*This is a little piece about a very early morning/very late night walk that I took not too long ago*
The cold dawn was a delight,
The wincing dog a fright.
The emptiness of the land made it tranquil,
yet sudden bursts of noise proved it fragile.
The sharpness in the air was fresh and crisp,
the dewdrops on the leaf edge's looked they wanted to leap and take a risk.
The orange streetlights stood majestically tall,
But they knew that at sunrise, their reign would fall.
The newspaper boy with his bundles cycled hard,
as the white haired figure stretched himself quietly on the yard.
At the distance, the pinkish orange hue rears its gorgeous head,
the young woman rolled around playfully and went back to bed.
The few stars that one could see, slowly faded out,
the frail radio produced white noise, as if it were still in doubt.
Everything at this hour appeared to be aware of its impermanence,
The moments seemed unafraid of the future tense.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Endeavour
*Caveat : Made this up in about 15 mins on a bus journey back from work*
Endeavour endeavour,
Give up never.
Closure and Completion
Success with determination.
Numerous are the snakes in the world,
Who will try to get your head in a twirl.
Ignore their hissing tongues,
For they are filled with venom.
Brush off those praises,
they come only in phases.
Don't mind those setbacks,
They are but small thorns in your tracks.
Make everything a memory,
for objects come with a date of expiry.
Be nice to people,
They will one day help you when you are feeble.
Believe in a cause,
Be steadfast in your thoughts.
Take one day at a time,
For the underprivileged, do spare a dime.
Let the world your actions behold,
And your legend for generations will be told.
Endeavour endeavour,
Give up never.
Endeavour endeavour,
Give up never.
Closure and Completion
Success with determination.
Numerous are the snakes in the world,
Who will try to get your head in a twirl.
Ignore their hissing tongues,
For they are filled with venom.
Brush off those praises,
they come only in phases.
Don't mind those setbacks,
They are but small thorns in your tracks.
Make everything a memory,
for objects come with a date of expiry.
Be nice to people,
They will one day help you when you are feeble.
Believe in a cause,
Be steadfast in your thoughts.
Take one day at a time,
For the underprivileged, do spare a dime.
Let the world your actions behold,
And your legend for generations will be told.
Endeavour endeavour,
Give up never.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
A Red Afternoon
It was a hot afternoon in the middle of May. He hurriedly opened the window, for ventilation. It also diluted the smell inside the room. Wiping the few pearls of sweat from his brow, he looked calmly around at the mess. Blotches of red could be seen on the floor & the platform. It was dead silent. It was done. He would not think of the consequences.
He silently opened the tap and washed some stains from his hands. Slowly discarding his t-shirt, he rubbed the stains off it. He had had enough of the nagging, the complaints, the constant taunting. Today he decided to take matters into his own hands. He had spent all morning preparing himself, mentally more than anything else, while she had gone out for her regular Sunday morning walk and groceries.
The next thing he wanted to do was clean up the bloody damn mess that it was. He sprinkled some water around the room and started wiping away the stains of the event. A few objects in the room had been strewn about, even though he had gone about the whole thing in a meticulous manner. He set them straight and in their place. He looked at the knife while picking it up, breathing heavily. His mind was blank. He had almost inflicted some cuts on his fingers. He took the cleanest cloth he could find around and scrubbing the sides of the blade, he placed it into the rack from where he had taken it.
He did not feel any remorse or regret. He understood deep inside that this was the only way he could shut her up. He could not and would not discuss this with anyone he thought to himself. But it was a victory of sorts.
After the cleaning and removal of all traces, he stood there staring at his doing, like a gladiator who had slain his enemy after a tough battle. “My masterpiece”, he said to himself like Aldo Raine in that movie, Inglorious Basterds . He moved to allow himself a glass water, when he heard some footsteps coming in through the gate.
Suddenly the air of stillness was disturbed. He panicked. Gritting his teeth, he finally surveyed the room for any traces of anything that would implicate him. Then picking up his slightly damp t-shirt in one swift movement, he waltzed into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
He sat on his bed. He sat on the edge of his bed, to be precise. Beneath the unflinching exterior, his heart was pounding. Slowly stroking his French beard, he was conjuring up a million scenarios in his head. He had promised himself to not worry about the consequences of the action, but he was now a little scared.
A few minutes had passed. The moments were unbearable. Then a sharp scream pierced the silence. It was his wife’s voice. The door opened, they stared at each other for a second. Then with a doubtful smile on her face she shouted, “ Aye, did you make that rasam ? ”.
He silently opened the tap and washed some stains from his hands. Slowly discarding his t-shirt, he rubbed the stains off it. He had had enough of the nagging, the complaints, the constant taunting. Today he decided to take matters into his own hands. He had spent all morning preparing himself, mentally more than anything else, while she had gone out for her regular Sunday morning walk and groceries.
The next thing he wanted to do was clean up the bloody damn mess that it was. He sprinkled some water around the room and started wiping away the stains of the event. A few objects in the room had been strewn about, even though he had gone about the whole thing in a meticulous manner. He set them straight and in their place. He looked at the knife while picking it up, breathing heavily. His mind was blank. He had almost inflicted some cuts on his fingers. He took the cleanest cloth he could find around and scrubbing the sides of the blade, he placed it into the rack from where he had taken it.
He did not feel any remorse or regret. He understood deep inside that this was the only way he could shut her up. He could not and would not discuss this with anyone he thought to himself. But it was a victory of sorts.
After the cleaning and removal of all traces, he stood there staring at his doing, like a gladiator who had slain his enemy after a tough battle. “My masterpiece”, he said to himself like Aldo Raine in that movie, Inglorious Basterds . He moved to allow himself a glass water, when he heard some footsteps coming in through the gate.
Suddenly the air of stillness was disturbed. He panicked. Gritting his teeth, he finally surveyed the room for any traces of anything that would implicate him. Then picking up his slightly damp t-shirt in one swift movement, he waltzed into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
He sat on his bed. He sat on the edge of his bed, to be precise. Beneath the unflinching exterior, his heart was pounding. Slowly stroking his French beard, he was conjuring up a million scenarios in his head. He had promised himself to not worry about the consequences of the action, but he was now a little scared.
