Saturday, July 26, 2014

Top 5 Ways To Distinguish Non-Mumbaikars on Locals

Hey people! This is the ninth post of a new weekly series called "Saturday Top 5". I guess the title is self-explanatory and anyway, it shall be on a pilot basis due to a great response,this will be a regular series. Here's the last post of the series (LINK). Please leave your feedback about the idea and suggestions as well for the next post in the series


Mumbai locals are the lifeline of this magnificent city. No one can survive without them. But unlike most other things in the city, the Mumbai Locals are less accepting then this overflowing pot of mixing culture. You see, there are multiple unspoken rules and regulations which are too sacred to be broken. Yet some people do it daily. We call them Non-Mumbaikars because it is simply impossible for a Mumbaikar to not know these things. So call them Dilli ke launde or too cool for the humidity Bangaloreans, sorry Bengalurueans, I point out 5 ways to catch these odd ones out in the pool.

1.They never know which station is on which side


Dead giveaway. A Mumbaikar always knows which station is on which side and accordingly plans his relative position inside the compartment. I mean which idiot will get on a train at Goregaon during peak hours and then try to reach the seats, knowing that he or she has to get down at Andheri? Hint: The idiot calls Pani puri "Gol Gappe" and complains about humidity.

2. They get on a 8.17 Fast and ask "Aaj bheed zzyada hai na?"


Yes. These people exist. They climb aboard a 8:17 Virar Fast and ask in slightly suffocated(trust me, given the sweaty armpits, the awkward Statue of Liberty like positions and the desperate scramble for holding on to anything while the train moves, "slightly" is a blessing) "Aaj bheed zzyada hai na?". Only a non-Mumbaikar is capable of this. This and trying to get off at Andheri on a Virar Fast.

3. Their bags are on their backs and not on their front, baby carrying style


Who doesn't do this? Everyone knows that bags on front is the most efficient way of protecting your valuables from getting damaged or stolen. Plus you can use them as battering rams when you bulldoze through the crowd to scramble on to the train. This point does come with a caveat though. I like to call it the " Experienced Uncle Variable". A passenger may carry his backpack on his back if his EUV value is over 20 according to the following formula:

EUV= (Number of stations traveled daily X Number of years of regular local use)/The class of your compartment

For example a person who has been commuting from Kandivali to Andheri for the past 10 years in a second class compartment has an EUV of 25( 5*10/2). So this guy can carry a bag on his back, he has earned it over the years. I bet he'll have train buddies on his usual train and route who'll actually even pull him,and his bag in.

4.They get paranoid about not being able to get down

If these poor souls somehow manage to get on the train,they somehow are paranoid about not being able to get down.They start sweating and panicking on seeing the crowd.They start chanting prayers and curses,both with equal fervour. A true Bambai wala never bothers with all this. He puts on his earphones,awkardly paws around for his phone in his pocket,desperately trying to not touch the person around him's ass, but never sweats about not being able to get down. Abbey funda simple hai. One station before you get down,ask the guy in front of you if he'll get down at that particular station or not. If he isn't, just push ahead towards the door bro! If he is,do it anyway :P

5.They never get off or on to a moving train


Lastly, one of the key differences. Non Mumbaikars are absolutely terrified of getting or off a moving train. Absolutely petrified. "Pagal hai kya!" is their reaction.They wait for the train to come to a complete hault while the entire compartment pushes past them and get off. In fact by the time the train stops,half the people have already got in and most of the people who wanted to alight have done so already. Again a simple law will guarantee safety in such matters. All you have to do is get down in the direction in which the train is moving and keep running for a few steps. Same for climbing aboard.

Well folks, that's it for this time. Sorry if this post didn't live up to your expectations, a better one shall be up next week.


Monday, May 12, 2014

Top 5 Law School Clichés (as seen by a first year)

NOTE: This piece was written by me for the 5th issue of Audi Alteram Partem, NLU Delhi's college magazine. Attached below the article is a snapshot of the piece as it was published.

People this is the eighth post of a new weekly series called "Saturday Top 5". I guess the title is self explanatory and anyway, it shall be on a pilot basis due to a great response,this will be a regular series . Here's the last post of the series(LINK).Please leave your feedback about the idea and suggestions as well for the next post in the series

For a first year, law school can be an overwhelming experience at first. The unfamiliar new terrain full of endless possibilities with high benchmarks set by the senior batches both inspire and intimidate us. However, in the midst of this all, all of us start hearing stories. We hear tales of a particular senior invading the fairer sex’s hostel; we hear tales of a certain batch being the geekiest batch the college has; we hear tales of how a particular party went CRAZY and we also hear tales of Profs. Failing students to rejoice at their misery. However, the problem is that, only a few of them are true, and the ones that are actually true, are glaringly obvious. They become a “cliché” as per se, and here I present to you, the top 5 clichés a first year student at NLU Delhi sees, hears or experiences.

1. Tales of the IMS being a bloodbath

By the time you pass out from NLUD, the number of world wars in your history books increases to 7. The first two and then the 5 Internal Moot Selections one goes through. I haven't had the supposed misfortune of experiencing one but as most seniors put it, it is going to be a "blood bath"

2. Everyone has a "caught with guava juice" story

Every senior you bump into has had one or more incident(s) where he or she has been caught, to put delicately, in a state one reaches after excessive consumption of "guava juice". Dislocated shoulders, chairs stolen from Judicial hostels, they never seem to end.

3. Dominos on Wednesday

Yeah we are as rich as Richie Rich but all of us love to exploit the Buy One get One free offer. Proof, the Dominos delivery guy who is seen standing right outside the main gate,almost all the time on Wednesday.

4. The Gande Joke Guy from every batch

Each batch has that one person who will crack jokes which will make you demand death and an escape from this world just to get away from such sadness. For example, shouting "Room ka lock nahin mila toh Hobbes laga doh"

NOTE:I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT claim any responsibility for any actions carried out on you for narrating this joke to anyone including being thrown in the toilet for 20 minutes.

5.The involved in everything guy

From DPRP to Debating, from Legal Aid to late night philosophy lectures, every batch has that one guy who will do everything the college has to offer. Acad leaves are his pals and extra classes on Saturday are his bitch. He'll know about everything that's happening except the name of the Act the Prof. is discussing in class.


Monday, March 10, 2014

The Hunt For Kohinoor By Manreet Sodhi Someshwar - A Book Review





Suspense thrillers based on historical theories and conspiracies seem to have become the norm these days. Buoyed by what I call the “Dan Brown” effect, a whole new lot of authors have emerged who practically follow the same plot- There’s a time linked crisis to be solved, the protagonists face either a rogue agency or a legitimate agency running after them, and all this time, the protagonists ( mostly an art expert or historian) are required to solve some ancient mystery or a puzzle based on the same, to save the planet from its inevitable doom. This book is somehow both, a run-of-the-mill abstract of the same concept, but interesting at the same time.


This 425 paged novel is Manreet’s fourth book and second in the Mehrunisa Khosa series. The first part, The Taj Conspiracy, was critically acclaimed. Unfortunately I didn’t review it or read it but yes, they were pretty good (from what I could gather from the opinion of the people whom I know who have read it). The basic story is that Manreet creates an interesting character who is an art and history expert who ends up helping Indian intelligence agencies crack codes which are based on historic puzzles or facts.

The Hunt For Kohinoor revolves around an impending terrorist attack in India within a timeline of 96 hours. Mehrunisa is reconciled with her long lost, assumed dead father Harry Khosa aka The Snow Leopard, a legendary spy in the Indo-Af-Pak region. The plans are hidden away and are addressed as the Kohinoor as Mehr struggles to search for it and find it.


I won't give away the plot though I'll tell you the small little things whose presence or lack thereof disappointed me slightly. The narration, although vivid, sounds bland and forced. To put it in other words, for a thriller-suspense based on a deadline of 96 hours, I could not experience the urgency or the building tempo in the book. Another factor that ticked me off was that the book had an idealistic tone for a major part of the narration, which just doesn't add up to plot which is near reality.


