style bhai

Style is a complicated concept. It is very difficult to understand style in a way we can all appreciate. When someone has style, it is impossible to specify the element of the person that we say best underlines his style. You and me with the same outfit would probably evoke different reactions of style. In fact, with you and me in the same outfit, 20 years ago – for sure the world would have thought of us as siblings. It was not uncommon while we grew up, for a family to buy one long piece of cloth and cut it up in different sizes to clothe the siblings. I think it was in style then. More importantly it was all that could be afforded then I guess. Forget the cost, which parent would worry about individuality when shortages of socialism loomed large.

We came back from the land of plenty (Dubai) to a country sold short on self-reliance. One of the things we got back from Dubai was a lot of cloth pieces. Ironically, they were made in India. India took its best products and simply exported them. This was true for clothing as was for fruits or vegetables. You want to eat /wear quality Indian produce – you go to where the Indian diaspora lived and paid in forex. It was quite often, which can be borne out by the pictures of old, that my brother and I were displayed to be cut from the same cloth. Occasionally my sister also joined in. Same t-shirts, shorts, or themes running through. When you like a t shirt design, you buy three and then – you make them all wear it together for a party -The Doshis, or whoever you were, had arrived.

When you were too young to understand or naive enough to believe in your parents’ judgement of what good look on you, you ended up being proud. Yay – we were The Doshis. I dunno why it but was a proud thing. Possibly because it signaled that we have enough money to get all three kids of ours new clothes. All three together with new clothes would be rarer than what you would think. Most got new clothes on Diwali, which wouldn’t be so uber cool as relatively speaking you weren’t one up on anything. The other day to get new clothes – birthdays! That would be one hell of a task on the parents end to coordinate. Especially when most kids are hatched rather unexpected in those days!

My brother was especially big in style. He liked to be the style guy around town and as soon as he got some sense and some rebellious streak in him, he broke ranks. He refused to wear color coordinated – anything. He wanted to be unique, himself. I was too docile or dumb or one would say above it all to care. I got that only in college when I had a girlfriend I wanted to impress. That she did not care a thing about I wore was a secondary fact in the story. She has probably once or twice in her life ever told me that I look good. Maybe she was being honest, but…

My brother and my sister both wanted to exhibit style. They looked west when the world looked in. after all Dubai returned kids were not to be trifled with. We knew English better than most, we had imported clothes that had been bought in TR, so that the stock lasted. Wait – what’s a TR? Transfer of residence you see. When you move in lock stock and barrel as an NRI you could get your house back home in the transfer of Residence scheme and if you could prove that you were getting things that you actually used – you could get them into the closed economy with relatively less duty and hassle. Relatively is important here. You still had to prove!

Style. Its so funny. It is meant to be individualistic but if you are the only one with it, its not in style. Style is cool as it smacks of individuality and group belonging at the same time. As long as the group is aspirational or edgy. I wouldn’t call gangsta aspirational but its edgy and it can then dictate style. It’s a funny feeling that gives the wearer a confidence like no other. Swag cam much later. We didn’t have Swag, we had style and that was used to define almost anything that smacked of attitude. Style. I am saying in a way that puts the emphasis on the y for a prolonged period. Ya. You got that StYYle. The ‘le’ is almost silent there.

Style was also dictated by the movies. Isn’t it always? Larger than life heroes, waltzing on the screen, dancing away, pulping villains and talking with a Styyle that’s hard to beat. Here is a clip I showed Jispa recently. That’s a dialogue that’s memorable because of the style. It has no substance and in any other context or manner or hero, it would have just sunk. Even today I repeat it with lesser ‘swag’ and it still brings about the same feeling. Here see this –

Didn’t I tell you. It’s a shitty line but its got much style that it became so memorable.

That is the thing with it. Bollywood had such an effect on us that it was hard to miss. I grew up in the age of the three khans – here look at them. Tell me what was common amongst them, that I so bloody couldn’t copy. It was just not possible. Come on take a guess…

No, that’s not it. The thing I could get was their hair. Nice soft, bountiful, manageable, silky floppy hair. What did I have – thick mop of wavy hair that I had no clue what to do with? No matter what shampoo I tried. Some promised to make it smooth and silky, some gave it style and some did… whatever. But mine remained a big messy glop. My mom used to call me a golliwog. You know what that is? It is often accused of being a racist reference in the beautiful children books of Enid Blyton. You know you hit rock bottom when you were darker than your brother and your mom calls you a racist slur! Done. End of story.