A few minutes had passed. The moments were unbearable. Then a sharp scream pierced the silence. It was his wife’s voice. The door opened, they stared at each other for a second. Then with a doubtful smile on her face she shouted, “ Aye, did you make that rasam ? ”.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
The Bald and The Beautiful
There was once a study that I read, it said that only 34 % of human males do not worry about how they look. This little blogpost is for a small percentage of the remaining 66 % who tend to fret about their receding hairlines, pimples and paunches.
Ok guys. I know how it feels, to wake up and realise that suddenly you are going to be one of those guys who will be referred to as “the baldie”, “takloo”, “abbe ganje”, “dei sottai” and all those nasty things. I will start getting such compliments in a few years. But do not feel bad or disheartened. It is just another way for society to make fun of people they can’t really comprehend like geeky Nobel laureates, business gurus with paunches or those selfless social workers with crooked teeth.
Have you noticed how most of the cleverest people you know around are bald ? Yes, do a little mental survey. The hair roots I am told tend to get loose because of the heat generated by the brain. So more the brain usage, more the balding. They will tell you its genetics. Nuh uh ! You’re just plain smarter than the rest of them with those hairy mops.
Also there is an advantage that most of the scientific minded will readily agree to. When designing automobiles, there is a concept that one has to keep in mind called Aerodynamics. As with the automobiles, the same concept can be applied to humans. Imagine the air resistance with all that hair on your head. So naturally, it is safe to assume that all bald men are more aerodynamic than their gelled hair counterparts.
Case in point, the Mahatma. By my calculations, if he did have a head full of curly hair by the time he did the Dandi march, he would have taken exactly 3 years and 2 months more to complete his march and would have been 23 % more tired after every long walk. Lesser load, more aerodynamics.
Do you really think Ronaldo would be able to get past all those defenders with such mercurial ease if he had a mop of hair disturbing his vision and adding to his load ? Nope. Never.
Let me stop giving examples of famous people and talk about normal people like you and me.
Example #1 : Man A has hair. Man B is bald. 2 mad dogs start chasing them. A and B start running. A’s hair starts falling from the sides of his head and he has to adjust them to achieve maximum speed, dog catches up. Cut to the climax , A is next seen screaming in the doctor’s office while getting a shot. B meanwhile just takes 6 seconds to achieve maximum speed, and effectively evades the pursuing mentally disturbed canine.
Example #2 : A & B live in a place where it rains a lot and don’t have the greatest of immune systems. It rains on A, his hair gets wet. He gets a cold, then a fever, then again visits the doctor. B meanwhile walks happily in the rain without any such consequences.
Example #3 : The Personal Care market is booming. Metrosexuality is now quite normal. The good shampoos/gels/oils cost anywhere between Rs.50 – 200 these days. A decent barber charges Rs.50 for a haircut. Combs can start at Rs.10 and go all the way upto 200 for the fancy hairbrushes. So who gets to save more, A or B. Simple isn’t it.
Example #4: Anyone who has studied high school physics will agree that shiny surfaces tend to reflect more heat than they absorb. So that makes bald people more immune to hot places such as our wonderful country.
So being bald makes you more athetically agile, literally cooler and life just gets more economical. Some more money to spend on the girlfriend/wife or yourself. And if you get bored of looking the same all the time, experiment with your facial hair.
Another point I would like to reiterate to the 66 % of the people who worry about their looks. Don’t let anyone tell you that you won’t look good if you go bald. Bruce Willis, Jeremy Piven, Jason Statham & Mark Strong immediately come to mind . Jason was also an Olympic swimmer, and Usain Bolt ran like a bolt of lightning, aerodynamics at work people !
So the next time anyone says something about the lack of hair on your head, you know what to say right !
Disclaimer : The contents of this entire post are meant to be taken in a lighten vein and the author means no offence to anyone famous mentioned in this post. Not like they care anyway.
Ok guys. I know how it feels, to wake up and realise that suddenly you are going to be one of those guys who will be referred to as “the baldie”, “takloo”, “abbe ganje”, “dei sottai” and all those nasty things. I will start getting such compliments in a few years. But do not feel bad or disheartened. It is just another way for society to make fun of people they can’t really comprehend like geeky Nobel laureates, business gurus with paunches or those selfless social workers with crooked teeth.
Have you noticed how most of the cleverest people you know around are bald ? Yes, do a little mental survey. The hair roots I am told tend to get loose because of the heat generated by the brain. So more the brain usage, more the balding. They will tell you its genetics. Nuh uh ! You’re just plain smarter than the rest of them with those hairy mops.
Also there is an advantage that most of the scientific minded will readily agree to. When designing automobiles, there is a concept that one has to keep in mind called Aerodynamics. As with the automobiles, the same concept can be applied to humans. Imagine the air resistance with all that hair on your head. So naturally, it is safe to assume that all bald men are more aerodynamic than their gelled hair counterparts.
Case in point, the Mahatma. By my calculations, if he did have a head full of curly hair by the time he did the Dandi march, he would have taken exactly 3 years and 2 months more to complete his march and would have been 23 % more tired after every long walk. Lesser load, more aerodynamics.
Do you really think Ronaldo would be able to get past all those defenders with such mercurial ease if he had a mop of hair disturbing his vision and adding to his load ? Nope. Never.
Let me stop giving examples of famous people and talk about normal people like you and me.
Example #1 : Man A has hair. Man B is bald. 2 mad dogs start chasing them. A and B start running. A’s hair starts falling from the sides of his head and he has to adjust them to achieve maximum speed, dog catches up. Cut to the climax , A is next seen screaming in the doctor’s office while getting a shot. B meanwhile just takes 6 seconds to achieve maximum speed, and effectively evades the pursuing mentally disturbed canine.
Example #2 : A & B live in a place where it rains a lot and don’t have the greatest of immune systems. It rains on A, his hair gets wet. He gets a cold, then a fever, then again visits the doctor. B meanwhile walks happily in the rain without any such consequences.
Example #3 : The Personal Care market is booming. Metrosexuality is now quite normal. The good shampoos/gels/oils cost anywhere between Rs.50 – 200 these days. A decent barber charges Rs.50 for a haircut. Combs can start at Rs.10 and go all the way upto 200 for the fancy hairbrushes. So who gets to save more, A or B. Simple isn’t it.
Example #4: Anyone who has studied high school physics will agree that shiny surfaces tend to reflect more heat than they absorb. So that makes bald people more immune to hot places such as our wonderful country.
