifer Connelly looks believable as the journalist. The narration is tight and the cinematography is excellent. All the gunfire, wildlife and war-torn rural Africa make it look like Tears Of The Sun but has been depicted better.

Reco: Once, most definitely. It would not have been nominated for the Oscars otherwise. Must-watch if you are a Leo fan.

Melody...

... is a first-time thing, like physical attraction, while lyrics are like real love, deep, true, like getting to know a person. Or so Sophie Fisher says in Music and Lyrics.

The Movie – Music and Lyrics is a sweet romance – a chick flick with an Awww!!!! climax on the lines of Notting Hill, About a Boy or more recently Love Actually. Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant) is a star of a bygone era. His heydays are over, and after his band broke up, he has been singing his songs at retro clubs, and resigning to the fact that he is not in demand anymore. Sophie Fisher (Drew Barrymore) is a “plant-girl” who comes to water the plants in lieu of his usual help, who has taken sick. And when Cora Corman (a teen music sensation made out on the lines of Britney / Lindsay) chooses to do a show with him, he realises it would be his biggest break in the music industry ever since his band broke up. The flip side – he has to write a song in under two days, something he is not very proud of. The last time he wrote a song, he rhymed “you and me” with “autopsy”. So he decides to get a lyricist to do his song, but is left unimpressed with the given lyrics. And then he hears his “plant-girl” humming some words to his melodies. He fires his lyricist and sits with Sophie to write their song. And they start debating on music, lyrics, words, rhyme, and what not under the sun. How they write the song, and finish it up (with Sophie’s sob story, her star-struck elder sister, love and of course Cora and her karmic mixes thrown in) forms the rest of the story.

Performance – Brilliant. Hugh Grant comes up tops!!! He carries his age well, and is extremely believable as a fading star. When he sings “Don’t write me off, just yet”, it almost seems he is referring to his acting career. His Elvis-esque thumkas and the POP after “Pop goes my heart” are lovable. (Dont miss this video at ANY cost). You see yourself doing the POP while coming out of the movie. Drew Barrymore excels as the bubbly sensitive girl, who has dreams to pursue, but develops jitters every time she finds the going getting tough. With her pouts and batting eyelashes, she develops sizzling chemistry with Hugh, making you forget the toughie she played in Charlie’s Angels. Sophie Fisher’s elder sister and her family, Cora and Alex’s manager provide timely humour. Music is awesome, lasting melodies with meaningful (and sometime laughable) lyrics justify the title to a T. Look out for the moment where Hugh dubs his song in his studio.

Reco – Once, most definitely. All the good reasons – Good looking stars, excellent chemistry, lilting music, genuine humour. Plus, it will gather you brownie points if you take your girlfriend along. Pity I had to watch it alone on V-Day.

Salaam-e-ishq...

... is a movie of a confused director. He wants to say something, but he loses all of it in the melee of his under-used overbearing cast. He takes six couples, and you wonder why. Your confusion is never set to rest, because even at the end of the movie, you are as huh as you were at the beginning. In his effort to fit in all the stories into one, Nikhil Advani loses out on the material.

There is hardly any story which has any palpable depth – in fact there are only five stories – the sixth is hardly a story. If I did not know Isha Koppikar and Sohail Khan were stars, I would have searched the whole screen trying to locate who is being shot there. Their story hardly has anything to do with the other five, nor is its slapstick comedy entertaining in its own right.

A quick performance analysis follows, and may have slight spoilers.

The story of John Abraham and Vidya Balan proves to be the only one with some substance and it aches when its superlative climax gets diluted in the typical shaadi-mandap-esque finale of the other stories. This story comes across as the only reason for which the movie has to be watched. Both John and Vidya excel in this sweet romance. Vidya has matured as an actress, and effortlessly moves from a bubbly mood to a poignant one.

Akshaye Khanna desperately tries to do an Aamir Khan of DCH, but fails miserably. As a "wants-love-not-marriage" guy, he churns out a performance which is a watered down version of Aamir at times, and Rahul Bose in PKSE. After Dor, Ayesha Takia has shown that she has a lot to offer, but Nikhil does not capitalise on it, and she is wasted.

