Banquet on the Dead Book Review

Quite a character, ain't he..?

Bottom Line

One of the better books of the season, Sharath’s book is an engaging murder mystery that proves to be a page turner.  However weak characterization and loose ends in the story prevent it from becoming a true clutter-breaker that it could have become.

Author

second time author, Sharath Komarraju

Details

Rs 250 || 265 pages || Westland Publishers

Writers, authors and scriptwriters should sooo see, study and analyze the Dark Knight Trilogy to learn the art of creating something that is so bloody damn freaking awesome.  

Like millions, I too am a crazy raving fan of Christopher Nolan’s Bat and one common observation about the trilogy is that many people liked the second Dark Knight movie the most (which introduced us to that awesome piece of sheer magic, also known as the Joker)   Popular media has also validated that by rating this movie higher that the other two.

Have you ever wondered why?

Well, using methodology from a writers’ workshop that I’m part of, here’s why.

The beauty of ‘The Dark Knight’ is due to the rich characterization of the main characters, esp that of the Joker. Period.

If you remember the movie (how can you not, eh? J) the story wasn't really that great; but the characterization of the Joker was so powerful and you could almost smell him - he just got inside our heads  and just creeped us out as the mass murdering, sinister and unpredictable madman.  And it was the fitting nemesis to the ideals that Batman symbolized. The clash of these larger-than-life characters was what the movie was all about, with the character of the Joker getting etched into our collective conscience with his lines, quirks and mannerisms, which further added layers and layers to his tremendous character.

The other two movies in the trilogy however focused more on the story telling rather than the characterization – understandably so, as the story had to be told- in the first, it was the story of how the Bat began and the third was focused on how the legend ends.  But that story telling was at the expense of characterization – proof being that the characters of villains of the first and third movies pale in comparison to that of the Joker.

So in conclusion, people who want to build a story should focus on two things – the actual storytelling and the characterization; the richer the latter, the more memorable the overall story is and that’s what can take a not-so-great story into the realm of the unforgettable.

Now in this light, here’s my review to second time author, Sharath Komarraju’s ‘Banquet on the Dead’:

Sharath’s book is an engaging murder mystery set inside an ancestral house in Hanamkonda, a small town somewhere near Hyderabad.  The book traces how the seemingly complicated case is eventually solved by the cop-and-reformed-criminal-duo of Inspector Nagarajan and Hamid Pasha.  Kauveramma, a wealthy matriarch with a supposedly profound love for life, was found dead in the neglected family well.  The closed case was reopened due glaring inconsistencies - the old matriarch was terrified of water, there was no water in her lungs and the other relatives (also residents) of the sprawling house stood to profit hugely from her death - the case is thus reopened.

The story telling:

A perfect murder mystery is one where there is a strong plot, strong characters, multiple suspects and most importantly, an unpredictable and satisfying end.  

Sharath’s book has most of these elements. The book starts off directly with the murder, immediately brings in the two main protagonists and then each subsequent chapter introduces us to a new suspect and his version of what had happened on the day of the murder. What adds to the thrill is that everyone has a strong motive to kill the old lady. In the end, the duo weaves everybody’s stories together, linearly peels off inaccuracies to unearth accurate clues, weeds out the relevant nuggets of information from the irrelevant, dishes out and dismisses various theories and through sound reasoning and rational deduction, connects the dots to finally reveal the killer.

The strongest part about the book is Sharath’s writing – he’s a keen observer of life and his ability to recreate scenarios in simple language is what makes the book work. There aren’t too many jargons being used and the story telling is engaging – there were times when I wanted to know what happened next and kept me hooked – Sharath’s very strong talent of articulation, sometimes captivates the reader with its sheer simplicity.

I’d say the end is good (not great though, but good yes).  It answers the big questions, even though there were a few loose ends; but nevertheless the end does have a juicy element of surprise.

What could have been improved:

*Definitely the characterization -  Hamid Pasha’s various mannerisms added dimensions to his personality but there wasn’t any depth in Nagarajan’s character.  Considering each chapter of the book was basically the introduction of a new suspect, a huge opportunity for characterization was missed. This is what made this book merely just another good-read, when powerful characterization could have catapulted this book to a whole new level. Considering that Sharath ended the story with a promise of more stories with the Nagarajan+Hamid duo,   I feel Sharath missed an opportunity here to endear these characters to the readers.

*Too many characters – Due to weak characterization, many of the characters - particularly the female characters - appeared similar and thus were confusing to tell apart.

