Tattoos, Goatees and Male Vanity

The other day I happened to visit a well known college in the city to finish formalities regarding my daughter’s admission. There was a half an hour session to brief both the children and parents about the rules and regulations to be followed. 

The lecturer was making a Power Point presentation with a large Educomp screen in the background. When it came to dos and don’ts regarding dresses, girls were instructed to avoid wearing tight fitting and short sleeved dresses; jeans and coloured hair too fell in the list of don’ts. "Remember this is a co-ed college and hence everyone has to stay within one’s limits," was the cautionary observation by the lecturer.

However what surprised and amused me was the next slide regarding the dress code for boys. The forbidden list was much longer than that of girls, reflecting the long strides accomplished by the male grooming industry since my college days in 1980s.

Like girls, boys too were prohibited from wearing jeans and cargos. But the forbidden list also included tattoos, piercings on the body, gel on hair, sporting a goatee ...

Probably if such a list of don’ts was created during my college days, it may have just included wearing jeans and long hair. Those were early days of TV and Bollywood was the ultimate style guru. And having hair long enough to cover the ears was in vogue, thanks to Amitabh Bachchan. As the superstar’s stranglehold over box office tightened, so did the popularity of this hairstyle.

Calendars with pictures of Big B adorned friendly neighbourhood barber shops and almost everyone wanted barbers to shape their hair accordingly.

Shampooed and blow dried hair was the norm. Hence even traces of coconut oil or any other hair oil was considered a major fashion infraction. Gel was totally unheard of. Though Brylcreem ad used to appear in some newspapers and magazines (TV commercials were in their infancy), it had positioned itself as a product that gives an ‘orderly’ look to scruffy hair, without being oily. Spiky hair was almost unheard of, sometimes sported by b-grade comedians to show their ‘dehati-ness’.
 
Goatee those days was sported by mullahs and orthodox Muslims and hence enjoyed a very low cool quotient. Apart from full beard, the only option those days was the French beard, popularized by some yesteryear cricketers.
 
Tattoos were again considered very downmarket and confined to religious symbols, and tattoo artists were holed up in small stalls housed in busy markets with instruments of dubious sterility. In movies it was used as prop, but never as a fashion statement.
 
In Deewar we had Amitabh Bachchan getting branded with infamous tattoo ‘mera baap chor hai’ in his childhood. In lost-and-found Bollywood potboilers of Manmohan Desai kind, tattoos and birthmarks played a vital role in reuniting estranged brothers in the final reel. Tattoos of snakes, mainly cobras, were sported by the villains such as Amrish Puri and Bob Christo on their brawny arms to look more menacing.
 
Piercings were totally unheard of in the 80s. In the 90s it did catch the fancy, but even then those who were intrepid enough to come within earshot of piercing gun, risked being branded as gays.
 
The interim decades witnessed tectonic shifts in fashion, thanks to satellite television, MTV and internet, which gave rise to concepts such as metrosexual men. Even Bollywood was forced to fall in line with Aamir Khan sporting a soul patch in Dil Chahta Hai and Salman Khan’s middle parting in Tere Naam.

One of the early casualties of this trend was the friendly neighbourhood tailor, as customer preference shifted towards readymade and branded clothes. He either had to shut shop or get subsumed as supplier to garment units.
 
The other casualty was the barber as he had to either diversify into a new age salon or shut shop as men’s grooming was now no longer confined to haircuts, shave and tel maalish. It quite literally deals with matters from head to toe - hair cuts to pedicures.

In fact male grooming has now become so elaborate that it has almost caught up with their female counterparts in terms of vanity, which since time immemorial had been a female preserve.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Naseeruddin Shah Unplugged

Finished reading And Then One Day A Memoir, by Naseeruddin Shah. Like his incisive performances on screen and stage the book too has been written with uncanny frankness. It is a no holds barred take on his life and also on the film industry. He takes nothing seriously, including himself.

Probably the first film of Naseeruddin Shah I saw was Manthan and I was in high school. While watching the movie I totally missed Naseer and didn’t realise he was in it. The movie was one of those early offering from what came to be later known as ‘arthouse’ cinema.

I could make out Girish Karnad (having seen him Swami earlier and he was one of those few men wearing shirt and trousers in the film) and Smita Patil, as I had seen her photo in some film magazine, the rest of the cast I totally missed out. I thought they were real cowherds from Rajasthan or Gujarat and realized many days later through some film magazine that Naseer was one among them!

In his memoirs he mentions that during the shooting of Manthan he used to stay in cowherd’s costume for the whole day, sleep on the floor and learned to bathe and milk a buffalo!