So being bald makes you more athetically agile, literally cooler and life just gets more economical. Some more money to spend on the girlfriend/wife or yourself. And if you get bored of looking the same all the time, experiment with your facial hair.
Another point I would like to reiterate to the 66 % of the people who worry about their looks. Don’t let anyone tell you that you won’t look good if you go bald. Bruce Willis, Jeremy Piven, Jason Statham & Mark Strong immediately come to mind . Jason was also an Olympic swimmer, and Usain Bolt ran like a bolt of lightning, aerodynamics at work people !
So the next time anyone says something about the lack of hair on your head, you know what to say right !
Disclaimer : The contents of this entire post are meant to be taken in a lighten vein and the author means no offence to anyone famous mentioned in this post. Not like they care anyway.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Moments, Things and Times
Middle income group, middle class values. Engineering. Post Grad after CAT. There was the heavy metal phase, there were the college fests. Those times when you just sat and pondered. My special place was the road going to Whisper Valley from Jubilee Hills from you could see a huge expanse of Tolichowki and beyond.
The eternal conflict between doing good for the world and being selfless, that 8 letter word, IDEALISM and doing what was needed REALISM.
The muses, the ones that made you feel like a better person, the ones that were there during those testing times. The need to express. The need to be heard. Making sense of all the scribbling. Imagining the future. Friends that you drifted away from. Friends that kept in touch. The long aimless walks, the sweaty t-shirts. The joy of the mountains. Discovering strangers on strange journeys.
Cold nights. Colder mornings. That favourite pair of shorts that ripped after football practice. Jazz. Aldous Huxley. King Arthur. Thiruvalluvar. Carnatic Music. MMTS Train rides to the last stop and back.
The dreams of meaningful work, of insouciant travels, of excitement, of adulthood. Wordly worries. The fragility of life. The futility of stress. The attachment to materialistic things and cities. The time-space continuum and all of us mortals. Also change/transformation. Although gradual, maybe.
The eternal conflict between doing good for the world and being selfless, that 8 letter word, IDEALISM and doing what was needed REALISM.
The muses, the ones that made you feel like a better person, the ones that were there during those testing times. The need to express. The need to be heard. Making sense of all the scribbling. Imagining the future. Friends that you drifted away from. Friends that kept in touch. The long aimless walks, the sweaty t-shirts. The joy of the mountains. Discovering strangers on strange journeys.
Cold nights. Colder mornings. That favourite pair of shorts that ripped after football practice. Jazz. Aldous Huxley. King Arthur. Thiruvalluvar. Carnatic Music. MMTS Train rides to the last stop and back.
The dreams of meaningful work, of insouciant travels, of excitement, of adulthood. Wordly worries. The fragility of life. The futility of stress. The attachment to materialistic things and cities. The time-space continuum and all of us mortals. Also change/transformation. Although gradual, maybe.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
After Hours
If I have in love with nature, it has usually been during sunrise. If I have ever fallen in love with cities, it is after 1 am.
When the world sleeps (Like that lovely song in Tezaab), thats when those who have nothing step out. I do have a roof over my head and love my sleep, but well since I'm on leave for couple of days, thought I would catch a late night movie. Not half bad, that Transformers movie, I think the Special Effects guys did a terrific job.
We were getting back in my car, the roommate was driving for a change and I was taking in the scenery. Gorgeous it looked, almost like a painting. The orange shafts of light, the roads that shimmered because of the light drizzle, the streams of rain drops that looked spray lines doing a waltz with the wind as one looked up at the lights, it just took my breath away.
I remember late nights in Hyderabad when we would drive back after a long night during our college fest days. Damn ! What I would give to have those days back in my life.
Bombay ! Man, was she different at night or what ! Almost the exact opposite of what she was during the day. No crowds, silence, people walking fearlessly and the notorious face of its underbelly that one could see without any qualms. The young SoBo crowd hung around the posh setups of Colaba, while the taxiwallahs were there to make their bread and butter. You could often find the heavily made up women putting up their wares for display at the Churchgate and CST stations. I was especially fascinated by the "mobile teashop on a cycle concept".I even remember striking up a conversation with Tamil tea wallah while returning from Marine Drive one night.
Pune, is quite different. It hasn't the sensational architecture, but it has a subtle old world charm to it. The Old Poona-Bombay highway which is my lifeline to the city is wide and a speed demon's paradise. I have done this stretch a million times and it is truly like driving in heaven on this road at night. The food joints are few and far in between, and you start finding such places are being in the city for a while. But you learn to live with its laidback attitude.
Its 2 in the morning, I am headed to another favourite of mine, Madras by the afternoon flight, so I'd better get some sleep. But I'm still looking outside my window in awe of how this tranquil moment has filled me with such content.
I'm buzzing with so many thoughts inside my head, but can't find anything concrete enough to document. The mind needs to rest. It is excited. I know it.
When the world sleeps (Like that lovely song in Tezaab), thats when those who have nothing step out. I do have a roof over my head and love my sleep, but well since I'm on leave for couple of days, thought I would catch a late night movie. Not half bad, that Transformers movie, I think the Special Effects guys did a terrific job.
We were getting back in my car, the roommate was driving for a change and I was taking in the scenery. Gorgeous it looked, almost like a painting. The orange shafts of light, the roads that shimmered because of the light drizzle, the streams of rain drops that looked spray lines doing a waltz with the wind as one looked up at the lights, it just took my breath away.
I remember late nights in Hyderabad when we would drive back after a long night during our college fest days. Damn ! What I would give to have those days back in my life.
Bombay ! Man, was she different at night or what ! Almost the exact opposite of what she was during the day. No crowds, silence, people walking fearlessly and the notorious face of its underbelly that one could see without any qualms. The young SoBo crowd hung around the posh setups of Colaba, while the taxiwallahs were there to make their bread and butter. You could often find the heavily made up women putting up their wares for display at the Churchgate and CST stations. I was especially fascinated by the "mobile teashop on a cycle concept".I even remember striking up a conversation with Tamil tea wallah while returning from Marine Drive one night.
Pune, is quite different. It hasn't the sensational architecture, but it has a subtle old world charm to it. The Old Poona-Bombay highway which is my lifeline to the city is wide and a speed demon's paradise. I have done this stretch a million times and it is truly like driving in heaven on this road at night. The food joints are few and far in between, and you start finding such places are being in the city for a while. But you learn to live with its laidback attitude.
