2nd floor, no lift
Kitne aadmi hoyenge?
I asked
Panicking
With no idea
No cap on the number of people spilling in
To squeeze between the pink walls of my 2bhk hall.
Kuchh toh number batao
Naam ginte ginte baareekiyon mein chale gaye
Iske boyfriend, uske break up mein
Final number still missing.
Log aaye, peeyaa, gaana gaya, chale gaye.
Sab shuroo. Sab smaapt.
Party ke baad tak bhi pata na chala
Kitne aadmi the!
Jitne bhi the.. sahi the
Na kam na zyada
Itni bheed thhi ki mix karna hi pade
Itni kam thhi ki dance kar sakein.
Kaafi der tak radio waale radio se, advertisng waale advertisng se, aur mba wale mba se hi milein.
Ek do postmen bheje doosri taraf, but hello hi ki chitti daal ke
Woh bhi laut aaye.
Par later sab kumbh ke mele ke bichde bhai nikle.
Kabhi trance lagaya
Kabhi hip hop
Kabhi jack mere bb mein, kabhi tere
Par jab bajaya – ae kaash ki hum hosh mein ab aane naa payein...
Toh sab saath mein school bus mein shayad pahunch gaye
Aur haath uttakar, aankhen bandh karkar sabne ek saath gaya.
Chowkidaar aaya – hello neeche laal gaadi kiski hai?
Neighbours aayein – jaante hain aap kya time ho raha hai?
Duniya ke saath thoda compromise karke
We continued.
Subah utte toh toofan ke baad gaon mein bache-kuche jhopde, tooti cyclein, destroyed handpump and barbed wire mein ek atki murgi dikhi
Par safai mein, jab plastic ka glass utaaya ya ek yet unopened wine bottle ko paaya toh laga jo kooda hota hai ache ke liye hi hota hai.
My farewell letter to FCB Ulka
Hello everybody,
Bye bye. Sniffs. Weeps some in her hanky. The vulnerability makes your heart crumble.
I joined Ulka in March 09. Dusty auto rides in metallic heat to the Badarpur office. In the beginning, I was quite at sea, as we tried to establish the one idea on which DOCOMO communication would be based. I had never done this before, and didn’t quite know where we were going. Once ‘Do the new’ was established, the rest of my time at Ulka was spent substantiating this claim. Got a grip on things and till now it’s been pistons pumping, steam hissing, work churning continuously in the DOCOMO factory. They made us go up chimneys and pick ideas with our young fingers till they bled. (No, not really).
I worked mostly on print and radio. By now, I am totally DOCOMO-ised. So, I now leave to kind of remember how my head worked before this. I can give you a smart line but I hope in a few days, I’ll be back to writing long rambling stuff for no Target Audience in particular, with no CTA, awaiting no CTR, in no hurry to get things ‘actioned’ for MR. And then wham! Back to selling stuff with headlines, bodycopy and jingles.
I am now moving to Mumbai with the hope of discovering the faces of all the names that are thrown around so carelessly – Bandra, Colaba etc. Hope to find out if the city beaches can compare with the Aravallis. Have a sneaking prejudice that the local trains will just make me miss the swanky metro here. But then they say, you don’t compare an ex with your current one.
I am going to miss Vasudha, who stands up for creative like a warrior. It’s been great times with Sanjay, Ekta, Ankur, Varun, Swati, Deepika, Som, Andy, Karan, Abhijeet, Anuraag, Shivi, Vaarunya, Nauti, Jaipal, Kanika, Shubhra and recently Pahwa. Richa Wadhera, your Salsa classes were spectacular. And Anurag Bhalla, you’ve been constant SFX from the day I joined. Waah waah!
Guys, seriously .. no goodbye. I’ll see you all around. Meet me if
1) You hit Mumbai.
2) You want to start cycling. On road, off road whatever. There’s a godawesome group here in gurgaon – PedalYatris.
Keep in touch. My last date here is 30th sept.
Tips hat,
Eyes disappear under,
Answers the last Q with a cigar puff.
Turns on the heel and vanishes down the dark alley.
All that jazz.
MJ
Mr.Sartorialist
Sorry Mr.Sartorialist. I haven’t been to your page in ages. You see I got busy with my life, with a thousand jobs, all done just 20percent like different torrentz files uploading at the same time. Even when I did have time, which was quite often, I was making chai or just taking time to slump and slide in my fake-leather sofa. The summer of Mumbai caught me. It was all auto rides and dupatta on my face. I totally forgot to see waifs in high wedge heels, bohemian skirts from Europe and blonde-hair-black-eyebrows models on your page. But I will go back and absorb the wowness and full-bodyness of orange mufflers right now, or a girl on a cycle keeping it fresh and sunny, or a borderline delinquent mixing the tutu and army boots, and of course for a lot of unpredictables that your page promises. Sorry Mr.Sartorialist I didn’t take time to get lost with you. I was getting lost elsewhere but perhaps one must choose their getting lost zones too. But then would that really be getting lost?
