The Power and Pull of Page 3...

This appeared on monday in Bombay Times.... just as the city's tireless party- goers were recovering from a LOOOOOOONG , hard night of net- working and grabbing attention at the Bombay Times Halloween-themed bash of all bashes . Does nobody have any plain simple fun these days?????
As for me, I was away in distant Chandigarh enjoying the sharp nip in the air, plus, the company of intelligent, uncomplicated, real people. I was there to launch 'Shobhaa at Sixty' - and what a memorable launch it turned out to be!! More on that once I get the pictures. But just to give you a small jhalak - over 1,100 balloons with a strong message were launched by the students of the Vivek High School ( started 26 years ago and going strong!), to mark the occasion. The kids welcomed me with a vigourous Bhangra performance that was the asli, not naqli Bollywood performance. Energetic, robust,colourful - I was enthralled. And yes, I had the creamy, thick, ice cold lassi in a mitti glass at Gopal's, ginger and ajwain flavoured chaat at Garg's Gol Guppa House and a splendid Chinese meal at The Black Lotus in the Taj Hotel where I was staying. I didn't spot any witches and ghouls, though. Guess they were all at the Bombay Times party in Mumbai!!!!
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The Power and Pull of Page 3…


Since I have been travelling extensively over the past month, I have been doing my own ‘Page 3’ research in every town and city. The findings are fascinating! Since the entire Page 3 Phenomenon started right here, sixteen years ago, and just grew and grew into this mammoth-sized monster devouring every wannabe in its path, it is a subject that requires closer scrutiny. Nearly every local paper now has its own version of Page 3 – including all those holier- than- thou establishment papers that used to sniff derisively and claim they would never succumb! A quick trip to Aurangabad opened my eyes still further. For one, this is the city that got the world talking by placing a single order for 151 Mercedes cars in one dramatic go! Since then, another order for 28, top of the line, S- Class Mercs ( over a crore each) has also been placed – that’s what I call a real Diwali in Stuttgart, the home of Mercedes. Local papers regularly cover the lives of those richie rich car owners and their incredibly lavish life styles. They are happy being super celebs in Aurangabad even if the rest of India hasn’t heard of them. Ditto in Hyderabad, which boasts of over 10 Phantoms, as many Maseratis and countless Bentleys. Who owns these fancy wheels? Who knows? But they cruise around the throbbing city with posh owners at the wheel… the same ones who feature morning after morning on Page 3 partying with one another in palatial homes that resemble Italian \ Balinese palaces. Same story in Pune, Ludhiana, Chandigarh, Bangalore. That’s where the wealth is and that’s also where a new generation of Page 3 regulars is being spawned. I was pretty amazed by what I saw in Chattrapur last week – bet you don’t know where Chattarpur is, right? It’s about an hour and a half outside Delhi, and is rapidly becoming the Alibag of that part of the world. This is where those sprawling farm houses are located. This is also where the latest Porsche scrapes past a smoke spewing tractor on a narrow dirt track. And village women wearing grubby ghagras gather firewood as memsaabs clad in glam gowns rush off into the still night driven by haughty chauffeurs at the wheels of blood red Ferraris. This new breed of Page 3’s neither knows nor cares who rules the social roost in Mumbai. They are smug and happy in their neighbourhood being Queen Bees of their own party set. They preen and pose for friendly photographers they’re on first name terms with and airily take their places on the front rows during fashion week as if it’s their birthright. Which is why it becomes doubly embarrassing when desperate for recognition Mumbai socialites crash Delhi parties and shamelessly network with people who wonder how they are there in the first place! This happened right in front of my eyes on the lawns of the French Embassy, but the host was too polite and well mannered to throw the woman out. On her part, she had flown in that morning and muscled her way into the soiree, determined not to be left out of such a high profile, high powered evening. Being a fixture on Page 3 in Mumbai did not guarantee her an entrée into society in Delhi. But let’s hand it to her for brazenly trying! Next time, she may even succeed.
Such is the power and pull of Page 3.
Take a bow, Team B.T. Or, better still….. HIDE!

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Mumbai Masti for the Obamas....?

Guys.... impossible to get away from Diwali Dhamakas.... but I'm determined to escape. Have been upto my eyeballs in work and some engaging distractions as well.... more masala khabar... but break ke baad. Gotta run!!!
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This appeared in Sunday Times....


Just how big is The Big ‘O’…?

Welcome to India, Obamaji!
Now, now…. calm down everyone. The Big ‘O’ isn’t what your wicked mind is thinking. The reference is to ‘Obama’, but yes, his virgin visit to Bharat Desh can definitely be dubbed orgasmic. When was the last time Superman flew into town accompanied by a designer clad Lois Lane? Bill Clinton’s visit in 2002 doesn’t really count – he was a disgraced, Lewinsk-ed ex-Prezzie at the time, and even his embroidered, bandmaster-style bandgala could not salvage the tattered image. This one is the real biggie. The most powerful man in the world ( take a walk, Putin, and don’t forget your black belt) is all set to wow the most powerful democracy on earth – it is likely to become the ultimate power fest. A team of 1,500 honchos, U.S. warships in our waters, fighter planes in our skies. God knows what else, where else. Let’s see who blinks first. As the Americans would put it , “ We have issues.” Nothing all that serious, nothing that cannot be resolved, nothing that could embarrass either administration. But. And that’s an important ‘but’. Obamaji has to ‘get’ India. That needs a certain instinct, a certain mindset. India is unique. And it’s high time world leaders understood and accepted our uniqueness. It is also high time we stopped over explaining ourselves, or apologizing for being ‘like that only’. If Obama listens to his mind and heart rather than his minders, perhaps the dialogue that emerges will be more meaningful. He is an astute and clever man. Right now, his ratings are tanking almost as dramatically as Tiger Woods’. Yes, his image is taking a battering back home. And yes, Biwi No.1 Michelle is loved and adored while he is watched and judged. But that’s how it goes – it ain’t a fair world.
The India he will air drop into may delight and surprise him, if he allows himself to respond and react to the country minus political blinkers. We really are good guys…. annoying and impossible… but essentially good. Our openness, our over garrulous nature and that seriously annoying penchant for making faux pas after faux pas lands us in hot water frequently. But looked at another way, rather us across a negotiating table than the inscrutable Chinese or the wily Pakistanis. Not that Obama has to pick at his point, but a visit on this level says a hell of a lot through non-verbal communication. Obama has not been perceived as a ‘friend of India’ . His harsh comments about outsourcing have not gone down well, even though we know they were made for domestic consumption. His position on Pakistan sponsored terrorism has been more wishy washy than we would have wished. But the timing of his visit couldn’t have been better. And it is upto us – not him - how we leverage it. At the time of writing, his exact programme remains unclear ( security concerns ). People in South Mumbai are starting to mew a little about the inconvenience his visit will cause them. They should be told to shut up and put up. It’s a small price to pay if the trip pulls off a coup or two. Strategically speaking, his visit is expected to send out a strong and powerful signal to our neighbours. But more than that, it is expected to boost our morale via a couple of juicy commercial deals.
Obama’s visit comes at an auspicious time – Diwali. We should pull out all the stops and let the guy experience The Festival of Lights in all its dazzling glory. Instead of marching him off to predictable and boring destinations to ‘pay homage’ to assorted oldie goldies, let him hang with the young of India. Mumbai is one of the most buzzed cities on earth – a city as much about survivors as achievers. Let’s hope someone up there has the imagination and guts to get the Obamas to meet the asli Mumbaikars once he’s done bonding with the usual suspects. The Obamas are young, hip, cool and very today. They should definitely experience a bit of Mumbai Masti.Let them check out the electric scene for themselves – show them the real illuminations – the earthen diyas that light up the entrance of every humble shanty in Mumbai’s throbbing slums. Why make our poor invisible? Leave that trick to the Chinese. Why not let Obama look into the shining eyes of our street urchins at traffic lights – share a few genuine smiles with them rather than schmooze with the fake smileswallas?Not likely, right? No matter. The Big O is coming to woo India. Let us co-opt him into the Great Big Indian Family…. Bollywood –style, with naach gaana, band baaja and an ‘item number’ composed in his honour…. and no, the lyrics definitely can’t go, “ Barack Badnaam Hua, Darrrrrling India ke liye.”

