Somewhere in Space

 

In the year 1947 a generation witnessed the dawn of a whole new era and celebrated the Independence of India.

In the year 2014, a day is going to be designated as the day the new state of Telangana is born and the people of the region  finally will have managed to ‘free’ themselves from the yokes of their fellow Telugus from the Seemandhra Region.

Is there anything common in the struggle? Is there anything at all similar in the way demands were made and results achieved? This is a debate and discussion that can go on ad nauseam. And quite frankly I am not so much of an academic to be interested in that.

But it is the realist in me that is concerned. Perhaps it starts with the knowledge that inspite of the fact that Mahatma Gandhi is regarded as the Father of the Nation and credited with being the single most significant individual responsible for the Freedom of India, reality may have a different story to tell.

There is a school of thought that suggests that Freedom was not something earned by Gandhi and his cronies, but something that was given away, albeit quite unwillingly, to our country simply because the powers that be in Great Britain had ceased to see the benefit of being rulers of foreign lands such as ours.

Gandhi perhaps was not by nature someone to hog the attention he did not deserve and in any case he died so soon after independence that it was left to Jawaharlal Nehru and his Congress descendants to use the Gandhi Legacy for political gains lasting a few decades.

But the times have changed. And I can see how many people are going to lay claim to the leadership label on the basis of having won for Telangana its long awaited independence.

And along with the labels the search for perks and rewards will begin. Starting from plum political positions to rewards ranging from pension to perks, all in the name of the Freedom Struggle. Many years from now the families who can trace their antecedents to the struggle will be seen as families that are more equal than others, much like the people who landed up in the USA on the Mayflower, and much like a generation of Freedom Fighters who enjoyed land grants, free train travel and other such advantages.

But I am not unduly worried about that. I am only concerned that the state of Telangana should actually benefit from the separation. The people should enjoy the benefits, the farmers should…industry should flourish and Hyderabad should regain its lost luster.

If that happens and the bifurcation of the state of Andhra Pradesh benefits more than just the selfish politicians and the conniving political parties then I will be a happy man.

I will be elated that my voice was used for many a presentation or documentary on the plight of Telangana and its people…that I was literally the ‘English’ Voice of the agitation.

If not, I shall be disappointed. If I see a few years from now that the benefits have not accrued to the people, I shall be truly disappointed. And maybe it will be the turn of someone else to raise his voice again.

Jai Telangana!!!

Cars and bikes. Love affairs with them are an essential part of growing up…perhaps even a part of staying young. Strangely I have in my list of affairs two or three lists. One, the vehicles that my father owned and the bikes that he bought me. Two, the motorcycles and cars that I bought on my own steam. And some vehicles that I never owned, but they became part of my life.

The first bike (though purists will object to my calling it a bike) that I ever rode was a Vespa.

I was still in school…just about 14 years of age. Dad had called some people home for drinks. Most of them landed up in their official Jeeps and Station Wagons but one gentleman, Dad’s Man Friday I think, landed up on the scooter. Suddenly as the evening clinked its way into good cheer, someone asked for something that wasn’t there at home, but was available in Himayatnagar that was close to home. Everyone was a couple of drinks down and though there were no breathalyzers and drunken driving checks in those days, the people were reluctant to take the initiative and hop across to the shop, especially the Man Friday.

Suddenly he spotted me playing around near his parked scooter and he asked my father if he could suggest that I go across on it to buy what was needed. Dad asked me if I could handle it and I said yes!

I had never ridden a scooter, only seen people doing so. I took the proffered keys, and after some fumbling around finding the slot for them, kick started my way to my first ride ever. I remember it was late evening and the roads were light and I managed to use only two of the three gears that the Vespa had. And then at the shop, I had to ask another customer for help to start it again for my return journey. But I managed to reach home without a problem and delivered the parcel. No one commented, no one cheered and my riding skills were taken for granted. Only I know how I felt that night when I retired to my room. The thrill I experienced that night was much more than the one I experienced when a few months later I sneaked in my first kiss. But that’s another story.

Needless to say my campaign to get my parents to buy me a bike started in real earnest only after that scooter ride. And my parents were not very interested in pampering me in this connection. A few weeks later Dad told me that when I had money of my own I could buy myself a bike, but not before and not on his account.

