Reporting live from Colaba.

21:40hrs
Outside Hotel Taj

Walking down my usual route for a post-dinner smoke, I encounter a group of panicked looking people standing at the junction in front of the hotel. Then, a wave of people ran out, fanning away from the hotel's main entrance. This exodus is followed by several rounds of gunfire.

21:50hrs
Colaba Market

Out of breath, trying to get home as fast as I can, I clamber across the gate of the condominium that I stay. Another similar incident follows. Six, closely spaced reports, louder, more disturbing than the earlier ones. Then, rapid gunfire. This was a small machine gun. Had to be. Followed by a booming explosion.

== == == == == ==

It's not a safe time to be outdoors. Wherever you are, whoever you are. If you are reading this, then take grave notice of it.

If you know anyone, anywhere in Mumbai, call them up right now. Contrary to news reports, cell phone networks are functioning. Call your friends, tell them to stay indoors. Offices, homes, brothels- doesn't matter. Stay indoors.

If you see anything worth reporting, call the police directly. Don't believe everything you watch in the news. Don't trust anything. Not even a police van.

Don't panic. Don't go berserk. Stay home and ask everyone you know to do just that. You'll be just fine.

Don't step out.

== == ==

PS: Don't waste your time commenting on this. Warn people.

Who The Hell Are You?

The search for one's identity is an exhausting journey. For a very long time, I was stupidly patriotic, thinking that "Indian" was my only true identity. But out on the streets, the story is a little different. When a group of frightening hooligans corner you on the street, catching you completely off guard and you find yourself unprotected, your principles evaporate faster than water on a hot frying pan. You're suddenly a Marathi man. You say you belong here. Your identity narrows down a bit. You escape public humiliation. When you go home and begin searching for a place to park your car, you feel it unimagineably irksome that some wise yuppie had the audacity to park his swanky Honda Civic exactly in front of your house. In the slot you always thought rightfully belonged to you. Your identity is now a narrow slit. Your house.

So, who the hell are you?

The answer is simple; disturbing, but simple. You are a pawn. You are a servant in the hands of a higher order of existence, a little screw or nut or gear in the giant political machinery, a subject of experiment, a resource in the collosal vote bank, meant to be exploited and utilized for sectarian, political and financial gains of a few. You are an instance of a category, one in a thousand, broadly identical with a million or more others of your type, selectively targetted and carefully, deliberately and almost completely brainwashed into believing he needs this and the other until he becomes so consumed with being a consumer that buying and owning is all he can do, think of and aim for.

You are not free. Your fundamental right to speak is bound by language otherwise you shall be singled out, isolated, treated like an outlaw, like a hoodlum immigrant, like weed that grows in a rose bed until you find yourself compelled to leave or fall silent. Your fundamental right of movement, your freedom to go anywhere, is bound by your domicile certificate. You must prove that you have been there for a minimum of five, ten or fifteen years, before you can say you belong there, even if it is a territory within the same country to which you pay your taxes. You have no absolute freedom in the real world. Nor do you have any intellectual freedom.

Your intellectual freedom is just an illusion, cunningly created so that you feel proud of yourself when you allow the cacophony of others to flood your mind, as you begin to copy and imitate without reason the thoughts and beliefs of others in the name of liberal thinking.

Your happiness is a false signal, a dummy impulse, because you measure your happiness against standards, which corporations set for you. Owning a car, a luxury apartment, a Rolex watch or the most advanced in entertainment technology doesn't really make you happy. You feel happy because, among the horde of men and women trapped in the corporate game of fooling and hoodwinking society into thinking owning what they make, completes you as individuals, you are the one that owns the most expensive of those little trinklets.

Everything that you have created for yourself in your life- your goals, your ambitions, your perceptions of happiness, of accomplishment and fulfillment- are all borrowed ideals, copied beliefs. Your definition of your own self is one that was assigned to you by society, by people who, in the hierarchy of power, were above you. You by yourself are nothing. You by yourself are vacant, empty, incapable and confused.

You are a pawn. You are a lab rat. You are a rack in this huge filing cabinet called society for corporations, governments and political goons to stow their garbage in. You are a nameless, shapeless mass of nothingness, completeley helpless in the tidal wave of social transformations, lost in translation of a language you cannot understand, searching for words in a dictionary that is not complete.

Hi, common man!

I think that the one thing we truly dread is being lonely. Not everyone defines loneliness in the same way, which is why you have some people who shrivel up and decay when they're compelled to stay alone, deprived of all social contact, away from family and friends, while you also have some others who seem resplendent in all their seemingly lonesome glory even in the geometric center of the Mongolian desert. No, it's not necessarily the presence of people that we need, but something less elemental but more intimate.