*Loose ends - In the end, you know why the killer killed her but the motive was not specifically mentioned there.  Of course, the motive was explored earlier, a few chapters back, however I would have wished that in the end, it was repeated again right after the killer was identified so that I know conclusively that “The motive behind the killing was…”.  Again, there is a glaring loose end here which reveals itself only after you get over the genuine surprise of the end.  Also, I felt that Sharath sometimes took liberties with the reasoning and few instances of reasoning were a tad too simplistic. But like I said earlier, the writing and the end still makes it work.

*Misdirection - Misdirection in murder novels keeps the readers clued in to the guessing game.  Sharath’s story was pretty much unidirectional and I felt that ample opportunities to misdirect were unexploited.  I never really got into that mode of wondering who the killer really is; I just let the story uncover itself.

 What next:

*Sequels –  Sharath ended the book with an obvious indication that Nagarajan and Hamid will return with the next case.  With more characterization, I’m sure readers would welcome it.

*Bollywood – Considering Talaash has suddenly made murder mysteries cool again, I wouldn’t be too surprised if this story finds its way to the big screen.  I’d suggest Sharath to approach the Malayalam movie industry, which is currently showing sudden openness to fresh new ideas.  And the milieu of this story fits it too.

*Marketing – I’m not sure if Sharath has focused too much on the marketing side of this book. Like I mentioned earlier, this is definitely one of the better books that’s come into the market. But awareness levels for this book are very low.  Even Sharath’s website seems to mention only his first book. The book doesn't seem to have a great social media presence either.  Crosswords-Indiranagar didn't know of the book but once they checked, they told me it was doing decently well in sales. Also, as seen below in the pic taken at the above bookstore, there were just two copies of the book tucked away on the bottom row in a lonely corner of the store. Think marketing for this book has to be enhanced.

*Also, I felt the title of the book was a little too heavy for its own good.  Sure, after reading the book, one may be able to find meaning in the title and the cover picture - but to a first timer, I think the title and the somber cover might just put her off.

So in conclusion, I guess Sharath should study Heath Ledger’s Joker to take notes on characterization but like Nolan, he can rest a proud man for bringing about a genuine good read, in the face of the increasing crap that is coming our way in the guise of Indian fiction.

Good job, Sharath!

(You can buy the book here.)

The First Citizen

Sundar Singh sheeshe me dekhar kyun nahi muskurata hai?
Kyuki usse dress-up karna nahi aata hai....

Man, this one’s been simmering in me for a while now… guess it took a contest to get it out of me….

Thanks to Shoppers’ Stop for this one.

In a billion strong nation like ours, it’s easy to be just another face in the crowd.  This post tells you how not to.

I’m something like a born again dresser…. you know, once upon a time, I was the kind of person for whom clothes was just an added liability and sure enough, my dressing sense (or rather, the lack of) made sure everyone around me felt the same way.  In fact, once when I dropped my sister to college, a guy gave me money thinking I was a tramp.  Till about two years back, when I did some serious soul searching and literally took things out of my cupboard (and burned them and then got myself a new wardrobe)

For a good part of my earlier life, I was stuck in a dead end job in a dead end village; and opportunities came in very few with even lesser frequency.  So it was very important for me to seize whatever job interview that came my way.  And I uncovered some profound insights about image management in that sleepy village – the kind that still makes sartorial sense even today in my metro.

  

You probably already know that the one thing that can make or break you in life is your first impression.  And you also know already that 70% of it is created by non verbal cues, especially your dressing.  And unlike the other 30% which is usually very difficult to change, that influential 70% can be easily changed, and it’s as easy as changing your socks. And sometimes, it is all about changing your socks - to match your trousers, that is.  But more on that later in this post.

OK, first things first – you know all those literature and feel good philosophy about ‘you are what you are inside’ and all that crap about ‘inner beauty’ – well, it’s just that –absolute crap.

The truth of the matter is – Clothes make the man, and like I’ve discovered along the way, it’s accessories that make the gentleman.

Sundar Singh sheeshe me dekhar kyun nahi muskurata hai?
Kyuki usse dress-up ki 'basics' samajh nahi aata hai....

So here goes - The secret of sartorial excellence is all about the details and there are tricks that can make you into a sartorial superstar. So let's start with the basics: 

• The basics:  The first things that people notice are the shirt and pants though it’s the shirts that are more influential than pants in forming an opinion – so you could choose to repeat pants in a day or two but take care to have a good break before repeating the same shirt.  The funda of “matching clothes” is long by-gone and today you can wear anything with anything as long as it looks good in sum total.  What to wear can be decided on skin tone, body build and occasion.  To find your skin tone – warm, cool or neutral - check the inside of your wrist: if the veins appear greenish, it indicates you have yellow undertones and thus would have a warm skin tone.  Veins that appear to be more bluish indicate a cool skin tone.  If you can't determine your skin tone, then it means you fall under neutral skin tone.  Warm skin tones should lean towards warmer and richer colors like reds, oranges, yellows and dark browns. Cooler skin tones should lean towards cooler colors like purples, greens and blues and Neutral skin tones can wear almost any color (lucky buggers! J).  In body built, just remember that what you wear must fool the eyes of the beholder: if you have a big tummy, wear something, like a big pocket square, so that the eyes get cheated to focus onto your chest rather than the tummy.  If you’re healthy, use slim fitting dress, if you’re thin, use colors and patterns.  A great tip a friend gave me for occasion based dressing is to ask yourself, “What cud I wear today to be the most overdressed guy in the room?” Helps. and when in doubt, wear black.

• Killer tip – Iron your clothes esp the shirt collars and cuffs and remember to polish your shoes into a sooper, dooper shine.  Even if you may happen to wear not-so-remarkable clothes, a polished pair of shiny black shoes usually opens a lotta doors.  And yes, always stand tall.

Sundar Singh sheeshe me dekhar kyun nahi muskurata hai?
Kyuki ab 'basics' aata hai, lekin ye "Accessories/Waxessories" kya hai....?

• Accessories:   Get the above 'basics' right and people will acknowledge the man; but get the right accessories right and people will never forget him.  Accessories are the magic words for the man who wants his garb to do the talking.  Accessories can be as simple as an engraved tie-pin or as is the case with my friend RCB, can be as elaborate as a mean hot car to go with your suit.J  A single piece of a well selected accessory can elevate one's overall appearance and some of the popular accessories that can make magnificent a man are sunglasses, wallets, belts, watches, caps, scarfs, cufflinks and waistcoats.  Actually, everyone's got a favorite accessory - a favorite watch, a preferred belt, a treasured gold chain - the trick is to find what works for you and then build on it.  I realized that of late, I have this thing for waistcoats and found myself wearing it almost for every occasion.  Somehow it seemed to work for me so I got myself half a dozen of 'em.  Sure, I have people giving me the 'what's-wrong-with-you' look, but after a while, you know, when people give me that look, I get this  ego boosting kick. J

• Hot tip - A simple way to start accessorizing is to have three pairs of glasses with colored sides, the colors being ones that go with the most common ones in your wardrobe. Once you get used to the compliments that come your way (trust me, they will),  you could start trying scarfs that coordinate with both the glasses and with your wardrobe.  In time, you'll start having fun and could get into experimenting with more accessories.    

Abb bhi Sundar Singh  sheeshe me dekhar kyun nahi muskurata hai?

Kyunki sab kuch hai, lekin phir bhi kuch toh missing hai....

• The other stuff - This is the part where I asked my friends their tips in this matter.  An old friend of mine always used to say this very cool saying - "People seldom notice your old clothes if you wear a big smile; so I fake the damn smile".  Pretty soon, the big smile became a permanent fixture to his overall attire and today, I count him as one of the sharpest dressed men I know.  A few others believe in "Eat well, sleep well and slowly you'll start to look well too."  Working out also had a lot of takers.  Another extremely fashion conscious guy I know has this weird ritual of going to South Delhi once every six months - he believes that fashion in India first comes to South Delhi and only then does it permeate the rest of the country.  He's of the opinion that the latest fashion hits Bangalore only about a year after South Delhi.  Another gave gave me the 'matching matching' gyaan - you know, shoe color should match that of the belt, socks should match the pants and that the shirt and pants should contrast.... Then there's the guy who's like the Imelda Marcos of men - the guy believes that the most important accessory for men is shoes and has over 30 pairs of shoes (for a guy, that's huge!).

• Cool tip - Invest in a full length mirror at home - its the first and most astute step towards a life long commitment to sartorial excellence. 

SS meets another SS.. ab Sundar Singh dress-up ka First Citizen hai.. 

Shopper’s Stop – I’ve been pretty much a Shopper’s Stop shopper man for a pretty long time now and besides the usual advantages of good collection, parking space, well located, yada, yada…, I love their two very yummy clearance sales, in Jan and July.  Another thing which I've seem there is that the salesmen at SS don’t really come into your space and they seem to appear only when you want them to.  I’d also recommend their ‘First Citizen’ loyalty program for two reasons - one thing’s that you get extra discounts on your purchase (I once bought a 10K Fossil watch for 7.5k. The card gave me another 1K discount - best purchase eva!) and the other is you get access to their clearance sales two -three days in advance.  