To sum it up, yes there are some narration issues with the book, but overall, it's a decent read. From what I have heard, narration is Manreet’s forte so I would definitely try and check out her other books. I would recommend this book for first time readers or people looking to foray into the world of reading or for someone who wishes for a fusion of Dan Brown, Steve Berry, Mathew Reily and the mysterious, affable subcontinent of India.


Like: Good basic plot, Brilliant mixing of fiction, myth, history and logic

Dislike:  Idealistic, Style of narration




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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Khuli Tizori,Khuli Bottle Aur Khuli Ladki

Often India is perceived to be a chauvinistic country where women are suppressed,even in a society which is transcending into a quasi-Western society. The incident on 16 December 2012 was just a case which was reported and emphasised by the media, but the incident was never to be,and should never be, seen in isolation. It was just the eruption of people’s anguish at the extraordinarily brutal,disgusting and appalling sexual assault cases this nation sees. Yet, this entry is not about rape or sexual assault. It doesn’t seek to justify anything and shall not justify itself.It is just a unique,different opinion I stumbled upon,and shall narrate further.

I was travelling to Bandra via an auto rickshaw whose number plate read MH 02 UA 6055. I, as usual had my earphones plugged in and wasn’t bothered in the slightest.”Aaney waley saal mein isse bhi zzyada chota ho jayega” muttered the auto wala in a mixture of disgust and anger. I glanced in the direction of his face and saw a girl wearing a red top and denim blue shorts.Admittedly she looked what people call “hot” but I also admit that I hadn’t noticed her until he pointed her out to me.I prepared myself for a chauvinistic lecture and was not disappointed.But for the first time,I saw the deep revulsion to women exposing their legs being rooted in genuine concern and almost banal fears. “Ladka ladki key paer ghoorta rahega aur wahan gaadi thook jayegi”. His concern was not for the fact that a girl was exposing her legs(as most conservatives).His disapproval was rooted in a sense of safety.How do I know this?Well for starters,he never mentioned anything that insults women although he might have been guilty of talking about them in a manner which on extremely critical observation can be termed insulting.Rather he actually demonstrated how shameless a man can be.

As we progressed towards our destination at snail’s pace,he actually pointed out a bunch of rowdy looking males in cheap formal clothes who were grinning at the girl like a wolf glares at a lamb. “Saley haramiyon ko dekho” he said as he pointed at them. Then he went on to tell me some of his deep life philosophies. “Mard chutiya hota hai.Uski niyaat teen cheezon ko dekh ke hamesha fisalti hai. Khuli tizori,khuli bottle aur khuli ladki.Chor ke saamne paise rakho toh woh haath zaroor marega.Piyakard ke saamne bottle rakho,toh woh piyega zaroor.Ayaash mard ke saamne khuli ladki rakho,uski niyaat tharak dikhayegi.” It translates to ” Man is an asshole. His dignity or his honour always slips at seeing three things. An open safe, an open bottle(I presume alcohol) and an open girl. Keep cash in front of a thief and his hands will obviously steal. Keep a bottle in front of a drunkard and he obviously will drink.Keep a girl in attractive clothing in front of a randy man, his soul is bound to turn playboyish”.

He was about to say some more but I reached my destination and I got off.I paid him the fare and bid him farewell,and for a few moments stared at the auto going off.He stopped ,picked up an aunty in a blue salwaar kameez who had hailed him over and drove off.


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Sunday, February 2, 2014

Dhen Chu Bhaiya


This is the tale of a little boy from the city of dreams. For some peculiar reasons, people always tend to have either one of the two extreme possible ideas of a metropolitan. They’ll either imagine a pos, rich family with a father who earns more than he can spend, a suave new-age mother who watches Gray’s Anatomy instead of the useless nonsense on Star Plus, a son who studies Marx and Pounds alcohol with equal gusto and a daughter who harps over fashion and and goes crazy at the mention of how cute the new singer of some band is. Maybe throw in a pet. This is just one of the images. The other is of utter poverty where people barely have a meal to eat, let alone have savings. The mother looks like one of the patients on Gray’s while the son has only empty beer bottles to collect and dispose for money. The only fashion the daughter knows is that of the mistress’s daughter whose mother was kind enough to donate some clothes. Every stray animal is their pet. Most people classify the populace of a city into either of these two categories. This is the story of a boy who falls into neither but somehow is a reflection of both.

