7 minutes of Fame

स्कन्दः स्कन्दधरो धुर्यो वरदो वायुवाहनः।
वासुदेवो बृहद्भानुरादिदेवः पुरन्दरः ॥

November 2000
17:15 hrs

For a first few seconds I thought I must have been dreaming. I sat down leaning against the wall at my back. I pondered - "This has happened to many great personalities". I didn't knew how Vasudeva and Devaki felt when King Kamsa ordered his men to do this act. But I certainly knew how Mohanlal reacted in "Saza-E-Kala Pani". Right from my childhood, I have developed this disease of living in a state of filmdom irrespective of the situation.

The cell had a shit smelling foul that I cannot imagine. Or perhaps, I do not want to! The walls were old and dirty. It was pitch dark inside. The only little ventilation came from a shimmering light which passed through a hole of the wall. Far away, there was a toilet which seemed like ankle deep in shit. The awful smell of urinal overflowed. A stinking swamp oozed out of somewhere from the end of that cell. I cursed myself being a human because I had to breathe to survive. My emotions were mixed with a feeling of extreme fear, hatred, guilt, anxious and very very little excitement.

I closed my eyes and switched on the "Rewind" button of my nervous system to recollect what happened half an hour ago.

Our hero constable ordered me to get down from the auto rickshaw and asked me to pay the driver. We had reached the police station named after a powerful Hindu Goddess. I said I do not have any money. He hit me hard on my neck and yakked in Telugu" Paisalu lekunda police station ki vasthava bey?"( Translation: Rascal, How dare you come to Police Station without any money with you?)

While he was bringing me into the Police station, a passing constable asked what the matter was. Our hero exaggerated the incident in such a way as if I was guilty of raping a woman, or murdering someone, or indulging in child abuse and other nefarious crimes. After he finished narrating the incident, this passing cop welcomed me to the police station by smacking me hard on my neck. He did that as if it was his birth right to hit me whenever he wants.

An unknown cop appeared from nowhere and he commanded me to squat. I didn't obey him because I was sure he doesn't know why I was brought here in the first place. We stared at each other in silence. It was a silence which I could smell and taste. It was silence I felt on my skin in that noisy place at the back of my head. He gave his fiercest look and the next moment when I trembled and was about to obey his order, he burst out laughing.

Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they are not alone. He did just that. It was a terrible situation. I felt that these cops would do anything to make me feel ashamed.

Every 20 seconds, I heard fiery hate speeches peppered with choicest of abuses being used by the station staff.

Our hero reached the desk of another bald constable and asked him to write my details. The bald cop was in mid fifties. His hair and head resembled a crescent moon (I addressed him as Aadha Chaand) in my mind) He was busy with another man who was writing a complaint letter for a lost gold chain. Aadha Chaand was in charge of FIR activity. He spoke in a flawless rich old city Hyderabadi Hindi. And I was surprised to see him dictating the letter content ( complaint) in an extremely poor and grammatically incorrect English! By his dictation I realized that the letter was full of canned responses.

During that occasion Aadha Chaand lost his temper on the victim and shouted" Aapko bole tho samajh mein nahi aata kya yaaron? Kab se pukaar roon main idhar. "Jaldi Likho- he dictated again- "I sarching and sarching for my Gold chain, bat it vaaas in Wine." I amazingly understood which word he actually meant. It was the word 'Vain'. How and why does he know that word?

My turn arrived. Our hero cop kept holding my Tee as if I was a small time thug. I him asked to let go my T-shirt and I will not run anywhere. When I sensed that they are about to write an FIR, my heart sank. I thought of my career and my parents for a moment. But Aadha Chaand carelessly took out a dirty plain white paper. I sighed relief.

Poora naam bataao- He asked

"Abhishek Naini"- I said in a low tone.

"Abhishek Naidu"Hmmm.... He muttered and continued to write.

Sir- It's Abhishek Naini, not Naidu - I corrected him timidly.

"Tu apna mooh bandh kar. Aawaaz kiya tho phod dunga." He roared and reacted as if all his children have failed in their final examinations. I shut my mouth and felt its best to leave him alone. He continued to scribble in that paper. Even though the surname which he wrote was close to my ancestry origin, deep in my heart I also felt that its good for me to register with an incorrect name in Police Records.

When he finished writing he spoke to his men as if I wasn't there.
"Isko Khoob maaro. Agli baar gaadi chalaane ka naam nahi lega" Andar Daalo Saale ko. He pointed them to a cell.

"Sir- Please. Don't do this. I didn't do this intentionally". "I had to rush to the Municipal Office to submit my Voters ID application and I didn't see the traffic Signal. Otherwise I always obey it. "Please Sir." Let me go" ( Read: Begged)

I thought me speaking in English would come to my rescue as I'd come across as an educated person and eventually win the situation in my favor. I realized how stupid and how horribly wrong I was when the next moment they smacked me thrice on my neck ( again!!) and pushed me into that cell.

When I opened my eyes after 6 minutes, I realized that I had to do something to get out of that place. I got a positive vibe when I saw that the cell was not locked. I got up peeped from inside. I saw that buxom woman who I accidentally hit with my bike while trying to jump a traffic signal. At the time of accident she just fell aside was not at all hurt, not even a minor bruise. But to all the common people on that road, her figure and that feminine moan was sexy enough to stimulate the onlookers and a brawny constable who caught me after a filmy chase. Next thing I knew, he became her hero. And this hero dragged me to the police station.

She was sitting in the Senior Inspector's cabin. To my delight, I saw my Uncle and my cousin negotiating with them. I wasn't able to hear what they spoke. Thoughts were running in my mind. Being a woman favored her completely. And I bet, had I bumped into any other average man (Read: Fool), I'd have never felt the need to write this.

The Senior Inspector asked his sub ordinates to release me after a condition, set by the woman to which my Uncle had agreed.

Finally, I achieved redemption from my 7 minute stint in the cell.

While coming home, I asked my uncle "What was that woman's condition and why did she withdrew her complaint?

My uncle replied- "Oh Nothing! She wanted us to compensate for the little damage caused to her new dress and we agreed to pay her 750 rupees!"

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

My Cinematic Maturity

Oh My God! That song again! It was everywhere. The song was getting on to my nerves. But this was the same one raved by the masses. Why? It topped the charts -Superhit Muqabla on DD metro, Philips Top 10 on ZEE TV and any other countdown program. The word of mouth gained a momentum and it was full of excitement. Someone murmured ecstatically at my school- 13 songs! Wow! Another one said- I have purchased the audio cassette. Yet another girl muttered- I loved the movie!

It’s been a long time since I’ve hated a movie so much that it caused my physical pain. So much that I have decided to tell this story which transformed the way I've looked at cinema.

September 1994- I was just a month old in my first teens. I was an ethnocentric, grew up watching films of a different milieu. I was always addicted to different league of cinema. Never fascinated by the richness depicted in a film. I never cared about arty-farty concepts like Marriages and Family ties in a cinema. One fine day, my cousins dropped in and suggested that we watch this film.

I was certain about my expectations. The promos, trailers showed that this movie is strictly for connoisseurs of Bollywood family genre of the D grade variety. Nevertheless, we reached the celebrated theater of Hyderabad which was then considered on par with a multiplex. I looked around. Men posing as Salman Khan had arrived with their girls.Women in burka gearing up, college goers holding one book in hand. Nearby, the head of a family who had a difficult time controlling his Janta. I then got a controversial thought- How can someone watch a film along with the family?

The movie began. The director took creative liberty and introduced a 'Dog' in the titles. Right from the intro credits, I knew this movie is going to be worth my agony. Folks, I was only in 8th standard, when such thoughts occurred in my mind.

Sitting there in my seat I felt like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the eye, blinded by the saturated tones, the overwhelming family melodrama, a large house that can even put Buckingham Palace to shame, a bunch of familiar actors who hammed it effortlessly. I felt as if the film was standing on its own ground, and is managing hard not to get it right.

3 songs in less than 15 minutes irked me. Good lord! How many more? And believe me, I was actually counting the number of songs. Because I was planning to quiz people back at school. How idiotically convenient! However, I quickly understood what followed later in the film. I realized that it was a potpourri of set pieces that are the staple diet of this genre of movies. How can a family be so jovial, happiness everywhere, filthy rich, enthusiastically moronic characters, play antakshari so often? I desperately craved for one thing from all those scenes- Logic. Because all these years, I was used to English movies at Sangeet Theatre, a few good Telugu movies on television and a reasonable collection of Hindi movies on cable TV and VCR. But this film busted my Grey cells.

A little later, Salman Khan arrived in a ridiculuos two piece golden tuxedo. He danced away trying to woo the heroine dressed in a rich green outfit that caused fuzziness around my eye balls. Even today, I tinge a vomit sensation when I see Madhuri Dixit ( Don't ask me why)Some clunky dialogue made me cringe with embarrassment. It always happens, when the audience laugh over a shitty comedy scene, I actually feel embarrassed. And whenever I laughed, I was not laughing WITH the movie, I was laughing AT the movie for sheer ridiculousness of it.

As time ticked, I became impatient. How long will these celebrations continue? I wondered. It's supposed to be a movie and I longed to see some action and violence too. Minus that laughable "Tragedy Scene" where our Surabhi girl slips off the staircase, I failed miserably to understand the intent behind that film. But at the same time, I understood my own cinematic sense too. At the age of 13, I was already beginning to appreciate and distinguish quality movies and this constipated torture which I was going through.

And when that silly Pomeranian dog(who later had taken care of the climax too) declares a no-ball during the family cricket game, I had completely lost it.

Finally, after 3 hours, the movie ended. I stepped out in dismay having watched an extended wedding video! I wore a weary and anguished look. But the good news was- I went into the theater as a teenager and came out as a man!

I decided- I will only marry the girl who hates this movie as much as I do!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Vicious Bicycle

"Hero Ranger? Nahin hai Miyan. "abhi abhi ek potta usko lekar gaya, ek ghante se laake dega" muttered Aslam, the owner of Aziz Cycle Taxi. Disappointed, I had no option but wait. Else, I had to stay contended either with an Atlas Goldline Super or an ugly Green bicycle with a big seat that I always hated.

As a kid from the 3rd standard, I used to hop across the street, cross the road and head straight into the cycle Taxi to rent a cycle at 1 Rupee an hour. I consider this as a historic milestone of my life. Arguably, it is! It's the time when you put your feet on the pedals, maintain the balance, or even boast before your friends that you have grown taller. Because now, your feet touch the ground while the bum is on cycle seat!

I remember the first time I fell off the bicycle. It was when I spotted a bullock cart in the distance. As a panicked beginner, I pulled the front brake only to find myself thrown on a sand at the side of the road. The Cart man looked at me like a cow that looks up once while grazing on the meadows while chewing the cud.

In the early 90s, the bicycle ADs on television fascinated me. My eyes drooled over brands like Roadmaster, Hercules and BMX. I wanted to ask my dad to buy me a Bicycle from his Military Canteen as they are sold at cheaper price. However, an egoistic kid even then, I refrained to ask my whim. But my mouth continued to water - when someone purchased a new bicycle, when a new model was introduced in the market and also when I passed by those row of cycle shops off MG Road in Secunderabad. And when RGV made SHIVA, the cycle chain was already making raves within me! The sheer power of cycle and its parts, became an important chapter in my life.

One day while coming home from school, I met my maid who smiled and asked me to distribute sweets tomorrow. I was puzzled. Before I could ask her the straight dope, she went away and I tottered home swinging my Milton Water bottle wondering what could be the reason for sweets! I reached home only to find a Red color BSA SLR parked in the drawing room. My joy grew no bounds and I also realized that this was my reward for scoring 80% in my final examination. And the day I took it to school, I could hear murmurs like - This guy has a BSA!

Those were the days when the cycle bell commanded some respect. It was heard in my colony. Especially on Sundays and holidays when each one of us assembled brilliantly to form a kind of union in my colony playground. It looked like one "Bicycle Swayamwar". Cycles were of all shapes and sizes and so were its owners! There was this guy who also had gears fitted in his cycle. He was the kind of Hatke bandha to us then. One of them had a BSA Mongoose, a hunky dory cycle known for its crafty design and merged chain cum break option. Another boy used to get a large Atlas cycle belonging to the Naukar at his shop. It had a huge carrier and this earned him the nickname " Rickshaw" One of my friend had a Hero Hansa- Lady bicycle and I don't want to tell you how we teased him!

Because most of the boys (who later went on to become my friends) were remembered by the brand of cycle they processed.

Over the years, my bicycle developed frequent breakdowns and gradually it had its mechanical flaws. And with the maintenance expenses shooting up, one day I decided to abandon it. I left it unattended and it looked like a wounded soldier waiting to be nursed. It was also the time when the transition from bicycles to mini mopeds took place in India. Bajaj Sunny had arrived. The bicycle generation holocaust became evident. Years later, my Dad donated my bicycle to someone and then I had never felt an emotional nerve moving in me. It was also never a case of Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish Its just that I was unable to stand up and justify the need for its repair. So I thought perhaps donation was a better option. Not just me , most of you who had a bicycle during your childhood know the fate of it. They are always judiciously donated either to the cook, or the gardener or the mason and the like.

My Bicycle had taught me the Balancing Act in life. And today, this is my way of tribute to it!


© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Karma of Comics

One day Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu go for a walk. Two Thieves Makkan and Chakkan threaten them with a gun. Sabu gets angry and a Volcano erupts somewhere. But Choudhary, whose brain works faster than a computer, uses his stick to outwit Makkan and Chakkan and they run away"

Even comics like these have always been ridiculously entertaining. I remember the day I found another popular book. It was on a hot summer afternoon in 1987 I found an old & torn book which was hidden between newspapers on the top of a rack! It contained a story titled 'The Neem tree and the Grindstone'-Tinkle had arrived!

Today when I sit and recollect my association with these books, I realize that I have done every possible effort to read more, acquire more and discover more. The price of these books ranged between Rs 6 to Rs 20. And for a kid like me, buying new books remained a dream. I never liked to ask money from parents. Hence, I decided to find ways and means to get closer to my dream. And what all I did then, perhaps looks too embarrassing today, but deep in my heart I feel proud about my efforts. Here are some of them:

1. Making new friends and finding out if they have a nose for books.
2. Praise and flatter a guy who has a huge collection of comics.
3. Wait till late night or under hot sun outside the home of people who promised to give me comics after they return.
4. Visit a Raddi Wala Shop*( * A shack that sells old newspapers, bottles and other scrap) search among those newspapers & old magazines. If found any, I used to buy them at 1 Rupee each!! 70% of my collection consisted of books acquired through this medium. I remember the Uncle who ran that shop also used to address me as Uncle :)
5. Write someone's academic notes in a barter to get Amar Chitra Katha
6. Blackmail a classmate at school and get Tinkle in return.
7. Beautifully convince some of my rich friends to buy new comics for my selfish motive!
8. Chat aimlessly with a friend's sister with an intention to get Archie comics from her.
9. Support the guy who has maximum books if he gets into an argument during the game of cricket or any other sport.

One evening when we were playing, my friend Kartik approached towards me and whispered in my ear that he has got about 20 books. My mouth watered when he said that. He, however refused to reveal the source of books. Later I learned that the source of those books was a person called Nitesh who apparently has a huge collection of books. Suddenly a new mission had begun for me and it was easy for me to befriend Nitesh.

I visited Nitesh's rich house where he had kept hundreds of books in his private room upstairs, which looked like a library. I wondered how much money he would have spent to buy those books. Mine seemed to be a pauper's collection before him. Nevertheless, we began to exchange books.

One day I raised a proposal about starting a library. I conceived this based on my research in the neighborhood where I lived. There were many boys and girls in our who will be interested to read. Nitesh, being a true Gujarathi, gleefully agreed to start in his room. We started our project by pooling our books. Then we sorted out the books under different sub headings. We maintained a list and numbered each and every book. We took it very seriously. We finalized the rental charges of various books according to the number of pages and size. There was a late payment fine too! I also pitched the idea of reading books sitting in the library at an economical price of 50 paise. This concept worked beautifully for some Marvadi customers, who are known for their weird cost effective measures.

Gradually our Library gained its momentum. We became very popular among our other friends. Sometimes I'd go on my bicycle to distribute books door to door.It so happened that one day I had to deliver a story book to a pretty girl of our colony and little did I realize that this action of mine would frame and judiciously link me with that girl! And it paved way for gossips. Blame it on the age!

Very soon I was making a decent profit of 7 to 15 Rs a week. A portion of my income was spent on Paani Puri on Sundays after our usual game of cricket.

While I was involved with this, I didn't realize that my actions were making my other friends envious. Some of them who were very fond of me began to treat me differently. They perhaps didn't like my proximity with Nitesh. While I took utmost care not to get someone's hatred in our 'Business' and us. It took sometime for me to understand their thoughts and feelings. Remember Rajam from Malgudi days Swami and Friends? So much for the originality!

The matter became worse when Nitesh refused to take another friend who wanted to become a partner in our business by contributing his share of books. Well! the sparks had begun to fly all around. I was finding it difficult to manage my association with all my friends. I sometimes had to face the wrath from some of my best friends who said I had become conceited after the Library's success. I was terribly disappointed with the way mindsets changed. It looked as if some of them were trying to detach me and I looked like a sinister.

One late evening, I took an unanimous decision to part ways with our Library. Nitesh was visibly upset with my decision but later even he understood that, friends and mutual harmony is more important.

My life returned to normal and more exiting than before. I found myself sitting with group of friends and laughing away to glory. Those precious little moments which I missed during my basked glory came back to me slowly but wisely!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.