Brahmacharya quarter over, in theory

With the turbulent times at hand, I am not sure who all of us will or desire to live out a life of 100 years. Yet, the concept of life in our vedas talks of a being living through a century, split into four phases according to the prime roles and responsibilities. And by that structure, my friend, I have managed to wade my way through the first quarter as of today. And here I am filing my quarterly report.

Q1 was largely funded by equity investment from the holding company Mom-Dad Inc. Yes, the great part here is there is no debt - and if at all there is any, it definitely comes with the much used option to convert to equity at a later stage! In my case, the parent company had two older subsidiaries as well, which, fortunately, did well and turned cash generating sooner than expected and have now been hived off in JVs with other well-functioning conglomerates.

That sums up the holding structure and background.

Throughout Q1, our company has maintained a "lean" structure. We gained well in the initial years through able guidance from the parent company, coupled with their efforts to create brand recognition by word of mouth and by getting a healthy dose of first-stage certifications. As years passed, although the reliance on the parent company remained huge, there was a rising need to building strategic partnerships - at times cartels, mostly for mutual cooperation on the road to getting better performance. Our company is fortunate to have found these in the most unlikely of places - Cawnpore first, and then the sleepy metro of Kolkata. While helping improve the work environment of our company, these led us to a stage, more than a year back, when our company also turned cash generating.

Alongside, there were attempts to sign JV agreements with a few 'attractive' ventures, all of which never took off after the expression of interest stage, due to reasons ranging from "lack of cultural fit" to plain and simple 'meh'. Though that has protected cash outflows in the near term, management does not look upon this as very healthy for the initial years of Q2.

Here's most of what our stakeholders need to know from the quarter gone by. As we indulge in the bliss of a happy quarter, management maintains we will be happy with a flattish Q2 as well. Any improvement, which is hoped for, can lead to significant upside. Also, the rupee decline does not bother us as our sister concerns are now earning in foreign currency!

We would like to take this opportunity to thank the parent concern, the sister JVs and the invaluable strategic partners for being there all along, as we raise a toast to the good times to come! 

A Punjabi Delhi boy writes...

Well, I will start this piece with a disclaimer. This is not an attempt to justify 'Chennai Express' (I had better things to do than watch that movie - like blankly staring at my wall) or anything that King Khan does with his life or career. There was a time when I loved his brand of cinema, and now I despise it. And that topic is for another day.

Now, what I am talking about here is the rush of people who seem incredibly hurt by the portrayal of South India (or rather, Saauud India) in the movie (case in point: Letter from Modrrrasssii, although I could never figure out what the point of the article was), who then obviously go up in arms against all north Indians (who apparently are all represented by SRK and his ilk). Having had a lot of close friends from the southern states, and having seen the 'C Exp' trailer, I agree that the stereotyping is taken to ridiculous heights, is gibberish at most times and, unfortunately, is gut crushingly un-funny!

Yet, that is about this movie. Mocking depiction of the south Indian accent, their dressing, their food has been part of Bollywood for ages - the tanned Mahmood, the lungi clad Johnny Lever. There were a few of these that everyone found funny, everyone. That's what brings us to the definition of a caricature - a representation where the subject's peculiarities are presented in an exaggerated way.

Source: Toonpool, by Xavi

Did our dear Mannu (in pic) ever complain, "Bro, my forehead is not THAT big. Thik hai?". Or Mr. Bacchhan ever lash back at his gazillion imitators saying that he doesn't always have a hand to his hips while delivering his punchlines. Exaggeration, to preposterous limits, is an essence of comedy (or some forms of it). So, when someone says 'Yenna Rascalla' as he plunges into a pool of sambhar, and you know it doesn't mean a thing, just believe it might be funny to someone and move on.

Also, I have not seen (not in the recent years of the rise of Indian blogging) Bengalis, Parsis and Punjabis (much famous for their aggro-culture) come out so strongly against all the mockery dished out to their way of living. I am a Punjabi. When I went to my undergraduate college which hosted students from all parts of the country, the usual questions I encountered were, "So, you don't wear a turban?" (if you don't find this surprising, it is time to read on the differences between religious and geographical identities), and "Ha! Punjabi… why are you so thin?".

All punjabis do is fun and dance, and get out their guns the moment they see opposition. Jab we met? The sardar kid in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (I have a tremendous amount of respect for the Sikh religion and the baarah bajna joke sounds sad to me. Especially, because the original connotation of the phrase was actually heroic. Find time to read about it here). Yet, a lot of these depictions are colourful and funny and people have taken them in their stride. There are many like Khushwant Singh who have gone ahead and happily indulged in self-deprecating humour. 

What is painful is how bloggers who write against stereotyping are plagued by a false superiority complex, and a complete lack of awareness and insensitivity towards the other side of the story. Look at how this female Shahana (whose post became a twitter rage some years ago) places Gurdas Mann and Devender Bhullar (who is a murder convict) in the same league. And in the next line announces how everyone in her society listened to MS Subbalakshmi and played chess. Wow! One, she categorically states that Classical music is better than Punjabi folk music. So much for understanding other cultures. Also, she lives in the dream world where one Vishwanathan Anand, and a couple of good performers are enough to justify a culturally superior society.

In a subsequent paragraph, she casually jokes about Indians fleeing Pakistan during the partition. Before I read this article, I always thought that inspite of the vastness of the country, the wounds of partition ran all across our lands. Thanks to this girl, I realised that a lot of us who never heard the stories, never cared.

Then, the venom against Delhi. Yes, a lot is wrong with the capital city. A lot needs to change. Yet, saying that your city is free of vices or houses only the intellectually gifted is just hollow rambling. And most people have a bone to pick with every being in the city. So, the boys have all turned into open-jeep driving, gun-toting brutes whose zippers are as loose as their morals. And, no, there is no sparing the girls either. So, there is one section that is victimized by these uncouth brats, and the other goes to DU, always talks about the latest fashion trends and magazines, and is unquestionably DU(mb). It is not just a sweeping generalisation but one against all sorts of statistics and obvious anecdotal evidence. I am not even going to waste my time justifying my stance here. However, on a separate yet related note, I would like to clarify that Punjabis and Delhites are not necessarily the same.

Till a few years back, when my entire life had been spent staying at home and talking to people like myself, I had a lot of prejudices against people from other communities. A lot of them have been dispelled once I set foot out into the world. Some of them actually turned out to be true. I am sure I am still sticking to a lot of false ones. 

You see everybody holds stereotypes, and stereotyping is a convenient way to live one's life. Some find their way into media and become harder to shake off. Do you think a New Yorker understands the habits of a Alabama countryside dweller. This is bound to happen more in a country as large and as diverse as India. There's no point drawing out our swords (metallic or verbal) over this. 

It is a brilliant land we have - a smorgasbord of a million flavours. Take a bite from each. It is a heady mix.

P.S. Being a punjabi interested in music, I would like to say something here. It pains me when people think that Punjabi music is trash and all noise, and also believe that Sukhbir and Daler Mehndi define the music of the land. Honestly, some of their works are not really bad. Two, we actually have better dance and disco numbers if that is what you crave for. And, if you are looking for soul, listen to Gurdas Mann, Surjit Bindrakhiya and Hans Raj Hans (and this song Kangna, for I love it). Oh, you don't understand the lyrics? Even I don't when I hear the sounds from down south. Yet, I love the compositions there. Since when did music become servile to words?

Khaabo Peebo Sobo

It's now been over a year for me in Mumbai. As I sit in a cafe on lazy Sunday morning, I realise that although I have written more than once of my experiences in and impressions of the city, my tryst with an unmissable element of the city has escaped my writings thus far. One which resides far from the maddening crowd of the city - in a self-proclaimed uber-cool geography surprisingly called 'town'. Daddy's boy by day. Party hopper by night. The Sobo.

Say 'hello!' to uncle Klein

What follows is a quick guide to identifying one and/or becoming a part of the Sobo brigade. 

The way you dress is crucial. Sobo-hood is not just about wearing the hep brands, it is about carrying them as if it were no big deal. This is where the Sobo separates himself from the Def-Cols and GKs of apna Dilli. Now there wearing a brand means you've got to flaunt it - be it peering from under your pants or emblazoned across your thigh. Anyway, I'll avoid the dilli-gression and flip back to our Sobo. So, yes, keep the Teddy Smiths, the DKNYs a little subtle.

Moving on to where do you find them. Apart from the club and bar night scene, which we will come to later, the Sobo is mostly found venturing on the cobbled streets of 'Cool'-aba, having sunday breakfast at LPQ, or sipping away at Mondegar's and the like. A lot of people end up doing that. So, how do we spot our Sobo? Look for the ones wearing crocs - in all sorts of eye-stinging colours which do not go, at all, with the white or beige three-fourths they are wearing. The brands remain. But why are they dressed like this in an apparently 'chic' place? Because a trip to these eateries might be a much-looked forward outing for a burbs' guy but is a five-minute stroll for a Sobo, and he will amply make you aware of that.  

Another place where the Sobo is found is in the esteemed clubs - Gymkhana, Wellingdon - chatting away with friends, or relishing a game of golf in the greens. Why don't we delve in detail about these habits? That's because if you are spotting them there, you are probably one of them. More recently, the Sobo kids seem to have found their own 'Shivaji Park' in an arcade called Smaaash! Only money spent facing ten balls here could possibly feed all of Somalia. 

Moving on. Unlike the noveau-rich in Delhi, the Sobo does not feel the need to re-iterate who his Dad is to everybody at every restaurant or bar. He lets the enormous tab he runs and papaji's credit card do the talking. After the casual farewell handshakes, non-chalant hugs and the 'take it easy, he calls his driver and his porsche to come park right outside the doorway, as if the paparazzi are going to hound him if he shows his face too long in public.

Well, Sobo is not just a name. It is a way of life. As has been stated already, it is a lot more muted than being from South Delhi. A lot less arty than being a SoHo. But that's how they roll.

With this, I see the waiter approaching me. "How would you like your eggs, Sir?, he asks. 

"Townside up", I quip.