Its 2 in the morning, I am headed to another favourite of mine, Madras by the afternoon flight, so I'd better get some sleep. But I'm still looking outside my window in awe of how this tranquil moment has filled me with such content.
I'm buzzing with so many thoughts inside my head, but can't find anything concrete enough to document. The mind needs to rest. It is excited. I know it.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Warped
I can blame work or my lack of sustaining an inspired moment for not blogging for almost 45 days. Even now, I can't think of something concrete to write. So I decided to spit out a string of random thoughts that are running through my head right this moment. Might be absolutely uninteresting. You are warned.
Shrewsbury biscuits
Running against the cool wind stroking my face
La Dolce Vita
Sliding tackles on the football ground
The promise of an imminent holiday
Kalyana sapudu at authentic tambram wedding in T.Nagar
A late night walk on the roads of Ameerpet
Hot coffee (made by me)
The lasagna at Polka Dots, Aundh
The Dilbert comic strip pinned up at my desk and about how Scott Adams reads my mind
The Zorb Ball
The Jabulani football
My next list of to-buy books
My next 1 TB hard disk for that matter
Memories of Xin Tian Di and Shanghai
So much to do and so less time. Tsk Tsk.
Now Playing : Roger Sanchez - Another Chance
Shrewsbury biscuits
Running against the cool wind stroking my face
La Dolce Vita
Sliding tackles on the football ground
The promise of an imminent holiday
Kalyana sapudu at authentic tambram wedding in T.Nagar
A late night walk on the roads of Ameerpet
Hot coffee (made by me)
The lasagna at Polka Dots, Aundh
The Dilbert comic strip pinned up at my desk and about how Scott Adams reads my mind
The Zorb Ball
The Jabulani football
My next list of to-buy books
My next 1 TB hard disk for that matter
Memories of Xin Tian Di and Shanghai
So much to do and so less time. Tsk Tsk.
Now Playing : Roger Sanchez - Another Chance
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Unambitious Man
The sky was populated with puffs of grey crowded next to each other as far as the eye could see. In a crack between these thundering clouds, six or seven shafts of golden rays shone down, steadfast and shimmering.
To many people, it was the just the beginning of monsoon & the rains. To me, it means a whole lot more work. More mud mixed with cowdung, more dustbins filled with semi-solid content. I wish Patil Sahib would give me more than one pair of those nice rubber gloves per month. I should check Geeta Tai's tin box when I visit her this weekend, maybe if I have collected more than 100 rupees I can afford that raincoat. But yes I also enjoy the rain when I'm in my room having chai.
That tin box on top of Geeta Tai's steel cupboard has been my savings bank for many years now. I trust her like a mother, infact she has taken care of me like a mother ever since Aai succumbed to TB.
That is also when we came to this city, Poona. I love being here. Of course it is very strange compared to our village. In the village I was very popular, I was the smartest boy in school and helped my friends with their homework also. Bansode Master said that I should grow up and be an engineer and help people. In a way, I still help people, I keep these roads clean, no ?
I have made some good friends here also. Ganpat is the closest. He works with his father at the food stall in the Railway station. His father lets me have vada pav and chai for free sometimes, he is a hard working man. Ganpat is also hard working and kind, he lends me money sometimes. When both of us have some free time, which is rare, we walk to MG Road. There we see many girls, who look like Bollywood heroines. Maybe one day I will find a nice Maharashtrian girl like that, but she should not wear jeans.
I don't get to see many movies, but I regularly see advertisements and songs because some shops on the roads have these big televisions on their showcases. I also watch 20-20 cricket there. I saw World Cup also like this. But I couldn't see the last few overs because the shop had to be closed. But I knew we won because many boys outside my chawl were bursting crackers and shouting all night. I went outside and walked a little bit that night, everyone was happy. I also was happy. But I was also thinking about all the garbage from the crackers that would have to be picked the next day.
I live on the terrace of my chawl and often stare at the sky. When I was a boy, we could see many stars, but now because of the smoke of all these cars I can't count more than sixteen. My aim is to buy a cycle within one year, and cycles don't give out smoke, so I won't be adding to the smoke. Ganpat says that I should want more and pray for better things in life. Only then I will become rich and have a room of my own in the chawl.
I can't tell him this, but I don't want all those things. I'm happy like this. I have a job. That job gives me enough money to buy food everyday and put some money in the tin box. Sometimes people see me and move away, but some people appreciate the work I do, I feel happy when someone appreciates me. I give chanda for Ganpati every year. Once I saw a man trying to beg for money near the station, he wore torn clothes and looked very thin. He had come from Konkan region a few days ago, lost his bag and did not know what to do. I felt sad for him and asked to come and join me in my job, he reluctantly agreed. I somehow convinced Patil sahib saying that he was my relative, I know I lied but it will help someone so its ok. He now earns 83 rupees everyday, he thanks me everytime he meets me. I feel proud that I helped someone, I think I will get some punya because of this act. I think I will tell Ganpat that earning punya is more important than money. Maybe he won't laugh at my ambitions then.
Vada pav - Maharashtrian snack
Chai - Tea
Chawl - A mansion with many single rooms rented out to different families
Tai - sister
Aai - mother
Chanda - donation for festivals
Sahib - Sir, means of addressing someone respectfully
Punya - good deed
PS:This was not entirely a work of fiction
To many people, it was the just the beginning of monsoon & the rains. To me, it means a whole lot more work. More mud mixed with cowdung, more dustbins filled with semi-solid content. I wish Patil Sahib would give me more than one pair of those nice rubber gloves per month. I should check Geeta Tai's tin box when I visit her this weekend, maybe if I have collected more than 100 rupees I can afford that raincoat. But yes I also enjoy the rain when I'm in my room having chai.
That tin box on top of Geeta Tai's steel cupboard has been my savings bank for many years now. I trust her like a mother, infact she has taken care of me like a mother ever since Aai succumbed to TB.
That is also when we came to this city, Poona. I love being here. Of course it is very strange compared to our village. In the village I was very popular, I was the smartest boy in school and helped my friends with their homework also. Bansode Master said that I should grow up and be an engineer and help people. In a way, I still help people, I keep these roads clean, no ?