Review: Sakharam Binder
This one plays out as life does. Your perspective as audience keeps changing. Only in the end does one arrive at a startlingly clear perspective that explains it all. The play challenges clichéd morality and upholds an individual’s freedom to choose his/her way of life. It’s about an unmarried man – Sakharam Binder, who does a regular job. He is unmarried but takes in women who are destitute for an indefinite live-in relationship. The play shows a clash of personalities, change in people as circumstances change. It’s definitely worth watching with a patient mind.
3/5
Review: Court Marshall
It’s a class act. Absolutely gripping. A marvelous play that will leave you stunned, frozen in your seats as it progresses. Dealing with the subject of class discrimination in the army it is not at all didactic. Not simplistic. It handles the complexity of the problem very well. As a court marshall progresses, the queer events of a night unfold and the audience begins to understand the perspective of the accused in the witness box.
5/5
Review: Chaar Small
This is a set of 4 plays. The first is light romance, a metaphor for how immigrants fall in love with Mumbai. Ok-ok. The second is fabulous – Daddu Tiwari. It leaves one guffawing on jokes that hit the nail on the head. Going over the growing years of a boy, the audience participates in all his wild schemes, crushes and punishments. The play balances side-splitting moments very one with wistful ones. The third play is boring. The fourth a kind of a street play with an innovative idea but prolonged execuition. I would say go watch the set of four for the sake of the second.
3/5
Review: Love is in the air
I went to this musical performance expecting to see all shades of love – jealousy, possessiveness, tu-tu main-main. However, this show puts forward a lot of love songs, songs about heartbreak and a dance performance or two. The entire performance has two main singers, and the rest support as dancers. Sarosh Nanavati’s voice is extremely powerful and stirring. The guy is not so good. They also add a bit of Bollywood razzle dazzle in stark contrast with the Phantom of Opera which they also perform. One broadway style song about a stripper is fun! However I felt very dissatisfied as the guy crooned Boyzone songs on stage, clicked his fingers and encouraged us to join in.
1/5 sitaare
REVIEW: VAGINA MONOLOGUES
Immensely enjoyable and involving. Very naked and bare so that there is no distance between the performers and audience. Everyone is on the same side, like with themselves in the bathroom. Lots of humour, people’s pleasures, fears, experiments with the vagina are err.. touched upon. Must watch. You will leave feeling you have a fresh brain This play is so highly commended already that I won’t add anymore here.
5/5 sitaare
Fuck Your Talent
He was a nice guy. Quiet, minded his own business, useful while he lasted. I would see him each morning as he would enter, open his drawer, grab his Garnier Men’s fairness cream and hair gel and head to the bathroom to emerge transformed, err.. subtly. But then one day he was gone. All that was left of him was the black paper taped to his desk. No not a secret note, just a base that helped his Mac’s butter smooth mouse move better.
The seat remained empty for a few days. Like an abandoned carcass is visited by many for a nibble or bite, so was his computer prey to strange hands, interns looking for an unoccupied chair. I must admit, this included me too and out of respect for the pichhla-wala I never ripped away that black paper I so wanted to. The mouse continued to roll over it with an unhealthy scrape.
And then one day came a new fellow. The rightful owner of the Mac. The new art director. A wispy moustache, a pleasant demeanor. Another quiet fellow. Until it began. First a tiny rat-a-tat-a-tat, and later, as he found his bearings, more complete performances. After all what does one need to be Zakir Hussain but resilient nails and a wooden desk? So, we had a drummer in the house. And now as I write copy, pushing myself into waves of sentiment or to ride the Quirk Bus, I suddenly come face to face, or rather mind to mind, with a staccato interruption. How I wish it were Amit all over again, with all his creative talent confined to Adobe Illustrator.
P.s: This note was written in a rare spell of silence and a non-vibrating desk.
Mumbai
Chhote chhote ghar
Restaurant mein chhoti chhoti tables
Saath satee hui seats
Waiter stretching across your plate
Kyunki aapki chair peeche waale se lagi hai.
No elbow room par khula gaya hai Khar mein Elbo Room.
Gaddhe interruptions nahi, hain auto ke liye parallel lane.
Highway par nightie mein ghoomti ladeej-log
Kyunki yahi unka aangan hai.
Yahi potty, manjan, Ganpati, diwali ka venue hai.
Bhaari truckon ke pahiye tharrayein expressway
Wahin bache bhaagein apne ghoomte pahiye ke peeche.
Pub mein jao, toh aage jaane ka corridor nahi, yahi pub hai.
Angdaai lo toh beech mein art director ki nose hai
Ek kanaal ek beeghe ki baat toh hoti hi nahi
Per square foot mein duniya khatm hai.
Par local mein jagah mil hi jaati hai
20 minutes waiting ke baad table reserve ho hi jaati hai
Mondy’s mein kya rehta mazaa
Agar hasee sirf apni table ke jokes par aati.
Baaki jagah parents ya badon ko wait karna pad jaaye
Toh sharm aa jaati hai
Mumbai mein who khud mazze se lamppost ke sahaare tik jaate hain
Kya rakha hai ek beeghe, ek kanaal main
Jab soonsaan sadke avoid karni hi hain.