So that's my ensemble for the festive season - a mix of the basics, loaded with accessories and topped off with tips that I picked up from along the way - of course, once your love story with clothes starts, the festivities would be a life long season. 

me n my SS accessories...

We are all born equals.  It’s up to us to tilt that balance. 

So go ahead.  Start something new. With your self.

And be the guy with the gift of the garb.

Like Sundar Singh....

Kyunki ab sheesha bhi  Sundar Singh ko dekhke muskaraatha hai!.

with my latest fetish - glasses (yes, 17 of 'em) J

Shoppers Stop(www.shoppersstop.com) brought this one out of me.  With Indiblogger. 

Follow me here and you'll find from the other posts that the preachy tone adopted in this post surprised me as well (guess sobriety does that to you!)  

If you already follow me, then let's go get ourselves some beer.

Flame (erotica)

Dusk blanketed the night in its darkest robe.

The man walked slowly to where she laid.  Under the flicker of the lone flame that escaped the carelessly hung lamp at the corner of her room, the man looked at the naked curves of her sleeping body that moved rhythmically with her breath.  The place was mostly dark otherwise and he saw her ample curves glistening under the golden hue of the wavering flame.  There was some sort of beauty in watching her sleep.

The man knew he only had some more time left before dawn breaks and with it, the world around him would wake up.  He somewhat enjoyed the loneliness the sleeping world gave him but he knew he needed to get to her before the world woke up. 

He went closer to her and laid his hand on her sleeping warm body.  He caressed his hand slowly along the length of her sinuous body and touched her in a way only he knew.  She slowly opened her dark, beautiful eyes and instantly recognized his impatience.  She was used to his ways and knew exactly what he wanted.   She moved and positioned herself so that he could slowly let his hands run gradually under her.  She welcomed him.

Both knew they had only little time before the world wakes up and thus hurried into play.  She felt his hand touching her in a familiar way and she felt his hand hold her voluptuousness and then press her, first slowly, then gently and then hard.  She closed her eyes, cringing with a sense of both pain and pleasure.  And he pressed her again.  Harder.  And harder.  And harder.  Again.  And again.  And again.

In the flicker of the lone flame wavering in the feeble wind, the two early bodies went about with their act oblivious to the world around them, whom they safely assumed was still in slumber under the dark of the night. 

After a while, he was done.  He was satisfied.  He got what he had wanted.  He stood up to leave.  Dawn broke and a faint wind doused the flickering flame of her lamp. 

She was happy too.  And she knew that he would be back for the same the next dawn too; it had become routine and she was now used to him, his way and his act.

For he was the farmer and she, was his only cow. 

I heart Art (ya rite!)

I never could get Art.

For me, it was always an ‘F’ away from what I really thought it was.

I mean, while the world goes ga-ga over the “Mona Lisa”, I fail to see what all the excitement is about – I mean, is it only me who see a badly colored picture (instagram anyone?) of some middle aged woman, who had bad hair, a half-drunk smile and clearly no sex appeal (seriously, you call that a cleavage!)?

Or even that painting called "The Scream" (above), supposedly the most expensive painting ever bought.  Really???  Am I missing something here or doesn't it look like something my 3 year old niece drew?  If she did, then we're pressing charges as she did not get any of the $119 million that it was reportedly sold for.

Art around me has definitely changed with time – when I was a kid, a painting of a woman actually looked like one (recall Raja Ravi Verma paintings); then came ‘modern art’- with shockingly explicit and gleeful nudity that clearly dispelled all doubts about the gender (ya baby, it was a woman alright! J) ; and finally there’s abstract art, where there were just geometric shapes arranged in some vague fashion that the celebrity painter successfully convinced everyone in the gallery that it really was a woman.  Except me of course - I still think it was just shapes from a gigantic high school instrument box arranged in well, a very random way.

So all my life, I was pretty convinced that an art aficionado, I was not destined to become; in fact, when I was to choose graduation after high school, I opted out of the one that had ‘Art’ in the nomenclature and went ahead for other option - ‘engineering’ (great idea that turned to be.)