I tried my best. I tried conditioning, I tried going to different barbers as I could. I even went to eth expensive ones that stars go to at Bandra. I went to the Oberoi. I went everywhere. But once a goll.. ok. No self pity on this trip.

So I did what all cool kids with un manageable hair do -no, its not ‘put oil’ on it. That don’t work. That’s not style. Oil was …oil. A symbol of the Nehruvian era that we wanted to unshackle, way before Manmohan came along. At best we would allow our self oil only to wash it soon enough as oiled hair when washed turn out smooth. Well most others did. Mine were, by golly, that’s it.. By golly.

So, I decided or so I think now, that hair was just not so cool. Less of it was the best for all. So always the standard line to the barber would be, cut it short buddy. Everyone else would give some instructions, like keep it long on the back, trim from the sides and keep the shape. I was clear – cut it short buddy. I didn’t even bother to see the back side of the hair when he showed it to me after the haircut through a mirror he would hold up. I wonder what good that did once he’s done with the ruthless chopping. Anymore and he would have to use the razor.

And so, that’s me during growing up. Cut it short and tight. Though I do see some pictures of me and wonder – not bad, I did have a nice mop of hair. Joining the NCC was an even better decision thanks to the strict hair cut rules that they had. Unlike other cadets who hate the season as they had to cut their hair – I loved it. A completely great excuse to have a really bad hair cut. The crew cut.

Crew cut is something my dad explained to me. A nice crew cut that would protect soldiers from being pulled by the hair in a fight or simply have less incidence of lice. I liked that hair cut.

And as a logical extension of that, I wanted to go bald once in my life. Yes, not having hair would be so much fun. No shampooing, no combing, no oil, no dandruff and total style. I came close to it on a few occasions. I remember a barber dissuading me and sending me home. Then once before a trip we took to Ladakh, my frond V-inu and me got ourselves a buzz cut. Basically, almost bald – just a little bit of hair. We did not use a razor but a machine to cut it. That was a fun time. It was cold and I was semi bald in Leh! I had enough pictures of me and so I was quite content that I managed to go almost bald and had enough memory of it.

Over the last few years, I have been balding quite rapidly. Largely it’s a classical male pattern balding. Receding from the forehead and then in the form a circle from the back of the head. But my response to that has always been the same. Cut it short buddy. I never did manage to grow it long enough. Sometimes I do think that maybe I should grow it long and tie a man bun or something only to see hair all around the house shed by my lovely ladies and be dissuaded. I have memories of my friends with long hair constantly preening and taking care of it. I am so totally above those mere hair mortals.

With my penchant for short hair, I would constantly look at every opportunity to go to the barber. My wife would look at my hair and wonder and remark – you don’t need to cut them. But the rule was quite simple, if it touched the ears it needs to be snipped. The lockdown was the first time that I was forced to grow my hair to any decent length, especially over the ears. At first, I tried managing them, then I had to use hair cream, then I had to resort to constantly comb them. It was funny. I would comb them and show my daughter – Jispa did you actually ever notice that I have wavy hair. I would show my wavy hair to her as they were neatly combed. They would wave in unison like water at sea with the last bits sticking out.

This hair reminded me of my dad. His were curlier than mine but in some ways when he used to comb them, I could see those curls at the back of his head. Mine were so bloody similar. It was fun looking at them. But I couldn’t handle them for this long. I was growing tired of them.

I had bought a hair trimming machine; more like a beard trimming machine. I have used for long, enough to get the battery spoilt. I must keep charging it if I want to use it and charge wouldn’t hold long enough. So in spite of knowing this pit fall, I tried my hand at trimming my hair on my own.

Soon enough I did well to mess up the event. In any case, I always get tired of looking at myself for long. I can’t shave for long, or comb for long, or dress for long. I find looking at the mirror very narcissistic. In a few imnutes I was bored and boom, I just started cutting my hair completely. The trimmer ran out of charge, refused to cut properly, I could get to the ends and I had to call for professional help. Jasmine.

