That Fine Art Called Sledging

Sreesanth and Hayden, cricket's bad boys

The dust had barely settled on Monkeygate, before another (two, if you include the spat between Ishant Sharma and Andrew Symonds) potential row has threatened to disrupt what has been one of the more evenly contested cricket series in recent memory.

Looking at the controversy, there are two indisputable facts. One, that no team sledges more (and you have to admit, more effectively too) than the Australians. It is equally true that Indians have been reported more times (and not just in Australia) for reasons of indiscipline than players from any other side playing the game.

Depending on your nationality, one can take a stand on Harbhajan Singh politely inquiring about Mrs. Symonds’ private parts (I honestly think there is something seriously wrong with the game if that is more acceptable than a cricketer calling a fellow player a monkey).

Or you can get morally uppity about Matt Hayden calling Harbhajan “a poisonous weed”, which considering it wasn’t said in the heat of battle was perhaps not the nicest of things to say.

So, do Australians sledge? Or, are Indians regularly reported on issues of misconduct? The truth might lie, as it often does, somewhere between those two doggedly, even adamantly, held positions.

Gavaskar is being a bit naïve when he says he wants to get sledging banned from international cricket. It isn’t as if sledging thrives because it is a part of some official ICC statute. Repeat offenders like Andrew Symonds and Harbhajan Singh, or for that matter, Mathew Hayden aren’t exactly choirboys waiting for an official ICC ban on sledging to zip their mouths.

Most cricketers who have played international cricket would tell you that there are essentially two kinds of sledging. One happens when the contests run close, as they have in the ongoing series between India and Australia. In the heat of battle, and often even as part of strategy, players go in for sledging.

It has been known when players discuss strategies in team meetings, names of some players come up who are perceived to be vulnerable to sledging. You give the batsman a verbal work over, and see if he gets distracted enough to give the bowlers a chance. Similarly, you engage a bowler in a verbal spat, and see if you can throw him off his line and length.

That sort of sledging, though part of no ICC code, is acceptable among most cricketers.

The part that is unacceptable is when someone like Hayden shoots his mouth off in a radio show, knowing fully well his words will be repeated, even lapped up by both Indian and Australian media. Once players use the media to take pot shots at each other, there is no telling how far it can go, or how ugly it can get.

Even the Australians know better than to sledge against an old pro like Tendulkar. He is not known to give it back verbally, but uses his broad bat to cause considerable damage. Shane Warne, who always had a thing or two to say from his position in the slips, has admitted on more than one occasion there was simply no percentage in sledging against Tendulkar. “There would be no discernible reaction from the maestro, he would just take it out on the bowling,” observed Warne.

While some players like Tendulkar are impervious to sledging, others like former India captain Sourav Ganguly clearly enjoy giving it back. Ganguly once said the idea was not to hurl abuse at the opposing player, it was to get under his skin, may be throw him off his normal game to gain a cricketing advantage. During the now famous 2001-02 Test series, Ganguly would often delay his arrival on the ground for the toss, making the opposing skipper Steve Waugh wait. At that time Waugh said he found Ganguly “rather irritating”, which Ganguly took as high praise from a man who pioneered the concept of “mental disintegration”.

As part of that concept, every time a visiting side arrived in Australia, one of the lead Australian bowlers (unusually it was Glen McGrath) would announce in the media that the main batsman of the visitors was his bunny. The idea was to score a quick mental point. Sometimes it worked, on other occasions as in the case of Sourav Ganguly in 2003-04, it backfired spectacularly.

Post-retirement, writing in his autobiography, Waugh lavished praise on Ganguly as “a tough cricketer and a tougher captain”. The praise was hard-earned. Ganguly first captained an Indian side that scripted a memorable Test victory at Eden Gardens in 2001, and then went on to win the series.

Two years later in Australia, threatened with “chin music”, Ganguly decided to fight fire with fire and scored a fine attacking hundred against the Aussie fast bowlers in the first Test at Brisbane. India not only drew the series 1-1, but had the Australians on the ropes in the last Test at Sydney before Steve Waugh, playing his last Test match, produced a typical rearguard action that saved Australia’s blushes.

Australians have learnt the hard way the pointlessness of riling players like Tendulkar or Ganguly.

Contemporary cricket is both physically gruelling and mentally tough, a far cry from the gentleman’s game played by the likes of WG Grace. The game is played harder, both on and off the ground. There is no point getting squeamish about sledging.

Mahendra Singh Dhoni, the Indian one-day captain, has put the issue in right perspective when he said sledging is an art, and that the Australians have turned sledging into an art form and Indians have some catching up to do in this regard.

Dhoni’s statement has just the right blend of caution, common sense and aggression – like his best one-day knocks. You can take it at face value and say Dhoni was complimenting, albeit backhandedly, the Australians for their sledging skills. Or you can read in his straight faced response an implied threat – that Indians plan to sledge just as good and as hard in the coming days.

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The Baywatch Bounce

This MCG wicket has more bounce than a Baywatch beach sprint.

Former Australian fast bowler DAMIEN FLEMING commentating on ABC Radio

No Country For Old Men

Me and the Oscars have often disagreed over our choices. Not this year. My favourite film of the year, No Country For Old Men, was the big winner on Academy Awards night, with four Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director.

This year, we even agreed on the Best Actor award. Daniel Day Lewis was simply fabulous in There Will Be Blood. I had picked No Country and There Will Be Blood as this year's front runners. I would have been disappointed if Atonement would have made it. The adaptation of Ian McEwan's book is eminently watchable but I wouldn't go as far as to say it is the best film of 2007.

My personal list of favourites (not in any particular order) for the year that has gone by are:

THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY

Cast: Cillian Murphy, Liam Cunningham
Director: Ken Loach

Named after an Irish ballad written by Robert Dwyer Joyce, it is among my favourite films of the year. The performances are terrific and the photography unforgettable. Veteran director Ken Loach copped a lot of flak in the English press for what they described as an unfair portrayal of English soldiers in this film. Tim Luckhurst of The Times called the movie a "poisonously anti-British corruption of the history of the war of Irish independence". The jury at Cannes clearly thought otherwise, and bestowed upon the film the festival's highest honour, the Palme D'Or. After watching the film, I tended to agree more with the Cannes jury than Luckhurst.

REIGN OVER ME

Cast: Adam Sandler, Don Cheadle
Director: Mike Binder

I like Mike Binder's films. I had enjoyed The Upside of Anger and Man About Town. But I simply loved Reign Over Me, a tale of two friends who were once room mates in college, and then they meet up post 9/11. Cheadle is his usual restrained self. But it is Sandler who steals the show with a heart-tugging performance, as the man who is trying to come to terms with the loss of his wife and three daughters.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

Cast: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bordem, Josh Brolin
Director: Joel and Ethan Coen

The Coen brothers thoroughly deserved the Best Picture and Best Director Oscars. In Anton Chigurh, played exceptionally by Javier Bordem, they have created a character as evil and menacing as Hannibal Lecter. The random violence, the moody build up and excellent acting all around combine to make No Country a modern-day classic.