A mere student, I had no source of income and I realized that this was a clever way of shutting me up. But God, or providence, had other plans. Just a few weeks after the climax of my campaign, we went to the Secunderabad Club for the monthly Tombola.

As children we were not allowed to play but my mother was in the habit of buying more coupons than she could handle. And invariably us kids would do the ticking off on the extra coupons. As fate would have it the coupon I was ticking off won that night and we came home with a cash prize of Rs. 1500/-.

At home, just before going to bed I staked my claim for the money won. Forget club rules Dad, I win by Family Rules I suggested. He told me to go to bed and promised he’d give my claim a thought.

The next morning he announced that in all fairness, 50% of the prize money should be given to me. Rs. 750/-. I immediately announced that I would buy myself a bike with that money.

To cut a long story short I did manage to buy myself a BSA 5HP 1942 model bike for Rs. 1500/- with the rest of the money being ‘loaned’ to me by my mother. But yes, the BSA was my first love of my biking life.

Single seats. No shock absorbers. It was a back breaker but man, was it powerful. Even today my classmates from HPS remember that when ISC results were announced, about ten of us got on to the bike and rode around in a kind of victory celebration.

Two other interesting anecdotes involve dogs, especially ferocious dogs who would normally run after other bikes but stood away from this one as if in respect to it size and power. One was at Aloke Gupta’s house with the infamous Pasha. And the other incident was a Naseer Yar Jung’s house (now Country Club) while zipping across to meet Aamer and Saad bin Jung.

But sadly, when I went off to college my parents decided that enough was enough, and sold off the bike to a colleague. When I came back for the holidays I was told that the only bike I could aspire for was a bicycle.

I sulked, I shouted, I cried…but to no avail. I was soon back at college with a Raleigh Cycle. We did have some fun times with that cycle…everything from Mahabalipuram Trips to midnight soirees in Madras but a cycle is a meek hero for an adventure tale.

So I skip to my third year at college when I managed to convince my parents that I should be given a motor cycle. And thus a Nellore born JAWA 1969 model was procured for the princely sum of 4200 rupees. And I took it to college.

And that’s where life changed. You see, while I was fairly proficient in maintaining my bike, some of the bigger jobs had to be done by the mechanic, mainly because of the tools I did not have in Madras. So there was this motor cycle mechanic in one of the lanes opposite Stella Maris College who used to be my ‘man’. And he had a Coimbatore ‘rich man’s kid’ as another customer.

What this guy did was to get himself high rise handlebars and painted his silencers matt black after chopping off the ends. And then he went home.

Only to be thrown out of the house and told to come back only when he had brought his bike to normal. As things went we met at the mechanics and he suggested an exchange. My original silencers and handle bar for his ‘souped up’ versions. I said yes.

And then on one of my trips to Hyderabad, I went across to my friend Ram Prasad’s factory in Sanatnagar and fabricated for myself a whole new front end with twin barrels, one for the speedometer and one for the key.

The bike was loud. I guess it kind of matched my personality in those days. And soon it had a reputation. Its roar and well tuned back beats could be heard echoing in the Banjara Hills area late at night. And many times my father got calls about it.

The other interesting thing about the bike was that it often used to start and slip into a unique reverse gear. It came to a stage that my slipping into reverse gear on a Jawa became an exhibition item.

This bike travelled with me to Nagpur where again, when I was not around, my parents sold it because they were concerned about the damage I was causing to my back.

I was bikeless for a few years after that. Except for a horrible yellow Vespa that my friend Indru Advani lent me for a few weeks. And then my friend Saeed Ansari decided to relocate to Hyderabad from Munnar where he had as part of his job, bought himself a brand new Bullet.

Saeed and his wife were looking for accommodation and so was I, and we landed up taking a house on rent in Nagarjuna Hills…and what a lovely time we had.

But soon after he found a chance to move to the US and I got a job in Bombay and so we gave up the house. The bi-product of these career decisions was that Saeed agreed to sell me the Bullet in installments.

How, within a few months I got a call asking me to settle the balance in one go because his wife was also moving to the US is as they say, another crazy story with my boss emerging as a life saver, but that again is another story.