So I joined a writer’s workshop called the Bangalore Writers Workshop recently.  And when they started the course with an exercise called “Art inspires art”, my first reaction was total panic.  The idea of the exercise was to intensely look at the many paintings in their art gallery, so that we may get so “inspired” that we could repaint the pictures into our books with our words.  Maybe my undying sense of optimism failed me that day (as has been the case all my life, in matters of the Art), but I was immediately gripped by an acute sense of dreadful fear when this exercise was announced.  My mind started asking myself scary questions like “”what if these paintings were the “modern kind” or even worse, what if they were, oh my God,  “abstract”?”,  “What if I could find nothing in them?”,   “What if other people would discover my ignorance?”,  “ What if…..?  ”

I was petrified……

So I reluctantly walked around the small gallery trying to find the painters’ profound purports in each of the portraits.  I found none.  I looked around at the other participants and they seem to have been pretty much “inspired” by the paintings.  Pramodini fell in love with a painting that was supposedly of a flower, which someone else claimed was jasmine – I looked at the “flower” and all I could see was stale upma.  Rhea gazed intensely into the paintings trying to find deeper meaning within the shades – I tried doing the same and surprisingly, I did manage to discover some sort of life on the painting – I moved closer to the painting but the fly flew away.   Arun peered pensively into the paintings, scribbled down something into his notebook and marched confidently to the next - my immediate thought was “Steal his notebook and run!”   But I did nothing of the same – he looked fitter than me and could easily outrun me.  Also he had muscles.

Everyone in the room seemed to have found something new by simply looking at the paintings.  Everyone except me.  I was almost “art-broken” when Kishore unwittingly came to my rescue.  Kishore pointed to one of the paintings and said it was not exactly a painting but actually a collage.   I looked at the Ganesha painting and saw that he was right.  And then it struck me!   The cupid of Inspiration (if there is such a person) had finally shot me with his inspiration- waala arrow.  

I was inspired – I could see more than upma, I could see more than flies, I could see more than before.   And with my new found “inspiration”, I looked around the gallery with renewed sight.  I still saw nothing.  

Damn.

But yet, I did manage to find another painting that was also, similarly different – this painting had real buttons pasted on the canvas such that they represented the keys of a typewriter.  The paper coming out of the typewriter’s paper roll had sketches of multiple number of people.

And then it struck me – in the midst of all those paintings that made no sense to me, the ones that stuck to my mind were the ones that stood out.  And I realized that it is the case in real life too – usually, it’s the people - God’s greatest portraits, (ah thank you! J ) - who are different that stand out in life.  And that Saturday night, my  dinner friend, who is a recruiter by profession, agreed with me that evening that it’s usually the ones who stand out in the interview, that eventually get selected.  And if you look closely at life, the men who’ve made it (and women of course) seem to have an extra “something” that sets them apart from the crowd, and it’s usually that “something” that propels them further forward.  And my recruiter friend goes on by adding that everyone has a unique “something” about themselves; we just need to take the time and effort to find what it is, hone and nurture it and slowly let that “something” drive our lives forward to wine, wealth and wisdom (and the odd woman or two…. J).

So in conclusion,  I guess that art does inspire art.  Rather in this case, I think that art inspires life.  But thinking out loud, wasn’t art inspired by life in the first place?  So it should be that life inspires art, isn’t it??  Or isn’t it that………….?

I never could get Art.

Liquid Gold

Vaibhav, me, Purvi, Anki and Shalini

Considering that booze records are made only to be broken the following year in my home state Kerala (yay! go mallus, go!), it’s no surprise that I’m the type of guy who likes my drink.  And being a mallu, it’d be a shame if I don’t contribute to the mallu preoccupation with staunch alcoholism.

I can’t say I remember my first drink – I was probably too sloshed to register - but I do remember my engineering college days when the only ‘character’ who was willing to have a weekly affair with me was a concoction that other similar luckless students formulated in a bucket – a mixture of all the cheap liquor that could be bought with the paltry monthly budget that our stingy NRI parents allowed us.  But the many bucket parties with this poison led to some of the best memories and life altering experiences of my life - under the influence, many friends have conclusively disproved Einstein’s theories,  some conducted illicit relationships with unfortunate stray dogs that wandered into our party zone and it wasn’t too uncommon to see drunk engineering students find innovative(and painful) uses with beer bottles. This holy water empowered us, liberated us and yup, it gave us wings.

I’m sure every drinker can associate parts of his life to particular brands – in my engineering college days, I attained nirvana with ‘Old Monk’, during my MBA, the healing powers of KingFisher helped us survive the learnt(mostly unlearnt) management fundas;  in my first job,  Bacardi accompanied my lonely nights without a girlfriend; in every job since, SmirnOff+red bull accompanied my lonely nights with girlfriend.  And this went on along with the choicest finger foods like peppered peanuts,  pickle n poppadoms, and my current favorite, grilled chicken with mayo.