True loneliness is when there is nobody to hear you. So even if you're working offshore on an oil rig in the North Sea and your bunk bead is floating on a really rough chaos of waves, dreadfully close to pipes and silos full of oil waiting to explode at the slightest callous omission, you can rid yourself of loneliness by a simple telephone call or an e-mail or a blog, provided the blog attracts at least half a dozen responses reassuring you that your words fell on human ears. Even if that were to be robbed from you, the Halloween costume party where engineers dress up as health advisors and vice versa, the rig seems like a morphed version of the housing colony you grew up in.

We want to be heard.

Let me commit the dreaded blunder of taking you back a few years to an older version of MouthShut.com. I'm calling it a blunder because some blokes think nostalgia is a sheer waste of time and emotional energy and though I agree with them, I don't see why it warrants wrinkled noses and pedagogy in the comments section.

Back in the (good) old days, there was no Diary, which would have been quite a calamity had it become a question of where this write up would fit. There were no gifts, so all of you smug about being proud owners of airplanes and hovercrafts (nice suggestion, eh?) would perhaps have found it dull and poorly remunerative. And there were no photo albums, so people either had the same face for months at a stretch or their faces changed and you could play a very interesting game of keeping track of how he or she looked fifteen days ago. Compared with the overload of features we have today, MouthShut at that time was designed as a normative, matter-of-fact consumers forum, which encouraged people to write about shampoos and television sets, cars and places of tourist interest and discouraged them from boring the world with advice on how to choose bangles and rambling accounts of their visits to Mumbai or their youngest child's hidden acrobatic talents.

But it was a nice place. Devoid of distractions like gifts and albums and diaries where you can do just about anything, people actually spent time and mental energy writing their reviews and did the same thing while reading what other's wrote. It was an interesting concert of jobless people, all of them spending hours at a stretch writing and then going through what others wrote, carefully tearing it down.

What is the point of this glorious description of the virtual past? What I'm trying to drive home is that MouthShut at a point of time was for people who wanted to hear and be heard, even if it was for placid, mundane, everyday things like soap bars and automobiles. Consumers have one thing in common- they've all bought something or the other and out of ten things bought, four are subjects of complaints of varying levels of seriousness. There you go, you have the initial conditions for bonding satisfied, you have a vent to express your satisfaction / dissatisfaction about your purchases and then you can diversify into things like whether the review made a good piece of writing to recommending public transport over owning your own vehicle.

It's not like that any longer and I feel like my space has been occupied by intruders. The corporations of the world have infiltrated even this little window I had to talk and converse like a human, repeating their ugly message that I am now just a hanger for them to hang their manufactured goods on, a consumer, a buyer, a things-collector. So I guess I should give a satisfied burp at the points I've earned by adding this post to my collections, write half a dozen or more of these till I have enough to get myself a fruit punch or a vacation or a pair of sunglasses to flash on my MS profile as someething I cuold buy out of what I wrote.

Did you read it? Did you like it? Did you agree with it?

These questions are for bovines to answer. The human is now just a consumer, a collector of things...

SPAM is a global passtime. Very soon, it will become incorporated as an integral part of the "fundamental rights of a virtual human being". You probably think I'm joking, but I'm not.

Over time, things do change. Remember 1960? Love marriages stood out like a pea in ice cream. (Does anybody even use that metaphor?). Change is a part of life. Like it is true for atomic systems, it is true for you and me- we are prone to migrate from order, sensibility and wisdom to chaos, obnoxiety (hey they say anxiety!) and profound stupidity. It happens.

In a way, it should happen.

Trick Question:

Can you have a SPAM diary post?

Think

All anti-SPAM initiatives fail because you always develop some or the other way to SPAM. I'll give you a small example. People who used to call up and say, "Good morning, I'm speaking from Robbers Bank and would like to dupe you into losing all your money in return for some lousy service". And somewhere halfway in that sentence, you'd say, "No, I'm not as stupid as I look, because I know that Burglar's Bank makes me happier for the same shi*t".

Now they call up and say, "Good morning, Mr. Stinker, I'm the jacka$s from Robbers Bank and I know that because I know your name and because I spoke to you in a very flirtatious voice, I know you'll give me your money, secretly hoping that I'll give you head in return."

The key is, since he knows your name, its not easy differentiating a SPAM from a Referral.

Trick Question

Would you classify "Hi there, that was a very good diary post, and needless to mention, I'm writing this from my pot" as SPAM?

Think

The little trouble we have with SPAM comments, SPAM diaries and SPAM reviews is that when you write them, you can dress them up so damn well that one doesn't even realise it's what it is. That's partly the same way you ended up getting married. (I know I'm offending many people when I say that, especially wives who went shopping yesterday, but sometimes you can't help admitting it, right?).

