The Pursuit

Ratan Babu was standing on the terrace of his house in Goabagan Lane on a lazy Sunday morning and brushing his teeth, when a group of children, his son included, rushed to the spot in pursuit of a kite that had fallen from the skies. The kite was beautiful, and with the large red circle in the middle of the white diamond-shaped paper, it looked just like the flag of Japan. As it descended from the sky and landed ten feet away from him, the piston like-movement of the toothbrush in his hand stopped. As if in a flash, Ratan Babu seemed to remember something. A fleeting memory of a scene – a group of children, a kite, a young man who had just lost his job. Ratan Babu knit his brows and tried to recall where he had seen all these, but he couldn’t remember anything else.

The children began to shout and holler in the joy of having retrieved the kite. Pintu, Tukai, Jojo, Neelu, Sunny and Ratan Babu’s own son Tikloo – they were all kids from the neighbourhood. Ratan Babu loved children. Their company gave him immense pleasure. But unfortunately, he could never have the good fortune of their company. His own son avoided him as much as he could, hardly speaking to him. His son’s friends too tried to steer clear of him. “Hey Pintu, come here” – such calls were often answered with “Later uncle, Mom’s calling me” and such other excuses. It’s not that Ratan Babu didn’t realize why this happened all the time. Truth be told, there were very few people who were as uninteresting and untalented as he was. On top of that, he was a man of very few words. Ratan Babu hadn’t the least idea about how to win the hearts of children. He didn’t know any stories or jokes or anecdotes, nor was he updated about the latest news from the world of Sports. He was in his mid-forties, he worked as a clerk and led a pretty boring life. He didn’t know how to sing or recite or show magic tricks. In fact, he didn’t know anything interesting at all. Which is why he was always saddened to see that all the neighbourhood children, including his own son, would always avoid him.

The next day was Monday, Ratan Babu had risen from his desk in his office at the Telephone Bhawan and walked up to the unbarred window to stretch his limbs, when he suddenly remembered where he had seen the scene that had knocked the doors of his memory the previous day. It was a film that he had watched in Lighthouse – a motion picture. It was a long time ago. His friend Raghu and he had just watched a charity football match in the Maidan and come and stood in front of Lighthouse and New Empire, with the objective of catching the evening show. New Empire was showing ‘Bobby’, which was a sell-out, so they had gone into Lighthouse. It was a Black & White film – a Bangla film. He couldn’t remember the name of the film, or its story, or who had starred in it, but what he distinctively remembered was how deeply it had impacted him.

As the day went on, Ratan Babu realized that it was becoming difficult for him to concentrate on his work. His mind was repeatedly being thrown back to the memory of the film, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it off his mind. Ratan Babu left office early that day, but instead of going home, he went to the lake next to his office and sat down on a bench by its side. Throughout the day, he had remembered few other things. He remembered how fifteen minutes into the movie, Raghu had muttered a dismissive grunt, slid himself deeper into his seat and promptly slept off. Some people can be so strange! Raghu never had any artistic bend of mind. Tagore, Nazrul, Bankim or Sharat Chandra had never made an impact on him. He lived in the world of football, and for him, nothing existed outside the span of the two goalposts. But Ratan Babu had been fascinated by the film. It was the story of a young city-bred man who finds a job after a lot of difficulty, and then loses it because he cannot bring it upon himself to sacrifice his values and principles, and how he finds his late father’s old diary one day, in which he had written about a distant village in the heartlands of Bengal and described its virgin beauty, and how the protagonist fights the dilemma in his mind and leaves his urban life behind to find peace and solace in a low-paying but fulfilling job in the village, where he falls in love with a woman and spends the rest of his life happily. It was a moving tale, told with admirable dexterity.

Over the next few days, Ratan Babu realized that he was itching to remember the name of the film. The most obvious thing to do was to ask Raghu, of course, but he had moved to Jabbalpur with his family, and Ratan Babu had lost his address. Ratan Babu didn’t remember the names of the actors – in fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that most of the actors in the film were first-timers – people who had never been seen on film before. What could he do? The nagging sensation in his head didn’t let him sleep at night.

One Saturday morning, Ratan Babu went to his brother-in-law Jyoti’s residence in Bakul Bagan. Jyoti knew a few people in the film industry and was a self-admitted ‘die hard film fan’.

“Do you remember the year?” Jyoti asked with a pronounced frown on his face, after Ratan Babu had told him the storyline.

“Must have been between ‘70 and ‘75. Do you remember I slipped in the backyard and fractured my knee in ’74? This was before that accident.”

“Hmm....and you’re saying you can’t remember the name of the hero?”

“No. In fact, there was no....errr..... ‘hero’ in the conventional sense of the term. You could say a ‘protagonist’ of sorts. It was a very realistic portrayal of...”

“Oh, so it was an art film?”

“No, not really.”

“Commercial?”

“Errr....”

“Did it have songs?”

“No, I don’t think so....”

“Hah, so it was an art film. Anything else you remember?”

“I can’t remember the director’s....”

“Of course you can’t. If you can’t remember the hero’s name, it’s only natural that you can’t remember the director’s name. How many people even know the name of the director of the movie they are watching, really?”

“So, what do I do now?”

Jyoti thought for a few moments and said, “But, tell me something? Why do you need to know more about the film?”

Ratan Babu wasn’t prepared for the question at all. He really didn’t know what he would do if he would discover the name of the film. At the same time, it was like this irritating feeling at the back of his head that was not letting him live in peace. He told the same to Jyoti, who looked at him in a strange way for some time. Finally, Jyoti said – “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help to you Ratan-da. You can try and speak to Paritosh Sen in Ballygunge. He is a film critic, collector and an avid film fan. There are rumours that he even has a copy of ‘Battleship Potemkin’. He may be able to help you. I’m giving you the address, but I don’t have his phone number.”

The very next day, Ratan Babu took a bus to South Kolkata and reached Mr. Sen’s residence in Ballygunge Park. Mr. Sen was sitting in his living room and speaking to someone on the phone in a smooth silky voice. With a gesture of his hand, he asked Ratan Babu to sit down. After speaking for straight fifteen more minutes, Paritosh Sen kept the receiver on the cradle, turned to Ratan Babu and said –

“Yes?”

“Please don’t mind, I came without an appointment.”

“Now that you are here, how can I help you?”

“My name is Ratan Lal Mullick, I live in Goabagan Lane. My brother-in-law Jyoti Prakash Mitra told me about you.”

“Did he?”

“Yes sir, I’ve come to you with a request.”

“What request?”

“In the early 70’s, I had watched a film, a black & white film. Unfortunately, I can’t remember the name of the film anymore.”

“Indeed?”

“Y-yes. I was wondering if I could narrate the story to you and if you would be so kind as to identify the film?”

For almost a minute, Paritosh Sen stared at Ratan Babu with a fixed gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed from silk to khadi –

“You came to me to know the name of a film?”

“Err...yes....in fact, I know that I’m perhaps wasting your time. But this film had fascinated me because it was not one of the conventional films of its times. So...I was....wondering....if...”