I have made some good friends here also. Ganpat is the closest. He works with his father at the food stall in the Railway station. His father lets me have vada pav and chai for free sometimes, he is a hard working man. Ganpat is also hard working and kind, he lends me money sometimes. When both of us have some free time, which is rare, we walk to MG Road. There we see many girls, who look like Bollywood heroines. Maybe one day I will find a nice Maharashtrian girl like that, but she should not wear jeans.
I don't get to see many movies, but I regularly see advertisements and songs because some shops on the roads have these big televisions on their showcases. I also watch 20-20 cricket there. I saw World Cup also like this. But I couldn't see the last few overs because the shop had to be closed. But I knew we won because many boys outside my chawl were bursting crackers and shouting all night. I went outside and walked a little bit that night, everyone was happy. I also was happy. But I was also thinking about all the garbage from the crackers that would have to be picked the next day.
I live on the terrace of my chawl and often stare at the sky. When I was a boy, we could see many stars, but now because of the smoke of all these cars I can't count more than sixteen. My aim is to buy a cycle within one year, and cycles don't give out smoke, so I won't be adding to the smoke. Ganpat says that I should want more and pray for better things in life. Only then I will become rich and have a room of my own in the chawl.
I can't tell him this, but I don't want all those things. I'm happy like this. I have a job. That job gives me enough money to buy food everyday and put some money in the tin box. Sometimes people see me and move away, but some people appreciate the work I do, I feel happy when someone appreciates me. I give chanda for Ganpati every year. Once I saw a man trying to beg for money near the station, he wore torn clothes and looked very thin. He had come from Konkan region a few days ago, lost his bag and did not know what to do. I felt sad for him and asked to come and join me in my job, he reluctantly agreed. I somehow convinced Patil sahib saying that he was my relative, I know I lied but it will help someone so its ok. He now earns 83 rupees everyday, he thanks me everytime he meets me. I feel proud that I helped someone, I think I will get some punya because of this act. I think I will tell Ganpat that earning punya is more important than money. Maybe he won't laugh at my ambitions then.
Vada pav - Maharashtrian snack
Chai - Tea
Chawl - A mansion with many single rooms rented out to different families
Tai - sister
Aai - mother
Chanda - donation for festivals
Sahib - Sir, means of addressing someone respectfully
Punya - good deed
PS:This was not entirely a work of fiction
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
A Forgotten Home
He had done stints in Mumbai, Hyderabad, Bangalore and Pune for many years now. Marriage, a lovely daughter and strenuous projects had kept him wrapped in a tiny cocoon. His parents visited him often, he never let them stay more than a week. He had a funny explanation for that, he always said that he had become a creature of habit and that they didn't fit into the scheme of things. They didn't mind, they loved him to death, they were glad their son and his family were doing well.
He had setup his employer's Mumbai office. He was their star. He loved being in the spotlight for them, he defended them untiringly on many occasions in the face of dire litigations. He had given his weekdays to his work, and his weekend to his wife and child. It was always what he dreamt of, when he walked those cobbled, tree-lined roads of his business school.
But as in all stories, this one had its shady characters too. While he was busy giving it his all, there was this man, lets call him Mr.Shady . He plotted, with a few dim-witted colleagues to whom he offered key positions, to usurp the Mumbai office from our protagonist. A plot was hatched, large amounts of money were illegitimately transfered, and cutting a long story short, an honest man was framed. The top bosses naturally looked for scapegoat,and he was their easiest way out of a huge media debacle.
He felt quite disoriented at what had happened. Its like that feeling of moving on a fast boat and suddenly being jettisoned into the water. You don't quite know how to react, but your instincts atleast tell you to swim ashore, and thats what he tried to do, prove his innocence. His friends, who had vociferously tried to state his case in the board meeting had but one choice. To help the man that they admired, recuperate and maybe fight back.
The wife and daughter were on put on a flight to Chennai, a few days earlier. He left after that fateful day. He arrived in Chennai, to the chaos of the airport that he remembered distinctly from his flying visits to city for meetings in the last few years.
But this time it was to be different, he told himself. As the cabbie pulled closer to his ancestral home in Mylapore, he was quite surprised at how much the city had changed. Where was the Madras that he had left behind ? The political slogans on the walls now made way for wonder murals from the rural landscape and Tamil literature. All the roads were flanked by magnificent posters and hoardings. The buildings all bore smart signs of multinational and big local brands. The old British names of most roads still remained. He liked that. A huge number of new snazzy restaurants had popped up. It was almost a different city.
Secretly he wondered, what all he might have missed in his days out of Madras. He reached home in the wee hours of the morning. When most cities look at their gorgeous best, the orange splendour of the rising sun, the cool air that lingers and the few people that are scampering about doing their morning chores. That being said, Chennai was an early riser.
The ghosts of the last few weeks had taken their toll, he resembled a man who had come back from a war, a war that his side had lost. The wife and child were still asleep. He left his bags near the bed, and decided to head out to have filter kaapi (coffee) at one of the many stalls on the main road which were crooning Ilayaraja songs from the 80s, a sound that he could easily relate to. Now this seemed more familiar territory to him.
The grand Kapaleeshwarar temple that stood over the area of Mylapore unflinching and majestic for centuries now, still instilled in him the peace & calm that it did during his quick pitstops at the temple during his examination days. He decided to take a trip down memory lane, quite literally. He quickly went home, asked his neighbour if he could borrow his Hero Honda Splendor, which the neighbour, a family friend for many years obliged with a smile while warning him of the bad brakes. He nodded and in his excitement, zoomed off. He quickly made his way to what can be only be described as something that everyone who ever visited Chennai would relate to, the Marina beach. The Marina beach brought back a great many memories to him. This is where he had first discovered his talent as a batsman. This is where he had first brought the girl he had a liking towards for a walk and some cut maanga. The place had been through a major makeover, it was now a swanky promenade, and there were people old and young going about their morning walks.
He took a turn at the Ice House junction and headed for the bylanes of Triplicane. Triplicane was where his closest friend from his college days ,Ram lived. This is where most of the "combined studies" sessions happened. Triplicane, it seemed to him, had frozen in time. The bylanes were still narrow. The buildings were still cramped. The cows still took first right to stray along the roads. He felt a little disgust with himself not keeping in touch with Ram and wondered where he could be.
He drove past the Zam Bazaar market & the road took him to Bells Road and Chepauk. Ah ! Chepauk, how many test matches had he begged his father to take him to, before finally the dream came true on his 15th birthday. He remembered the entire match very vividly and made a mental note to himself to thank his father as soon as he reached home.