So I was invited to a whiskey tasting session last week.

I got an invite cos I’m considered to be a ‘social influencer’(high five to this blog and its awesome followers!)  by the gregarious GingerClap team and they took the trouble of ferrying me to and back to the Black Dog Scotch tasting session at Habenero, a lovely tex-mex place at ITPB, Whitefield.  Habenero is one of those ubercool fine-dining joints that screams ‘sophistication’ and is a perfect place to impress a date.  And our date was set on a Saturday evening and boy, were we impressed!

It’s a strange kinda joy when you meet fellow bloggers of your city – it’s the same feeling that long lost siblings of yesteryear hindi movies who got separated in well meaning melas,  experience when they finally reunite, some bees saal baad kinds.  So I met fellow bloggers Shiju, Indrasish, Ron and Rajani, Shalini and Rahul, Anki, Vaibav, Angela, Purva and Abhishek and minus the hindi phillum ‘song and dance’ routine , it was pretty cool to bump into other Bangalorean  bloggers. 

pic courtesy: anki's blog

Some of my revelations:

Man, I was clueless:- I had no idea what the basics of whiskey are.  All my life, I just referred to any golden liquid in a glass by its very scientific name - ‘daaru’.  So it was pretty difficult for me to converse with the man of the hour, Mohit Nischol from tulleho!, who elaborated on the scotch tasting experience and generously used words like ‘Malt’, ‘blend’,  ‘distillation’…  Of course,  I did improvise by substituting conversation with appreciative moans and appropriate sounds after every sip – sure, people must have thought I was having multiple orgasms but what the hell,  the food was really good.

So what exactly is Whiskey:  So take a bunch of grains (wheat, corn, barley, rye etc), grind & crush ‘em so that the husk gets stripped away (called milling), plunk it into hot water to form a thick and pulpy starchy mixture called wort (process called mashing), cool it all up,  add in yeast, so that the yeastie beasties convert the wort into alcohol (fermentation) and finally it is then steamed with the vapours caught and cooled again (distillation) to get pure colorless whiskey, which is then barreled to mature for years. The whiskey takes the color and flavor of the wooden barrels(casks) it is put into (and of the surrounding air)  to get that gorgeous golden color.

What is Scotch Whiskey: OK, this one I knew – its whiskey made in Scotland. J But scotch takes at least 3 years to make - anything less and it aint scotch, my friend. 

There actually is a way to drink it:  I always used to quickly gulp alcohol and to soothe the following warm after-taste, I’d have a quick lick of lime, pickle or a spicy something.  But if you take a sip of scotch, roll it in your mouth for a minute so that it touches every part of your mouth, you’d find out that scotch actually has a taste and smell to it.  If you put in a spoon of water into it (yes, only a spoon), you can sense the taste actually opening up – pretty cool considering that I never took a minute off to savor scotch during the times I’ve had it all my life.  And remember, whisky has to be always drunk at room temperature to allow all the aroma's to reveal themselves.  Chilling or adding ice effectively kills a single malt whisky.  Who knew?

So what’s with Black Dog:  Well for one thing, I love their tag line – “Let the World Wait” – which was also my ex-girlfriend’s credo whenever we went shopping.  But jokes apart, it’s got attitude.  For me, Black Dog is something I won’t forget in a hurry for it gave me this experience that’s changed my perception to whisky- I mean, seriously, I’ve never actually smelt and tasted alcohol  (Ya, I do that with wine to pretend I know what the hell I’m doing when I actually don’t!) - for me, it’s always been gulp, lick and ‘one again, barman’.   But now, I have a feeling I might just remember to swirl, smell and savor it the next time.  And of their ware – I find myself inclined to the Black Dog Centenary rare premium blended Scotch – it really went down well with cheese, sausages and dark chocolate.

Some fancy whiskey words I’d shamelessly use to appear ‘le intellectual sophisticate’ at snobbish parties are: 

• “Single Malt” – Whiskey made from 100% malted barley that comes from one distillery; even more exclusive is the single cask single malt - whiskey that comes from the same wooden cask of the same distillery.  

• "Blended Whiskey" is composed of whiskey from two or more different distilleries. I've noticed that whenever I use this term after using the term 'Single Malt', people around me are effectively fooled into believing that I actually know what I'm talking about. J

• “Angel’s share” – During casking,  the whiskey evaporates through the cask and this part of the maturing spirit that vanishes between casking and bottling is called the Angel’s share.