I got her in and asked to give me the complete treatment. I wanted to SHAVE my head totally. That’s the right way to do it. No pussy footsy trimmer hair – I want a total bald plate. It took us sometime, but we got it done. Finally, for the first time in my life I could fulfill my dream. I was bald. Totally completely. What a fun!

Just get under the shower and no more shampoo. Take a face wash and extend the surface area of application. Its too cool. I could feel the breeze over the head in the balcony in the evening. Simply apply some moisturizer as well in a similar way and we are ready for the day. What a revelation.

It’s a nice feeling. So many people are afraid to do it to their hair. I don’t know where they loose their confidence on this. I didn’t. I went to office, pretty cool and I even changed my whatsapp DP to show it off. And for good measure, I have kept a stubble wit it. Bald plate and a stubble, two things I wanted all my life in one go. I have finally arrived in life. Style became me. Swag became me.

Here take a look. Cool nah?

crowning glory

It always nice to be proven wrong. To have a change of heart or head. To hold a notion or long and then to have compelling evidence to change it. For long we never had cable at home. That was the big pound thing and looking at us a few friends of ours also followed suit and it did make for an enriching life. What is that cable can add to our life. It was a wonderful life with Jispa as she grew up withour cable.

In the new house, we bought a new TV but we still did not want cable. We just simply connected it to the internet and through Prime and Hotstar I thought we had it pretty much licked. I wasn’t so kicked about Netflix. I was not a TV series kind of guy. Why would I need Netflix. Then a friend came home and just logged me onto his plan. He had one extra login free. Ok fair.

For the last few months I simply watched a few movies on Netflix and I hated the experience. How many movie titles do you need to browse through to choose the one you like? Jasmine hated me for it. I tried one series in the House of cards, but I just couldn’t handle it for long. I get bored. And I hated series even more. Why would I invest 10s of hours when you can get story in 3 and be done with?

This went on till on a lark I just tried a series on Netflix called The Crown and I was hooked. It is a terrific series which perfectly sits with my sensibility. A well-produced drama based on history. It tries to get behind the story of the Queen of England.  Their approach is brilliant and in every episode they try and get behind the character and help you understand their issues, motivations, fears and pride. And since they have Churchill featured very prominently in the first ten episodes, I was completely hooked. It brought alive the character of the man after the war as an old and ageing politician fighting to stay with his glory of winning the world war. The dialogues are brilliant and Jispa and I keep clapping whenever he has his sharp wit at play.

Now I understand why people are hooked to series. One friend had told me – a series works as he found it a waste to invest time in a movie. A series the return is over a longer period. With The Crown, I would agree. Now I am invested in the characters and their inner travails. I will appreciate it much more over a period of time. And the fact that it makes for family viewing. We all are hooked. I am now right now binge watching the live episodes and I guess we will wait after we are done for the new episodes.

Of course the binge watching is not anywhere like what the millennials watch. At best we can take in about 4 to 5 episodes in a day. The millennials do the full series in one sitting, one night. It’s a killer. In any case whatever little I binge is also possible just because I have a banged up knee and I am forced to stay at home. My bloody bum is hurting from all the sitting I am doing. It is painful. But I am so looking forward to my surgery.

My hope is that once the surgery is done, I will be fully rehabilitated and I will be able to run a like a mad man again. I want to run fast and hard and I want to take part in an obstacle course or something like that. I know now I can be fit and fast. It’s crazy for me to be this way at 43 but I am loving it. I never knew that I could grow older and fitter. Wah wah.

But I like that at 43 I am learning new things as a person, as a binge watcher, as a sportsperson and as a human. Its lovely man!

aaj darshan kare hum

In 1975, two legends were released.

Sholay will always be the ultimate epic of Bollywood, with amazingly well etched out characters and some lovely acting. For years, the characters were used to sell products or crack jokes. It was the ultimate super movie. The other legend was born 5 days later – me. Hah.

The other legend was Jai Santoshi Maa. This was a crazy dumb ass of a mytho meets current life movie in which the harassed but sweet as a daisy female protagonist gets her due. It set off the Devi Maa frenzy into the country with the Santoshi Maa fasts being the thing to do for all ails.