ONCE

Cast: Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova
Director: John Carney

A friend had presented me the DVD of this film months ago, but I hadn't seen it until recently because I am not terribly fond of musicals. I loved it when I watched this modern-day musical about a busker and an immigrant and their eventful week in Dublin, as they write, rehearse and record songs that tell their love story. Made with almost documentary realism on the streets of Dublin, the film was shot in just 15 days with two DV cameras. John Carney has both written and directed this film.

THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM

Cast : Matt Damon, Julia Stiles
Director: Paul Greengrass

I don't like sequels, per se. But this one, the third and the latest in Bourne trilogy, is my favourite of the three and would possibly go down as my favourite action movie of 2007. The action never flags, and the story doesn't bore you at any point as Bourne tries to find out more about his past and finally come back home. There is nothing new about the story but the execution is sleek, and Damon is good.

THERE WILL BE BLOOD

Cast: Dannel Day Lewis
Director: Paul Thomas Anderson

Essaying a written-for-Oscar role, Daniel Day Lewis comes up with an astonishing performance in this film about a turn-of-the-century oil prospector who moves to California in the early days of the business. Equally brilliant as Daniel Day Lewis is Paul Dano. Director Paul Anderson is just 38 but is considered as a master of his craft, and has already made such eminently watchable films as Magnolia and Punch Drunk Love.

WAITRESS

Cast: Keri Russell
Director: Adrienne Shelly

Keri Russell looks lovely and acts beautifully as the pie-baking, unhappily married waitress with a heart of gold. You just want good things to happen to her. I am rather sentimental about this movie, not just because it is very good. But also because its director Adrienne Shelly died even before Waitress was commercially released. Shelly's death was first considered a suicide. Days later, a 19-year-old Eucadorian illegal immigrant and construction worker confessed to killing the actress, whom he left hanging by a bedsheet from a shower rod in the bathroom of her Manhattan office / apartment.

DEDICATION

Cast: Billy Crudup, Mandy Moore
Director: Justin Theroux

Director Justin Theroux is the nephew of the famous Paul Theroux, not that it matters. My favourite romantic movie of the year, Dedication is different than most mushy Hollywood movies. Once his long time collaborator and only friend dies, Billy Crudup, a children's book author, is forced to work with a female illustrator. Crudup is brilliant as a cranky, misogynist author who slowly but surely falls for the pretty illustrator. Like all good films, this one has a terrific script, with lot of witty lines. Sample this one:

Lucy : Do you just genuinely dislike me, Henry?

Henry: You know accuse of whatever you want, I'm probably guilty of it... contributing to global warming, killing a squirrel once, and using the word retard, and occasionally misinterpreted bigotry, but don't, don't... don't don't don't accuse of not liking you. Ok?

Of Burned Bodies and Scarred Survivors

Ever been inside a burns ward in a hospital? It is not a pleasant sight, worse, the smell gets to you, and remains with you. Most doctors advice you to tie a kerchief over your mouth and nose as you enter the ward. It is as much for the safety of the patient as it is for the well-being for the visitor. Most first timers complain of nausea and end up puking after their maiden trip.

Many years ago I remember going to Charkhi Dadri, the site of the worst air accident the world has ever seen. 349 people charred to death in a matter of minutes. The debris of the two aircrafts was spread over a 7 km area. As I drove late in the evening to find the crash site, one of the locals suggested helpfully : "Just follow the smell of burning flesh, you will find the main spot."

The smell of burning flesh lingers on for a long time after it is supposed to have receded. That night in Charkhi Dadri was not nice. Years later in Tamil Nadu, in south India, I was to encounter smell of burning flesh all over again. I was covering a different story not too far and was one of the first persons to reach the spot. This time 25 people had been charred to death in a mental hospital. The scale of the tragedy was comparatively much smaller, yet I was seriously disturbed by what I saw.

Charred bodies chained to bed posts, worse, even trees. Helpless inmates trapped in the fire, unable to flee because they had been chained. I didn't know anyone of them. Even if I had, I wouldn't have recognized anyone from what was left of them.

As a colleague next to me discussed, even haggled, with another colleague thousands of miles away about how many minutes and seconds should be spent on telling this tale of 25 deaths I played out in my mind the exact sequence of events that ended with the end of 25 lives. I wondered where they were from, for how many years were they in this institution, how they must have squirmed and twisted and screamed to get out of the way of the approaching flames. A video played out in my mind, in graphic detail, and I was about as successful in putting out the imagery from my mind as the chained inmates had been with the fire.

Cricket's Billion Dollar Baby Is Here!

In 1977, when he announced the breakaway cricket league, the Australian TV moghul Kerry Packer did not only play havoc with the existing international cricket order, he also made a super selector of sorts out of me.

All of 13-years old then, I used to doodle in my notebooks names of international players who squared off in dream teams selected entirely by me. I made the teams as balanced and evenly matched as I could, in the hope that they could produce rousing contests.

I thought ahead of Packer. For me there were no national boundaries, issues like Apartheid took a backseat as the lost generation of South Africa's golden greats -- Barry Richards, Graeme Pollock, Mike Procter and Garth Le Roux -- were part of my teams.

Thus, Sunil Gavaskar and Gordon Grenidge opened for one side, and Barry Richards and Des Haynes opened for the rivals. One team had Viv Richards in the middle order, the rivals had Greg Chappell. One was skippered by Clive Lloyd, the opposing team was led by Ian Chappell. Team A had David Gower, so Team B had to have Graeme Pollock.

And then there were the mouthwatering all-round talents of Ian Botham, Imran Khan, Richard Hadlee and Kapil Dev to choose from. Dennis Lillee led one side's pace attack, the opponents relied on the liquid pace of Michael Holding.

Oh if only they had played against each other. What amazing contests they would have been, between sides selected on the basis of cricketing merit alone.

I am no longer 13, nor do I doodle names of cricketers any more. But my adolescent dream is about to come true, in a rather dramatic way. Next month on, world's best cricketers would take part in what promises to be the most glamorous cricket league in the world.

The big names have been gobbled up. But the eight teams in the fray still have to opt for their mandatory four under-19 signings, also choose players from their catchment areas.

Following the players' auction, the most powerful sides to me appear to be Hyderabad, Chennai, Chandigarh and Kolkata.

Hyderabad is led by the charismatic VVS Laxman. Ironically the man so regularly overlooked for the shorter version of the game by India, would now lead a side of powerpacked hitters like Andrew Symonds, Shahid Afridi, Adam Gilchrist and Herschelle Gibbs. Add the Kiwi Scott Styris and Laxman himself, and the young Indian tyro Rohit Sharma to that mix, and you have the most explosive batting line-up in the inaugural IPL.

The Hyderabad side would excel in the field too with the likes of Symonds, Gibbs and Afrid being rated among the best fielders in the world. Compared to batting and fielding, the side looks a wee bit short in bowling riches. Among the big names is only the old pro Chaminda Vaas.

Another IPL side that looks impressive is the Chanigarh side led by the mercurial Yuvraj Singh. The side has signed on the redoubtable Sri Lankan duo of Kumar Sanghakara and Mahela Jayawardane, apart from West Indian Ram Naresh Sarwan and Australian Simon Katich. Though overlooked by his national side, Katich has been in prime form in domestic cricket in Australia.

The bowling too looks rather impressive in the form of the classy Brett Lee, all-rounder Irfan Pathan and S Sreesanth. Romesh Powar and the young leggie Piyush Chawla provide the spinning options.

As powerful a side as any in the IPL is the Chennai team with the iconic MS Dhoni leading a team that can rely on the firepower of the big Matt Hayden and Jacob Oram, apart from the stylish Stephen Flemming, and the equally classy Mike Hussey. It is backed by the bighitting option of South African Albie Morkel and the homegrown talents of lefthander Suresh Raina and keeper Parthiv Patel.

Also in the Chennai ranks is a gent answering to the name of Muttiah Muralitharan. Makhaya Ntini is the premier fast bowling option, then there is the utility player, Joginder Sharma who did his reputation no harm in the T20 World Cup in South Africa.

The Kolkata squad has roped in John Buchanan as their high profile coach. The big question is can Buchanan turn the likes of Sourav Ganguly and Shoaib Akhtar into sprightly fielders. In a game that is as much about fitness as about cricketing skills, it remains to be seen how well players like Ganguly and Shoaib adapt to the new format.

The side's batting looks impressive with Ganguly, Australian captain Ricky Ponting, the explosive Windies opener Chris Gayle, the fiery Kiwi wicketkeeper batsman, Brandon McCullum and Australian David Hussey. A possible opening batting combination of Gayle and McCullum is a mouthwatering prospect.

Indian speedster Ishant Sharma, so impressive in Australia, would lead the bowling with senior pro Ajit Agarkar. An important signing is Umar Gul, who was the pick of the bowlers in South Africa during the T20 World Cup.

If the players' auction that took place in Mumbai yesterday is anything to go by, one thing is certain we are in for interesting times. That Mahedra Singh Dhoni, one of the finest one-day cricketers of our generation and the skipper of the inuaugural T20 World Championship winning side, would be the most sought after and thus most expensive player in the auction of international players for the Indian Players' League came as no surprise to anyone.

But some signing amounts did raise a few eyebrows. Dinesh Karthick commanding a higher price than Ricky Ponting, or Ishant Sharma (the young lad is very good, mind you) selling as the most expensive bowler in international cricket is a bit of a much, if you ask moi.

Needless to say, the inaugural edition of the Indian Players' League is going to be more about hype than about substance. And the players' auction, despite the megabucks and some hardnosed businessmen involved, was part of that hype. Not all signings made business sense or cricketing logic.

One hopes though once the tournament starts and the focus is back on cricket, sanity will return to the proceedings. And you can bet, before the next season begins, the wheat would have been separated from the chaff and the bidders would have realized the merits of choosing a Michael Hussey over a Manoj Tewary.

As for me, I have got myself a box seat in front of my television set, poured two perfectly shaped ice cubes in my Smirnoff, and am waiting for my first look at a scorecard that could very well read :

CHRIS GAYLE caught KUMAR SANGHAKARA bowled BRETT LEE

Careful, We Don't Use The Word STARVATION!

A national daily reported recently that fruits, pulses, vegetables and grains worth Rs.58,000 crores are wasted each year in India. India's minister of state for food processing industries, Subodh Kant Sahay recently admitted as much in the Rajya Sabha, the upper house of Indian Parliament.

This, in a country where 220 million people live below the poverty line, where there are areas where people suffer from chronic starvation. Sahay said in the Rajya Sabha the wastage was caused by, among other factors, the lack of proper storage facilities and transportation.

The newspaper report quotes PV Suvrathan, secretary, food processing industries as saying , "The main issue is the lack of an adequate supply chain."According to the report, it costs Rs. 8 to provide the basic minimum nutrition of 2,100 caolries a day that an adult needs. So, Rs.58,000 crores is sufficient to feed all the 220 million people in the country living below the poverty line for 350 days a year.

This was disclosed by Ajay Parida, director of the bio-technology programme at the Sr. MS Swaminathan Research Foundation in Chennai.Mr. Parida goes on to say, "Food security is a major issue... there is starvation. There is struggle for basic food requirements."

Of course, the authorities are wary of using the term "starvation". Makes you look bad, you see, in the eyes of the world you are trying to hardsell your country as the new economic giant. There is the (in)famous instance of a young Indian Administrative Service (IAS) officer in charge of a district in Orissa, insisting there was no starvation in that region. When a journalist quizzed him about the high number of deaths, he replied, with a straight face, "Oh, those deaths are not because of starvation, they are on account of progressive malnutrition."

On such finer differences of definition, are Indian government's policies framed. Starvation would have blotted the otherwise-impeccable service record of the young officer. Cases of mere progressive malnutrition, on the other hand, wouldn't attract anything more punitive than a mild slap on the wrist.

Over the years much of the debate in India has centered on the question of whether there have in fact been large number of starvation deaths. Those who say no, and thus defend the government, take a narrow view of the meaning of "starvation". They take it to mean deaths directly attributable to an extreme lack of food, and they focus on adult deaths. In fact, most deaths associated with starvation are due to a combination of a condition of prolonged malnutrition an disease.

The immediate, final cause of death, the phrase written on the death certificate, is usually some disease, rather than starvation or hunger as such. UNICEF estimates that in the year 2000, about 24,20,000 children in India died before their fifth birthdays. This was the highest number of deaths in this age group in any country.

These figures indicate, more than a fifth of the child mortality worldwide occurs in India alone. The international agencies estimate that about half of these deaths of children under five are associated with, if not directly due to, malnutrition. Thus it is feared that over a million children below the age of five die every year in India owing to malnutrition-related problems. To that number must be added a large but unknown number of adults who succumb for the same reason.

In their data keeping, international agencies such as the United Nations Children's Fund and the World Health Organization do not even keep records of starvation deaths. No one does. Even in the worst of times, few people die immediately and directly of starvation.They die more slowly, from prolonged malnutrition in combination with some disease, and the latter often makes it to the death certificate as the official "cause of death". Thus, if one takes a narrow view of the meaning of "starvation", there are few starvation deaths in India.

But hiding behind this semantic fig leaf to wish away deaths caused by prolonged and acute malnutrition borders on the criminal. A crime that Indian politicians and bureaucrats continue to commit with impunity.

A few years ago, I was headed for Kalahandi (in the state of Orissa, in eastern India), then in the news for reports of large scale starvation in the region. In Bhubaneswar, I met a couple of journalists who had flown in from Delhi to do a story on how rats were eating up the foodgrains stocked in the Food Corporation of India (FCI) warehouses. Ironically the FCI warehouses were not too far from Kalahandi, where people were dying of starvation.

You see, Mr. Suvrathan, the problem with the lack of an adequate supply chain has been around for a long time. On April 6, 2001, the Pople's Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) raised the issue of people dying of starvation at a time when government warehouses were filled to the brim with surplus stock. The PUCL petition sought a ruling on whether the Right to Life means that people who are starving and too poor to buy foodgrain, can get foodgrain free of cost from the surplus stock lying with the State.

I have often wondered exactly what level of management skills are required to ensure surplus food grains make their way to hungry mouths. (The rats have worked it out, for God's sake, why can't we?) It is evident though, this new economic powerhouse of a nation of ours with a galloping sensex and nine percent growth rate, has not been able to make this happen. I believe it hasn't happened because of one simple, uncomplicated reason.

That some people in positions of influence whose job it is to ensure the smooth running of this critical supply chain, don't give a damn. They don't give a damn about either the starving people or the wasted food grains. They don't give a damn because their own private supply chains are working just fine.

Also, in India there is little or no accountability. Successive finance ministers have failed to suggest ways to curtail slothful public expenditure, to rein in the bureaucracy. So those other rats, the fat rats disguised as corrupt officials and greedy bureaucrats, and masquerading as policy makers, don't give a damn because they can get away with it.

And then there's us. In our ivory towers of double-digit growth, the supply chains are working rather smoothly. Which is why, you and me needn't starve ever.

Bongo Bondhu Corporation -- the real Beeb

A little known fact about the BBC. It may be known as British Broadcasting Corporation all over the world, but in Delhi, the headquarters of the BBC South Asia bureau, insiders would tell you what BBC really stands for. BBC here is better known as the Bongo Bondhu Corporation (Friends of Bengalis Corporation).

When I joined in 2001, in the English section of the bureau, one had a whole bunch of Bengali colleagues.

There was Sanjay Ganguly. Biharis, and even Jharkhandis, too, stake claim on him as son of the soil, they say he is from Jamshedpur. But he has impeccable probashi (non-resident) Bangali credentials, having studied in Delhi's Rasinha Bengali Higher Secondary School.

Then there was Subhranshu Chaudhary. From Jats to Chhattisgarhis to even, rumouredly, the Lashkar-e-Toiba, they all thought Chaudhary bhai was one of them. Fact is, the fellow is as Bengali as good old kobiguru. He even has a beard to back his case.

Geeta Pandey wasn't born a Bengali, but she was raised in Calcutta, did her schooling and college there, even worked for the Ananda Bazar Patrika group. How much more of a Bengali can you be? She does, now and then, claim that she used to eat Tinda in Calcutta, but no one has ever held that against her.

Like Geeta, Vivek (known as Bibek to Shooprokash Da) Raj wasn't born a Bengali, but grew up in Calcutta. Just as converts are known to make the worst zealots, Bibek, oops, Vivek is more Bengali than the next three Bengalis put together. From adda to murighonto to the latest Bengali pop, he has a penchant for things Bengali.

Jyotsna Singh is from Kashi, oops, Benaras, a city that we all know has been part of a longdrawn dispute between Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal, with both states claiming it as their own. Besides she is married to Surojit, as authentic a Bangali as you will ever find.

And though Tinku Ray speaks English with an accent that makes you wonder if good old Jolpaiguri is somewhere between New York and Boston, there is no disputing the fact that she is as Bengali as Momota Didi.

But the quintessential Bengali in the BBC bureau was Ayanjit Sen. The predominantly Sikh drivers of the taxi stand which serviced the office insisted on referring to Ayanjit as a Singh and claimed him as a Punjab da puttar. Fact is, even a blind man could see he was not faking it, when you saw the orgasmic look on the fellow's face as he opened his lunch box and discovered Ma had packed macchher jhol aar bhaat (fish curry and rice).

And then there was yours truly. Born a Sylheti, raised in Andamans, and after three decades in Delhi, my claims of being a Bengali are dodgy, detractors insist. On my side is the fact that when you mention the phrase 'pleasures of the flesh', the first thing that springs to my mind is spiecy double fried pork. Besides I am bone lazy, can talk on politics or cricket for hours, and pompous enough to call my blogspace, Postcards From The Edge. Anyone who questions my Bengali credentials ought to get his head examined.

Apart from the above-mentioned, over the years, other Bengalis joined the Delhi office. The bhalo chhele (good boy) from London, Sanjoy Majumder, and the aaro bhalo chhele (even better boy) from Calcutta, Soutik Biswas, who between them manned BBC Online operations in this part of the world.

They both wrote English the proppah way, the way the Shahebs (white folks) taught us, and were remarkably politically correct about most things. What gave their Bengaliness away was the unmistakable gleam in their eyes the moment you mentioned the word "food". The subject usually heralded the beginning of prolonged, rather animated discussions that often ended in serious food binges.

There was a strong rumour at one point of time that Bernard (Baarnard, as pronounced by Subir Da) Gabony, who heads BBC South Asia online, is actually a Bengali, masquerading as a white man. I checked with Bernard, who denied any such thing. But since it is par for the course for BBC management to deny anything they are ever asked, I wasn't too sure what to make of the denial. In the end we all agreed, because of the man's undoubted good tastes, to adopt him as a Bengali. Issue resolved.

Among all these Bengalis, there were a few non-Bongs too. But like all ethnic minorities, they sensibly remained low profile or eventually left the organization. Monica went back to Mumbai after a two-year stint. Upasana joined monitoring. Shilpa came to the Beeb from Bangalore, via Pune, and has survived so far only because most Bengalis see her as a kindred spirit -- her Hindi is decidedly worse than theirs.

Today Rajyashri Rao, Meenakshi Gupta and Abhishek Prabhat are no longer part of BBC. They left at different times, citing different reasons. But those at the Bongo Bondhu Corporation know better.

Mirror, Mirror, Who's The Biggest Goon Of Them All?

Why is this man not in jail?

There's something so sexy about the politics of hate. It pays immediate dividends and quickly polarises the masses, which, anyway, is the most important objective of hate politics. Ask Adolf Hitler, or ask Narendra Modi, or even the latest posterboy of divisive politics, Raj Thackeray.

In case you are one of those ignorant ones who don't know who Raj Thackeray is, then let me enlighten you. He is the charming young man who is running the "Maharashtra for Marathis" campaign that has provoked a mass exodus of north Indians from Mumbai, and other parts of Maharashtra.

The fellow is certainly not lacking in inspiration -- Hitler is his idol and Modi, his neighbour. Besides there was plenty of homegrown inspiration to look up to, as well. As a child, young Raj watched his uncle Bal Thackeray's journey from smalltime thug to Maharashtra's most feared man.

The uncle managed to get attention by holding cricket matches to ransom. His goons would dig up cricket pitches when India was to take on Pakistan.The nephew has learnt well. He started his hate campaign by targetting Amitabh Bachchan. The selection of such a target immediately and automatically ensured sustained media publicity.

Some sections of the national media have described the campaign as nasty and violent but there is certain degree of unanimity about the effectiveness of the campaign of terror. Television channels have been beaming images of terrified migrants, clutching their belongings, and taking the first train out of Maharashtra.

I personally think Raj Thackeray doesn't have anything against north Indians, per se. I also think -- I really do -- Hitler didn't hate the Jews, and Modi too doesn't hold any grudge against Muslims. It is just that Thackeray realises politically it is expedient to say these nasty things against north Indians.

Also the idea is not to drive every non-Maharashtrian out of Maharashtra. Raj Thackeray is anything but stupid. He knows Mumbai wouldn't be half as much fun without Ratan Tata, the Ambani brothers or Shahrukh Khan, none of whom are Marathis. He just wants everyone to know, in the words of Bhiku Matrey, in the Bollywood movie, Satya, "Mumbai ka don kaun? (Who is the don of Mumbai?)"

Thackeray must be pleased as punch with the response to his hate campaign. There's already an exodus of north Indians and even some some not-so-north Indians from Bombay, oops Mumbai, and other parts of Maharashtra. The trains to Uttar pradesh and Bihar have been packed with migrants the past few days. Also a message has been sent to cousin Udhav and uncle Bal Thackeray that he is the rightful heir to the legacy of hate.

But he knows while his little terror act has served its limited purpose, he has to plan -- and execute -- things on a far bigger scale if he has to rise further. He knows as a practitioner of politics of hate, you must be ready to take great risks for the sake of greater rewards. Hitler put six million Jews in gas chambers and became the Big Daddy of the hate game. Likewise, Modi presided over an anti-Muslim pogrom that claimed thousands of lives and quickly leapfrogged to the number two position in his own party. Who knows, another strategically timed genocide and the man could be the next Prime Minister of India.

Mmmmm. What a mouthwatering prospect. Narendra Modi as Prime Minister and Raj Thackeray may be as the chief minister of Maharashtra. Just chew on that thought as I have to regretfully attend to other matters.

You see I am originally from Sylhet, in the northern part of Bangladesh. In 1947 when India was partitioned, and Muslim-majority areas were declared part of Pakistan, my grandfather left his ancestral home and the land where he was born and moved to Calcutta. My father, the eldest of five children, got a job in Andaman and Nicobar Islands, off the eastern coast of India, more near Burma than mainland India, in 1956. I spent the first eight years of my life in Port Blair and Diglipur, two of the most beautiful places on God's Earth.

Then in 1971, as India and Pakistan were facing off in what has been their last official conflict, my father decided to shift base to Delhi. I left Andamans somewhat reluctantly, but then I had little say in the matter. I don't particularly like Delhi, though I have lived most of my life here. Among my serious failures I consider is my inability to reolcate myself from this land of nine months of summer.

Today though I am not worried about the coming months of summer. As politics of hate gathers momentum all around me, I don't want to wait for someone like Raj Thackeray to identify me as an "outsider". I mean, look at it from Raj or Narendrabhai's point of view, I am an outsider in most places in India -- Delhi, Calcutta or Andamans.

So don't blame me if I wing it to some part of the world where no one looks too closely at where I come from. Relocation is not easy on anyone, me included. But I have a fine sense of self-preservation. I don't want to hang around and wait for a Thackeray or a Modi to ask me to pack my bags. But you know what?

I am pretty sure as I tighten my seatbelt and look out of the aircraft window for one last look at my country, the man on the seat next to me could well be Lal Krishna Advani. After all, when you boot out a Sylheti, you can't allow someone born and brought up in Karachi, heart of that enemyland called Pakistan, to sully our holy motherland.

Teehee.

Revisiting A National Shame Called Khairlanji

This is not a pretty picture. But then this is not a pretty story.

On September 29, 2006, a group of villagers in Khairlanji village in Bandara district in the western Indian state of Maharashtra forcibly entered into the house of one of the residents, Bhaiya Lal Bhotmange. Bhotmange wasn't at home at that time. The crowd dragged Bhotmange's wife, his teenaged daughter and his two sons out of the house, beat them with stones, iron rods and anything else that they could get hold of.

The four members of the Bhotmange family were dragged into an open area about 50 yards from their house. Bhotmange's wife and daughter were stripped naked and gangraped by the villagers until they died. His two sons were beaten and stabbed, their bodies repeatedly thrown up in the air and, according to eyewitnesses, the lynch mob cheered as the bodies crashed on the hard ground. It went on until both the boys were dead.

Why was the Bhotmange family killed in such a gruesome manner?

The Bhotmanges were among four Dalit Buddhist families who lived in Khairlanji, a village dominated by OBC (Other Backward Classes) families. The Dalits are at the lowest rung of the social ladder in India, where the society is divided on caste lines. About 160 million Indians are Dalits or `untouchables', social pariahs who live a life that any civilized nation wouldn't consign its animals to.

Unlike most Dalits in the area, the Bhtomange family was comparatively well off. The two sons worked with their parents on their land and daughter Priyanka was in her final year of school.

Village landlords were upset both over the prosperity of this Dalit family, and their decision to educate their children. On several ccasions, there had been run-ins between the upper caste villagers and members of the Bhotmange family. On a number of instances, Bhotmanges had sought police intervention when standing crops on their field were destroyed by the landlords.

On September 3, 2006, a family friend of the Bhotmanges had been violently assaulted by a group of villagers. A few days later, Bhotmange's wife Surekha identified eleven men in a police line up as the offenders. On September 29th, these men were picked up by the police and then let off on bail by the court. The same evening, these eleven men led the lynch mob to Bhotmange's house.

No one knows the exact number of men who raped the two women. Eyewitnesses have said, the women were raped even after they had died. One of the women who works with an NGO which is fighting the Bhotmange case in court told me that parts of agricultural implements were shoved up the private parts of Priyanka, Bhotmange's daughter.

Bhaiyalal Bhotmange was working in the field when his family was attacked. He saw the crowd dragging his family members out, and ran to the next village to seek help. His friend called up the police to inform them of what was going on. By the time a solitary police constable reached Khairlanji a good few hours later, night had descended on the village, the mob had disprsed, and there were no signs of Bhotmange's family members.

The Andalgaon police post is 15 minutes' walking distance from Khairlanji. After they first received the complaint it took the police over four hours to reach the spot where the lynch mob had taken its own sweet time to strip the Botmange family naked and then gangrape the women and beat the boys to death.

Next afternoon, Bhaiyalal's daughter Priyanka's body, without a stitich of clothing on her, was found in a canal. Over the next few hours, police teams found the bodies of Bhaiyalal's wife Surekha, and his two sons Roshan and Sudhir from different locations in the village. A day after the incident no First Information Report had been registered by the police.

It was only when the news of the killings spread word of mouth and angry Dalit groups began to protest against government inaction, the local administration got its act together. By then, valuable evidence had been lost, the accused had sufficient time to cover their tracks.

The Maharashtra government sensed the outrage among the Dalits over the Khairlanji incident and sent its most prominent prosecutor Ujwal Nikam to Khairlanji. Nikam was the high profile government prosecutor in the 1993 Bombay blasts case. The move to send Nikam was as much to assuage Dalits as to ensure justice for Bhotmange's family.

Visiting Khairlanji a year after the incident, I met Nikam at Bhandara where eyewitness statements are being recorded in the sessions court. The case, it appeared to me, was progressing at a snail's pace.

Already the case is losing momentum, allege the activists of an NGO, whose rally in Nagpur five days after the Khairlanji massacre first woke up the local administration. Originally 41 persons were arrested in the case, thirty of whom have been subsequently set free. Only eleven remain behind bars today. NGOs working in the area claim that there is sustained pressure on the eyewitnesses to reverse their initial deposition.

They (the eyewitnesses) live in the same village as Bhaiyalal did. Shocked by the gruesome nature of the incident, they deposed before the police and the court. Now as each day passes the pressure on them mounts to take back their statements. As this case gets delayed and activists and media lose interest in the Khairlanji case, these eyewitnesses understandably fear they might meet the same fate as Bhaiyalal and his family. Not surprisingly, NGOs in the area are worried hat in the coming months, the eyewitnesses may turn hostile.

Nikam, however, insists that this case is taking no less or no more time compared to other cases. He says there was no provocation for doing what was done to Bhotmange's family. He tells us : "The prosecution will demand death penalty for those accused of killing the members of Bhotmange's family. They were killed in the most brutal manner."

The Bhandara superintendent of police Suresh Sagar is himself a Dalit. Sagar admits: "No cognizance was taken of the complaint and the local police were lax in conducting an immediate investigation." He agrees that a search could have helped preserve crucial evidence of rape, especially. The first information report was registered after 24 hours.

Despite eyewitness accounts that Bhotmange's wife and daughter were gangraped, the prosecution has dropped the rape charge. The charge was dropped on account of "lack of evidence". Reporting for Frontline, a leading Indian fortnightly, weeks after the incident, Lyla Bavadam observed: "The post-mortem was handled in a slipshod manner. Dr. K.D.Ramteke, civil surgeon at Bhandara Civil Hospital, said: "The most basic post-mortem calls for preservation of viscera. This was not done by the doctor-in-charge."

The doctor who conducted the post-mortem was dismissed but he claimed that the police did not ask for a test of rape. However, Dr.Ramteke said, "Finding a violently beaten and naked body of a young girl automatically calls for vaginal swabs as well as the usual procedure to remove the uterus and other internal organs."

The post-mortem report said that the cause of death was through intracranial haemorrhages. Incensed, Bhaiyalal Bhotmange, demanded a second post-mortem. "I always suspected rape," he told Lyla Bavadam of Frontline, recalling the scene of his family being dragged out of the hut. When the bodies were exhumed, they were in an advanced state of decomposition. Bavadam wrote that Dr.Ramteke had recommended that "on the basis of circumstantial evidence (the probability of) rape should be considered."

An eerie calm prevails in Khairlanji as you enter the village. A police post at the entrance of the village notes down the number of the vehicle going in -- indicating that this is no ordinary village. Inside the village, about 50 yards from Bhotmange's now-abandoned hut, and a stone's throw away from the open space where his family were lynched and raped, there is another police post with four policemen. One of them is reeking of alcohol. "We are here to maintain peace," says the man in khaki, who appears to be struggling to maintain sobriety.

The small hut in which Bhaiya Lal's family lived lies abandoned today. There's an old, rusty lock on the door, across which there is a worn out piece of tape which announces this is a "scene of crime" and thus out of bounds. Long grass has grown outside the hut, and policemen warn of snakes. A cheap high-heeled shoe is lying amidst the grass. A piece of evidence that the police overlooked? Or was it dragged in by a stray dog?

Bhaiya Lal hasn't been to his house -- or the village -- since the day the bodies of his family members were discovered. The cowshed is empty, the cow gone. No one tills the land that was the original source of dispute between his family and the landlords.

He now works as a peon in a boys' hostel in Bhandara, the princely job that the Maharashtra government has deemed it fit to compensate him for the loss of his entire family.

On a dark, drizzly morning, we wait outside the boys' hostel to have a word with Bhaiya Lal. The boys in the hostel can't tell much about Bhaiya Lal. They say he is a quiet sort of fellow, who usually keeps to himself. Bhotmange arrives at about 11 a.m., pillion riding on a motorcycle driven by a security guard provided by the Maharashtra government.

For the first few minutes after I have introduced myself, Bhaiyalal chooses to look at a vacant spot above my head. And then as he slowly, haltingly begins to speak, his answers seldom extend beyond the monosyllabic. He speaks sparsely, but his haunted eyes convey a myriad of emotions.

Through his troubled, distraught eyes, one can see the moment he discovered the body of his only daughter. And then when he heard of the other bodies, he realized that his entire family had been wiped out.

Through broken, inarticulate sentences, he manages to say two things. First, that he does not care for the rest of his life. And, second, that he wants justice for his family.

I ask Bhaiyalal if he is planning to go to the court hearing. He shakes his head. Just five minutes' driving distance from the boys' hostel where we interviewed Bhotmange is the Bhandara district and sessions court.

At the court gate, khaki-clad policemen frisk the people going in and, not quite sure who's inside, they salute every passing car with tinted glasses. For some inexplicable reason, they look in a distinctly unfriendly way at the common people.

Inside the courtroom, the eleven accused sit in the last row of benches. On the front row, counsels argue over finer points of law. On the witness stand, one of the eyewitnesses waits for his turn, unwilling to look into eleven pairs of eyes on the last row. Someone asks Ujwal Nikam about Bollywood star Sunjay Dutt and this involvement in the infamous Bombay blasts case. Even the judge leans closer in the seat, waiting to hear Nikam's answer.

Suddenly I am glad that Bhaiyalal chose not to come today. Sitting in the courthouse, I can't help but wonder that the tardy follow up and the slow pace of court proceedings seem as much part of the system which killed the Bhotmanges as the lynch mob which actually carried out the killings.

That morning in the court, from where I was sitting, justice for the Bhotmange family seemed a very very long distance away.

Bollywood Sneak Peeks 2008

One of the pleasures of beginning a new year is to find out, and chat, about the new Bollywood films lined up for release during that calendar year. As film buffs meet one another at parties, one of the questions one invariably tends to ask is, “Sooo, what are the big releases lined up this year?”

Personally, I am not very discriminating about what I see. In fact, my endeavour is to always try to see as many movies as possible. I have a few favourite actors -- that is, apart from Katrina Kaif. Like Amir Khan, Tabu, Irfan Khan, Konkona Sen. At the beginning of most years, I try to find out what they are all up to.

The first major release of this year, Halla Bol, directed by Rajkumar Santoshi, and starring Ajay Devgan and Vidya Balan, failed at the box office. When Bombay to Bangkok, directed by the redoubtable Nagesh Kuknoor, bombed too, the industry began to brace itself for a bad year.

2008 is a year when some of the A-list directors like Rakesh Roshan, Karan Johar, Rajkumar Hirani will be starting work on new projects that are likely to be ready for release only in 2009. Besides, Bollywood's numero uno, Shahrukh Khan doesn't have any film slated for release this year, save for Bhootnath, starring Amitabh Bachchan, in which King Khan is making a special appearance.

The sombre outlook of the industry has changed, though, following the release of Sunday, starring Ajay Devgan and Ayesha Takia. Directed by Rohit Shetty, Sunday has hit the bull's eye at the box office, bringing smiles back on the faces of producers as well as distributors. The success of this breezy comedy is being credited to outstanding performances by Arshad Warsi and Irfan Khan.

Ideally I should have posted this piece a month ago, at the beginning of 2008. But somehow things kept getting delayed. For whatever it is worth, here is the list of films I am looking forward to watching in 2008. The films are named in no particular order of preference or by any release date.

JODHA AKBAR

Cast: Hrithik Roshan, Aishwarya Rai
Director: Ashutosh Gowarikar

The Mughals have never looked as dashing or as beautiful as they have in Jodha Akbar. The romantic tale of Emperor Akbar’s marriage to Rajput princess Jodha Bai hits the theatres a day after the Valentine’s Day. Gowarikar’s period drama has opulent sets and extravagant action sequences. Hrithik and Aishwarya looked quite a pair in Dhoom2, it will be interesting to watch their chemistry in Jodha Akbar. For me, Gowarikar is as much a top draw as the film's leads. Once you make Lagaan and Swades, you will have me queuing up for advance tickets, game leg or not.

GHAJINI

Cast : Amir Khan, Jiya Khan
Director: A R Murugadoss

After Taare Zameen Par, Amir is going to be seen in a completely different sort of film, a fast-paced crime thriller. Directed by Murugadoss, the film is loosely based on the Chris Nolan-directed Memento, in which the hero has trouble with a failing memory -- he can only remember the last 15 minutes of his life.

TASHAN

Cast : Saif Ali Khan, Kareena Kapoor, Akshay Kumar, Anil Kapoor
Director: Vijay Krishna Acharya

Writer of the immensely successful Dhoom and Dhoom2, Acharya makes his debut as director with Tashan. The year’s first big release from Yash Raj Films already has the rumour mills on an overdrive. Saif and Bebo both reportedly show serious skin -- by Bollywood standards, that is.

RACE

Cast: Anil Kapoor, Saif Ali Khan, Akshaye Khanna, Bipasha Basu, Katrina Kaif, Sameera Reddy
Director : Abbas Mastan

The director duo of Abbas Mastan are known for making stylish thrillers. Race, I am told, is pretty racey too. Saif and Akshaye, sharing screen space for the first time after Dil Chahta Hai, are half-brothers who own a stud farm. Anil Kapoor plays a cop. The movie has very high babe quotient, with Bipasha Basu, Katrina Kaif and Sameera Reddy. Try stopping me from a first day, first show.

BLACK ‘N’ WHITE

Cast: Anil Kapoor, Anurag Sinha, Aditi SharmaPublish Post
Director: Subhash Ghai

This one is believed to be different than the usual Ghai potboiler. The ace director has come up with a hardhitting political thriller, dealing with the serious issue of terrorism. Anil Kapoor plays an Urdu professor and newcomer Anurag Sinha plays the role of a suicide bomber.

SARKAR RAJ

Cast: Amitabh Bachchan, Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai
Director : Ram Gopal Verrma

This is the first film in which Amitabh Bachchan, son Abhishek and daughter-in-law Aishwarya all star together, after they were seen in Kajra Re in Bunty Aur Babli. His terrible ode to Sholaay notwithstanding, Ram Gopal Verma remains a film maker of substance. Sarkar was most watchable. The buzz is the sequel is even better. It better be, for Ramu’s sake. Sarkar Raj is his chance at redemption.

DRONA

Cast: Abhishek Bachchan, Priyanka Chopra
Director: Goldie Behl

Abhishek plays superhero in this action fantasy with its special effects extravaganza is directed by Abhishek’s pal, Goldie Behl. The sexy Ms Chopra plays Abhishek’s bodyguard.

KISMET KONNECTION

Cast: Shahid Kapur, Vidya Balan
Director: Aziz Mirza

Director Aziz Mirza steps out of his comfort zone and for the first time directs a feature without his favourite star Shahrukh Khan. Shahid Kapur’s stars are on the ascent, despite his breakup with Kareena Kapoor. He would like to follow up the smash hit Jab We Met with another box office success. Before the shoot began, Ms Balan was asked to shed a few kilos to match the youthful Shahid. The effect, it is being said, is stunning -- a svelte Vidya Balan simply sizzles on the screen.

SINGH IS KING

Cast: Akshay Kumar, Katrina Kaif
Director: Anees Bazmee

It is the year’s first release for the man with the midas touch in Bollywood. After a stunning 2007 where he gave four successive hits, it remains to be seen if everything he touches in 2008 also turns to gold. Akshay once again plays the macho man from Punjab. Paired opposite him is Katrina Kaif.

DILLI 6

Cast: Abhishek Bachchan, Sonam Kapoor, Om Puri, Divya Dutta
Director: Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra

The story is bit autobiographical, borrowed from director Mehra’s years in the Indian capital. The story also has some connection with the infamous monkey man incident that rocked Delhi a few years ago. Bachchan had a mixed 2007 – he won critical acclaim and tasted box office success with Guru, but the Shaad Ali directed Jhoom Barabar Jhoom sank without a trace at the box office. Dilli 6 offers the talented Abhishek Bachchan an opportunity to showcase his considerable histrionic abilities.

Ritwik's, A Bookshop Bar By The Sea

During the first years of their marriage, my parents lived in the picturesque Nancowry island, part of the Andaman and Nicobar chain of islands off the eastern coast of India. Nancowry has a natural horse-shoe shaped harbour and is located in the more secluded Nicobar part of the island chain, which is why the Indian government did, at some point of time, toy with the idea of turning it into an international free port.

Thankfully, the Indian Navy, which has an important naval base in the region, shot down the idea. And another island paradise, and the local population, was saved, at least temporarily, from commercial sodomy, oops, exploitation (this is a family blog, Rajan, he chided himself).

Coming back to the days my parents spent in Nancowry, my mother tells me a story which, among the many from that part of the world, is one of my favourites.

The Nicobaris are a very friendly lot. Everytime you make eye contact with one, he is most likely going to smile back at you. My father, who spent a few years in Nicobar, says the Nicobaris would always be laughing, as if there was a private joke that was going on between them.

In Nancowry a few of the Nicobaris worked as domestic helps at the homes of government officials like my father. As domestic helps, they were very clean hygienically and very honest, recalls my mother. They would rarely quibble about the amount they would charge as salary or complain about the amount of work they had to do.

The task of procuring a job was simple and uncomplicated. The interested party would knock on your door, and ask "Naukri hai? (Do you have a job for me?)" If you said "yes", he would walk in through the door, head for the kitchen and start working.

The young man who used to be in the employ of my parents was very friendly and very hardworking, says Ma. Often his friends would come and visit him and it is the custom among Nicobaris to always see off your visitor to the door. So, my mother says, it wasn't unusual for him to disappear for a few minutes as he would bid goodbye to his friends.

However, one morning when he had gone to leave another of his friends, he didn't come back. My mother grew increasingly worried, wondering both about his well being as well as the household chores that needed to be done. Later in the day she informed my Dad, that the young Nicobari help had been gone almost the whole day. My Dad made a few enquiries about his whereabouts, but couldn't find him.

Over the next few days, there was no news of him. My parents were worried if he was alright. They were also contemplating whether they should hire a new help. Then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he reappeared one fine morning. A familiar smiling face appeared at our door one morning and asked : "Naukri hai?"

My mother was initially anxious if he was ok, then her concern gave way to anger, when she realised he was fine and wasn't about to explain or apologize for his prolonged absence. All he said was he had gone fishing with his friends and was now back.

Usually slow to rouse to anger, my Ma was hopping mad that morning and she waded into him, all guns blazing. She told him, how worried they had been about his well being. She asked him why he hadn't informed her before leaving. She told him how unprofessional his conduct had been. It was a tongue lashing that would have left most ordinary mortals quaking in their boots. Not our man though.

He heard my mother through patiently, with a faintly amused expression on his face. Then, without a care or worry in the world, a huge smile on his face which suggested that my mother's plea in the name of professionalism had clearly missed its mark, he repeated the query he had made from the kitchen window -- "Naukri hai?"

It was a reaction that left my mother spluttering, the wind completely taken out of her sail, she was at a loss for words. As my mother stood there speechless, our man coolly walked into the kitchen and took his position.

I have a friend in Delhi who, after working for a year at a stretch, quits his job and goes on a (for the lack of a more apt word) "walkabout". I have seen him follow this almost-annual routine for the past fifteen odd years. For as long as the money that he has saved lasts, he does not come back. He holes up somewhere, or just travels to some new place (he is known to be partial to the hills). Then he comes back to Delhi, only when he absolutely has to, knocks on the doors of prospective employers with a "Naukri hai?" query.

Oh, I want to do that, too. But somehow never manage to. Never have the courage to. I am too attached to my worldly comforts, the sense of responsibility (in the broader, social sense that we know it) too deeply ingrained to take a step that would just make you happy. Such a silly thing that, anyway, chasing happiness. Not the most practical or worldly wise thing to do.

Fo those of us unable, perhaps even disabled, to go on these "walkabouts", (because in my friend's words, "You people have raised the stakes yourselves"), all I can say is it is up to us really to lower those stakes. I can't do it on an annual basis, and God knows I have been tempted. I do have a long-term plan.

The plan is simple but has been a constant the past twenty years and more -- a two-floor wooden building with glass windows at the edge of a beach, with a bookshop on the ground floor and a small eatery on the floor above, selling seafood and wine. Of course, I would own the place, but I see myself as a serious consumer on both the floors.

I even know where I want that bookshop-bar, on the edge of the Radhanagar Beach (hope you like the picture), in Havelock Island in Andamans. I just have to close my eyes and can picture the wood-and-glass building, where the sand ends and grass begins to grow.

In 1986, when I had just completed my post-graduation and was traveling through Andamans, one winter morning I found myself walking on the pristine white sands of Radhanagar Beach.

It was a magical morning. Hardly a soul in sight, the sun had just risen. A bunch of white pelicans frolicked in the water as if they owned the beach. The birds would whoosh down on the water and fly away and then delicately but expertly perch themselves again, surfer-like, atop an incoming wave. You could hear the distinct sound of bird wings flapping, and of waves crashing on the land. Your own breath sounded like an intruder.

As I stood witness to one of the most beautiful picture postcard moments of my life, I knew then and there, this is a place I would want to keep coming back to, specially in my later years. On the edge of that beach, I knew I wanted my bookshop-bar.

Twenty years on, as I am much closer to the aforementioned later years, the dream is still intact. As lot of things which were once important to me slip from my grip, I hold on to it, this dream, with a determination that is often uncharacteristically fierce. On good days, the dream makes me incredibly happy. On bad days, the dream just appears a lot more distant than what it should be.

The only thing that's perhaps changed in my mind over the years is the name of the bookshop-bar. Instead of Rajan's, I think I will settle for Ritwik's.