As I was brought up on a regular diet of formulaic Hindi ‘masala’ films with larger than life heroes with drop dead looks and heroines with distinct hour glass figure and aadarsh Bharatiya naari character, to me Manthan looked staid, weirdly disturbing, incomprehensible and somewhat amusing. How could someone make a film on lowly cowherds? Their pronunciation of ‘society’ as sissotti evoked lots of classroom banter, especially during Civics classes, when this particular word used to frequently crop up.
 
It is not that mainstream cinema did not have working class heroes. In fact Bollywood has always celebrated the triumph of the underdog, but in case of actors assaying those roles their starry mannerisms often came in the way. An Amitabh Bachchan may be a dock worker in Deewar or coal miner in Kaala Patthar, but the swagger and halo of superstar remained. On the other hand guys like Naseer or Om Puri quite literally got into the skins of characters such as cowherds and rickshaw pullers, as if they have been living it all their lives.

……

Although Shah’s father was not prosperous, he was a dyed in wool brown sahib who never left home without his hat “even in a one-tractor town like Sardhana”. In order to ensure that his three sons got the best public school education, he sent all of them to St Joseph’s School in Nainital. Naseer later went there to shoot for the movie Masoom.

Though he was not a good student and hated school, he was lucky enough to get early exposure to best of Hollywood movies. He got to see the likes of Orson Welles and Spencer Tracy, at a time when his contemporaries elsewhere in India were getting hooked to the brain dead ‘two hanky family and social drama’ of Hindi films.

……
 
Naseer's own life reads like a script of Anurag Kashyap or Sudhir Mishra movie. He lost virginity at 15, got married at 19 to Purveen Morad, a Pakistanin woman nearly 15 years his senior. He met her while doing his graduation at Aligarh Muslim University. He smoked grass and was quite hooked on to it, wonder when he came out of it. He even survived a knife attack from his friend turned foe Jaspal. Shyam Benegal and his wife took care of him while he was in hospital.

His first marriage has some parallels to his role in Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. He was busy building up his acting career and family life took a hit. Anyway at nineteen he was no way ready to start a family. The couple drifted apart and they had a daughter from that marriage.

More than a decade later in 1982 he got married to Ratna Pathak Shah. Before getting married the couple had to surmount lots of family obstacles as they happened to be from different faiths. Moreover Ratna's family was strict vegetarian. Thankfully terms like love jihad had not come into existence back then.

Ratna was a steadying influence in his life and after marriage managed his house and finances very well. Probably in the book she is the only person whom he treats with some reverence!

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Holding One's Head High

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion - Steven Weinberg
 
The above irreverent quote rings true in times like these when literalists rule the roost in every religion and every conceivable form of atrocity ranging from banning books, killing non-conformist bloggers, ethnic cleansing, car bomb explosions and beheadings gets done under the banner of religion.
 
But what this New Zealand based Sikh guy did came as a breath of fresh air. Have no idea as to how religious Harman Singh was, but from appearance he looked like a practising Sikh. And what he did left the social media awash with praise for his humanitarian gesture, though he self effacingly claimed anybody would have done that. He happened to see an injured child lying on the road after being hit by a car. He rushed to his rescue, took off his turban and wrapped it around the boy's head to stem the blood loss. This gesture saved the boy's life.
 
Newspapers in New Zealand and Australia were guarded while describing his gesture – in their online editions some said he 'set aside' religious protocol while helping a child, while Sydney Morning Herald even said 'Sikh man Harman Singh acts against religion, removing turban to help injured child'. As if saving a life is against religion! Probably they were expecting the poor chap may attract the Sikh equivalent of fatwa for this unusual act.
 
However the kind of praise Singh attracted from Indians in general and Sikh community in particular made them realise that though the turban is very dear to Sikhs (they may even fight long legal battles to uphold their right to wear it), it does not come in the way while carrying out humanitarian gestures. There is much more to Sikh religion than dress codes.
 
Because of their beard and turban, Sikhs often get mistaken for Muslims in most parts of the First World. Right from 9/11 to the most recent terror attack at Lindt cafe in Sydney many Sikhs became victims of hate crime out of mistaken identity. Hope the above gesture would go some way in enhancing their reputation in these countries, even after discounting the fact that public memory is woefully  short on such positive news.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Under Holy Cow's Shadow: A Buffalo's Lament

I am told even in United States, where colour of one's skin is a polarising factor, there are towns, military regiments (courtesy Bob Marley popular number Buffalo soldier...) football teams and even universities named after me. But in India every student studying Hindi in his or her tenth class has to mug up the popular proverb - kala akshar bhains barabar (loosely translated it means an illiterate person). Other Indian languages also don't treat me kindly and I figure in phrases used to convey, ugliness, sloth and sloppiness. My jet black skin is something this acutely pigment obsessed country could never come to terms with, though they never had any problem in devouring what comes out of my udder!
 