Imagine that you were to find a review written by FreemantleFacade on "Goa" that's basically how he enjoyed getting drunk and smoking up with women that subsequently looked attractive. Is it a SPAM review? Technically, it's listing one aspect of things to do in Goa and probably describing locations. (There are people who think shacks are locations). The line between SPAM and "creative freedom" is very fine.

All in all, you can't really take a rough stand on SPAM today and expect your stand to endure the test of time. (Rephrase that: "I can't stand to take this stand because my stand may not stand the test of time"). Tomorrow, you'll be outdated and either stand up later on your own palm and say, "Times change so we change". (That usually means, "I was stupid yesterday"). And to go a step or two to delete SPAM is going a step or two to put yourself in a position where you have to say, "I was really stupid yesterday".

Trick Question

Do you think an email from a web based consumer interaction forum about a competition they're having on reviews written on "Money Hain to Honey Hain" is SPAM?

Think!

A taxi ambles lazily to a halt next to you as a girl rolls down the window facing your side of the street. You are the only pedestrian on the foothpath just then. You look casually up to the taxi and notice the passenger. If she were greeting you with a smile, she'd be a delight to greet back.

Bingo!

She grins broadly at you and calls out for you.

"Excuse me? I need some help. Would you mind?"

You're a male being asked for help on a dark street by the Gateway from a girl who looks respectable enough not to approach a stranger for help unless she needs something genuinely. Perhaps she's going to ask you for directions. You oblige.

"My 80 rupees is getting less in the fare," says the girl in a tone of excellently contrived guilt and embarrassment. "Could you please help me out?"

== Boing ==

The first time when this genius tried her trick on me, I wasn't carrying my wallet. I did have a pack of cigarettes that cost me 110-bucks but I knew she wasn't going to take that. I shrugged and walked off.

Yesterday, she tried it again- exactly one week later.

== Boing ==

If you're going to the gateway and a pretty chick grins at you and asks you for Rs 80, tell her you've heard from the DismantleBrigade. She'll not understand what that means, but she'll ask the cabbie to drive off. That I can assure you.

==Boing==

Note 1- The quotes in this diary post are verbatim. Those are the exact words she uses.

Note 2- Issued in public interest.

Note 3- Let me know if she asks you for 80 bucks too. This is one hillarious chick!

Can someone spare the world of these outlandish fashion-loving monsters, please? The media is swarmed by them and they are swarmed by the media! Nobody has any use for them; if you think stitching a few strips of cloth that barely manage to cover the model's breasts is an expression of creativity, then you'd better start nominating porno for the academy awards! At least, porno makes no pseudo-intellectual pretences!

It's the same level of anti-establishmentarianism that creates journalists with an acerbic liking for public ouctry. Why should anyone question why a monument is being erected as a tribute for the hero of the land? Those who have no faith and those have no heroes should not waste the time and hurt the sentiments of those who do. He who has faith cries just as often as he laughs; he who has no faith can do neither. My sympathies for your wrecked home Mr Ketkar, but I can't imagine any other outcome of your meaningless writing.

The only difference between you and that mob is that you are a vandal disguised with a pen. The true essence of a "free democracy" is not in being able to opine on anyone, lashing our tongues and pens like irate wagon drivers lash their whips on horses, but in mastering the art of leaving each other alone. And although the second hand that goes the distance to strike the clap is the clapping hand, one has got to wonder why did the first guy extend his hand in the first place!

==DB==

Maximise hits to maximise ad revenue.

Sounds like what Faisal must be psychotically chanting all through the day when he sits in his office (does he have one?) and devices new, increasingly evil tactics to lure poor innocent members into the unending trap of writing and commenting.

(The background fills with the evil laughter of a man who is determined to achieve the sinister goal of maximising revenue).

== == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == == ==

The simplest, yet arguably the brightest, tactic was to introduce ads in the middle of reviews. I know how absolutely exasperated I was when that started. Jasmine and I exchanged half a dozen emails, each one of mine being "Stop inserting those smelly ads in the middle of my reviews" and each one of hers being, "As per company policy we cannot process your request", as though she was some sort of pre-programmed talking doll. (Don't feel flattered, Jasmine, I haven't seen you yet).

Before that we had "Star Writer" and "Hall of Fame" and "Review of the Day" and "Hot Reviews" and all those endlessly e-goodies that were up for the grabs here on MS. You thought you were being recognized? You thought becoming a star writer was some sort of achievement? I'm afraid not. You were just a victim; a victim of an advertizing gimmick, which made more and more vulnerable people write, which lured newer and newer members to try hard, thereby keeping the hits on MS high.

Do you feel used? I don't think so. Your e-best friend Jasmine would never "use" you for her selfish motives.

== == == == == == == == == ==

Do you really think, Faisal, that the diary posts and the gifts feature is going to bring your website up in terms of the number of visitors? Think about it!