I met Soham/Akash( he kept alternating between the two, so I assume one was a nick name or a name used by close friends or relatives). It was a July afternoon in Mumbai, and it was pouring cats and dogs. Like every quintessential Mumbaikar, I wasn’t travelling with an umbrella.As a rule of thumb, I always stuck to a wind cheater if I was travelling within 4 stations of my house, and an umbrella for everything else. Borivali was close to Malad(by Bombay standards) so I had continued with my boycott of the umbrella but it wasn’t a decision I was particularly enjoying. Simply put, getting drenched in the rain, even with a wind cheater on, and trying to hail a rickshaw and not get pissed with each one that not only ignored me, but zipped past like a bullet, spraying me with the dirty water on the road. Suddenly, the last rickshaw which had done the same stopped roughly hundred meters ahead of me. A little kid hopped off with a thela in his hand and started running away.He had a pink umbrella and was wearing shorts,brownish-khaki in colour and a faded gray t-shirt which had black horizontal strips. I assumed that he had travelled his path and I rushed into the rickshaw. Out of curiosity, I asked the rickshaw wala bhaiya about the boy. He replied that the kid had just got onto the rickshaw a minute back but on seeing me, had asked him to stop and had gotten off. As shocked and touched I was, luckily I had the sense to be courteous enough and call the boy back. After some cajoling, I convinced him to let me drop him till Borivali station, which lay on my way home. As the rickshaw started, I looked at the boy. He appeared to be a curious little inquisitive kid, with the oily, mushroom shaped hair that only poverty begets. But the most arresting detail lay in his eyes. His eyes were yellow. Not the the rich, golden, flashy one but rather a shade that neared a dull ochre. But the dull colour was compensated by the shine in his eye as he talked about himself, and his life. In couldn’t learn much about him from the brief conversation we had, but all I know is this. Akash is a eleven year old boy who studies in the fourth grade of the local BMC school. He was on his way to Dadar, one of the most chaotic and busiest areas in Mumbai to buymogra flowers for a religious ceremony that was to happen at his home. I asked him why was he travelling so far just for some flowers. The smile on his face didn’t budge an inch as he replied “Bhaiya wahan saste mil jayenge.” . I gazed at him, wondering as to when was the last time I travelled kilometres in a stinky second class train compartment to buy something that was easily available, just because it was cheaper. I quickly hid my creeping blush behind my handkerchief, feigning a sneeze and changed the topic back to his education. He told me he learns English at school, but while he told me this, his eyes continued to stare in the direction of my phone, which had my earphones plugged in. I asked him what he wants to do when he grows up, and he replied without hesitating, “use a computer”. Again, I was puzzled and on some further probing I was informed about how his school authorities had told him that only people who pass their 12th grade exam can use a computer. I resisted my urge to laugh and simultaneously, cry. 


Before I could ask him anything else, his destination had arrived. He promptly took out an old ten rupee note, and before I could refuse it, thrust it in my hand and leapt off the rickshaw, and ran away shouting something which sounded like a common cuss word. Astonished, I turned to the rickshaw wala and began moaning about how kids these days don’t have respect for elders( forgive me, I had recently turned 18 so I believed myself eligible to do this). The uncle turned and replied, “Nahin Nahin beta woh toh dhanyavaad keh kengaya” . It took me a minute to figure out that the kid, who was perhaps the most admirable child I have ever seen, was just shouting “Then Chu Bhaiya”. The rain poured on, and the city moved on. But that expression of gratitude is still stuck in my head, and probably shall be, forever…

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