I remember seeing some parts of this movie and bloody hell grew up listening to these songs everywhere. My memories of these bhajans/ devotional songs are of a young kid, images of mother, festivities and dandiya being played. All this interspaced with images of being in Dubai. So it’s a weird combination of sands, air conditioning and parents from a low angle (I was a toddler remember). Writing this blog brought back memories which I now hereby share with you. Here listen to this.

The 70’s and 80’s dandiya beat hitting your head in a rhythmic frenzy. The gujju in me is awakened, albeit temporarily to this beat, wanting to take two bamboo sticks in hand, hold them gingerly in the middle, as I swirl, flirting with my fiancee, making eye contact, briefly and then smiling in acknowledgement, only to turn and twirl again, as fast as possible to catch her glimpse again. Hahahaha. Writing this was funny as it was only half in jest. The greatest memory of my marriage ceremony was the dandiya function which was held by Jasmine’s kutchi family in the true traditional style. I am dying to have a dandiya function like that again. Once more. With Jasmine. We had the best of times dancing to each other’s rhythm. Its been a long time since we danced like that together. I am sure her dancing legs will instantly activate on hearing the beats and seeing the ground set up. AH.

Jai Santoshi Ma was one the biggest hits of the year, holding its own story of love and piety against the simmering anger of Sholay and Deewar. For years, later Bollywood looked towards the feminine divine form for redemption, intervention and inspiration, torturing us with unbelievable stories at the climax, cheating us of logic and plotline. Man a crazy mind f*&K it was.

But who am I to criticize an era, especially since it etched me and gave a lot of my childhood, waiting for some Maa to save me from my Maa when I screwed up ;).  Yesterday I watched my own Jai Santoshi Maa and took my family along for the torture. It was a homage to the God who delivered us our aspirations and rode along in the journey from an awkward teen unsure about my future to an adult with faith in India and its ability to shine at the world stage. This God of India had people waiting for him wherever he went, he could do no wrong, no false step and conjure up magic from anywhere. His mere presence was enough to believe in hope. His name… you have to chant it, the way the world chanted it – SACHIN, SACHIN, dhad dhad dhad (three beats or claps or whatever you could do with any percussion in row, fast). No one made it up nor taught it to anyone; it was automatic and spontaneous from a crowd that was as a whole in dervish whirl to start with.

It was a documentary on the life of Sachin Tendulkar that I inflicted upon my family. It was horrible and disgusting, with no hope of getting any balanced view or insight. It was shit to start with and to finish with. When you have lived in a fish bowl for 30 odd years, not much is not known about you, much you can still try to extract insights from your journey that can be passed on to the youth to whom life may a pitfall be.

(This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him)

Only if you were a die hard Sachin fan would you like this movie. Which I admit, I did. It moved me and brought out some real emotions in me. It ended with his retirement speech during which I could help but cry. Sachin had out stayed his cricket by a couple of years and he was at the end, a shadow of himself but still a force to reckon with. He always played his best at the world cups and the whole country wanted to win one for him. In the end when he had his last chance and we won the cup, it was because the team unlike the past did not depend on him to win it for them, but they wanted to win it for him.

But still, since he was two years older than me, his destiny was tied in with me as we saw a childhood of less to an adulthood of plenty, as we transitioned the economy to global inter connects and brashness of action but with a demeanor (almost false) of humility and good luck. In many ways, this 390 bucks that I spent on three tickets was my last piece of homage to the man who brought me endless hope, belief and joy. How can I explain when God hits a ball in the air and your hearts jumps with a weird type of joy and scare at the same time? Is it a six or will it be out. Should I leap in joy or should I hold my heart till I see the ball clear the fence (invariably). Oh god. How do I explain this?

But it still was a bad documentary. One sided and – ya – my era’s Jai Santoshi Maa where in the end, divine intervention solves everything! Here watch this, but go fast to the 6 minute mark when divine happens, or don’t say I did not warn you.

