Look Mommy! No Goosbumps!

So, by now one is guessing pretty much everyone in this country has seen Zoom's new version of Mile Sur Mera Tumhara and hated it. Everyone, with a TV or access to cable television, and time to care that is. A lot of lucky people one knows, just gave the whole hoopla a miss. But then, a good number of these lucky people would give life a miss, if they could (one is always amazed how a lot of people can go through life in a somnolent haze, it's a marvel of the modern times. Or not). Anyways, one digresses from one's original rant about the horror of epic proportions that the Times of India Group so creatively called "Phir Mile Sur".

One really feels bad for Rahul Gandhi at this point. The video pretty much has every progeny that made big by carrying daddy's glorious name to further heights, and our man, the poster boy for dynasty politics, was left out. The video was so horribly wrong in so many different ways, one does not really see why Times could not have gone ahead and have had him also.

Perhaps, for most of us, who grew up around the late 80s-early 90s the new version is so hard to digest because we associate a certain part of our early life with the original song. Less than a month ago, one spent a happy evening with Gee, looking up all these DD things--Mile Sur Mera Tumhara video, the Baje Sargam song, the ek-chidiya bit, and that Pyar ki Ganga Bahe song and on and on--on YouTube and feeling elated. It was like looking at old albums (the ones that have photographs, and not songs in them)...you kind of remember not just the photos, but how you once were. It's like finding an old faded pieces of yourself.

As a kid one considered oneself very patriotic--one was the kind who passionately delivered speeches for every other Republic Day and Independence Day assembly in school, who meant every word of her "Why I love India" type essays etc etc. One remembers once when one was in 3rd standard, how upset one was because one could not get hold of a tiny paper flag to pin up to one's shirt pocket. One sincerely believed that this was part of the I-day protocol, and one will be considered a second-grade citizen for not having one. one almost felt guilty eating the free laddoo they'd distributed at school...one had to earn that, and without wearing one's patriotism on one's pocket (not sleeve), one certainly had not.

For that kid, Mile Sur meant something. One honestly believed in the whole idea of unity in diversity, one believed that India did indeed have one voice. Even though, growing up, one learns the hard way that along with Santa Clause and Maveli and the Abominable Snowman, a lot of these theories and feelings are just myth and gas, but then there is that child-alter of yours who wants to hold on to them still. Which is why, you still hope for some joy and wine for Christmas and stay up till 3 in the morning to make a pookalam the day before onam. Which is why when you hear Mile Sur Mera Tumhara after some 15 odd years, and see those hundreds of children dressed in green, white and saffron running ahead, you still get goosebumps. And which exactly why, you will hate the new version so much (one WILL NOT call it Phir Mile Sur, unless one is aiming for sarcasm, which right now, one is not).

The new version just pulled the ugly reality which was lurking at the back of your head, and shove it right in your face. It will tell you, that, "Ha! There is NO real India" --not one that belongs to the "real people" anyways. What was then was a media myth, what is today, is also a media myth, only a less romantic one. The "real India" today, has movie stars (and stars, not necessarily actors) as their social idols, has your surname for your ticket to succeed. The "real India" does not care if you work namelessly to train the rural illiterate to harness solar energy, you will still need Shilpa Shetty in a see-through saree to get you in the frame.

The old version still could fit 3 major actors of their time together in one 5 second frame, the new one, each actor needed his own airtime, his own frame, even his own tune. The only people who agreed to share screen space were the children (or were they only the "charity projects"?) and the defense personnel at the end.

So is one surprised? Honestly, no. But one is angry. Because one would have wanted to hold on to one's delusions a bit longer. Because one would still prefer goosebumps to retching disgust.

(If you haven't already, you must, must read Krish Ashok here . Actually, you must, MUST read him here first. Go. NOW.

O Woebegoneness

Apprarently it is standard practice (is that ce or se?) that something that looks like the real thing has to follow once you send teasers out. Why is that no one ever tells me all this stuff? Makes me wonder if I bunked the "standard practices in life at large" class in school to go off and catch some a-rated movie on the sly. Considering that I was one of those sad kids who never bunked a class in school *[nope, not to watch an a-rated movie, not even to watch a {insert your favourite letter here}-rated movie], this makes me wonder if I ever suffered from a brief case of MPD in my childhood. Be the case as it may, thanks to my most recent ex-roomie, I now stand with full knowledge of the teaser-related-standard-proceedures of life.

Now that I have finished my catchy, hook-the-reader-so-that-sHe-thinks-the-post-might-be-interesting kind of introduction, let move on. So, about this post. This is about, surprise, surprise, the little un-appreciated joys of life. Yeah. Right.

Anyway, ever tried returning to sqaure one? No, not finding yourself in it accidently as you go about your merry ways, but being half-pushed, half walking-in yourself into that 2/2 inch space, where your thoughts freeze and your brain, which was till now buzzing like the ladies compartment of a crowded Mumbai local train, suddenly goes into this weird like of white vaccum where the only perceptible sound is that of the dust covered fan turning? If you ever have, then you, my friend, will be nodding your head in sympathy for me, as I say that this is where I'm - in sqare one. For the sake of prudence on wire, I shall leave the glorious details for later.

Anyway [I know I started my last para with the exact same word, but indulge me for a bit here, will you?], when you're starved for some entertainment to feed that voraciously hungry mind, imagine how grateful you feel towards God for giving you politicians, and of course, 24/7 media channels.

Here's what has been sustanence, for the last few days:

The whole deal with judges holidaying in exhotic locales, with wife and kid to tow, all on tax-payers money, is suddenly the latest breaking news. So when CNN-IBN asked Union Law Minister H R Bhardwaj to give his valuable comment on this, the good Minister, who of course saw nothing wrong with the practice, says, [And I qouth CNN-IBN, who quoth the Minister]

"How can you deprive the wife? You are a woman. You should understand"

Can you beat that for an argurment? In front of such restounding display for sparkling logic, I feel humbled.

And Then...
The New Indian Express, Cochin, ran this "Worst Minsiter" contest to give some very valuable feedback to the champions in the Kerala State Assembly [and of course, to provide the tax evading junta to have a free go at the very same people whom they elected]. Not very surprisingly, the Education Minister, M.A.Baby won. But the real scoop came from elsewhere--from Mr. G. Sudhakaran, the Corporation Minister, who did not take it kindly that he came only third in the contest. So this venerable gentleman retorted, that when George Bush, with his inspired brilliance and might could not scare him, Goenka's paper with its measly bunch of "coolie writers" stands no chance. And since our minister is all of 5 years old, he's also added that the Consumerfed website [which is under his department] would publish a list of worst performing journalists in the state. Oh boy! I'll sure be holding my breath for THAT one!

And finally...

IPL seems to be turning into the mother of all gossip churners. The lastest is the accusations of racism, as two Kings XI cheerleeders were sent back for their skin colour. They were apparently told that the Indian public "do not like dark-skinned girls". Naturally, everyone is outraged. "Racist? Us??? We, the campions of equality, who invented tolerance, racist? How could you? Wasn't it our Gandhi who fought agaist apartheid in South Africa? Didn't our Shilpa Shetty forgive the bad bad people of Big Brother's House, who said nasty nasty thing to her? How can you ever call us racist? We can't even spell rasist!"

People, accept it. We are racist. Yes, we are. We SO are. Of course we are racist. We are castist, sexist too. Look at the number of serials that go on about the dark-skinned sister who can never get married, or the advertisment budgets of Fair and Lovely, and Fair and Handsome, or the matrimonial columns which still have people looking for "fair-skinned, convent educated, homley girls". So please, don't you tell me that we are not sexist, castist, or racist. I use Fair and Lovely too.



*I've decided that I do not really like the normal brackets, and shall be using square and curly henceforth. In case I forget that I don't like normal brackets, you my readers, yes, all 4 for you, are to remind me.