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Dogless. But not Godless....!

Since this column is about the Maldives, I thought, why not lagao one more image????
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Our man in the Maldives….

Surprises start at the Male airport itself! I was in the Republic of Maldives last week to attend the first ever Hay Literature Festival, which in the words of Festival Director Andy Fryers, was to ‘celebrate the archipelago both as a global treasure and as a rich and diverse heritage drawing on two thousand years of poetry, music and art.” The lovely lady who met the flight looked like a model ( she blushed when I asked, and confessed she did indeed model as a teenager).Now her sights were set slightly higher - she was looking at a career in politics, while working closely with the 42- year-old President Mohammed Nasheed . As we waited in the VIP Lounge for other writers from Britain (‘Atonement’ author Ian McEwan, and Peter Godwin ), she filled me in on what was going on in this unique nation made up of over a thousand islands that dot the vast, startlingly blue ( fourteen shades – I counted!) Indian Ocean. The current President is hugely popular she said ( others beg to differ ), and is savvy enough to attract world attention to the plight of his nation that just may disappear from the face of this earth due to global warming and rising water levels. Yup. He’s the same bloke who had scheduled an underwater cabinet meeting during the Copenhagen Convention in order to underline the gravity of the situation. Oh dear, I thought to myself as I stepped out of the airport and straight into a waiting speedboat at the jetty which was less than twenty metres away. What if the airport sank while the Lit Fest was on ? What if the island where the swish Soneva Gili Resort( an eco friendly, but pocket unfriendly at $1,000 a night) is located, went under during my short stay? Shudder, shudder. Durga! Durga! I prayed as the speedboat’s dashing captain ( surely a can of gel went into spiking his hair into those impressive peaks?), took off jauntily, hitting top speed in under a few seconds. Soon we were in the middle of the choppy waters and I could swear the levels were rising even as we slapped the surf hard and my spine felt like it would snap into several pieces if this insanely rough ride carried on much longer.
That was some introduction to these mysterious and magical isles, where locals sound like they are conversing in Tamil, look Malayali, but insist they are Indo-Aryan. At the world famous resort, with its ‘Robinson Crusoe Villas’ ( built on stilts over azure lagoons and only accessible by boats ), my Man Friday Nawaz pointed helpfully to a cycle balancing against the bleached wooden door and said, “ Remember – no news, no shoes. That’s the rule here.” The cycle stared back cheekily challenging me to give those stiff calf muscles an instant workout. I definitely needed a drink. A gallon of champagne. My nerves were seriously on edge. I looked towards the horizon and saw storm clouds gathering. An ominous sign. The tsunami had claimed 86 lives, and 26 more are still missing. Tidal waves were not unheard of in this part of the ocean. There were sharks in dem waters… and I don’t swim. Nawaz grinned wickedly and said, “ Relax… you are perfectly safe here.” Oh yeah?? Then why was the cabinet meeting held underwater? Big fat raindrops fell over my head as I tried to follow Nawaz’s advice and relax. In this scrupulously eco- friendly resort – the brain child of Sonu and Eva Shivdasani, the emphasis is on nature and open air living…. the shower area is a small walk away over wooden boards and you can technically wave out to passing fishermen as they haul the tuna into the nets. I can see why this resort is so popular with Europeans in search of strong sun and complete privacy. Imagine my distress – the only other guests besides the pale Europeans were paler Japanese honeymooners canoodling in shady corners. India’s ‘official’ honeymooners ( Shashi T and Sunanda P) were expected but backed out at the last minute. So…there I was rattling around in this vast space all by myself… and sorry to say, I wasn’t thinking about global warming. I was looking at those menacing clouds and wondering how I’d survive the night with the wind howling through that thatched roof ( what if it blew away?).As it turned out, after a splendid solo dinner at the main restaurant ( a couple of glasses of New Zealand White, and I was ready to swim with the sharks) my nerves had settled sufficiently to handle a crowded day at the Lit Fest…. then on Male. But first there was the time difference to figure out. For some really odd reason, most islands operated on their own sweet time which varied from an hour to two hours from Male time. Visitors have to adjust and re-adjust their watches three times a day if they do go island hopping.
I decided to hop on to my guide Yasser’s bike in what is considered one of the densest cities in the world. With a population of 1,20,000 on a tiny island that can be covered at a leisurely pace in under an hour, the natives are getting restless. Very restless. Democracy is alien to this 900- year- old Islamic Republic which has actually been built by several friendly countries over the years. The Chinese have donated a spacious mosque next to the main square that accommodates 5,000 believers, the Japanese have built the schools, the Germans have contributed a stadium , Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and others have done their bit, while India has given them the Indira Gandhi Hospital. We have also trained their Coast Guard and army , and will be building two out of the three new airports. Lucky guys, these Maldivians. Sab kuch moofat! Yasser told me proudly there were no ‘poor people’ in his country. No dogs, either, I commented. He shook his head and stated emphatically, “ Dogs have never existed on these islands. We don’t allow dogs … they are un-Islamic. But people can keep cats.” Phew! Dogless. But not Godless. That’s a relief.
By the time I reached the residence of our man in the Maldives , Dnyaneshwar Mulay ( High Commissioner), I was dehydrated and ready to head home to Mumbai. Shri Mulay is a Sanskrit scholar and the youngest ambassador in South Asia. This bright IFS guy from Kolhapur is obviously doing an efficient job of keeping the Maldivians in good humour while safeguarding India’s interests in the region. He has big plans. One of those involves making sure all three new airports are built by Indian companies. He also spearheads inspiring programmes ( Project DynanDeep and Gram Parivartan) to provide quality education to under privileged kids, and an ideal village, back in his hometown .After a quick coffee and chivda at his home, I had to rush back to my Robinson Crusoe existence. But at least my Man Friday was around to make sure I didn’t fall off the jetty and end up in those amazing waters as a pre-dinner appetizer for those hungry sharks.

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Masochistic Mumbai... ha ha ha!

Blogdosts, sorry about my absence. Since I don't possess a Blackberry ( only pimps and courier service delivery boys need one), I stay pretty unconnected when I travel. Have been doing a lot of that last week - Delhi and Hyderabad over four days.... and may need to repack that Samsonite yet again.
This was my first hand experience of the really, really swanky lifestyle of Dilli's billionaire 'farmers' who own as many Ferraris as tractors! Those amazing 'farm houses' are more like Italian pallazzos - decadent and gorgeous. How the super rich suffer! I agreed to be designer Ritu Beri's 'show stopper' at the ongoing fashion week - which must qualify as a fashion first ( am I the world's oldest show stopper on the cat walk - do check , guys). Did I enjoy myself? Hell, ya! Fashion is fun - don't take it or yourself too seriously!
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Dr. Raghu Ram from Hyderabad may be equally wealthy, but his lifestyle is somewhat more restrained! With four FRCS degrees to his name ( yes, you got that right - FOUR!), the good doc left a cushy life behind in Edinburgh, to come home and set up a unique initiative for women suffering from breast cancer. This was after his mother Ushalakshmi was diagnosed with the disease a few years earlier. Since that turning point, 'Raghu' as he is popularly called, has made it his life's mission to generate awareness for the second biggest killer in the world. Every minute, a woman dies of breast cancer somewhere - that's a pretty chilling statistic. I was there to support this worthy cause and spread the word - early detection saves lives.
Between the event and interviews, I did make the time for the best biryani on earth, to say nothing of the mirchi ka salan. No matter what chefs across India claim about their version of Hyderabad's signature dish, it has to be eaten in Charminar City for the real gourmet experience. Everything else is synthetic - like the people of Delhi!
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This appeared in Bombay Times yesterday and has elicited lots of wicked laughter!