If you have belief and submit yourself to the higher lord then you will be delivered! JAI SANTOSHI MAA

And here see this miracle. When we as nation were facing the our fears, with Shoaib, the fastest bowler in the world, coming charging down on a hard wicket, bowling fast and Sachin hitting him for six with a shot never seen before by his devotees. That shot will forever be etched in my memory. This one comes in the one minute mark itself in the video. Have fun. But come on, don’t insult the devotee and go forward. See all his three miracles of the world cup.

See this one at the 4min:38second mark. That defined the God forever as it was against another God in this mega inter galactic battle

And I also know where I was on 27^th March 1994. I was in Panchgani in a hotel room when I woke up early to watch the match with dad as we saw Sachin open the innings for the first time to give Darshan and forever change the pecking order of the batting Gods of India. He sowed the opening the batting with the field restrictions is all about the gaps the aerial shots. We all wanted his century so much and it was so disappointing when he got out to a soft dismissal.

But here. The God has long retired paving the way for the others to follow. Creating an era as he walked on the 22 yards. And I paid my dues by watching his shitty documentary. I will always be beholden to him but at least my dues are paid, with money in the donation box.

But while going, listen to this aarti and then go please.

Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa…. Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa…. Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa….Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa….

my search for meaning with my daughter

One of the best things we did on this vacation is the decision of coming back to Mumbai in the Rajdhani train. When we were young train travel was always second class and always non air conditioned. It did not matter where we traveled, this was the mode of transport. I remember going from Mumbai to Kolkata by train in a second class non A/c train. This was the norm. Somehow I also do remember trains being far cleaner than what they are now. We would get down at the stations and fill our jugs with water and buying bottled water was never on the agenda. But eating out for a Gujju family was an anathema. We would have lunch and dinner and breakfast packed along with tea. There was a box my mom once bought from Kolkata. It was called the patharo, I think. It was a mid sized aluminum box which was used to store food for a journey. We would carry theplas, khakras, pickles, tea and everything while travelling. Food was an essential part of the travelling. We liked our food and we kept it with us, everywhere we went.

I think the first time we went in an air-conditioned train was when I was in college (around 1995-95). The demand for air conditioned trains was going up and people then started travelling in the Ac trains. I remember using the Rajdhani for the first time and it was a lovely experience. You get your beddings, a bottle of water, all meals and an ice cream as a desert. Hah! It was heaven. As we (the economy) got richer, we used the AC train for more often. It was definitely the AC and if you are feeling rich then you use the second AC, otherwise the third AC was the minimum norm. The big difference is that the second AC has two beds bunked up on either side and the third AC has three on either side. And the second AC have the horrible unwashed dirty shitty curtains. I hate those curtains. I hate touching those dirty curtains.

For a long while it was the AC trains that we used till we got even richer (here we is economy and family). Also the price of airline tickets also started to fall. We started flying everywhere on vacations. It saved time and time on vacation is money. You want to use the time to enjoy your vacation, not travelling to a place.

This time, while we were planning the vacation, we decided to take the train back from Delhi. I thought that the best time to have a conversation with your daughter is in a train. Rajdhani is the best of them all. No stress while travelling, no random people climbing on and reasonably clean with your food taken care of. We got one upper side bunk. Jispa climbed onto it and made herself at home. I joined in after her in some time. We then started talking. I started explaining to her the US elections. How they are managed and how the President is elected. Of course nothing is that simple when I am explaining anything. I took two hours to explain the whole thing, including the election of Bush and Bill Clinton. It was an awesome conversation. In the middle while I was explaining to her how a friend of mine was in a government job in India, working for a minister, she was quite amazed and she asked me why I did not tell her about it before. I simply said – we don’t have time these days as we are all busy with a lot of other things. I later told Jasmine about this and we both smiled. We both knew that I always have time, but she is too busy these days and too moody and too much of a teenager to listen. She is lost in her phone or in her music or in something else altogether.

The Rajdhani experiment was a success. I look forward to many more such successes. Now that she is growing up and she has a mind, I am finding interesting things that we can share. We also booked trains to Dehradun from delhi. Here I shared my kindle with her and asked her to read another book summary that I had. This book has influenced me a whole lot. It lead bare the marketing of food and how the food giants got us to eat more, much more unhealthy but tasty food. It’s called Salt Sugar Fat. I had read the detailed summary and then recently I had bought the full book. I had the summary on the Kindle and I got Jispa to read it. She read it and enjoyed it. We then could discuss elements of the book and understand how the bliss point is achieved by the manufacturers. It’s quite an interesting book and is easily my top read. But the real fun is when I could discuss it with my kid.