So thanks to this deeply ingrained prejudice I have to live in the shadows of my fair skinned cousin the cow - which is worshipped as the earthly embodiment of the Kamadhenu - a mythical animal believed to be the source of all prosperity. For bulls in most Shiva temples there is the statue of Nandi, which is also worshipped with great reverence.
 
As for me the only reference in Hindu mythology is as a vehicle of Yama, the god of death. If there were social media those days forget getting 'like' or 'followers', I would have been trolled and reported for abuse by cow lovers.
 
Whether it is newspaper ad of some dairy major or on a tin of ghee or butter it is always the cow that enjoys pride of place. I never figure in any of them.
 
However, what baffles me most is that despite this big time belittling the dairy farmers in the so called cow belt rely heavily on my milk. The reasons vary from milk quality and output to their very survival in the business. Firstly milk flowing out of my udder has higher amount of fat and the overall output better than what my privileged cousin offers. Moreover compared with cows we are not very finicky regarding food and hence rearing us is much more cost effective. No wonder we command a high price in the market, and some of our high milk yielding Murrah cousins get sold for prices on par with some luxury car brands.
 
Then of course there is the ticklish issue of ban on cow slaughter. Even at the risk of sounding naive, I often wonder why no such ban for me? Ultimately the burden of providing meat, leather and even milk falls squarely on my shoulders. Quite ironically once the ban is imposed, the demand for cow tapers off. The dairy farmers, though not as cutthroat as the wily banias, are practical people and definitely factor in the costs cows may incur once they stop producing milk. Hence they gradually switch to rearing buffaloes. On the other hand states where cow slaughter is allowed dairy farmers continue to prefer cows.
 
The issue of cow slaughter is again being flogged with some more states issuing a ban. It would only mean more dairy farmers relying on me (India is already home to half the number of buffaloes in the world) for milk; beef exporters and tanneries for my flesh. In short I am the de facto Kamadhenu in most parts of the country.

Another intriguing factor is that there is ban on sale of beef only in domestic market, but not on exports, which of course is a cash cow no government, even with purest of shakahari DNA, can afford to renounce. Last year beef exports stood at $4.3 billion and is expected to increase this year, notwithstanding the current government's aversion to 'pink revolution'. Hence, the long arm of law is only meant for those who do the lowly task of transporting cattle in trucks and trying to sell it in the dusty, flea infested local markets, while well heeled exporters are left untouched.

In addition to tanneries, the beef industry also sustains other lesser known businesses such as bone crushing and powder industry, horn processing industry, blood processing, animal fat and soap industry, which employ large number of people.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Confessions Of a Gtalk Addict

This withdrawal symptom refuses to go.

For me it used to be the first ritual after logging on to the computer. A small chat box with my username as default used to pop on the right side of the monitor and all I needed to do was type the password.

In addition to all those green dots denoting 'available' and orange ones conveying 'idle', it used to provide a sneak peek about the new mails that landed in my Gmail inbox, since my last login. It helped me separate wheat from the chaff (Linked-In, Wayn friends' requests, credit card discount offers and of late mail from Prime Minister's Office and other central ministries). It used to help me decide whether there was any mail compelling enough to suffer the toil of clicking the Firefox or Chrome icon.

All this changed one fine morning. When I tried to login to Gtalk I got message 'wrong password', then I tried again and this time with more caution checking each key stroke, but to no avail. A dreadful thought crossed my mind, 'has my mail account been hacked'. Somewhat panicky I double clicked Firefox and tried to log in to my Gmail account. It opened without a hitch, but there was a mail stating that Gtalk services are no longer 'supported' by Google and one must download Google Hangouts instead to enjoy the service.

Then I remembered about a fortnight ago when I had logged in to Gtalk, I had received a message from Google team stating that they were going to scrap the service sometime in February last. But somehow I totally forgot about it. So the day of reckoning finally arrived and I was totally ill-prepared.

Had vaguely heard about Hangouts, but never bothered to check as both my fingers and eyes have very low mobile internet compatibility and are easily vulnerable to the guile of Auto-correct. Hence was wary of even trying it.

Later through some site I came to know how to upgrade to Hangout inside my Gmail inbox, but no stand-alone messenger box for those wanting to stay put with browsing on desktops and laptops, a rapidly depleting market segment. For them as a consolation prize Google was offering access via third-party applications like Jitsi, Psi, Instantbird, Miranda IM and others (the very names sound dubious) with a ominous caveat, "Please bear in mind that these aren't Google products, so exercise caution when signing in with your Google account."