The Bullet was a mad episode in my life and involved me with absolutely hilarious moments like riding down Marine Drive with a 5 foot teddy bear on my pillion and being featured on a local paper’s news…and having a few accidents simply because I had this habit of sleeping off while riding if I was tired, which was often, given the nature of my job.

So this very meticulous Parsi from Colaba bought my bike after a particularly bad accident and I thought I should listen to the signals and desist from riding a two wheeler again.

Two other bikes engaged me in the interim. And made significant impacts on my life.

The first was a Rajdoot GTS bike which was popularly known as Bobby Motorcycle. I never owned it but this really puny machine was something I rode for quite a few months courtesy of my dear friend Ashok Kumar Harkara who used to work in the same office I did, albeit in the travel wing.

The amount of long distance Client Servicing I have done on that bike was worth it only because Mama, as he is universally known, would allow me to use his bike if I had a date. And that became another sight to behold…me the giant on this miniature bike with a large sized lady to boot. Fun times.

When I reached Chennai after marriage, my terms of employment allowed me a car but due to some complication the car took some time before being allotted to me. This was the time when another dear friend Matthew Augustine would be bullied into lending me his horrendous green color Lambretta which was also office property.

This scooty became for almost three months my ‘get to know my wife’ vehicle. Except that on the Lambretta, conversation becomes one sided. I would speak into the wind and wonder why she was not getting it. And she who had not heard a word I had said would wonder what was irritating me about her silence. But damned if we didn’t develop a soft spot for that Lamby.

I have, over the years. ridden other bikes. A few Triumphs borrowed from friends and mechanics. The original bunch of 125cc two strokes like the Ind Suzuki. The whole range of the Kinetic Hondas and Activas. Including for long drives in Germany, a Yamaha 750cc gearless scooter. A TVS Fiero that I rode around in Kurnool. Even a Honda 1000cc tourer that belongs to my friend Anup “Vicky’ Randhawa who even today says that I am the only one he allowed to ride the Sunbeam Motorcycle he had during school.

And that brings me to a funny story.

When many years ago, my parents were abroad, my sister and I were invited for a wedding at Shankar Mutt. The car had gone to the Mechanic’s for some repair and I had my bike. When I suggested that we attend the wedding on the BSA my sister threw a fit and refused. I asked Anup for his Sunbeam which was in much better condition than my bike and was infinitely more comfortable, he agreed without a problem.

So my sister and I arrive at this wedding, make more of an impact than the groom, have dinner, say hello to the whole ging-bang…and just as we are leaving one of the aunts hands over to my sister the traditional ‘Taamboolam’.

In the packet were the customary coconut, the bananas, the betel nuts and some sweets and savories. I was thrilled, because the sweet served that day was one of my favorites. I was looking forward to going home and pigging on the goodies.

It was late night and quite cold. My sister wrapped her silk saree around herself, held onto the goodie bag and we drove off into the night. Within seconds I could hear over the classy beat of the shaft driven Sunbeam, the quiet chatter of my sister’s teeth. I slowed down as much as I could but I don’t think it made a difference.

When we reached Banjara Hills and home, my sister got off the bike very gingerly. She was actually frozen in a kind of limbo and was having trouble unfolding her arms and even unwrapping her saree.

We went in, and I asked her to pass me the ‘taamboolam’ because I was all set for a round of sweets before hitting the bed. With great difficulty she moved her hands enough to hand me the packet.

The moment I saw it I knew there was something wrong. It was less than half its original size.

Within a moment we discovered that the bike ride was so bumpy and her body so numb, that almost everything from the packet spilled out and she didn’t even know.

What was left, was the paan and some supari. Everything including the mandatory blouse piece had been air dropped between Shanker Mutt and Banjara Hills. I have always wondered who found the booty. Who ate the sweet? And who got a new blouse?

Streetscapes. Cityscapes. These are all a crazy mix of possibilities. Does one capture them on the go or does one freeze them for posterity? Do we want motion blurs to punctuate the images or do we want the stories to be languorous and laid back?

And is it a matter of choice at all?

The problem with not being able to stand for a long time is that you land up looking at different kinds of exhibitions that may or may not be strictly speaking, Photographic.

I am just back from the Goethe Zentrum where THOMAS LÜTTGE had put together a collection of images from around the sub continent. Old and new parts of different cities…and what an exhibition of German simplicity it was.