Anil Kapoor gives out a couple of shockers in his role of a middle-aged guy with a successful career, perfect family but boring life. As the dutiful wife and mother-of-two, Juhi spins out a natural performance; it is high time she did something which requires her to “act”. For quite some time now, her characters have become an extension of her real life.

Govinda is old. Period. His comic timing, though, isn’t. His performance is not very different from Bhagam Bhag, and is predictable. His role of a simpleton, falling in love with a phoren maidum is unconvincing, and dull. The phoren-maidum is not too remarkable either. Age shows on Salman Khan too. His awry hair, and body language have nothing to offer. His vintage charm of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam shows up in bits and pieces, but fails to clear the last mile. Priyanka Chopra is lack-lustre. Her name (Kkamini) and her mannerisms often confuse you into thinking it is actually Kareena onscreen and not Priyanka.

The less said about Isha and Sohail the better. They have a total of 3 scenes, none of which are original or remarkable. Half of their story runs, believe it or not, while the credits roll. Their story (or what is called one) is totally unconnected and runs parallel to the rest. I think it has been included in the movie just to satisfy a numerological need, and nothing else.

Music is not very catchy, the sole exception being the tune of the bagpipes which I intend to use as a ring tone. Camera work is superb, especially when John takes Vidya to his father’s house. Movie is too long, with too many characters playing touch-and-go. Much of the dialogues are takes on old songs, and there are a couple of spoofs as well.

Watch it if you have nothing else to do. Which is why I went in the first place :)

Busyness...

... in business has resulted in a hiatus in posting. It isn't only the volume of work you see. A lot of other things are happening, like arranging an intra-company badminton tournament, like discussing NRIness with old friends on IM, like receiving and seeing off colleagues, like arranging a conference call to discuss how to vacate the house in Pune, now that no one is there and such like.

Things, which did not allow me to do what I would want to - like writing about the trip to a small British Isle (Wight), or ordering free prints of the photos I took there, or reviewing Guru, or spell-checking the professor, or mentioning my new PDA phone (or its 2GB micro SD card or the bluetooth stereo headset or the 4GB pen drive), or putting in a word on the pass I have to the local multiplex, which gives me unlimited movies for 11 pounds a month.

And to boot, these guys have loaded up this new thing here, which requires me to login with my Gmail account - that's one less password to remember, but what the heck is Google upto? It is integrating everything left, right and center. It took over Youtube, and integrated it into Orkut. I can see them integrating Blogger too, and before you know it, you will be blogging on Orkut.

While this will convince you that I'm still active and Google has not mistakenly trashed my blog in the migration it is undertaking, I'm gonna take some time off and write a lot - most of it will be reviews ( I have been spending too much time on eBay :P ) - but I will also include travelogues and photos and movie-reviews (monthly pass, you see). For Guru, though, I will direct you to this exhaustive review here.

Stay tuned. Attuned.

Nando's...

… short for Fernando’s, is a Portuguese-themed chain of restaurants, which is famous for its peri-peri type of chicken.

Legend has it that when the Portuguese set out to India by sailing all along the African coast, they camped in a place near Mozambique. The sun, the sand and the tropical weather caught their fancy, and they set up base here. And to add to their pomp and gaiety, they developed a fancy for the local spice – pili-pili, which they called peri-peri.

Such were the old settlers enamoured by Peri-peri that it finds its way into their menu, their food, and their way of life. They like to believe that ex’peri-peri’menting and ex’peri-peri’encing are the only way to live life. The cuisine here is mostly chicken - not surprising, because its best selling item is the chicken itself. They cook the chicken in a unique way, laying it flat on an open fire grill – much like our tandoor – which gives it a smoky taste when eaten.

You do get veggie items – but there is a limited choice – like the pitta, for example. A simple veggie pitta is not very different from our Big Mac when eaten. To the eyes, however it looks like the filling is enclosed in two thick chapattis and sealed all around. A typical veggie pitta, with chips and spicy rice, looks like this.


The food here goes very well with Sangria. Sangria is basically a light wine punch – a dominant red wine, which is then spiked with sweeteners like honey or orange juice, and has fruits in it. Subtle variations of fruit and sweeteners have given rise to a variety of drinks, but they are all called Sangria in general.

For more stories on the Peri-Peri Life and the legend of the Barcelos Cockerel, click here.

So you all...

... thought I was joking about the winter here? Take a look at the roads which take me to my office.

This is just as I step out of my door. Take a look at the swanky cars to the left. I gotta take a right where this road meets the intersection somewhere in the background.

This is the main road - the road in the foreground (white lines) is what I call a 'parking road' - its a kind of service road, which is used exclusively for parking. Notice the red lines - this means its a has a premium rate for parking - a pound an hour!!! Purple lines are 75p and green is free. But its never free - for parking, that is!!!

And, you remember I told you my desk was almost a corner one, and has a view of Jaipur, the Indian restaurant? Well, this is the view!!! And just in case the fog and the darkness make you gloomy, let me remind you, once in a while, we get some sunshine, and how we wish it lasts!!! Why? Take a look!!!

Notice the red car in the foreground - it is always in the same place. Proof of it is the fact that the two snaps above are spaced weeks apart. There are lots more to come, so stay glued...

I am a stickler...

...for correct spellings. If it’s a sunny day, and I’m feeling Godly, I may choose to forgive an occasional grammatical mistake, but I simply cannot stand wrong spellings. This, in spite of a Cambridge University study wchih pvores that you can raed and udnersnatd snetneecs if the frsit and lsat ltteers of the wrods are in palce. Only I know how difficult it was for me to write the above sentence – to convince myself to deliberately put the letters in the wrong places. But I digress. If I were not like this, I wouldn’t be the spellchecker for the professor, would I? Anyways.

GOOD DAY. This is KIRAN R PAWAR is This right time to talk to you? As you
are aware I am working with LIC, LIC is conducting a customer satisfaction
sarway. The corporation wants to know your views on Life Insurance
Mr. ________I want to meet you for about 15; minuets. Would you prefer That of come at 10am Saturday or nest day Sunday be more suitable? (your view :s are Important to us)
Thanking you
You finical friends
Kiran R. Pawar

And so began my autopsy of the ill-fated letter which dared to seek my mailbox with all its lacunae. And as if he were standing here in front of me, my friend starts asking -
Is this a good time to talk to you?
NO. Why is he going on?
As you are aware, I am working for LIC?
As YOU are obviously unaware, this is the first time I’m talking to you, so I’m not aware. Ok, now I’m aware. Now what?
The corporation wants to know your views on Life Insurance Mr.
What? Is this an interrogation, mister? Or is it like Mr._________, I want to meet you for 15; meet you for 15? You want 15 from me? 15 what? *Flabbergasted* Oh minuets? You want to meet me for 15 minuets? 15 dances and that too old style? Crazy hua kya? I’m no ‘Writh’ik Roshan, mind you.
Would you prefer that?
Prefer what? The dance?
Would you prefer that of come at 10am Saturday?
Any suggestions?
Or nest day Sunday be more suitable?
I thought Sunday was a rest day. Nest Day? What do we do? Go and nest? Or is it that on a “nest day be more suitable”, and other days be less suitable? Suitable for what? Nesting? Huh? And in the bracket he writes – your view :s are important to us. I have half a hunch the ‘:’ implies another meaning. Which view is he talking about? Sunday? Nesting? View? Whew!!!
You finical friends – Kiran R Pawar
Friends? I assume that the r is “or”. Which leads me to believe that there are two of them, both finical and intending to maintain an air of mystery. Oooh!!! Super. But then, who is the “this” pointer when they say in the first line “this is Kiran (or) Pawar”

And even though I spellcheck all the posts and comments for the professor, she does have an other side - she won this contest with this gem of an entry, you see. So as soon as I received this email, I sent it to her. Sometimes, it helps to know you have competition around.