In an oblique manner Google was telling technology laggards like me  that better become smartphone savvy, or else ... Meanwhile my Gmail inbox already has quite a pile (and still counting) of entries  with subject line 'Google Talk for Windows is no longer supported’ a tell-tale reminder of the number of absent-minded attempts I made to log on to good old Gtalk!

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Memoirs Of a File At Petroleum Ministry

Being a cog in the so called steel frame of Indian bureaucracy, it is difficult to spot me (only a trained babu/chaprasi eyes can do that) as I sit among those faceless heaps of files dotting the cupboards of Shastri Bhawan. The life cycle of my counterparts in other ministries is no different - spend long years in shelves, gather dust, get nibbled by silverfish and then get hawked off to kabadi wallahs. From there end up as wrapper for bhel puris and peanuts and then get trashed or litter around aimlessly.

For us labels like 'confidential' or 'top secret' is as coveted as green card for Aam Aadmi. That stamp is a game changer, suddenly we become worth our weight in gold. While some officials (probably the guys who wrote it) go to any length to keep us away from the prying hands, for most others (ranging from lowly chaprasi to gazetted officers) it’s an opportunity to fatten wallets by finding the highest bidder. And the list of seekers is long -  corporate lobbyists, PR firms, journalists, spies...

Opening the gates for private players to explore the country's hydrocarbon reserves in 1999 ushered in the tailwinds of crony capitalism into our ministry. Soon the babus began aligning with one corporate house or other and the corridors got overrun by  lobbyists. They not only moved heaven and earth to swing deals in favour of their clients, but even began to influence some top postings in the ministry. However the sanctimonious stand taken by our successive governments towards lobbying ensured that it remained a thriving industry, but with under the table dealings.

The modus operandi for pinching files vary, but in most cases it involves the connivance of an insider. For a short period these files disappear and return after undergoing a 'scan' at a friendly neighbourhood photocopying outlet. These activities intensify when crucial moments such as calling of bids for oil fields or if Finance Ministry seeks inputs for Union Budget.

They say every man has his price, hence the favours doled out also vary. It may range from very predictable and mundane as few wads of currency notes or an all expenses paid holiday to something more rarefied as offer for top posts in the ministry with a quid pro quo to act as per the bidding of 'sponsors'.

The procurers have their own axes to grind - for lobbyists and PR firms it's to keep their clients ahead of their competitors, get a wind of any adverse action being contemplated by the government or do firefighting for their clients. For journalists it’s to whet their eternal quest for exclusives to be on the safe zone during performance appraisals.

For spies it could something far more lethal ranging from one time sabotage to endangering our long term energy security altogether.

Lastly as a poet said 'Paths of glory lead but to the grave', so even for an elite 'confidential' file a time comes to call it a day, when it outlives its utility. However it goes to shredders, instead of kabadis. Sometimes it even meets with untimely end due to fire accidents, often caused by not so natural causes.

(A work of an imagination riddled with silver fish nibbling)

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Offended Indian: A Snapshot

Demography: A rapidly increasing population with a steady stream of new converts cutting across religious, caste and class divides. Truly an all inclusive tent with proverbial strange bedfellows; of permutation and combinations that will leave the sharpest statisticians and sociologists bewildered. Good economic muscle and the wherewithal to deploy thugs and lawyers depending on the situation.
 
Features
 
Physical: Fine thin skin, can give Dhaka muslin a complex - make it feel as if it were a glorified sand paper. But as a downside it contains numerous invisible antennae always waiting to be ruffled by minutest external stimuli, be it a TV show, festival, book or a film.
 
Chemical: Highly combustible with very low kindling temperature. At the first level emits boundless energy to troll opponents; at next be prepared for physical attacks and even social ostracism. They are vigorous practitioners of ban mantra and their levels of rabidity extend beyond infinity.
 
Fantasies: As it happens to be an inclusive tent, they are very heterogeneous. Some may like to see Salman Rushdie's name only on tombstone with all his books buried alongside, while others may aspire to have M F Husain paintings used as a substitute for firewood. Some feel movie PK was the worst thing to happen since Alam Ara introduced us to motion pictures, while for others Viswaroopam evokes similar emotion. Some see red in the transgression of our exalted Khap compliant parampara and sanskriti and feel defending them is a divine right.
 
For all these people keeping away from the so called 'offending' book, painting or not watching a film is not an option. Because they firmly believe that it is the offended who will ultimately inherit the earth.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat