The Uninteresting

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The Well Nourished Bong leading a nomadic life.

October 14, 2014

Roots

I often feel part of a large banyan tree spreading its branches out. I am one of those branches that have spread out too far and late into the nights the roots sing to me. It tells me to read more of Tagore, listen to the music that’s making waves in my homeland. It tells me literature is best enjoyed in the language you grew up with; music is best enjoyed when you don’t have to struggle to understand what’s being said.

As I look around me, I realize the banyan trees are falling all around us. Growing up in a cosmopolitan environment, we grow up today in a strange patchwork of cultures where probably our mother tongue, leave alone Sanskrit is not even uttered once during the year. The language we all speak in is English as it becomes the language of business and we want our children to know it and converse in it, even if it means they no longer know the rhymes that we grew up with as kids, no longer do they fly kites without a rhyme or reason.

A new form of linguistic imperialism seems to take over the world and it strikes hard at the roots. Maybe the future branches will remember where they came from but they may no longer be connected to their roots. The question is not one of jingoistic nationalism but rather a question of loss. Learning a new language is no longer a passion, like most things around us, it’s just good business sense.

As it happens, somewhere deep down we feel determined to not let our roots wither. Our accents remind us where we come from. We realize that our idiosyncrasies were made up by our upbringing and somehow there’s a promise that we will never let them go away; for better or for worse.


And that’s the last rebellion before winter comes and the roots wither.

October 10, 2014

The Danger of ‘Group Think’

All throughout evolution, different species have decided how their societies would be formed. Sometimes like the Tigers, they have decided to go alone, like lions in smaller groups or like wolves in packs.

The human species however carry the traits of almost all species. We have had individual thinkers – visionaries who changed the world with the light of their knowledge. We have had the world’s first democratic councils in Athens and in India where the Lichhavi council stood up to invasions and we have had clans travelling on their horsebacks plundering without a second thought – The tigers, the lions and the wolves.

Anthropologic studies have shown (For those interested in further studies, do look up Dunbar’s Number) that any human being can possibly maintain between 100 to 200 social relationships and that is the reason we lose touch with great friends from yesteryears.

But over the last few months, I have also been realizing how thought processes evolve. More and more due to structured thinking so ingrained into our education and corporate system, we are seeing a situation where otherwise intelligent individuals tend to follow ‘group think’. It’s evident in various ways that it manifests itself; we crave for leaders who show ‘direction’, leaders desire those that follow without question and a huge rung of the in-betweens try to figure out which way the wind blows. They are the ones who struggle to find, adopt and worship ‘best practice’

The biggest danger of ‘group think’ happens in a mob. Rational individuals, who can make socially acceptable decisions on their own, often change their behaviour completely in a crowd. That’s why you have bystanders who become a mob that tears down shutters, looting and plundering.

Cowardice also spreads due to this behaviour. Imagine a crowd facing one individual who for the right reason or wrong, makes the first attack. Suddenly the entire crowd forgets they have the power of numbers and slink back. While all of you would have laughed at Bollywood heroes for taking on a gang single handed, it has its basis in how humans behave.

The ubiquitous middle class of every society is the one that faces this conundrum. Years of conditioning have taught them to live in their cocoons, living in an imagined world of security. That’s why whenever there is a problem, we tend to turn our backs or try to go in as a group, but never alone. This is also the reason why most revolutions in the world are brought in by students who have not yet succumbed to the pressure of ‘group think’.


The world requires thinkers who have not been conditioned by ‘group think’ and that seems to be a challenge.

August 04, 2014

Being a 'Noble' Professional


When I was a kid, one of my favourite movies was Agnishwar, a Bengali classic, telling the story of a doctor who gave up his life for the service of others. In IIMB I found the Medical Soap Opera; Scrubs and somehow it struck a chord with me as I made my way trying to settle down to a student life once again. While re watching a few episodes in the last couple of weekends, I began to wonder about what it feels to be a doctor these days.

The truth is that I have always felt a pang of jealousy for doctors. You know how this talk about noble professions can corrupt young minds! I truly imagined doctors to be someone different from the rest of us. People who chose to be more than the average Joe, or for that matter more than the average Banjo! And I always felt bad that I never liked biology and thus could never be a doctor.

Whenever I was in the mood for some self deprecating humour, I would joke about how when Godzilla attacked no one was going around looking for an MBA, people always turned to the saviours in uniforms, the most noble amongst them being the man or the woman in the white coat.

When dad had fallen severely ill a couple of years back, reality struck me. I had been living in a make belief world of my own. Doctors are part of humanity and therefore to expect any extra ounce of nobility from them is self defeating. For most doctors today it’s just a job, like any other you or I do. And their job is more difficult than others as they juggle between patients trying to save them and make enough money for themselves in the process.

Doctors today are in a transition. Somewhere deep down perhaps there is still a thin connecting line to the oath they have taken but for most it’s business. And then they have to deal with people like my parents who still consider Doctors to be agents of the Almighty and my sister and me, hardnosed professionals who are respectful but not reverent.

Dad’s was a case of medical negligence and cover up done in the crudest of manners and thanks to the strength shown by ma, we were able to bring him back. While I no longer wish to remember those days, leave alone speak about them, during those troublesome days, I realized something - Dr. Agnishwar Mukherjee will never come back. And you know what? I am absolutely fine with it. But then Doctors today need to learn how to be professional and ready to own up to mistakes and rectify them. And as the recipient of the service, we need to be equally professional.

When Godzilla strikes, we will still call for a Doctor but I would rather that a professional comes to the rescue rather than a facade of an era and people gone by.

July 29, 2014

Perhaps a Coming of Age

After a long time, I got chance to see every possible genre of TV programming in India and I switched from Hindi Satellite to Bengali Satellite to News. And given that I strongly believe our daily soaps are an exaggerated but quite true version of our society at large, it was not very difficult to comprehend the reasons behind the mammoth changes our world is going through.

The plots, the twists and the turns were all there but what was most interesting to observe was that except in one particular soap the protagonist was never the male. Bengali soap operas were throwing up strong women characters dime a dozen and the men refreshingly were playing a complete second fiddle. In fact in some of them there were downright; for the lack of a better word, clueless about their own existence!

Sample this, the women of Bengali soap operas are superwomen; they manage their careers and family with aplomb, have perfected the roles of the family matriarch and do not hesitate to give the men their share of feeling important and in control.

The men on the other hand, whine and whine and whine some more while waiting to be rescued and shown direction by someone clearly more capable and yet sermonize about tradition and values whenever they get a chance. Sometimes it clearly shows that the women give a rat’s ass about what the men say. It’s so refreshing after almost a decade of saas-bahus ruling the roost.

Finally it also dawned on Bade Achhe Lagte Hain to call it a day. About time, like everything else we rarely understand the importance of closure at the right time when you are on a high. On the other hand, someone in Kolkata had the brilliant idea of replicating Balika Badhu, frame by frame for the Bengali audience; who for all they are worth; do not yet get Hindi as well as they think they do.

Hindi Satellite is also not falling behind. With all its creative liberties Mahabharat remains one of the best retellings of mythology and epic genre on Indian Television. The premise of another amongst the the highest TRPed shows is based on an age old movie of Rekha and while starting in an interesting note, it completely lost its way and given the creative powerhouse in the country, it too has a rip off in Bengali. Coming back from the dead always has an interesting angle.

Reality shows continue to glue people to their seats and I watched one more season of Roadies and Splitsvilla. Raghu and Nikhil’s trousers keep getting more and more fluorescent by the year and finally it’s Sunny in my living room once again.


Oh and while I am at this, it’s so much fun to poke fun at those who only watch the TV series to figure out what happened at the Red Wedding and thereafter.

July 27, 2014

The 4 PM Friends


When I was studying in Bangalore and lots of my closest friends were working, I had come to realize the importance of the 2:00 am friends. In the dark nights when only students who had assignments to submit were awake, I used to call up friends who always stood by me. And those were the times the legend of the 2:00 am friends grew. Every single one of them has stood by me through thick and thin and there was always someone to reach out to. The sanctity of the 2:00 am timeslot varied however as people dispersed across the world. But the point was at 2:00 am there was always a friend when you needed one.

Slowly most of us settled down from our bohemian bachelorhood and things started to change. You would think twice about calling someone from deep slumber not because you would hate disturbing them (Oh No! You had the rights still to do so) but because of concern for the unsuspecting spouse. And the 2:00 am calls became rarer and rarer.

A BFF became a dad in Kolkata, another started schooling again with his daughter in Bangalore, a friend started taking baby steps towards getting the Noble Prize, quite a few, almost everyone, refused to name their daughters and sons and nephews and nieces after me even after much plodding and convincing them of the beauty and unisexuality of my name. In essence we all were growing up and climbing the so called ladder in our day to day work.

Then one sudden rainy afternoon in July, after a particularly bad morning at work, the phone would not stop ringing. That afternoon, friends from around the world wanted to discuss something or the other, inane and important. And while struggling to keep a straight face and be focussed on work, and thinking twice over before picking up a call, I just realized the paradigm shift that had happened.

We no longer need to just be a 2:00 am friend. We all probably are in deep slumber after work. The true test of friendship today is in being a 4:00 pm friend.



July 23, 2014

The Six Ten Six

So the grandparents celebrated their 66th and I made a flash trip to Kolkata. There in front of all the Bongs I scored brownie points by showing this. Then I scored some more brownie points by saying I so work for the Brazilian and Argentinean markets. Then as this kept happening and I was eating my fill of great Bong food and watching football, a sudden burst of creativity struck. While it’s not the best of sonnets, it certainly does justice to the 66 years of awesomeness. Here’s to 75th. Let’s plan for that now!

Will the Bard wrote many a song;
But none as sweet as this!
So when I told him of the Land of Bong;
Li’l did he want to miss!

Away from Venice where the merchants rode;
Far from the Prince of Danes!
He travelled on the Midsummer Road;
And landed up in Duff Lane!

Will the Bard looked far and nigh;
To find the hero for a song.
Then he saw him standing high;
Beside his love through life long.

Driving around the lanes of North;
He closely held her hands.
She wrote poetry as it came forth;
And I do have a few strands.

Will the Bard nodded wisely and said;
This is a story to be told.
This is a match in heaven made;

66 years young; not old!

June 16, 2014

Life Inside a Metro

Finally Mumbai gets its Metro, delayed beyond imagination but finally here. And as soon as the Metro came in, I have been trying to find a way to ensure that I make the full use of it. In 2013, amongst the top 10 ideas that were about to change the world (courtesy TIME) was an idea called the Handprint.

Handprint was one of the most exciting ideas I have come across in a long time. It was against the idea of carbon footprints as it was so negative. It made people feel guilty. On the other hand Handprint is a measure of the positive measures we take to save the planet. It makes you feel good. And in Mumbai, the one thing that can make you feel good about taking care of the planet is if and when you can take the public transport.

The Mumbai Metro follows a strange decorum unknown to the local train which is the lifeline of the city. And as you wait for the train, you realize how in society codes create themselves. Some forced; some by their own nature.

As you travel on the Metro, strangely cut off from the noise, you see various facets of human emotions yet unknown. You look down on a church facade which wears a new placard wishing the metro travellers all the very best. You meet an old lady asking a young guy beside her, a stranger, to take a video of her in the train. You see people giving updates to family outside the city that their commute time is now reduced.

I believe Mumbai has 3 smells. The first rises in the sea and blows over the city engulfing the entire city in a smell of fish, salt and filth. The second comes as a breath of fresh air in the monsoons after the first rains have washed away the dirt and the grime from the face of the city. The third is the smell of humanity packed together, immovable in a train compartment. Metro is not devoid of that smell. And it makes you feel human once again.

The Metro also reminds you of the forgotten and destroyed geography of Mumbai. As the train nears its final destination you can see the mountains that once made up much of the Central suburbs being slowly cut down to make way for humanity. The ecological impact of it? No one has the answer yet.


But for today you would have reached your destination and to your loved ones before you could see an episode of Friends on your phone. And for a city that’s always running a marathon at the speed of a sprint, nothing could be better.