What struck you was the constant conflict in the frames. Fog vs. Clarity. Old vs. New. In a series of images that explored the black & white spectrum to the fullest, Thomas proved that you do not need angles and distortions to give dynamism to a picture. Not a single image played with unnatural perspective and none attempted to disturb the perpendicular.

Disappointing perhaps was his quest for the contradiction…slightly clichéd it became at times…the images of tall skyscrapers with the hutments in the foreground for instance…the crumbling of the past making way for the creation of the future…this photographic medley has been a tad over done I think.

But all in all, a positive collection of photographs.

The imagery consolidated in my mind’s eye like a vignette of memories…flash frames floating in slow motion, in a suspended animation perhaps…and I remembered that the human eye is a lens that sees everything from a never-distorted perspective. So the residual captures of memory are also straight and clean.

The only difference was that he had deliberately chosen to strip the images of color. And allowed the black and white palette to take center stage. And he was not about to apologize for this. And then again, why should he?

Satya Nadella was not my classmate. I don’t even know him, and frankly I hadn’t even heard of him a few days back. Shantanu Narayen you may not know. I certainly don’t. (But I do know his parents Babu and Leela). He is the CEO of Adobe. Sanjiv Sidhu I can honestly say is a schoolmate I know and have hung out with. And he was one of the early boomers.

What these three guys have in common is that they all have Hyderabad connections. And all of them have at various times in their lives, done well for themselves in the United States. And all of them are from HPS Begumpet.

Strangely however only Satya Nadella’s elevation to CEO Microsoft was greeted with front page frenzy and a sudden, renewed HPS pride. From paan waalas who sold him cigarettes to medical shop bhayyas who must have dispensed him the odd condom, every one is jumping onto a crazy bandwagon. And every connection worth making is reaching out for the benefits of the after glow.

I have nothing against the man but I do think some of us have gone overboard. Satya is not an exemplary student from any account, and he seems to have risen to the top through sheer grit. He’s plodded through a career, not raced through it. He has no top school, Indian or US in his resume. So let’s just feel good for him that he achieved what he did.

And feel proud, just as we should have felt proud of the others. Prem Watsa who’s behind the Blackberry resurrection. Aloke Gupta of the 1972 batch who went on to head Philips in Singapore, CJ Karira who is an RTI activist. RVS Ramakrishna who heads ITW, Talat Aziz who wows the world with his mellifluous voice, Chitrajit Cariappa who keeps people safe in the skies, Avijit Dutt who turned out to be a great actor. Zak Alladin who’s one of the best ‘sound’ guys around. Mani Shankar who’s using all his tech-savvy to help promote Narendra Modi just as he helped Vajpayee and PV Narasimha Rao…oh the list is long. There are enough Hyderabadis and HPS students who have achieved, who have made a mark, who have shown that they have been molded by school and city into something different if not extraordinary.

But while we celebrate all these names, we also have to live with students who disgraced the Eagle by becoming Wimp Ministers. With students who strayed to the wrong side of law. And with students who smoked themselves to oblivion.

So let’s just wish Satya all the best. And avoid placing the mantle of great expectations on his shoulders. He has just stepped into some legendary shoes and he will need everything he has got to help him fit in. If he is blessed, he will outgrow them shoes, but for the moment I am quite sure he will be content even if he manages to walk in those old shoes without tripping.

Let’s hope he remembers that whichever shoes he wears, and however high he flies, it’s the barefoot walks in the park that give us all joy and keep us connected with our roots…indeed with the earth itself.

 

The last few weeks of agonizing about whether the Aam Aadmi Party was a good idea…the last few months of comparing NaMo to a recently christened RaGa…the last few years of wondering whether Chandrababu Naidu could ever hope to be at least a Prime Ministerial candidate…they have all been a total waste of time.

With Satya Nadella (no relative of Nigella mind you) being appointed as CEO of Microsoft, all arguments have been made redundant…all problems have been resolved. And there is jubilation in the country.

And why not?

Poverty in India has been eradicated. And relocated in the Cloud that Satya has spearheaded.

The Water problems have been pushed aside thanks to the many Innovations that Nadella has approved of.