“Who were the actors?” asked Mr. Sen in an irritated voice.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“I’m assuming you don’t know the director’s name either?”

“N-no...”

After thinking for a few seconds, Paritosh Sen said, “Ok, give me a brief outline of the story. Be precise and concise and give me details that may help me identify the film.”

Ratan Babu cleared his throat and began –

“Well you see, the story was about a young man who....”

“JAGANNATH!” Paritosh Sen had yelled out his servant’s name at the top of his voice and startled the living daylights out of Ratan Babu. The servant came in, Mr. Sen asked him to get two cups of tea, and asked Ratan Babu to resume his story. Passing his dry tongue over his dry lips, and gathering all his courage and wits together, Ratan Babu swallowed hard and narrated the story to Paritosh Sen in exactly 2 minutes and 15 seconds.

Paritosh Sen knit his brows and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he said – “I can’t say I have watched this film. The story sounds vaguely familiar to ‘A Lonely Evening’ in places, but..... are you sure it was a black & white film?”

“Yes, about that I am absolutely sure.”

“Well, no.....in that case....which year did you say you watched it in?”

“Must have been ‘73 or ‘74.”

“Hmm...” Paritosh Sen took a sip of tea and said, “You must understand that just because you watched it in ’74 does not mean that it was released in ’74. Several theatres used to run repeat shows in those times. Quite a few still do.”

Ratan Babu did not respond.

Paritosh Sen put down the empty cup on the table and said – “Listen Mr. Mullick, I have watched a lot of films in my life. My father, Barrister Bhabatosh Sen, had thrown me out of his house because he resented my love and passion for cinema. I had to do a lot of struggle, but over time, I became a film critic. I used to write reviews for films for various magazines and dailies. It was my job to watch all the films that would be released, no matter how shoddy or how well made they were. It was not only my passion, it was also my profession. No one in the city of Kolkata can write as comfortably in the dark as I can – years of taking notes in the dark recesses of the cinema hall, you see? If there’s a film that has been shown on screen, then I have watched it. End of story. Therefore, trust me when I tell you that I find it highly improbable that this film has escaped my attention.”

Paritosh Sen paused to catch his breath. Ratan Babu sat still. The wall clock was ticking away.

“However, it may be so that I am mistaken, and indeed this particular film is not a figment of your imagination, and that I have not had the good fortune of watching it. In either case, I can’t help you. You can contact the people in Tollygunge and ask them about your film, although I must say that they are unlikely to be able to help you either. Your tea has become cold, would you like to have another cup?”

Naturally, Ratan Babu could not sit there after this. He thanked Mr. Sen for his time, and went home. But the next day, Ratan Babu telephoned his colleague in office and informed him that he was under the weather and wouldn’t be able to come in to work. He took a bus to Tollygunge instead. He went from one studio to another, but unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to enter any of them. Having spent twelve rupees in bus fare and roamed the streets with the summer sun above his head, he returned home in the evening, spent and exhausted. He gave up. But over the next few weeks, he dreamt about the film on several nights. He distanced himself from his wife and son, who had no clue about what was wrong with him, and were not one bit happy about his strange and absent-minded behaviour.

Almost two months after meeting Paritosh Sen, Ratan Babu was clipping his nails on a Sunday morning, when Jyoti barged into his room and slammed a magazine on the table in front of him. He was panting. He yelled out – “Tikloo, ask your mother to make that lemonade of hers” – pushed the regulator of the fan to the maximum, turned towards Ratan Babu and said, “I found your film”.

Ratan Babu stared blankly at Jyoti, his heart was racing. Apparently, Jyoti had spoken about the film’s storyline to quite a few of his friends in the industry, and one of them, an old production manager, had finally identified the film.

“The film’s name is ‘Call of the Green’, starring first-time actor Kiran Kumar. That was his first film, and his last. The director was Prafulla Chakraborty. He, of course, has made several films after this one, although none were very successful.”

“Wh-when was the film released?” asked Ratan Babu, with a trembling voice.

Jyoti smiled, as he answered, “You’re wondering whether it’s the same film? Well then, listen, it was released in 1973. It ran in theatres for a couple of weeks. It tells the story of Janmejay, a young upright man, who quits his job in a merchant firm because he couldn’t tolerate racial remarks from his British boss. He then finds a diary, from which he learns about this village called Malindi in the Dooars. He goes there and starts living with his widowed aunt and finally finds a job there in the midst of nature. The End. Now, tell me, is it matching?”

Ratan Babu gulped and nodded in affirmation.

“There’s more. Prashanta Babu, whose elder brother worked as the production manager for this film, gave me this old magazine. Look at page 24, there’re a few stills from the film.”

Ratan Babu picked up the magazine with his trembling hands and opened it. On one corner of page 24, there were three stills from the film. Ratan Babu half-remembered one of the scenes faintly, although he could not remember the other two.

“Happy now? You owe me a treat at Sher-e-Punjab” – Jyoti left after half an hour, but Ratan Babu managed to buy one day’s time to keep the magazine and go through the article. That night, Ratan Babu read the entire article. Apparently, the film didn’t do good business. Clearly, it was much ahead of its times.

Ratan Babu’s mind was made up. After two days, when he went to Jyoti’s place to return the magazine, he clutched his brother-in-law’s hands in his own and pleaded earnestly – “Listen here Jyoti, I need to watch this film.”

Jyoti was shaving at seven o’clock in the evening. He freed his hands from Ratan Babu’s clutches, wiped the soap from under his sideburns and said – “Are you crazy? That film was screened for only two weeks in its lifetime. Super-duper flop! Producer Mekiram Dahiwala’s London-returned son had had the sudden urge to produce a film, so he grabbed at the first opportunity that came his way in the form of a script. That’s what happens when you have more money than you can spend.”

Ratan Babu was not disheartened. He extended the bottle of Old Spice towards his brother-in-law and said, “That may be so, but it was a brilliant film. I remember being awed by it.”

“Ah-ha, I’m not saying you weren’t. But where on earth are you going to get this film today?”

Ratan Babu thought for a few seconds and said, “Now that we know the name of the film, can’t we go and meet Paritosh Sen once again?”

“You can try, but I don’t think he will know. And the man has a temper that is talk of the town. Why, even superstar Anirban Chaudhuri sends him bouquets every now and then. He is one of the most notorious critics of the industry. He is known to have marred the career of several powerful stars simply by writing sharp and sarcastic criticisms of their performances. You want to go and meet him once again – be my guest.”

Ratan Babu recalled his first experience of meeting Paritosh Sen and swallowed hard. What could be done now? Several thoughts kept crowding into his head, but none of them could present a solution. Finally, he said – “Can you introduce me to the Production Manager of the film?”

“He is dead!”

“Oh!” Ratan Babu gasped.

“Yes, I know his younger brother Prashanta Barik though. I did ask him if there’s a copy of the film to be found anywhere. He scoffed at me.”

“But...but....can I still meet him once?”

Jyoti turned towards Ratan Babu and was about to say something harsh. But when he saw his brother-in-law’s face, he couldn’t. Ratan Babu’s eyes had caved into his face, he hadn’t had a clean shave in days. His hair was also unkempt.