Thanks to Ashu, Akshay, Sumath and others from the GingerClap team;  Arjun Batra and Paul George, the brand managers of Black Dog, Kalveer the photographer who took some awesome pics that I shamelessly bombarded on my fb and the new blogdosts I met for an evening par excellence.   Of late when I’m happy, I do the ubercool Gangnam dance to myself – this was definitely one of ‘em.                                                                                                                                                                                

A great man once said – we all have to believe in something; be it God, Love, the greater good, Liberty, Hope … whatever it is, we all have to believe in something.

I believe I’ll have another drink.

Cheers!

Soak me No more

I don’t wanna be soaked no more..

When a foreign publication called our head an “underachiever” for seemingly legitimate reasons, we take it personally and in the name of jingoism, an Indian publisher in an outstanding display of opportunism, tit for tatted by labeling their premier with the same word – never mind that their stated reasons are not as sound.

[In its second term in power, the government under Manmohan Singh inherited an India that was stronger, brighter and simply raring to go. Then considered as one of the best performing countries in the world, today India is corrupt, paralyzed and directionless. Time magazine called our Prime Minister an underperformer due to his inaction. Outlook India responded by calling Obama an underperformer for reasons that will probably sell more copies of that issue, never mind that the inaction still continues.]

Soak me into this lethargy, please no more.

I don’t wanna be soaked no more..

Last year this time, a 74 year old man brought a 64 year old democracy to a standstill. One man channeled the frustration of a billion souls and sought to fight the faceless force that lurked in all our lives. We all rallied behind him like moths that thought they found the dawn of a new hope. This year, the lurking forces sniggered as this man stumbled, along with the hopes of a billion people.

[Anna Hazare heralded into our lives holding hope that we, the people, could finally do something about the burgeoning corruption that unfolds before us. After a spectacular show of force last year, this year the tables turned on us. Anna was forced to call off his fast leaving behind trust that was broken and taste that was bitter. Anna’s antics triggered copycat fasts by swamis whose intentions are not entirely noble. Politics won. We lost. Again.]

Soak me into this helplessness, please no more.

I don’t wanna be soaked no more..

Every time a Mary Kom or a Bindra takes national pride to the international podium, our sports babus momentarily salute them, talk about how heroic their rise was, award them with token cash prizes and then promptly forget all about them till the next contest takes place. A record six Olympic medals in our cricket crazy country?  It will be forgotten.

[ After their winning match against England, the World Kabbadi Cup winners were seen standing on the streets, with prize in their hand, waiting for public transport. Moreover, the game officials didn't even pay theire hotel bills on time leading to the embarrassment of the players and while checking out, these women were stopped by the hotel staff for nonpayment of their food bills. This, when people like Suresh Kalmadi still maintains himself innocent and attends international sporting events on public money.]

Soak me into this hypocrisy, please no more.

I don’t wanna be soaked no more..

The laws of the land treats different Indians differently.  If you’ve lost a mobile, it’s the harassment at the police station that’s more painful.  If you try to register a complaint, they’ll bull doze you into saying that it was not stolen but “misplaced” due to your negligence; they’ll never give you an FIR, which could compensate you, but instead register it a non cognizable offence. If you’re a woman, then my sympathies, If you don’t know the local language, God save you.

[After being acknowledged as the perpetuator of India’s biggest scam till date, A Raja is still a sitting Rajya Sabha MP.  The power minister, under whose watch India saw the world’s worst electricity blackout that rendered 600 million into darkness for two continuous days, got promoted to take care of our nation’s security as the new home minister; and this too at a time when the threat to the Indian homeland is at its highest.  In Kolkata, when aam junta asks concerned questions to the ruling party, they get arrested for it.  As I write this, hundreds of North Easterners - students, women, children, men, families- are leaving Bangalore in hordes fearing for their lives, due to SMSes and chain mails threatening them of attacks, sadly unconvinced of the state government's will or intent to protect them; that too, on the day we celebrate our freedom, safety and independence.  Whither justice?]                                                                                                                                             

Soak me into this lawlessness, please no more.

I don’t wanna be soaked no more..

When a teenage girl gets brutally groped and molested publicly by a mob of sex craved men or when fanatics attack a peaceful private Mangalorean birthday party celebration , they come up with and hide behind that age old excuse that painfully still works in India - that she was “dressed provocatively” or is not following “Indian culture”.