Never a dull moment in Mumbai…..

Really…. this infuriating, frustrating and stinking megapolis drives you insane! But we , who live in this hell hole, can’t get enough of it! Call us Masochistic Mumbaikars…. but this city has an insidious way of crawling under ones skin… and staying there. Take a look at the past week’s happenings – action replay all the way. We have a miffed author ( Rohinton Mistry ), advising young Aditya Thackeray to read Tagore. Why Tagore and not Mein Kampf? We discover the Vice Chancellor of the Mumbai University has bluffed about his academic credentials. Terrorist Kasab goes on a spitting spree….nobody ducks. Kalmadi continues to waddle around claiming he was too ‘busy’ to attend the P.M.s felicitation function for medal winners. Sangeeta Jindal ( described as an ‘activist’ - that’s a hoot!), waltzes through Immigration and Custom’s with a crore of serious jools she ‘forgets’ to declare. Oh well… what’s a few solitaires here and there? Bebo and Saif offend presswallas by turning up two hours late at a promotional event. Mumbai traffic gets the rap for that one. Abha Singh, General Post Office Director, discovers a 200 year-old secret tunnel under the heritage structure. Wonder who played hide-and-seek in it? Balasaheb threatens a Burqa ban. Ouch! Robert Vadra boasts he can win any poll in India but prefers to sell brassware abroad. A historic movie studio ( Kamalistan) gets sold for a pittance. The lovely ladies of cricket ( Shilpa and Preity) refuse to hang up their gloves, insisting owning a cricket team is a passion and not a profession. Mallika hisses and hisses but the naagin finds no takers. Her fans prefer her kissing to her hissing, clearly. Niranjan Hiranandani says the CBI has victimized him. P.F. (poor fellow, not Provident Fund). Bipasha Basu confesses she weighs 58 kilos but was willing to don a 50 kilo outfit ( for 50 lakhs???). Ali Zafar, the hottie from across the border boasts he was going to make a rock star of his co-star Katrina Kaif. Err…. wasn’t she made one by someone else? The Ladies who Lunch, continue lunching and munching without ever gaining a microgram . Yes, even at some outrageously over priced restaurants featuring a great chef at an even greater price (cheaper by far to fly to London and sample his cuisine at his signature joint). Ekta Kapoor sort of announces her intention to find a suitable boy (NOW!!!) by turning up in semi-bridal gear at a soiree.Akshay and Twinkle make it known they won’t be hosting their Diwali taash party this year ( leaving all those who had spent hours and zillions on their taash outfit, feeling really dumb). But there is hope – Jumping Jack and wife will probably go ahead with theirs.Fresh forensic evidence found under Viveka Babajee’s nails suggests she had gotten into a violent fight before she died. But who’s saying it was with boy friend Gautam Vohra? Definitely not Gautam Vohra himself. Babies ( male , of course) continue to disappear ( a few reappeared as well) and the cops remain clueless ( what else is new?). And Arnab Goswami single handedly demolishes all arguments on every conceivable issue on his nightly panel. India shuddered and shook.
Now for the big news : Bombay Times turns sixteen over the Halloween weekend and every witch in town is getting that broom ready to zoom into the Taj and create havoc. Fortunately, most invitees, especially the society ladies, won’t have to try too hard. They look and behave the part perfectly. As for costumes, darling…. why not raid your own horrific wardrobes and scare the day lights out of the unwary?? Trick or treat, anybody??

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Assuming you are interested.....!

A bit of self- indulgence doesn't hurt....!
This one is for those blog dosts who live overseas and may have missed the current issue of a magazine I am exceedingly proud of ( ahem - I was the founding editor many, many moons ago!).