With the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)movies coming out, another point of mutual fun is getting developed. Jispa and I went for the Doctor Strange movie together. Jasmine is not a great fan is happier sleeping this one out. I enjoyed watching it with Jispa and laughing on all the attitude jokes with her. Then at the end of it, I explained to her the concept of the infinity stones and how the MCU has used it across all their movies to tie it all in together.  Now that was a seriously cool bro moment (we call each other bro and we fist pump. Yes… sigh). I know that because there are enough and more, young MCU fans in my office who are original comic book hero worshippers. Then we sat at home and looked up videos and blogs that explained the concept of the infinity stones and how all the movies in the MCU somehow connect to one or more of the infinity stones coming towards a huge final showdown. This is so bloody serious. The guys at MCU must have be crazy to take such an audacious move wherein they are thinking years in advance where the movies have story lines that are crisscrossing each other towards a grand finale. Every superhero story is to be seen in relation to the other, with Easter eggs in all of them. Discovering this is awesome, telling it to your teenage daughter to see her mouth wide open – priceless.

If this much bonding wasn’t enough – we are suddenly now reading a book together. This one is deadly serious - Man's Search for Meaning;  a 1946 book by Viktor Frankl chronicling his experiences as an Auschwitz concentration camp inmate during World War II. He is a Psychologist by profession and was thrown into a concentration camp. He uses the experience to delve deep into the mind of man and comes out to share his experience. He tries to be as objective as possible in explaining his situation and his experience. Then he explains how people who survived probably found more meaning in their life than others. Jispa and me are reading it at the same time. She folds the top of her page to mark her page and I use the bottom. The book is divided into two sections and the second section of the book explains describing his psychotherapeutic method, which involved identifying a purpose in life to feel positively about, and then immersively imagining that outcome. This was in my to-read list sine a long time, We found it in a mall in Dehradun and picked it up immediately as train reading for Jispa and me. The book has been an outstanding revelation. In many ways it resonates with what I think is true in life and have known it to be true for me. It captures beautifully the essence of what I think is purpose and meaning in daily trials. Most importantly – it talks about sufferings as being something in which you find meaning.

I have read Buddha and his various teachings and lessons. There also there is talk of suffering as real and an important part of life. I never did understand that till now. I always used to think that suffering cannot be the motive of life and how can it be the truth of life. Aren’t we all trying not to suffer, then why must we accept suffering as an important meaning of life. Here, reading this book at age 41, I realise what suffering is. To extract meaning and purpose in life we do things. We aim, we achieve, we face degection and sadness and we face trails and tribulations, we strive and we work, we think and plan. The moment we do anything we are expending effort. This effort for me is suffering. Jispa finds meaning in her tough swim schedule. She braves cold waters, tough workouts and sore ness in her body. She suffers but in that suffering she finds meaning and that is why she does it.

This what I explained to Jispa while we were discussing the book and I explained that I never did understand it till I was 41 and I read this book. Was it the book or was it the maturity? Many books are awesome but in many ways you are probably too young or too old to read it or understand it. Many books are awesome but they are not there for you at the right time or the right mental frame of mind.

Who would have known that a book is all about timing and at the right time it finds relevance and meaning?

While reading and buying books on amazon, it’s a fun thing to see the reviews and understand the book before you end up reading it. The negative reviews are also there which enhance the experience of the book. At first, some negative reviews used to discourage me from buying the book. As if I was searching for some holy grail and wanted to use my time (arrogance) only for reading the best of the best. But now, I also understand that it’s only a point of view. The book is a point of view, the reviews are a point of view and you as a reader is only reading and forming a point of view. There is no real truth, as in everything is relative. And in books, there is also the question of timing. Hence it’s nice to read the reviews and nice to understand them, but you still have to make up your mind on your own. And never let anyone stop you from reading your book. Because I have often said that even the worst book in the world will tell you why it’s the worst book in the world. So there is knowledge everywhere.