[In the name of “Indian tradition”, extremist vigilante groups attack, abuse and molest women who wear western attire, dare to go to parties or live on their own terms. The tacit approval by political groups and the insensitive handling by the relevant bodies empower these criminals and propagates this terror culture. After 65 years as the biggest democracy of the world, a woman’s modesty and freedom is today decided by the self-serving definition of "Indian culture" by politically backed, sex starved, fundamentalist thugs.  Does anyone really care for our women and their rights?]

Soak me into this moral policing, please no more.

Justice. Equality. Liberty. Fraternity. Independence. Freedom.

Frustration. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Fear.

Soak me in all this, please no more.

Written for the Surf Excel Matic #SoakNoMore Contest.

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All you need is love

moi, in my fatter days, on marriage  :)

A successful pick-up-artist friend of mine told me that the perfect pickup line has to be curt, friendly yet border on rudeness, and most importantly, be distinctly different from what the recipient is used to.

Who even knew that there actually was a science to the art of the pickup??!!!

And that’s exactly my point.

India is in the news, baby – we’re there slowly hitting the right notes in sports, making our presence felt in business, and we’ve always been a silent force in art – there are increasingly lesser number of areas which has not been hued by our tricolor.

But there is still an area where our collective report card as a nation is still in the red – and that’s the l’art de l’amour, or the art of love.

Let’s face it – we Indian men suck at the dating game. The world’s greatest lovers are considered to be French, Italian, Latino or Espaniol. Indians, by the way, are not even there in the reckoning. And that’s so sad, man.. I mean, there was a time when we were known as the guys who gave the world the Kamasutra,  the dudes who gave Romance it’s greatest living monument (‘via Agra’ was the coolest thing in romance until they dropped the space between it) – and we could sooo be the guys who could show the world how it is done; but instead, today we’re getting known for complaining about women wearing clothes that are against “our culture”, those stupid annual V Day atrocities and other such incidents created by men who clearly aren’t getting any.

Where the hell did we go wrong?

Now I agree with a lot of people who say that men have historically assumed an inherent sense of superiority over women–men brought home the bread and women took care of the house – and it kinda worked well for centuries. But now, things are changing - women around the world have started donning the role of the bread winner and are proving that they can do whatever we men can, with equal finesse, if not better. And while most of the west have already acknowledged and accepted this development, in India we still have not accepted this reality – there are still a majority of Indian men who try to suppress women back to their earlier roles, hammering them sometimes with brute force, or mostly with words like “patriarchy” , “tradition” and “Indian culture”. Personally, I think the root cause of the Guwahati incident is this misplaced sense of male superiority.

And there is a social phenomenon that propagates this misplaced superiority complex to further generations - Ladies and Gentlemen, say hello to the arranged marriage!

Fundamentally the yesteryear concept of arranged marriage is reeking with male superiority – in many cases, women have to prostrate themselves in front of prospective men and their parents for acceptance and then dowry away their worlds to fit into the guy’s life, dancing to the tune of inane things like horoscope, birth charts and planetary positions. Then they walk into their new worlds to a lot of expectations and demands, most of which are put forth by the parents.  Pati is the parameshwar, while the patni is supposed to be pliant, rather than partner – not exactly the perfect breeding ground for romance, you’ll agree.

Now imagine if he had to get his girl without the arranged marriage, which for starters is the way Mother Nature intended it to be, as evidenced in the animal world.  Since brute force lost its appeal a long time ago, men will have to use charm, guile and wit to woo and win women.  Like the western world, dating will become an accepted prerequisite to marriage.  Love would be the only way to get married and people would know what they’re marrying into. Things like dowry, family honor and profiles on shaadi.com would cease to be driving forces, replaced by things like the 3second rule (the least time to make the first move) compatibility and being 'mad bout each other'.  

It’s not that arranged marriages don’t work – nay, I’ve got tons of friends who still get their marriages(and love) arranged for themselves and I guess it’s working out pretty well for them.  I’m just saying it’s about time we get rid of it – it’s one of those yesteryear concepts that does not belong to the new age networked world.   Love marriages are better – for one thing, the guy does not sit on his butt and get spoon fed to the most important relationship of his life – instead he schemes for it, fights for it and earns it.  And in the process, the Indian man will finally get practice in romance to stand alongside other men of the world that have made their worthy mark in love.  And maybe, with time, he could comprehend the subtle science that teaches him that the perfect pickup line actually is curt, friendly yet borderline rude, and distinctly different from what its recipient is used to.

This world deserves a better class of Indian men – it’s high time we give it to them!

Love, anyone?

This is an entry for the Sony IB Love Marriage ya Arranged Marriage Blogging contest.

Do Follow my blog, Like it and Vote for me...

J