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Chauffeurs on the catwalk.....

Sunset over the archipelago

In conversation with Anita Sethi at the Hay Festival

Book signing, post- Lit Fest session

Arrival st Soneva Gili, outside Villa 11
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This appeared in Bombay Times yesterday....

Star chauffeurs on the catwalk next??

Strange… and not so strange! I received a longish text message from an international bon vivant, one of India’s sharpest dressers and a total man about town. Of course, he shall go nameless. This was a day after one of the countless fashion weeks ( I have lost track). It read : “My driver wants to walk the ramp ever since his friend who works for a big star, was told by his boss that he’d give him a chance at the next show.” The longish sms expressed anguish and concern at the mockery that is being made in the name of fashion. His lovely and lissome wife agreed. Both these individuals take fashion – international couture in particular - most seriously. They are regulars at showings in Milan, Paris, London and New York, so one can take their word for it when they say what passes for ‘couture’ in India is nothing but a bridal collection…. with a great deal of tamasha and drama thrown in for good measure. I love tamashas and dramas, on and off the catwalk, so I am not complaining. Designers who jump into the pool with their models, others who roar on to the stage on vintage motorbikes…. why not? How dull fashion would be if all we saw on that ramp were great clothes ! Fashion in India is like a headless chicken or a riotous carnival, take your pick. And that’s the way we like it. Ditto ditto for our amazing Bollywood films which make no sense ( two senseless biggies coming up soon ). This is us – illogical and absurd. I told our morose fashionistas the same thing, but they remained unconvinced. ‘Why should we attend couture collections that feature Bollywood stars and not professional models? Is Bollywood that bored?” the nattily dressed gentleman demanded. I thought he was pleading on behalf of the professional models who are facing pay cuts and even joblessness because of the influx of Bollywood on the hallowed catwalk. It doesn’t matter whether those starlets on impossibly high stilettoes stumble, fall, giggle, wave, blow kisses or pop out of their gowns. They still receive catcalls, taalis, seetis, even a standing ovation from their cheer leaders in the front row.But no, my friend was not pleading the models’ case, he was merely stating the obvious – designers who rely heavily on their Bollywood buddies to bail them out during these killingly competitive shows, display nothing more than their lack of creativity. When there is an ideas -crisis, get your glam pals to strut the stuff, is how discerning people are beginning to view these occasions. But frankly, I rather like the idea of star-chauffeurs on the ramp. Some of those fellows are better looking than their employers and throw serious attitude, too. Bring them on!
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Now that the Common Wealth Games are behind us, we can start planning for the festive season ahead in right earnest . The endearing Indian ‘Jugaad’ came to our rescue yet again, and deserves a huge gold medal to itself! Our ability to improvise in and adjust to any and every situation , has been lauded by the world. Pulling off these Games with only a couple of minor hitches, has been nothing short of a miracle. That we also managed to collect a respectable number of medals , is another miracle. But let this remain an important lesson for us before we get carried away and start bidding for the Olympics. A sober assessment of what exactly we gained, and whether those crores of tax payers’ money that were spent on what is after all a great big party, were worth it in terms of returns. Are we saying India’s pride comes with a 73,000 crores price tag??

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Is the Bigg Boss in the house....?

Sorry about the late uplaod of the Aurangabad pictures... but here they are.... just to give you an idea of what the campus of the Rafiq Zakaria College for Women looks like. The lady in a green salwar-kameez is Fatma Zakaria - the moving force behind the college. The others are teachers and students of this extraordinary institution that has already transformed the lives of thousands of women in the historic city of Aurangabad. Ladies and gentleman, you are looking at the future of India. If more of our Muslim women receive the same opportunities to a great education, India will be that much stronger as a nation. Jai Hind!

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This appeared in the Sunday Times yesterday...

Is the Bigg Boss in the House….?