“Listen”, Jyoti said, “I’ll ask him once again and see if I can find any leads, alright? But you have to promise me that you will stop this madness. Didi is worried to death about you. Tikloo does not talk to you with a straight face. What’s gotten into you?”

Ratan Babu hung his head but did not respond. He was quite ashamed. It was just a film after all.

Two weeks later, Ratan Babu got a call in his office. It was Jyoti.

“Hello, Ratan-da?”

“Yes Jyoti, tell me.”

“Are you free this Saturday morning?”

“Y-yes....why...what’s...”

“I’ll tell you, listen carefully. I spoke to Barik-da. Do you remember Prashanta Barik?”

“Prashan.....oh yes, the Production Manager, yes, what about him?”

“I spoke to him about the film – ‘Call of the Green’ – and he said there are no prints available.”

“Oh Lord!”

“Yes, but I pleaded with him and got him to agree to take you and me to the director Mr. Prafulla Chakraborty.”

“Really?!!”

“Yes, be ready on Saturday morning. Make sure you get a proper shave. I’ll come and pick you up at 9 o’clock. You’ll be able to sit behind my bike, won’t you?”

On Saturday, at around 11 o’clock, Ratan Babu found himself sitting in one of the largest drawing rooms that he had ever seen in his life. The neighbourhood itself was quite posh. And the house itself was almost like a mansion. Ratan Babu was quite surprised. Jyoti had said that Prafulla Chakraborty was just about a moderately successful director of his time. Inheritance, perhaps? Jyoti seemed to read his mind. He brought his mouth close to Ratan Babu’s ears and whispered – 

“Everything you see around you is by dint of his son’s career. Ran away from home and became an Assistant Director in Bombay. Three years later, he became a producer. Hasn’t looked back ever since. Never given a flop in 12 years. That’s Bollywood for you!”

Ratan Babu looked all around and suddenly, a new thought came into his mind. He realized that outside the 9-5 job that he had which paid him a pittance, there was such a huge world. All his life, he had laboured honestly and worked his sinews off, but he couldn’t even make a trip to Darjeeling.

“It was my first film Mr. Mullick”, said the veteran director, after he had settled down on his armchair with his pipe, “I have very fond memories of it.”

Ratan Babu looked at the man carefully. Barik-babu had said he was in his late fifties. But he looked much older for his age.

“It was a well-made film”, he went on dreamily, “although our immature audiences never appreciated it. It failed...miserably....at the box office. But I always thought....I had made it well....and like one’s first child, it will always be special to me.”

Ratan Babu cleared his throat and said, “May I ask you something, sir?”

“Sure sir”, the director said, with a genuine smile on his face.

“Is there a way I can see this film now?”

The answer came after a good 20-30 seconds later – “You want to watch the film?”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see....I had had the good fortune of watching it.....way back in ’74. In Lighthouse. And... and I had liked it very much.”

A faint smile crept into the director’s face and he said, “It’s very kind of you to say so Mr. Mullick. No one has ever told me something like that about that film.”

“My...heh heh.....pleasure sir”.

“But no, you can’t watch it anymore.”

“Huh?” Ratan Babu received a rude jolt.

“Well, for one, I never bothered to keep a copy. Why should I? What has it ever given to me?” said the old man with a lot of angst in his voice.

Ratan Babu felt his only chance slipping out of his fingers.

“Nor did the producers” said Prafulla Babu, “in fact Mekiram threatened me – ‘You gambled with my son’s money Porfull Babu, why couldn’t you make a masala picture with bikini-shikini, or a picture like Jai Santoshi Maa? I’ll see to it that your career is ruined’ – he said.”

“So, there’re no copies?”

“No sir.”

Ratan Babu was heartbroken. He had hoped that he would finally be able to watch the film he had admired so much. But now, he was crestfallen.

“There’s the master, though.”

Prafulla Chakraborty’s words ran through Ratan Babu’s body like a spark of electricity.

“Excuse me?” he said, nervously.

“The master. That idiot Meki sold it to some British fellow – some film club President or something like that. He sold it for Five Hundred Rupees, can you believe that?!!”

Jyoti cleared his throat and said politely, “Do you have this British gentleman’s name and contact details?”

“No young man, I don’t.”

Jyoti looked at Ratan Babu’s face and made one last attempt – “Do you know of anyone who might have this gentleman’s details? Anyone at all?”

“Well, there’s only one person who can give you his details. And that’s Mekiram Dahiwala himself!”

That afternoon, at his Goabagan Lane home, Ratan Babu announced to Jyoti that he was giving up.

“I don’t have the courage to face this producer. I have had enough!” he said.

Jyoti said, “You’ve come so far, and you’re giving up now?”

Ratan Babu sighed. Jyoti went on – “When I was a kid, I used to collect stamps. There was one Magyar Posta which I didn’t have. I had seen it in a shop in Vizag. Baba had an operation in his knee, so we had gone there. I didn’t have the money to buy it then. And my album was incomplete without it. Sixteen years later, I went to the same bookshop in Vizag and bought the stamp and completed my album. I had given up philately by then, but I kept the promise I had made to myself. Don’t give up Ratan-da.”

Ratan Babu said with a sad expression on his face, “I understand what you are saying, Jyoti. But why will this gentleman even meet us? He is anyways disappointed with the film.”

“Don’t you worry about that Ratan-da. We have come so far and met so many people in pursuit of this film. We’re not giving up midway. You don’t have to do a thing. You stay at home, concentrate on your job and take care of Didi and Tikloo. If Meki Mouse has the British gentleman’s contact details, Jyoti Mitra will get it for you!”

Ratan Babu still had his doubts, but when a month or so later, Jyoti came and announced that he had secured the gentleman’s address in Devonshire in England, Ratan Babu hugged his brother-in-law and thanked him profusely. Sudarshan Chaki lived three doors away. He taught English and History in Mahamaya Higher Secondary School. His English was very good. Ratan Babu and Jyoti sought his help to draft a letter to Mr. Jenkins, who had purchased the master reels of ‘Call of the Green’ from Mekiram Dahiwala’s son Mahadev Dahiwala thirty years ago for a sum of Five Hundred Rupees. Mr. Jenkins was the President of the Royal Calcutta Film Society at that time and had departed for his country soon after – lock, stock and barrel.

Ratan Babu sent the letter by airmail to the address that Jyoti had procured. But three months went by – Mr. Jenkins didn’t respond.

Ratan Babu would often stand at the unbarred window in his office room that overlooked the lake and sigh. What was he trying to do, after all? What had gotten into him? Why didn’t anyone stop him? Ratan Babu would look at the serene waters of the lake, mull over these questions in his mind and nod his head in frustration to his folly.

“Perhaps he is dead?” Jyoti surmised one day, offering an explanation for the lack of response to the letter.

“Enough is enough” Ratan Babu’s wife said conclusively. She was the eldest of five children who were orphaned at very early ages. Sarojini had raised them single-handedly and took care to see that they were all settled. Jyoti had more respect and fear for his elder sister than he had for the almighty. With those three words, she had hammered the final nail in the coffin. The episode was officially over.

But within three weeks, the letter arrived! Mr. Jenkins had written – Please accept my hearty apologies for not having attended to your letter earlier. I was presiding over the jury of a film festival in the city of Tehran and was absorbing the local essence of the region post the event, after which I spent a month in Paris to attend to some urgent business. I do have the film you refer to in my collection and would be happy to screen it for you at my humble abode in Devonshire if you would be so kind as to pay me a visit.

“You aren’t planning to go to England, are you?” asked Sarojini coldly from the kitchen.

Ratan Babu grinned from ear to ear and said, “I was just thinking of enquiring what the...heh heh... fares are like, you know? If the...heh heh... tickets don’t cost much....heh heh....”

“I’m sure they will not cost much. They will just cost you your job, your son’s education and whatever little savings we have.”

Jyoti and Ratan Babu discussed the matter and Jyoti suggested that given the expenses involved,  they had no choice but to forget about the entire thing. But Ratan Babu clenched his teeth in determination, went to Sudarshan Chaki and requested him to draft another letter for him.

“What should I write this time?” asked Mr. Chaki.

Ratan Babu took a deep breath, shut his eyes and said, “Write this – ‘Have gout. Stop. Unable to fly or sail. Stop. Request duplicate Call of the Green. Stop. Regards humble servant.’”

Thanks to Mr. Chaki’s better sense, a missive suitable for the comprehension of Mr. Jenkins was written and sent to Devonshire. This time, within 2 weeks, a package addressed to Ratan Babu was delivered to 22, Goabagan Lane. Ratan Babu returned from office and clawed the outer package apart to reveal a set of two reels of tape inside. Accompanying it was a letter from Mr. Jenkins, who had written – “Really happy to know that someone else in the world has liked this marvelous film. Regards, a fellow cinema lover.”

Jyoti came with his bike and the two men congratulated each other heartily. Finally, yes, finally, they had the film in their hands.

“Be careful”, warned Jyoti, “it’s highly inflammable.”

Ratan Babu touched his forehead to both the tapes and kept them in the locker of his old Godrej almira.

But now, a new problem presented itself. Where could they watch the tapes? Jyoti offered an idea – “There’s a film club in Entally. They have a projector that would be able to play these tapes. I know the Assistant Treasurer. I will see if I can arrange a screening. But....”

“But what?” asked Ratan Babu.

“Ratan-da, it will cost you some money.”

The two men slowly turned their heads towards Sarojini, who was busy with her household chores.

Without even looking at them, she said coldly – “Do whatever you want to, but for heaven’s sake, finish this!”

Sunday 22nd September, 2003 – the date is important, because it changed Ratan Babu’s life forever. At exactly 4 o’clock in the evening, Ratan Babu took a seat in the auditorium of Kolkata World Cinephile Society in Entally and took a deep breath. It was more than a year that he had been looking for this film. His dream was about to come true in a few seconds. It was too bad that Jyoti couldn’t come. He had taken up a job recently in a Phamaceutical company and he was travelling to Asansol. But Ratan Babu had promised to hire the auditorium one more day, specially for Jyoti. That’s the least he could do for him, really. Ratan Babu was the only person in the entire auditorium.

The projectionist, a young ruffian-type chap named Jishu, yelled at him from the room upstairs – “Uncle, finish it off quickly, will you? India is playing Australia today, I need to get home.”

Ratan Babu was far too excited to pay any heed to the idiot’s rude manners. Jishu switched on the projector, loaded the reel and started the film. As the banner of ‘Maa Santoshi Films’ popped up, followed by the titles, Ratan Babu’s face lit up in the dark. His pulse was racing, his dream was about to come true! There he was – yes! There was the young man that he had seen and admired that day at Lighthouse. Ratan Babu clapped his hands like a child in the darkness of the empty theatre, and the sound echoed back to him. It was all happening before his eyes, once again. He relaxed back in his chair, exhausted and satisfied, and began to watch ‘Call of the Green’.

Around twenty minutes into the film, Ratan Babu felt some amount of discomfort. He had not paid much heed to it towards the beginning, but as the minutes passed by, the discomfort grew, and soon a time came when he could not ignore it anymore. Ratan Babu realized, much to his horror, that after the initial excitement of securing something that he had been wanting so badly, he was not liking the film at all – not one bit. In fact, the film was pathetic, to say the least. Over-the-top acting, glaring loopholes in the plot, unnatural flow of storyline, very poor production value, deadpan expressions on the faces of all actors, without exception – Ratan Babu could go on and on. He was never too fond of the cinema, in fact he was not what one would call a ‘film fan’, but there was a time when he was into theatre. He had acted in several plays. And although it would be incongruous to call him an expert, he did know a thing or two about cinema as well. This film, was, by far, one of the worst that he had ever seen. 

It took him a lot of courage to sit through the 100 minutes of ordeal. When the film was over and the projectionist’s voice was heard, Ratan Babu pulled himself up from his seat. His legs were failing him. He took the two reels from the projectionist, and swaggered out into the fresh air.

“Shame on me! Shame on me! Shame on me!”

Ratan Babu slapped his forehead several times. How – he asked himself – could he have liked this film so much, all those years ago? What had gotten into him? He felt extremely frustrated at the amount of time, effort and money that a lower middle class man like him had spent in watching this garbage. What would he say to Jyoti? What would he say to Sarojini?

Shame! Shame! Shame!

Ratan Babu boarded a bus that would take him home and found a seat near the window.

Aah! As the cool breeze hit his face and blew over his head, it seemed to him that somebody was caressing his hair fondly. Aah! – a feeling of comfort rose from his insides and engulfed him. It was ’77 when he first took his job and started earning his livelihood. The job didn’t pay very well and there were quite a few duties that he had to carry out.  Ever since he had taken up the job, he had never indulged himself in anything. Whatever he would earn, most of it would be spent in the day-to-day expenses of the household. Like a mute spectator, he would only witness the money come in and go out. And all that he could do was to keep working. For that was his destiny. No big positive change would ever happen in his life. No sudden pleasures. No pleasant surprises. It had not happened in the last 20 years. How could it happen now? Ratan Babu realized that in the humdrum of his boring and frustrating middle-class existence, the memory of the film had come like a twig of hope – like a mirage of an oasis in the middle of a desert, and not thinking twice, he had hurled himself towards it, only to be severely hurt.

A small drop of tear had collected in the corner of his eye. Ratan Babu hung his head and let it fall between his feet. His heart seemed very heavy today. A lump of emotion was struggling to come up his throat and he was doing his best to keep it down.

As the bus picked up speed, he felt the cool breeze in his hair once again, and he felt much better. He was now at peace with himself. The film was pathetic. He had accepted it. He had lost a lot of money. He had lost a lot of time. And he had received nothing in return. Absolutely nothing.

But was that really so?