What does your home page title-line read? Consumer reviews on products, products, products.... Something like that, right?

And what do you have displayed on the front page?

Someone who writes a poem on life. Someone who writes a poem on "Oh look! I'm a logoleptic rat in my house with no life so I thought I'd write a poem on love!".

Think.

Hard.

Fast.

== DB ==

What do you think?

Anti-incumbency brings BJP back to power?

What's better?

Idiotic, medieval BJP in power or Congress, the Kings of Garbage, allying with the left for five more years?

==DB==

There are two kinds of people when it comes to perceptions regarding language. The first kind, closer in nature to you and me, is of those who use language as a tool to convey meaning (or anything that can be safely confused as meaning). The second kind is those who do the same thing as the first, but with a difference. Instead of just merely conveying meaning, they like to "dress and decorate" meaning with their language in an attempt to draw the attention of their audience to specific facets of "meaning" that they believe are more significantly meaningful than the rest.

When a loser enters the first category, the result is albeit amusing, but in a pitiable sort of way. Than you gets the feeling that someone hitted him with a hard stone making him fell to the ground with birds flowing around his head. When a loser enters the second kind, the result however is purely hillarious. Because all of a sudden, your verticality gets converted into your horizontality with the consequent catharsis of blood and other bodily fluids overwhelming your neurological balance into a state of pure bodily pandemonium.

How relevant is grammar in everyday life, really? You get hurt, whether you fall or whether you fells. Things would perhaps get ugly if you said "someone is felling me" but until that time everything goes well. If you take grammar very seriously and insist on correctness all the time, then the number of things you have to keep in mind- prepositions, articles, singular and plural, tenses and verbs and what not. For example, any sentence that starts with "If" must be complemented with a clause that starts with "then" (not "than"). Otherwise, it's a fragment, not a sentence, and the clause does not have a transitive verb.

So now see this.

I am boy of 20 year old age who isn't legalized to drinking alcoholic beverage. But I still have it the every week and nobody caughts me. That makes complete sense from the point of view of deriving meaning from it. Yes, perhaps you wouldn't want that to go down in your diary post where Such Sen lurks just to save your a-s from comments that sort of deface the usual backscratching "Oh what a lovely post you have written which I read with my brains switched off and stored in chloroform" comments that you usually would prefer.

In my personal opinion, except for presentability, horrible grammar does not really affect anyone of us in our daily lives. If you're thick skinned enough to ignore the scorn and general patronization that people with poor language skills are subject to, then you have a wonderful life ahead of you. You are then empowered to express your "believes" and your "thinkings" with complete carefreedom.

So why do we have grammar? That's a very interesting question. I am certain you will agree with the fact that some kind of grammatical structure is essential to keep the language flowing and to create a sort of "template" for comprehension.

For example: "Was entering Ram house the Laxman when time six the of" would perhaps serve as a good "sort out the words to make a complete sentence" exercise but if we started throwing words randomly on a regular basis, the result would be www.MouthShut.com.

But beyond setting up a sort of rhythm of expression and providing a discipline or 'template' for comprehension, how much of a role does grammar play?

A simple illustration will explain. There's something called the "Royal order of Adjectives". So when you are talking of a "big, round, yellow, sun hat", Messeurs Wren and Martin would both collapse in horror if it were not "big, round, yellow, sun hat" and were, for instead, "round, yellow, sun, big hat".

What conclusion do we reach? It is better to use grammar as a tool then to think it is some kinds of handcuff, which we has to obeys. I wouldn't particularly enjoy a situation where every punctuation mark, every word, the tense of every verb were under scrutiny. At the same time, I wouldn't want to be a loser pretending to be some kind of "typocrat" (Sanjoy, love you for teaching me that word) and scribbling longwinded, mostly absurd strings of non-rhyming non-prose text ("poetry").

The fine balance is typical for every individual and you can't have a rule of thumb for anybody. But that balance has to be found and obeyed by each one alone while at the same time respecting someone else's (granted, with a little bit of wit, sarcasm and scorn).

Think about it.

Today is a Sunday. The last day of the previous week. It is a holiday. Wow. I feel truculent. I feel obnoxious. I feel cantankerous. I feel insipid. I feel lackadaisical.

==

Hey, trying out random shi* from a dictionary is fun!

==

Did anyone notice how bloody often the Mumbai Indians were misfielding yesterday? Not a single time did I see them collect the ball in their hands when say the deep 3rd man or someone chased it to stop it from reaching the boundary. It was completely ridiculous. Almost as though they had been instructed to misfield. I've never seen such terrible fielding in my whole life.

Except of course, when I was doing the fielding. Pardon my conceit.

==

So what does this mean for Mumbai Indians- we're out? Please don't say that!!

==