Oh God!! So much hot air – not just in that 40 crore helium balloon floating over the stadium at the closing ceremony – but all over India. There are those who’ll be saying, ‘Thank God the Games are over…. and India’s pride is intact’. Just like they’re saying, “Naak nahi kata, yaar.” All those horrible people who had criticised the blessed Games ( villains and vamps in media, please stand up!),should now curl up and die, eat their words, suffer! India is crowing, “ Look world - we did it! We put up a great big show – kya kool hai hum”. Well… okayyyy guys. Sure we did it. What exactly that ‘it’ is, don’t ask. Our medals haul? The way our beleaguered athletes jumped, ran, stretched, punched, lifted and shot their way to glory? Of course! Our grand finale which once again relied on tribal dances without a trace of irony? Hmmm… why not? Don’t we want to watch Zulu dancers when in Africa? Red Injuns and Cowboys in Amrika? Maoris in New Zealand? Aborigines in Australia? Buddy, best to give the duniya what it wants – glimpses of incredible India, Kalaripayatu, Naga land dancers, why…. let’s also bring on those bagpipers in kilts as a bow to our Colonial Cousins across the seas. This is us – we are bhel puri and dahi misal, chorchuri and avial, a messy but irresistible mix that celebrates the country’s diversity. Sanskrit chants, drummer boys, mantras and tantras, lasers and techo trance – the closing ceremony had it all, even as a grim faced Sonia Gandhi sat through the proceedings like she was presiding over a public hanging. Oh dear. Perhaps that was a taste of things to come? Though, knowing how we generally deal with a successfully executed national event ( shock and awe, followed by euphoria ), chances are we’ll remain on a high for a while, congratulating ourselves on something we actually managed to pull off. That’s the good part. The understandable part. If India is taking a collective bow right now, it is well deserved. God knows there is not all that much we do with any level of excellence, so a little chest puffing is essential, given the sleazy background to the Games.
Now comes the hard part.
Will there be a post mortem ( mind you, the correct term is just that – post mortem, not witch hunt) now that the party’s over, and the track suits have been moth balled for a while? Or are we going to say philosophically ‘All’s well that ends well – full stop.” One certainly hopes not. Last week’s drama involving The Czar, Commissioner, Emperor – whatever it is that Lalit Modi calls himself these days - unfolded like a vintage Salim-Javed script. How so? The Modi-Kalmadi episode is like a classic story of brothers separated at birth. But there’s a small twist this time. Instead of a good brother (cop) and a bad brother ( dacoit), there were just two bad boys ( no prizes for guessing the other baddie’s name). Both were given a carte blanche by someone( we still don’t know the identity of this mysterious person). James Bond had a license to kill. Modi and Kalmadi had a license to make a killing! Will the average Joe ever get to know the dirty details? Naah. A lot ( seriously… it’s one hell of a lot) of lolly was made – no questions asked. We were told there was a Bigg Boss on the scene monitoring the stash. Who were the other inmates in the house? Now, that’s asking! Were there any Pakistani molls involved? Local thugs with criminal records? Ex- beauty queens and trashy models? Drugs, sex and rock’n’ roll? Come on, guys. Grow up. Boys and their toys go together. We can keep digging, and some foolish journos can keep hyperventilating. But the Mystery of the Missing Millions will never be solved. You know why ? Nobody really wants to know. Most importantly, nobody cares. We confuse efficiency with morality. We are so sick of incompetence, so embarrassed by our inability to get things off the ground, that anybody who is seen to ‘deliver’ suddenly becomes a demi- God. Right now, even Kalmadi’s most trenchant critics are shaking their heads and saying, “ Maan liye… he did it!” As if that feat nullifies the rot that preceded it . Modi’s sworn dushman willingly concede, “ Boss…. only a Lalit could have pulled off the IPL.” All true. We adore bulldozers and bull ****ters equally. We worship people we believe are “capable”. Capable of what?? Don’t be stupid. We know the answer.
Kaun Banega Crorepati? A bit late in the day to be asking such a dumb question.
Ab jaaney bhi do, yaaron. India won. We lost.
Happy Dusshera.

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