Agricultural Produce has more than doubled thanks to the farmers’ use of MS Excel.

Marriages have rediscovered their sanctity and it has again become more fashionable to have a three child family. And definitely more affordable since the purchase of Mac Based products is no longer mandatory.

Dogs apparently have lost out since the new CEO did not outline a dream that included the canines.

In Andhra University and many other similar such institutions, students who have been carrying papers and have been unable to graduate for a few years are now going around wearing T-Shirts with “I believe in LEARNING” stickers.

In the back streets and alleys of New Delhi rapists are shoving their dicks back into their flies scared not so much of the Nirbhaya Act but of the new task master who is reputed to be a tough nut.

Most importantly in Hyderabad Public School, a reunion is being planned. Of the alumni who had some connection with Satya. The only old student who is refusing to attend is a Paigah descendant who prefers to wait for another ex-HPSite to become CEO of a MicroBrewery.

And Kiran Kumar Reddy who is a personal friend of the chief executive is trying to pass a bill that changes a day of the week into one that’s named in his honour…Satyarday is being considered.

Not since Nooyi became CEO of Pepsi and changed the very texture of global warming has a mere appointment had so much impact on the world.

In the meanwhile I wait patiently hoping that this landmark event may result in the extension of the local Numaish. But that’s the limit of my exhibitionism.

As an avid foodie and an advertising person to boot I am often confronted with questions that really intrigue me. And the questions more often than not, from my restaurant owner friends, take the stance that they do a lot of things for their customers but it doesn’t quite work out the way they had thought it would.

The ROI on any investment they had made doesn’t quite prove to be attractive. And the event becomes unsustainable.

It is on occasions such as these that I am tempted to ask for a brief moment of clarity as we go back to basics. A restaurant (and I am using this animal only for the discussion) is a place designed and developed, conceived and deployed with the sole purpose of serving a potential audience a particular type of food and beverages.

Anything that the restaurant throws in by way of activity or by way of events and strategies designed to generate Word of Mouth are nothing but limited attempts to create triggers that ripple off a wave of activity that results in more people frequenting the restaurant in question.

To a certain extent, and for a certain period of time an event or an activity can take center stage and look like it is the cause for enhanced activity and more walk-ins. But at the end the restaurant finds a place in the mind and hearts of its people only on the basis of its product and its service.

Music…and music of all kinds of genres have for long been a favorite with restaurants. Everything from pop music to jazz, from blues to bhangra and from ghazals to ghetto-rap have been offered as incentives to customers. But the place has done well and cashed in on the additional attention only if its basic product or service…or both…were up to the mark.

And this is more true of specialty restaurants. Those of you who have frequented for instance the old Trattoria at the President Hotel in Mumbai may remember that the outlet was a beehive of activity and hosted not only the early serenades but also perhaps the only Indian version of a genuine Elvis lookalike concert that had everyone in splits and raptures.

But the restaurant was and will always be remembered for the fabulous Pizzas and Pastas that it dished out. Perhaps an exception can be made in the case of activity driven restaurants or bars like 10 Downing Street which may find a Karaoke evening more saleable than their brand of snacks. That admitted, even the Hard Rock Café which is a fairly international icon, has its onion ring reputation more intact than the kind of rockers you may be tempted to associate with.

The lesson one needs to learn is that an event, however special can only succeed in attracting an audience or at least informing an audience that a place exists. Once the audience comes in on the basis of the event’s attraction capability it is the restaurant’s responsibilities that the customer takes home an unique experience that he or she would like to come back for.

If the restaurant owner has not taken special steps to ensure that his new audience gets to sample his ware, he has not only wasted his time and opportunity he has also created a situation where his or her restaurant can be seen more as a venue for the same or similar events than a restaurant that serves a specialty.

And that indeed is a pity.

We need to learn from the Ohris who had, perhaps even today have, a restaurant called Daawat in Secunderabad that was famous for its ghazals and qawallis but more famous for its food and frequented for that reason. The original Fusion 9 restaurant that pioneered Jazz is also an example. How many people remember the Charminar Jazz Collective…but everyone remembers F9 and its food.

And that is simply because the management used every opportunity given to them to cater to varying audiences to pamper them with what was quintessentially the restaurant’s original proposition. Great Food.