He quickly remembered that Ratna Cafe was also nearby, so turned out and headed there since he felt some hunger pangs setting in. He ordered some idlis, and looked around as everyone seemed to be busy conversing in hushed tones. As he sat there, waiting for his idlis to arrive, a flurry of thoughts rushed through his head.
His work had kept him occupied for so many years. Apart from that his wife and child were the only things he thought of. What he might have missed in over a decade he could not imagine. But the early morning trip down memory lane made him realise that things were not that bad. Yes, he was screwed by a company that he had given a good ten years to. Yes, he was unemployed and disgraced. But he was in familiar land, among familiar people. People who knew who he was and would support him through everything. He decided to start life afresh. The meeker side of him held him from fighting back against the big bad corporation, but the Forgotten Home seemed to give him strength.
And as history would have it, he fought back and successfully at that. But success had a whole new meaning to him now.
Mylapore - A locality in Chennai, known to be a cultural hub for many centuries.
Cut Maanga - Slices of Raw mango with some chilli powder sprinkled on them, a snack often sold on the beaches in Chennai
He had setup his employer's Mumbai office. He was their star. He loved being in the spotlight for them, he defended them untiringly on many occasions in the face of dire litigations. He had given his weekdays to his work, and his weekend to his wife and child. It was always what he dreamt of, when he walked those cobbled, tree-lined roads of his business school.
But as in all stories, this one had its shady characters too. While he was busy giving it his all, there was this man, lets call him Mr.Shady . He plotted, with a few dim-witted colleagues to whom he offered key positions, to usurp the Mumbai office from our protagonist. A plot was hatched, large amounts of money were illegitimately transfered, and cutting a long story short, an honest man was framed. The top bosses naturally looked for scapegoat,and he was their easiest way out of a huge media debacle.
He felt quite disoriented at what had happened. Its like that feeling of moving on a fast boat and suddenly being jettisoned into the water. You don't quite know how to react, but your instincts atleast tell you to swim ashore, and thats what he tried to do, prove his innocence. His friends, who had vociferously tried to state his case in the board meeting had but one choice. To help the man that they admired, recuperate and maybe fight back.
The wife and daughter were on put on a flight to Chennai, a few days earlier. He left after that fateful day. He arrived in Chennai, to the chaos of the airport that he remembered distinctly from his flying visits to city for meetings in the last few years.
But this time it was to be different, he told himself. As the cabbie pulled closer to his ancestral home in Mylapore, he was quite surprised at how much the city had changed. Where was the Madras that he had left behind ? The political slogans on the walls now made way for wonder murals from the rural landscape and Tamil literature. All the roads were flanked by magnificent posters and hoardings. The buildings all bore smart signs of multinational and big local brands. The old British names of most roads still remained. He liked that. A huge number of new snazzy restaurants had popped up. It was almost a different city.
Secretly he wondered, what all he might have missed in his days out of Madras. He reached home in the wee hours of the morning. When most cities look at their gorgeous best, the orange splendour of the rising sun, the cool air that lingers and the few people that are scampering about doing their morning chores. That being said, Chennai was an early riser.
The ghosts of the last few weeks had taken their toll, he resembled a man who had come back from a war, a war that his side had lost. The wife and child were still asleep. He left his bags near the bed, and decided to head out to have filter kaapi (coffee) at one of the many stalls on the main road which were crooning Ilayaraja songs from the 80s, a sound that he could easily relate to. Now this seemed more familiar territory to him.
The grand Kapaleeshwarar temple that stood over the area of Mylapore unflinching and majestic for centuries now, still instilled in him the peace & calm that it did during his quick pitstops at the temple during his examination days. He decided to take a trip down memory lane, quite literally. He quickly went home, asked his neighbour if he could borrow his Hero Honda Splendor, which the neighbour, a family friend for many years obliged with a smile while warning him of the bad brakes. He nodded and in his excitement, zoomed off. He quickly made his way to what can be only be described as something that everyone who ever visited Chennai would relate to, the Marina beach. The Marina beach brought back a great many memories to him. This is where he had first discovered his talent as a batsman. This is where he had first brought the girl he had a liking towards for a walk and some cut maanga. The place had been through a major makeover, it was now a swanky promenade, and there were people old and young going about their morning walks.
He took a turn at the Ice House junction and headed for the bylanes of Triplicane. Triplicane was where his closest friend from his college days ,Ram lived. This is where most of the "combined studies" sessions happened. Triplicane, it seemed to him, had frozen in time. The bylanes were still narrow. The buildings were still cramped. The cows still took first right to stray along the roads. He felt a little disgust with himself not keeping in touch with Ram and wondered where he could be.
He drove past the Zam Bazaar market & the road took him to Bells Road and Chepauk. Ah ! Chepauk, how many test matches had he begged his father to take him to, before finally the dream came true on his 15th birthday. He remembered the entire match very vividly and made a mental note to himself to thank his father as soon as he reached home.
He quickly remembered that Ratna Cafe was also nearby, so turned out and headed there since he felt some hunger pangs setting in. He ordered some idlis, and looked around as everyone seemed to be busy conversing in hushed tones. As he sat there, waiting for his idlis to arrive, a flurry of thoughts rushed through his head.
His work had kept him occupied for so many years. Apart from that his wife and child were the only things he thought of. What he might have missed in over a decade he could not imagine. But the early morning trip down memory lane made him realise that things were not that bad. Yes, he was screwed by a company that he had given a good ten years to. Yes, he was unemployed and disgraced. But he was in familiar land, among familiar people. People who knew who he was and would support him through everything. He decided to start life afresh. The meeker side of him held him from fighting back against the big bad corporation, but the Forgotten Home seemed to give him strength.
And as history would have it, he fought back and successfully at that. But success had a whole new meaning to him now.
Mylapore - A locality in Chennai, known to be a cultural hub for many centuries.
Cut Maanga - Slices of Raw mango with some chilli powder sprinkled on them, a snack often sold on the beaches in Chennai
Monday, March 21, 2011
Today, is this how life will be ?
Today, we have a million dreams
But not enough time, to chase after them.
Today, we have technology that makes the planet a smaller place
But where are the people that really matter.
Today, we don't need eighty days to go around the world
But where are the adventures and strange lands that once excited many explorers.
