Make in India

Not everyday one comes across an event like this. The grandeur of it is dumbfounding. Follow your instincts and keep checking cells after cells or halls after halls, or if you're the serious types follow the schedule list, but the eternity of the hope of future-development's manifestations either put in by the originals or the prototypes would only keep amusing your mind and tiring your body; especially legs.

And again, who would complain when there's a cafeteria which quenches thirst with chilled beer. Yes! You read it right. BEER! Coffee is also there along with some snack stuff, but who would care to know about it. Correct? 

Yes! It's a different type of a gig. Where the orchestrated Jcbs, earth moving machinery dance to the rhythms of flute in sync. These Jcbs bucking just like the wild horses or an adrenaline junkie doing a wheelie. Standing on there hind-whatever it is. Simply awesome! Oh wait! BEML showed their mining beast as well; around three storeys height or maybe more. Tyres only of 20 odd feet. Oof!

If not for all these and many more interesting things, there were such promising speeches and seminars conducted by dignitaries of the state and the country to enlighten, allure, engage the common man and the international corporate world along with our corporate geniuses for a better scope of business development in this country. 

Again, it's not everyday that you come across  the Chief-minister, the Defense minister, the Education minister, the Municipal commissioner and many more such as these.

Let's Make in India! 

Some interesting photos from day1: 

THE PROCESS OF BUYING A MOBILE PHONE BACK THEN

Engrossed was I, totally oblivious of the time, while working at office that I had a sale to attend to. A Flash sale!

I opened the Flipkart app on my iPhone and waited for the sale to begin for which I had pre-registered a week before. As the clock struck noon, as my memory reads, I hit the ‘buy’ button simultaneously to have a futile outcome. I was sure, even with the speed of Flash I would have been late. Alas! The limited edition mobile phone that I was trying for, to gift mother, to surprise her on Valentine’s Day, was out of stock and of my reach.

Disheartened, I got into my cubicle, all distracted trying to focus on work again. Focus, then seemed like a lady of very high standards; too exasperating to woo. The more I tried, the more she ran away. To clear my head of these chemical imbalances I distracted myself by turning towards the busy street, through the glass doors. The unfailing streets were loaded with conspicuous dust billowing, erratic throng of people with vehicles running helter-skelter; presumably honking their heads off. This was usual and if someday, the streets go anomalous, it’s safe to presume an India-Pak Cricket match going on. Once, when brooding over the loss of the cell phone, I came across a family crossing the street and then, the already disturbed and distracted mind, went wandering the thoroughfares of nostalgia.

Back in the second half of the first decade of 21^st century, mobile phones started inundating the markets. The transition of mobile phones from the basic to the smart phones happened like a knockout match of Mike Tyson; one killer punch and the match was over.

All I care about that time was the occasion of buying a new cell phone; weeks of research, suggestions from friends and families and then chalking out a feasibility graph with respect to the budget and finalizing the product. Now, this was the background check done at home, the real fun was hitting the Mobile-phone seller’s shop and coming vis-à-vis an ocean of choices to opt for. Slowly, steadily going through the various dummies kept in front and the originals well packed in minted boxes, nicely displayed over the shiny glass shelves. And not just desiring for the best but lusting for it. If all these displays were not enough than there was a strong sales-force of a smart salesperson playing with your mind, finally upselling!

The euphoria of eclectic noises of sellers, customers, queries, features making one dumbfounded and finally surprised at one’s pick after getting out of shop to the corresponding model pre-fixed after a detailed study at home.

For me, it was like preparing for a festival – immense researches, discussing with friends, accompanying father and brothers to the mobile-shops, seeing those display pieces, taking in, incredulously, every bit of the bullshit that the salesman fed me, reconsidering the budget discussed at home, the warnings about not throwing any tantrums in the shops. Definitely not to roll on the floor for an out of the reach mobile handset.

Finally, after all fixed; seeing father do the payment with sparkling eyes and buy the piece you desired, lusted for; getting home, with an attempt to hide the conspicuous grin and a ever-happy and excited mind.

The unboxing, I need not describe, like handling a little baby and carrying it along, even more meticulously; at least for a week.

No matter what phone I ever bought back then, I straight away jumped to explore the gaming section.

p.s.: Online buying has killed the buzz.

  

The Gen- Z

“Nuclear family” is the new way of living; at least in the always-forward-on-copying-blindly-from-the-west India. It, indeed, is a rare occasion when a whole family gathers and spends the evening peacefully without grappling. It is a rare, isn’t it?

On the trailing end of Diwali comes the auspicious day of Bhai-Duj; a day, much like Raksha Bandhan,  where a brother swears for the protection of his sister/s and sister/s ripping him off of his bank account.

Ours being a big family, we had a get-together, with all agreeing on a decided venue; performed all the ceremonies and then followed our year old tradition: Partying!

The simplicity of the day being the children, YES! The Gen-Z, of our family, ranging from 3 years old to 13 years old.  All my nieces!  

When, post the ceremony, we all, mostly the siblings, gathered around the table, obviously, for the alcohol’s and good old days’ sake. An altogether different party had started inside one of the bedrooms: The Party of the Gen-Z!

My nieces, all from the different parts of Mumbai, seldom meeting each other, gelled-in like they were the best of friends – Chuddi-buddies; a few recently being able to walk, talk and chill without continuous support/crying for their parents; leaving their parents some respite.

When the party on our side opened the bottles for the first round, the voices of the Team Gen-Z rose, after an exchange of general greetings and gifts.

We taking down the first round; they chattering about the vacation. We with no enthusiasm, waiting for the alcohol to kick some enthusiasm within us; they were already at the pinnacle of the enthusiasm. And voices, of course!

Second round, got us talking; they already into different sets of team and with a ready plan, only waiting to execute. We got to card games – money based gambling. They resorted to power-based card games: Doraemon trading cards, Pokemon…

The rounds went on and so did the clamoring inside the bedrooms. Their games kept changing and so did the level of eclectic noises keep changing. They played from Horror games, to adventurous games, to accessorizing dolls or setting up a kitchen set to chasing each other madly … The last game they ended on was everyone’s childhood special – Hide & Seek.

 Where we were onto alcohol, to make us ‘siblings’ chit-chat, and like each other, at least for one evening, those young and fresh minded, with less or no fights got into accepting each other the way they were and in a way showing us to how to make friends or how to live a life.

No egos, No pride.

Well, in the end, a family that drinks together dances together.

A last round for the evening was yet to be played before the dinner was served. Both the groups got together and danced on the Bollywood’s dancing-numbers. It was nothing but delightful to see everyone heaving, jiggling, jumping with so much energy and seeing those children dance is a sight for which anyone would give away a 1000days without a second thought. Thus, ending the whole ceremony on a happy note.

Happy Diwali!

Let’s Sneak-Out

“Yay! Finally the exams are over… come down guys.” This was the common dialogue running through the lobbies and the passages of our societies when we were in class 6^th, 7^th, 8^th, 9^th, or 10^th. “Tonight we won’t sleep. Hell, YEAH!"

Let's Sneak Out, Play!

Normally, back then, in the late ‘90s and early 2000, we were maniacs; like what a crab is to water and holes, we were to Cricket or playing. On a slightest window, we all had sneaked out from our parental monitoring just to be with our friends and hit a few balls. We were no different.

Adolescent got us friends for life; those imbecile groups of boys and girls incessantly vying and thousands of unsaid protocols to be followed, which we worshiped reverently. Coming up with codes which only the group would understand and even worse was the tagging of a name. A name tagged once, was tagged for eternity. Nonetheless, the adolescent was playful with every excuse for getting down, to be madly in love in an one sided love affair, attending schools and tuitions post school; bunking classes to go take a match, or to watch a movie, or to end a skirmish, or the most dreadful one, to take a girl out.  A thrill for the chase made life jubilant.

Now, the tables have turned, times have changed, whenever an exam ends, we hit to the nearest bar and get our drunk-brains out. Ranting about the miserable life, the upturns, the lost love, the broken-hearts, the cheats, pretending to be happy, dancing until we crash in beds and not waking-up before midday.  