A new thought hit Ratan Babu like a flash. Granted the film had a shoddy storyline, full of plot loopholes, inconsistencies and several uninteresting elements. Granted the film had showed him what not to do while creating a story. But sitting right there at his window seat in the bus, he could immediately see how, on making certain crucial changes here and there, one could create a whole new story out of the drab one that he had experienced sometime back. He felt quite excited once again. As several permutations of storylines started flowing through his brain, Ratan Babu realized that he could carve out a fascinating story out of the clay of characters and plots at his disposal. He shut his eyes and dove head-first into the world that had begun to take shape in his mind. His mind began to work in wonderful ways, which was so strange to him that he himself couldn't believe he was doing it. After half an hour or so, as the bus dropped him at his stop and sped away, he realized that he had done something really wonderful, and the joy of creation was now making him prance towards home.

There was a slight drizzle, and it was picking up steadily. Ratan Babu didn’t have his umbrella with him. And to make things worse, the entire neighbourhood was steeped in darkness. The problem of load-shedding had been bothering everyone in the neighbourhood for almost a month now. Power would be cut off at 6:30 sharp, and it would be back exactly one hour later. Carefully sidestepping potholes and cowdung in the darkness, Ratan Babu reached home. Pintu, Tukai, Jojo, Neelu, Sunny and Tikloo were all sitting near the television with sad faces in the dark, waiting for the power to come back and the India – Australia match to resume. There was a candle burning dimly, and in its light, Ratan Babu cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Just a couple of minutes to quarter past seven! Enough time for him to do his job.

“So kids, who’s winning, eh?” he asked as he unbuttoned his wet shirt.

“Australia” said Pintu grimly.

“Although you never know in Cricket”, chirped Jojo.

Tikloo had been in these situations before. He knew that his father didn’t know the first thing about Cricket. Not in the mood for being embarrassed in front of his friends, he interjected, “Baba, Maa is looking for you”.

But just like in the last one year, Ratan Babu didn’t give up. It took some time and effort for him to get the gathered audience interested, but he didn’t mind, because once he began his story, the children were hooked. And there, in that small dingy candle-lit room, in the middle of the rainy evening, Ratan Babu told the children of Goabagan Lane one of the best stories that they had ever heard or read. And at the end of it, when all of them were clapping to their heart’s content, Tikloo’s face had lit up with genuine happiness and pride, so much so that just like his other friends, he had completely forgotten that the power had come back long ago!

5 Things that Throw Authors off the Creativity Grid

Authors are human beings, and no different from others. But there's a certain amount of creativity required to pen your thoughts, sketch your characters and guide or be guided by the flow of your storyline. Such creativity takes a complete backstage in certain situations. Here are a few such situations, where I personally get thrown off the creativity grid ruthlessly and lose days of thinking trails. It's sad, and funny, at the same time, but from an author's point of view, more than anything else, it's dangerous.

1) Groceries

You are thinking of the perfect chase sequence. Your central character is running through meandering lanes and by-lanes and by-by-lanes. You are a soaring eagle looking at the labyrinth a thousand feet below, where a bunch of goons are looking like ants, chasing another ant, who is barely staying ahead, and alive. The man's lungs and feet are failing him, and unknown to himself, he's slowing down. And you're staring at 10 different brands of Papad in the aisles and looking for that ONE brand which your wife specifically needs. Aha- there it is! No, she said Mangalore brand, this one's Kerala brand. The goons have almost reached the breathless man. One of them picks up a brick and throws.....Found it! Now, you just have to look for the 200gms pack. Remember your wife's words? "Not 100, not 250.....200gms".

2) Publisher-pressure

I totally understand why they do it. I run a business too. But here's the point. Have you ever tried telling a story to your child, while you yourself are tired and sleepy? "Then what happened? Baba, then what happened? Baba? (takes his tiny little fingers and pries your eyes open). The dragon threw a ball of fire towards the princess, then what happened?" You plant three heavy knocks on your head, and half open your eyes, as if there are exams tomorrow and you haven't studied all year. "Then the prince came on his white elephant and caught the dragon and sent him back to his dungeon and the princess and the prince got married and lived happily ever after." Being a child, your child is satisfied at such a beautiful conclusion and promptly lies beside you and father-son go to sleep. Unfortunately, your readers are not children. So, you can't rush things in the adult world. They will ask you at exactly what point of time the horse turned into an elephant, what happened to the ball of fire which the dragon had already thrown at the princess, and all the action-packed details of the chaining of the dragon and the emotional aspects of the prince-princess meeting, and the sexual ones of the kiss they shared. And unless you have enough ideas, you can't 'rush a novel'. Even great writers have written about the publisher-pressure, and boy, were they right?

3) Mother-in-law

If you are an author, you are a sensitive person. You do not like to be disturbed most of the times - not with coconut laddoos, not with complaints about how your mother-in-law's daughter (the one married to you) is becoming thinner and thinner (an observation you completely disagree with), not with frequent requests of going to the market and getting your wife's favourite sweets, fruits and dessert, and MOST DEFINITELY not with stories about how she used to be a sweet little girl in her childhood and how many parents of eligible engineers, doctors and NASA astronauts had lined up for her hand from the day she was 18, and how she had (big sigh) chosen "YOU" instead. In such situations, you finally realize why some authors check into a hotel to write, and why some of them are often seen hanging around in the chainsaw, shovel and noose sections of department stores.

4) Construction

Some authors have been known to travel to a place whose environment matches with that of his plot. For a story with events that take place near a beach, he would travel to a beach. Stephen King has been known to write in a dim, damp and dark dungeon. But even stories that involve plots with construction going on cannot be written with actual construction going on around you. Traffic, fine. Market, fine. Construction....nope.

5) Politics

Come to think of it, politics actually helps me in writing. Because where else can I hope to find so much of comic content? Also, whenever there's a discussion on politics, and someone is arguing the merits of one party over the other, I just swiiiiiiiiitch off. I look at the person speaking about the recent political developments very attentively, and I get lost in the wonderful ideas that I had been juggling with in my head and advance them a little further, waiting to get back to my writing desk, from which I carefully remove my mother-in-law's 12x18 Bajrangbali photo and write the plot down on paper.

Walking Through Paradise

If you come and stand on the Calangute beach in Goa and face the ocean, there are two treks that you can do - one to your left, the other to your right. Both treks are very different, but undoubtedly and exceptionally beautiful. I'm going to talk about the one towards the right, which will take you through beautiful beaches like Calangute, Baga, Little Baga (did you know this beach exists?), Anjuna, Vagator and all the way uphill through a dense jungle to the Chapora Fort. before you embark on this trip, I suggest you print a map of North Goa and keep it with you. Please do not refer to it just now, just keep it with you. You'll refer to it when the time is right.

Turn right from where you were facing the ocean in Calangute, and start walking along the shoreline, keeping the sea to your left. Wet your feet, splash water on your girlfriend, hold your spouse's hand, show tiny crabs to your kid, and reach Baga in around half an hour. When you reach Baga, it may seem to you that your path has been cut off by a channel of water that connects inland drains to the sea. Don't get disheartened. That lovely green hill that's beckoning you will have to wait, but only for a little while. Turn right and dissect the shacks into the Baga village and let your biological compass find a bridge that takes you across the channel and at the foot of the hill. The real fun starts here. In the monsoons, trekking along the ridges of the hill could be a little dangerous, but with proper hiking shoes, and a stick to clear away bushes from your path, you will be just fine. Rise up the ridges and when you reach the top, you'll see a sight that 99% of the tourists would not be able to see. Behind you, is a vast green plateau, which will cure your eyes of years of exhaustion if you keep staring at it for 10 minutes. In front of you, the majestic Arabian Sea lies in all its glory, reminding you with every crash of the waves on the rocks down below that there are things in this world that are way, WAY larger than what we consider important in our day-to-day lives. Sit there for some time, and then descend the hillock to reach one of the best kept secrets of Goa - a secluded little beach called 'Little Baga'. There's just one shack there, and hardly a couple of hundred feet of beach, and chances are - you'll be the singular soul on that beach. The beach itself is nestled right in the middle of green hills on three sides, and the ocean on the fourth.

After you've celebrated your solitude in whatever way you may deem fit, start climbing the hills again, ocean to your left. This climb is a treacherous one - drink a lot of water, and watch your step. 'Pugdandis' or walking paths will be your best guide, but not always. There are a lot of cashew plants around, so be careful of straying animals, like bears. Keep walking, make sure your biological (or phone's) compass is always on. Keep moving north. The ocean should always be on your left. Make your way through the hilly terrain, and reach a rocky descent down onto what I call a 'relief' after the treacherous hike - Anjuna beach. I've done this trek at least 5 times, and on all occasions, the moment I climbed down to the Anjuna beach, I just dove into the cool and refreshing water. I can't explain the beauty of that experience in words. You are back in civilization again, so you'll find a lot of shacks lining the beach. Relax, doze off, have lunch, solve Differential Equations, and pat yourself on the back for having made this far.

Then, pick yourself up, because, believe it or not, you've not even covered halfway. Keep walking along the beach and reach the famous Anjuna Flea Market. The market is open on Wednesdays, and you get some good stuff there. From here, I recommend walking through the asphalt road and going towards the spot where all the buses drop off the tourists. Your target should be (once again, and bravo!) the hill right in front of you. Find your own way to the foothill and start climbing once again. Reach the top, and you'll realize that this is a much greener plateau than the one you had seen a few hours ago. Keep going, there are no specific directions, except that you need to keep moving north, with the sea to your left. You'll go up and down and up and down in a rollercoaster of greenery, and then finally, you reach a sheer drop. Start climbing down. Be VERY careful here, it's not as easy as it seems. Your objective will be to reach the Vagator beach that you can see down below, between the swaying palm trees. Reach Vagator and take a short break. Vagator's sand is quite hard, as compared to that of other beaches, making it easier for you to walk. Keep walking, and when you can't go any further because of razor sharp rocks jutting out of the water, look up to your right, away from the ocean. That's the hill you need to climb to reach the 'Dil Chahta Hai' fort - Chapora. Once again, it's a steep climb, almost impossible if you don't have the right gear, or are tired, or hate gymming. But if you have the spirit in you, you'll be able to do it. Once you have conquered the fort, I suggest you refer to the map you had printed and kept in your rucksack earlier. Find Calangute, find Chapora fort, and say to yourself - If I can do this, I can do anything.

Top 5 Reasons To Become An Entrepreneur

A few days ago, I wrote a note titled "Top 5 Wrong Reasons to Become an Entrepreneur" on Facebook. Some of my readers have asked me to state what, in my opinion, were the RIGHT reasons to become an entrepreneur. So, here I am, once again, back to this blog after a long time.

Before I begin, I would like to take a moment to say that entrepreneurship has its own share of challenges and fun. Sometimes, life can be difficult to the extent of being miserable. Sometimes, life can be enriching, satisfying and fulfilling. In that sense, it is not much different from any other means of livelihood, for instance working in a farm, or working in an office. Why then, should you become an entrepreneur?

1.   Because you can!

We live in a world of expectations. If your father was in a government job, the expectation from you would be that you would be a service holder as well. Or may be a Doctor, at best. No one will expect you to be a magician, no matter how good you are at showing magic tricks. If you come from a family business which sells apparels, no matter how much you want to do it, you will not be encouraged to become a writer. Your ties are very important, but when ties cease to become connections and start becoming chains, it starts getting a little uncomfortable. There's a brilliant scene in Satyajit Ray's "Jana Aranya". A young jobless man stumbles upon a business opportunity and comes home to discuss it with his father, who is a middle-class retired schoolmaster. His father comments: "Business? No one in our family has ever done business", but thinks about it for a moment, and  follows it up by saying "But it's also true that till 2-3 generations back, no one had even done a job". That is the reality. Someone in our family had started something. And he/she had the grit to stick to it. Why not you?

2.   Because you love doing it.

But then should you become anything and everything that you CAN become? Perhaps not. Do it if you simply love doing it. Do it if it gives you so much happiness that it makes you forget all the pains and hardships that come along with it. Because that, and that alone, will be your fuel during your journey. This is also one of the biggest reasons why most folks who come from an alternate source of employment, try their hand at entrepreneurship. A friend of mine loves to travel. She, and a few of her friends who love traveling as well, founded a company which takes customers on customized trips which are off the beaten track. She is earning, she is traveling, she is happy. Your income is very important, because it sustains you, and perhaps sustains others who are dependent on you. You've got aspirations as well. Now, if you can meet your aspirations by generating an income from something that you absolutely love to do, can you think of a reason why you should NOT do it? I can't.

3.   Because you want to solve a problem.

When I moved into my apartment, this place was almost in the middle of nowhere. One had to go out of the complex and drive for sometime to reach shops etc. A guy I know noticed that residents had been facing issues, and decided to set up a medicine shop in the complex. 2500 flats. An average of 3 residents per flat. One essential commodity:   medicine. I deliberately don't want to take any of the big examples like Facebook etc. Let's take another 'small' example. A relative of mine retired from his job but was still fit enough to continue to work. He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what to do. One day, he came to know that the area that he lived in was very good for the cultivation of medicinal plants, the extracts of which were used in fragrances. Apparently, there were a few folks who were trying to cultivate it too, but didn't have any means to market their produces. This gentleman used the power of the internet, and used a portion of his savings to set up a farm of medicinal plants, and is doing exceptionally well today. Another small example is my own venture, ArtSquare (www.artsquare.in). When I was in college, a junior of mine, who was an exceptionally talented painter, once came to me and told me how he was heartbroken because a gallery had turned him away, when he couldn't afford their steep exhibition fees. I saw a problem, and I decided to do something about it. Now, anyone can showcase his artworks on ArtSquare, at zero cost. It's always open, accessible by anyone from all over the world, and has a host of services to delight art buyers. Entrepreneurs who are problem solvers, are often driven by the problem and the solution, so much so that some of the challenges that come along the way, cannot bend their knees.

4.   Because you should give yourself YOUR moment.

Earlier in this post, I spoke about two important points - expectations and responsibilities. You are responsible for some people, and these people matter to you. They have certain expectations from you. And these are very important. These practically define your life, they define your choices. But I can assure you - NONE of these individuals want you to be unhappy. Be it your wife, your child, your parents. They want you to be happy, to do something that you like to do. In your life, try to give some time to yourself! To do things that you love to do, for however short a period that may be. If you are truly happy, your output level will be so high, that you'll pull off things that you had otherwise imagined were beyond your reach. Some time in your life, you may want to turn back and say - I did that! Make no mistake, this does not mean that if you're going to an office and working hard, you cannot say that. If you've done a wonderful project and received recognition for it, THAT is your moment. But, if you haven't, perhaps you're at the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, my friend. Perhaps, you're better off doing something else. Perhaps your moment, is yet to come!

5.   Because you don't want to regret it.

I know many people who simply hate what they are doing right now. They will crib, bitch, complain, criticize and absolutely massacre their current occupation, their role and the people associated with it. But they will not ask themselves a simple question - "Ok, I don't like this, so what DO I like?" Years from now, when you sit in a chair, old and frail, waiting to meet your maker, what thoughts would be going through your mind? Would they be - "I absolutely loathed my job. I had a tough time. I scraped through it, like a man who crawls through a tunnel of shit, and even managed to do well for myself, and retired with a handsome amount in my bank. But now, that money is of no use to me. I DIDN'T enjoy then, and I CAN'T enjoy now. Lord, what a fool I have been!"? Or, do you think they would be - "I took a bold step. It was something that I always wanted to do. I had my tough days, I had my good days. But boy, wasn't it fun? I have lived my life to the fullest. I have lived life on MY terms and made MY decisions, and the people I love supported me to the fullest possible extent. I have made them happy, and I myself have been a happy person throughout my life. And now, dear Lord, I'm ready when you are." :-)

The Chains On Our Ankles

There was a time when most middle-class parents wanted their kids to be either doctors or engineers. For a few progressive minded parents, 'MBA' was a magic word. I'm not sure about the other parts of the country, but in the one where I grew up, children were literally branded and prepared to become doctors or engineers. The respect that seemingly came with these professions had such a nasty impact on the kids, that some of their childhood has been completely sacrificed in the process of decking them up. Now, I'm not telling you anything that's new. And you may argue that these things don't happen anymore. But I had a shocking discovery when I went to my native town to celebrate my son's first birthday in May this year.

A cousin of mine, a girl of 16, has just written her Class-10 board exams. Two days after the last day of the exam, she started going to private tuition. When I asked her what these classes were for, I was told that they were for her Plus-2 studies. Apparently, engineering was such a sought after field, that these set of tutors (private, mind you) were overbooked every year and if she wouldn't start her classes early, she would not get a berth. When I asked her, how did she know that she would even pass her board exams, she replied casually, "if I don't pass, I'm better off dead."

Perhaps in a fit of scientific miracle, or perhaps by some higher entity, this world was created with vast opportunities. We, as intelligent species, have been endowed with the power to live our life to the fullest in beautiful little ways that serve us best. At 16, girls fall in love. At 16, they discover the beauties of the world. At 16, a girl isn't better off dead because she could not pass an examination. There are higher tests in this world, which she will have to take. The test of motherhood, the test of ethical dilemmas, the test of choosing between right and wrong, the test of sacrifice. The matriculation exam is quite insignificant as compared to these tests. My wrath is not so much over the girl. My angst is against her parents and teachers. Someone or the other must have giver her this idea. Who was it? I'll never know. But I do know that whoever that person was, he is a criminal of the highest order.

Clenching my teeth, when I asked my cousin as to why she had to wake up at 5am in the morning and go to her private tuition, she said this, and I quote - "Sir takes three batches. The he goes to school. The third batch in the morning would have been good, but then he is usually unmindful with that batch. He rushes things, because he has to get ready for school. At dawn, his mind is fresh and he teaches well too." When I told her why she needed private classes in the first place, she said, "if I don't write Sir's notes, he won't give me marks."

I was very saddened that day. Because no dictum, no law, no rule can stop a human being from being base. It can at best try and dissuade one from being so. But as my father once had told me, all laws in the world are founded on the basic principle, that all human beings are fundamentally good. Schools exist to impart education. Their job is very important. They are like the masons who lay the first bricks of a skyscraper. Now, for whatever reasons, the teacher in question was clearly not doing his job at work. Moreover, he had created a threatening situation for even those kids who do not have to rely on a class lecture for education. He simply wouldn't give them passing marks, even if they write all the right answers. Let's stoop lower. Even at home, where he is taking money from students to impart education in the form of one-size-fits-all notes, he becomes unmindful because he has to shave and get ready for school, where he is not doing his job anyway.

I spoke to the girl's parents. They said, "What can we do? This is how it is here. If she doesn't get good marks, no good school will take her. How will she pass her engineering entrance exams?"

So, I told them about some of the best people I have known, who received education, not "NOTES". Some of these people were brilliant in studies, some were not. But all of them, without exception, are happy. I told them about my friend Anupam, who never stood first in class, but has a wonderful job today. There's my friend Bappa, who could never pay attention in class, but was very good at reading books. He is doing very well for himself today. My friend Niraj, who had utter disrespect for conventional forms of education has opened up a company and is doing groundbreaking work on email collaboration today. My friend Anirban and Nidhi run an organization which helps budding entrepreneurs achieve their dreams. My friend Vikash runs a successful online library and bookstore. My friend Abhishek is a successful playwright and director. What's also important to remember is that not all of these folks have succeeded in the first place. I remember reading a heart-wrenching email from a friend of mine who set up an industrial unit, which failed. But he took up an alternate career option, and today, when I look at his picture with his wife and kid, he looks very happy. My friend Chanchal, who I can write an entire book about, was never to conform to norms. Everyone thought that he was good for nothing. Chanchal is a chef at the Ritz in Toronto today. I can go on and on and on. I have realized one thing, off late - in life, we may have chains around our legs, but those chains are never locked. If you have courage, if you are passionate about something, if you think you are good at something, you will find a way to take off those chains and live life happily. For the rest of the days that I stayed in my native town, I tried my best to drive this message into my cousin's and her parents' minds. I don't know if that'll help, but I tried. Perhaps, a day will soon come, when sitting happy somewhere, my cousin will reflect back at what she told me that day and laugh out loud. And how I wish that that day her "Sir" (noun - used as a respectful way of addressing a man - Oxford English Dictionary) could hear her laughter.

Top 5 Videos I Watch After a Bad Day in Office

We all have them, don't we? A bad decision, an unnecessary argument, the lousy boss, the nincompoop of a client, the stupidity of it all. Rat-race, visibility, boring meetings, desperate loud-mouthed participation in such meetings by know-it-all's, pointed questions with sarcastic undertones, business as usual, subject matter expertise, blah, blah and more yawnish blah. Sometimes, I just sit there, staring into the void, like a zombie, and recall a nice piece of music that I heard a long time ago, or a thrilling scene from Hitchcock's movies, or a nice dish my wife cooked for me, and more often than not, Limu's smile. And then, I just slow down and step outside the rat race. I watch as my fellow rats zoom past me, even those who I had left behind. And I say to myself, "I don't give an effin damn."

But not always do I manage to not let it affect me. I'm not aerodynamically perfect, and I cannot always dodge shit. Sometimes, it does hit me. On such particularly bad days in office, when I'm really down in the dumps, I tend to watch something nice on Youtube. I have noticed that I often go back to the same videos, and I thought I'll share these with you.

#Five:   The sweetness of the Piano

I discovered this video on Youtube quite accidentally, and was immediately attracted to it. Why? Because it is perhaps the best rendition of a beautiful song by my favourite music director. I had always liked the Piano, as a majestic yet sweet instrument, and was amazed at how teachers would say, "Curl your fingers, like a tunnel." Look at how easily the artist plays the song, as if he knows the role of every single note of the piece. Not a single note is off-key or out of place. And the composition: I don't want to commit sacrilege by saying anything about it.

#Four:   "Main to ishtick rakhta hoon"

He is a forgotten comedian. Seriously, how many people remember Jagdeep? But everyone remembers Soorma Bhopali. In a 3+ hour movie, his role must have been what, 10 minutes? But those 10 minutes are so precious, so neatly done, the comic timing is so perfect, the diction and intonation are so funny, that it takes my breath away, every time I watch this video. I particularly crack up at the expression on his face at 1:42 when he says 'haan bhai?' That singular expression has fear, anger, nervousness and sorrow all built right into itself. Absolutely classic!

#Three:   "I keel you"

Look at the number of hits on this video to gauge its popularity. What's interesting is that a lot of people watch it for the laughs. I do too, but I am more amazed by the art of ventriloquism. I got interested in the subject by reading a short story by the great cinema director Satyajit Ray. Isn't it amazing how Jeff Dunham does it? The item itself has racist undertones, but if you can ignore that, this is a wonderful piece of pure art. To fully understand the context, also watch Dunham's items on another of his characters named Walter.

#Two:   Putting my mind to rest

Roshan, the grandfather of the six-fingered Roshan, is the composer of this beautiful song, and Sahir Ludhianvi is the poet (now-a-days, we have lyricists, not poets). The words of this song, accompanied by the suitably soft music, act like a balm on my bruises, and I can literally feel all my pain going away. As an artist, I am an emotional man. But nothing stirs my emotion more than music. When I have had a particularly bad day in office, I listen to this song at night, without fail.

#One:   "It's how the sailors used to find their way home"

[You have to, simply have to, watch all four parts of the video, the entire 20 min episode to understand what a powerful message it delivers. I found a lot of answers to my questions in this episode]

Can I tell you something? I don't watch this video often. Sometimes, when I have a really, REALLY bad day in office, and I mean a really not-good day, I watch this episode of Wonder Years. I don't watch it because it has such a tremendous amount of impact on me, that I fear I'll do something, like perhaps give up my job or something. It makes me swell up from inside and rebel. And curiously, it also calms me down. I end up making peace with life. I realize that everyone has bad days, and one just gets over it, and moves on. And every single time I watch this video, I remember my father. And then, I remember my son. Then, with a smile on my lips, I have a good night's sleep, so that I can go to office the next day.

Entrepreneurship

For a lazy bum like yours truly, who has a dangerous thing (a.k.a little knowledge), doing something on one's own, by itself is quite a scary proposition. The first thing that puts me off about being entrepreneurial, right at the outset, is the bloody spelling of the very term. I'm like, yeah, right, thanks for the encouragement, right there. I needed THAT spelling in my life to work this out. But when I look back, I realize I have always tried to do something on my own. It began right during my childhood, with inventions. The trouble was, I soon figured out that whatever I tried to invent, was already invented. Also, in the pursuit of Science, I have had to face several hardships, like any true inventor. I remember I once made a contraption which would let a small G.I. Joe action figure float in the air for around 30 seconds. The item was a huge hit within my friends circle. Little did they know what severe criticism the inventor had received from his mother whose kitchen was almost burnt down, thanks to the experimentation with kerosene. There was this other time when I had created a crossbow of sorts, only that it would fire a lasso, instead of a bow. Hulo, the neighborhood cat, who had the reputation of being a light footed thief, was my prime target. I was scoping and stalking him for weeks and had taken elaborate notes of his modus operandi. One beautiful spring afternoon, I decided to strike. Now, my mom had (and still has) a hobby of gardening, and as every gardener would know, a rose is an extremely high maintenance plant. After several months of care and delicate nourishment, mom had successfully created a breathtakingly beautiful shrub of yellow roses. I fired my lasso at Hulo, dropped my weapon, and pulled the other end of the cord with all my might. What came and landed at my feet was a living creature, no doubt, but not the species I had targeted. With a dozen yellow roses strewn at my feet, I stood there like a fallen God, nervously waiting for my fate, as mom decided to walk into the backyard at that very moment. I will not get into the details of what followed, but I do remember that my creativity took a backseat after that incident.

The only time we could be a little entrepreneurial in school was during the fests. Girls and other unimportant people used to visit these fests, and I had built a device, something that I'm sure you must have tried to build during your childhood days as well. I stretched a copper wire across two small upright pillars. I bent the copper wire like a sinusoidal curve, with zigs and zags. I created a small loop with another copper wire and both these wires were connected to batteries through a series connection. There was also a bulb which was part of the connection. The game was simple. One had to take the loop with a steady hand through the zigs and zags of the crooked wire from one pillar to another, avoiding contact between the two wires, failing which, the light bulb would glow. After the first day of the fest, a Marwari friend of mine called me for a meeting. We met in the evening over Gold Spot and my friend proposed that we attach a revenue model to this invention. "We could charge 5 bucks for a shot, and we can keep some kind of prizes for those who succeed", he said. I wasn't sure, and asked "Why would someone want to spend 5 bucks over this stupid game?" My friend took a long sip into his drink while giving me a deep and hard look, and said, "Lesson # 1:   Never think of your own offering as stupid." I was amazed. How true! What a visionary! He continued, "Lesson #2:   People have been known to do a lot of stupid things when challenged." I was more amazed. This guy is gonna do something with his life! He went on, "Leave all that to me. We need to get some cheap prizes. You know, stuff we can find at home? And the prizes need to appeal to girls, coz they're the ones who'll be giggling a lot while trying this. Which means more attempts, and therefore more revenue. Plus they'll have boyfriends, who'll be more than willing to pay 5 bucks to show that they, and none other, are the right men in their girls' lives." I was amazed at how he was segmenting and scoping the market with such ease. The final strategy was yet to come. My friend said, "Oh and by the way, make the wire more crooked and the loop smaller" and disappeared into the darkness outside. We earned quite a bit during that week, enough to have a delicious Biriyani lunch at Gulfam restaurant in Hotel East End. Our model was replicated by several other business groups in school in the years to come.

But now, when things are quite different, I genuinely salute every individual who is entrepreneurial in nature, and who has tried to do something on his or her own. I have a few friends of mine, who have succeeded with ventures of their own. I also have a few friends who have not succeeded. What I like most is the confidence that people from both these groups have. I see young boys trying to set up a company and go to market. I see teenage girls coming up with wonderful ideas, and taking them to fruition. I like their confidence. Every time I see them, I am reminded by my friend's statement: "Never think of your own offering as stupid."