Today, we have the financial means
But where is a justifiable end.
Today, we have swanky big houses
But what has happened to the space in our hearts.
Today, we live lives of comfort and luxury
But still manage the ailmemts that our grandparents never even knew.
Today, we have those plasma screen televisions to watch sporting tournaments
But when was the last time you screamed your lungs off at a stadium.
Today, is this how life will be I ask
But obviously no answer will come.
But not enough time, to chase after them.
Today, we have technology that makes the planet a smaller place
But where are the people that really matter.
Today, we don't need eighty days to go around the world
But where are the adventures and strange lands that once excited many explorers.
Today, we have the financial means
But where is a justifiable end.
Today, we have swanky big houses
But what has happened to the space in our hearts.
Today, we live lives of comfort and luxury
But still manage the ailmemts that our grandparents never even knew.
Today, we have those plasma screen televisions to watch sporting tournaments
But when was the last time you screamed your lungs off at a stadium.
Today, is this how life will be I ask
But obviously no answer will come.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
And he declared War ... on mediocre cinema
I have been seeing some very clever cinema in the last few months, but this one has forced me to come out of movie-critic retirement. It just forces one to stand up and take notice, both in terms of pure film making quality and in terms of what lies ahead for audiences to devour on the Indian screen.
Yudham Sei by Mysskin is an intense, gripping, irregular but relevant movie. It feels like an unputdownable book despite being quite slow paced in the first half. With a plotline about the enormous capacity of male perversion and stellar performances with no real superstars in the movie, it made for fantasy cinema, in my humble opinion of course.
There won't be any spoilers in this blog, I will more specifically talk about the movie watching experience. You will be thrilled if you are one of those people who relishes clever writing. The first half is quite haphazard and gives you only a few pieces of the puzzle and leaves you begging for the intermission to get over real fast. There are very few scenes which I would call over the top, except for the otherwise stoic Cheran flooring 8 rowdy-types with just a knife from a nail cutter.
The Neetu Chandra number is unnecessary but I guess it does fit into the script, and maybe Mysskin felt to just take his foot of the pedal just before the climax of the movie.
Acting is top notch. Cheran does his role to the T, I really cannot picture anyone else who could have pulled it off. On hindsight, maybe one really can't for any brilliantly portrayed roles. But in my opinion, it was Y. Gee Mahendran, Lakshmi & Jayaprakash (Dr.Judas) who really grab at your heart. The old couple tonsured heads and all make for a frightening last few minutes.
There are two particular sequences in the movie that I totally loved. The dying words of Dr.Judas, where he says to JK - " They came at us, a family with no inclination towards violence with their power, illegitimate, political and financial ; pushed us into a corner. They chased us till we could run. With their limited mental capacities if they can commit such crimes and get away with it, imagine what we with our intelligence are capable of. Now we will do the chasing. They can do the running."
The other clever reference to Mysskin's inpiration - "Rashomon" through Cheran is subtly hidden in the conversation, should make the Kurosawa fans smile.
My advice - Take your brain to this movie, enjoy the puzzle solving process with the protagonists of the movie and do not miss a minute of it.
Intelligent plotlines seem to be the flavour of the season after Aadukalam & Yeh Saali Zindagi. Maybe they will not fare as well as their blockbuster counterparts from the respective industries, but I'm sure that a Sudhir Mishra or a Mysskin will be remembered, or for the fanatics like me REVERED in the generations to come.
Yudham Sei by Mysskin is an intense, gripping, irregular but relevant movie. It feels like an unputdownable book despite being quite slow paced in the first half. With a plotline about the enormous capacity of male perversion and stellar performances with no real superstars in the movie, it made for fantasy cinema, in my humble opinion of course.
There won't be any spoilers in this blog, I will more specifically talk about the movie watching experience. You will be thrilled if you are one of those people who relishes clever writing. The first half is quite haphazard and gives you only a few pieces of the puzzle and leaves you begging for the intermission to get over real fast. There are very few scenes which I would call over the top, except for the otherwise stoic Cheran flooring 8 rowdy-types with just a knife from a nail cutter.
The Neetu Chandra number is unnecessary but I guess it does fit into the script, and maybe Mysskin felt to just take his foot of the pedal just before the climax of the movie.
Acting is top notch. Cheran does his role to the T, I really cannot picture anyone else who could have pulled it off. On hindsight, maybe one really can't for any brilliantly portrayed roles. But in my opinion, it was Y. Gee Mahendran, Lakshmi & Jayaprakash (Dr.Judas) who really grab at your heart. The old couple tonsured heads and all make for a frightening last few minutes.
There are two particular sequences in the movie that I totally loved. The dying words of Dr.Judas, where he says to JK - " They came at us, a family with no inclination towards violence with their power, illegitimate, political and financial ; pushed us into a corner. They chased us till we could run. With their limited mental capacities if they can commit such crimes and get away with it, imagine what we with our intelligence are capable of. Now we will do the chasing. They can do the running."
The other clever reference to Mysskin's inpiration - "Rashomon" through Cheran is subtly hidden in the conversation, should make the Kurosawa fans smile.
My advice - Take your brain to this movie, enjoy the puzzle solving process with the protagonists of the movie and do not miss a minute of it.
Intelligent plotlines seem to be the flavour of the season after Aadukalam & Yeh Saali Zindagi. Maybe they will not fare as well as their blockbuster counterparts from the respective industries, but I'm sure that a Sudhir Mishra or a Mysskin will be remembered, or for the fanatics like me REVERED in the generations to come.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Just Another Victim
He was lying there on the hard tar road. The hot sun dazed his blurred vision. He couldn't feel his legs, he thought. People were running past, but no one stopped to help him. He could figure out that the dark viscous fluid on his forehead was blood. His thoughts numbed as he tried to lift himself. He succeeded in dragging himself to the edge of the road. As he collapsed, along the footpath beneath the shade of a tree, he realised his senses slowly blacking out.
What is past is prologue !
He left his home on the outskirts of Warangal at the age of 17 to get a degree in Engineering. He had done well academically throughout his life and could speak decent English despite being educated in a Telugu medium school. His parents dreamt that he would one day be the pride of the family and his brother often teased that all the village ammailu would queue up to marry him.
He was ragged. He was befriended. He was an excellent batsman. He helped out his friends in those last ditch efforts to save the backlogs from accumulating. He discovered new things in the big city, but was never overwhelmed by them.