A miracle took place, when we, just after the exams, unanimously agreed onto going out to play. Cricket!  

Cricket!? It won’t be wrong or far-stretched to say that none of us had played for a really long time. In the daily survival for the mundane, we had lost the definition of fun, enjoyment, excitement. Playing for an hour meant endless fun followed by two days’ of body ache. Body Ache?

Challenge accepted!

Location was set: a friend’s society with our pitch – a concrete based. Superb Bounce!

Without much dilly-dallying, after our exams, we headed for the location. We began and lasted for nearly 150 minutes with everyone going out of breath. Panting!

We are not the best players, none of us, but we definitely are a fun to watch and play with. We ran at our pace; panted more than the covered miles; the jiggling protruding bellies and asses; the fight over water much to one’s delight. No meaningless drunk nights and dancing in the clubs could give you that what a fatso friend (Vinit Shah) of yours, running like a Rhino, between the wickets just to be on a safer side.   

For a brighter side, how much fun would it be to first get drunk, all of us, and then make that fatso run?

Evil, I’m!  

Sing it, Nation!

What is it like standing in dark, with hundreds of people, shoulder to shoulder, crooning a melody?

I came vis-à-vis the melody, crooned in the dark with scores of people standing upright, the last time I went to watch a movie – The Martian –  in the PVR cinemas just across my home, with my family. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the regulars of a cinema that runs before a feature presentation begins; in fact it was mundane! This time though, the set of actions that I ran through were unprecedented.

I, on a Sunday evening, was among the few lucky ones to have had our seats reserved – God bless internet booking! To the likes of every family, the father and the son were ready before time and the mother and the daughter were dilly dallying over what to wear. We were late!

Now, thanks to PVR cinemas for providing a buffer of fifteen minutes; full of movie trailers and undesired commercials.

 Sing it, Nation!

We got into the auditorium when some commercials were going on. I helped myself assume my seat next to a lady who had got the whole row occupied with a dozen or more children, whom I couldn’t fathom, again, because of the dark.

It is mandatory to play Jana-Gana-Mana, India’s National Anthem, before any movie begins. No sooner had I got myself comfortable than the big screen flashed – Kindly stand-up for the National Anthem. I stood up!

Now there runs an unsaid protocol wherein one needs to stand-up in order to pay respect when a National Anthem is played, be it of any country. If one doesn’t stand-up or is lazing around, then the moral policing eyes of the people, who are standing, whether in real respect or not, will give a look of disgust that would pierce deeper than a dagger and compel you to stand-up; often this moral policing is done by the people who doesn’t get a head or tail of patriotism or its values.

I often valued these principles at mediocrity, but was always pro-active at such occasions, however brief they maybe. I stood up! My parents and sister, would either hum or croon the anthem with me grinning at them. I didn’t! I didn’t because I couldn’t as I believed I would kill the harmony and also a part of mine was hesitant.

The National Anthem began, as melodiously as it could get, with some old and lazy people still managing to get on their feet. A big tricolored flag flashed heaving on the screen. I looked towards my right, my folks had already began humming and me showing them my teeth in the dark in a very awkward standing position. It was nothing new. I was surprised when I heard the croons coming from my left. The noble lady with all the children was crooning it with all having their right hand on their respective chests. They all were so enthusiastic and so true to themselves. Their singing had purity and was rose-water bathed. It was serene!

Slowly and steadily, the rows ahead and behind ours picked it up and gradually went up to almost each and every one picking up the rhyme to either humming or crooning it. I was mesmerized by such unprecedented happenings in the auditorium brought by those bunch of children and a lady, supposedly their teacher.

The 52 seconds rhyme had its effect on everyone. I, though picked it up late, maybe last, but got along and hummed it if not sing the remains of the anthem. Nostalgia groped me; took me to the days of school, long missed, where we all would, every morning, sing some prayers and our national anthem with so much of pride and so much of love, incredulously; which only got layered under the saw-dust of mundane activities of growing-up.

Later, in the intermission, I figured out that those children were differently abled. I kowtowed in reverence!

p.s. The National Anthem with the differently abled school children and the one with the Army officials at the Siachen Glacier are the best as per me.