He fell in love. She was his classmate. It wasn't the kind of romance from the Telugu films he often told her. They wanted it to last.
It had been almost three years after leaving Warangal, he now felt at home in the single room that he shared with 2 others at Tarnaka. It was an exciting day. He was going to meet her parents. It was just the way he wanted to this to go forward. He adored her and she adored him back. He knew the urban parents would probably be easier to face than his parents back home.
His friends warned him of the dangers of going out that afternoon. He smiled and trotted off with a spring in his step. He realised that all was not normal & that maybe his friends were right. But life had to go on, he avoided the rioting crowds and walked towards the bus stop. Anxiously he hopped on a bus that was headed towards the station, because the bus to Begumpet was taking too long to come.
He hastily typed an sms on the Nokia that he had bought with the money from the paper presentation he had won, when *crash*. The glass of the window next to him splintered. The stone from the miscreants struck him on the head with a force that knocked him off his seat. An elderly gentleman behind him, held his hand and guided him off the bus which emptied in seconds. The old man was beaten, he felt helpless as he was pushed aside. He felt weak and dizzy. A White Sedan was speedily trying to escape the scene. It struck him as he wandered into its path. He remembered the feeling of being thrown many feet into the air. And then there was blackness.
The movement had knowingly or unknowingly taken another life.
What is past is prologue !
He left his home on the outskirts of Warangal at the age of 17 to get a degree in Engineering. He had done well academically throughout his life and could speak decent English despite being educated in a Telugu medium school. His parents dreamt that he would one day be the pride of the family and his brother often teased that all the village ammailu would queue up to marry him.
He was ragged. He was befriended. He was an excellent batsman. He helped out his friends in those last ditch efforts to save the backlogs from accumulating. He discovered new things in the big city, but was never overwhelmed by them.
He fell in love. She was his classmate. It wasn't the kind of romance from the Telugu films he often told her. They wanted it to last.
It had been almost three years after leaving Warangal, he now felt at home in the single room that he shared with 2 others at Tarnaka. It was an exciting day. He was going to meet her parents. It was just the way he wanted to this to go forward. He adored her and she adored him back. He knew the urban parents would probably be easier to face than his parents back home.
His friends warned him of the dangers of going out that afternoon. He smiled and trotted off with a spring in his step. He realised that all was not normal & that maybe his friends were right. But life had to go on, he avoided the rioting crowds and walked towards the bus stop. Anxiously he hopped on a bus that was headed towards the station, because the bus to Begumpet was taking too long to come.
He hastily typed an sms on the Nokia that he had bought with the money from the paper presentation he had won, when *crash*. The glass of the window next to him splintered. The stone from the miscreants struck him on the head with a force that knocked him off his seat. An elderly gentleman behind him, held his hand and guided him off the bus which emptied in seconds. The old man was beaten, he felt helpless as he was pushed aside. He felt weak and dizzy. A White Sedan was speedily trying to escape the scene. It struck him as he wandered into its path. He remembered the feeling of being thrown many feet into the air. And then there was blackness.
The movement had knowingly or unknowingly taken another life.
"Trust me, it's paradise. This is where the hungry come to feed. For mine is a generation that circles the globe in search of something you haven't tried before. So never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay your welcome. Just keep your mind open and suck in the experience. And if it hurts...you know what? It's probably worth it."
-Leonardo DiCaprio (The Beach, 2000)
If you loved the quote from Trainspotting. I'm sure this will also appeal to you on some level.
If you loved the quote from Trainspotting. I'm sure this will also appeal to you on some level.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The Punekar
The Punekar article about the Pune International Film Festival. Some awesome movies to look out for.
Monday, January 03, 2011
The Year That Was
The train ride last night didn't give me enough sleep. So this can be what you would call a "sleep-deprived" post. But here are a few fond moments from the last year.
January - Madras with Chari, the restaurant on ECR & his house bang opposite the Parthasarathy Temple, Siva's place at Pondicherry diagonally opposite Bharathidasan's house & the ancient movie theatre.
February - First time in Pune, New home, New Workplace, Lots of Firsts.
March - More Pune exploring #PMPML & by foot.
April - Implemented first big project at Work.
May - Did NITIE for the last time as a student, said lots of goodbyes too.
June - Mad rains in Bombay. Sales stints in Raigad & Ahmedabad. Worst month of the year, with some real mentally disturbing stuff happening.
July - Miracles do happen,Sales stint was cut short ; came back to Pune. Started work on a super project
August - First party with NITIE junta at Elevate. Slowly discovered late night bike rides in the Pune rains.
September - Starting playing Football in the mornings, was super.
October - Played the Corporate 5s tournament, got screwed but enjoyed every bit of it. Explored Marathi Tamasha & Naatak.
November - Made my first big investment in life - A108. Visited Shanghai, Suzhou - loved every bit of the trip.
December - Susheela Raman's powerful performance at NH7 Weekender. Polka Dots, Aundh. A taste of the good old days at Hyderabad with some awesome friends.
Lets hope 2011 lives up to its predecessor.
January - Madras with Chari, the restaurant on ECR & his house bang opposite the Parthasarathy Temple, Siva's place at Pondicherry diagonally opposite Bharathidasan's house & the ancient movie theatre.
February - First time in Pune, New home, New Workplace, Lots of Firsts.
March - More Pune exploring #PMPML & by foot.
April - Implemented first big project at Work.
May - Did NITIE for the last time as a student, said lots of goodbyes too.
June - Mad rains in Bombay. Sales stints in Raigad & Ahmedabad. Worst month of the year, with some real mentally disturbing stuff happening.
July - Miracles do happen,Sales stint was cut short ; came back to Pune. Started work on a super project
August - First party with NITIE junta at Elevate. Slowly discovered late night bike rides in the Pune rains.
September - Starting playing Football in the mornings, was super.
October - Played the Corporate 5s tournament, got screwed but enjoyed every bit of it. Explored Marathi Tamasha & Naatak.
November - Made my first big investment in life - A108. Visited Shanghai, Suzhou - loved every bit of the trip.
December - Susheela Raman's powerful performance at NH7 Weekender. Polka Dots, Aundh. A taste of the good old days at Hyderabad with some awesome friends.
Lets hope 2011 lives up to its predecessor.
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