Deserving Dubai - Part Trez

…is enough. Palestinians, some Egyptians, Bangladeshis, Yemenis, migrant labour from the Indian subcontinent, Iraqis, some Iranians, etc.
For anyone else it is a choice made purely for money. And like all monetary-dominant choices, the true price it extracts from you is very, very high. And not worth it.
I now fear if I am in Dubai any longer I will lose the ability to function like an evolved human being. Worse still, I fear one day my kids will say to me: did we really deserve Dubai?
The truth is: they deserve, for better or worse, their own country.

Deserving Dubai - Part Duh!?

In Dubai, or anywhere in the Gulf, one must every day look into the mirror first thing in the morning and say: ‘I am here for the money.’
That is the only way one can get through the day.
For the work day will expose you to racism, ask you to curb your intelligence, require you to numb your conscience and most of all, take away your freedom.
Of course there are many peoples for whom none of the above matter at all. For them just living a life where death and crime do not stalk your every breath...

Deserving Dubai

What’s the fuss about Dubai, then?
The US has trillions of debt. As does the UK. Yet, they don’t seem to draw out such a brouhaha in the international press.
In fact, for a change, Dubai has been upfront and frank about its problems… a departure from its opaque PR manner.
Much of this has to do with the sheer glee at seeing a brash, noveau riche bully get taken down. And the incentive that drives that kind of media coverage is always so deeply rooted in our psyche that there always is a ‘deserving’ reason for the story.

Traitors in the family

My son came home from school and told me he was now a Chelsea supporter. It was one of those moments where the choice was: snap his neck or laugh it off.
I laughed it off. His sister, who sleeps in her Man U tee, later explained that some of the elder boys in his bus are Chelsea supporters and he has been feeling the peer pressure.
However, not to risk further damage I asked his mother to brainwash him, just in case. She says he should be free to choose. Now I will have to snap two necks.

Death, be not surprised

Sometimes, I can sense death out there.
Not yours or anybody else’s, but my own.
I close my eyes and like a figure emerging from the mist still some way off, I sense its presence.
If I close my eyes and breathe deeply for long enough I can almost paint the sketch, or write up the first draft of events leading up to my demise.
I would have to change my life drastically to make the eventuality of death something of a surprise for myself.
Other than that, the reaper does not look so grim.
But I certainly do.

Don't kill our Beautiful Game

I love football too much to let the Henry incident pass by with just a smart quip. And it has really upset me. After a week I can’t let it go.
Of course, I have a history of not being able to let go, but nevertheless; Fifa have to replay the game.
Of course Thierry Henry is not a cheat. But, he will be if they don’t act.
The message that is going to go out to millions of aspiring footballers, my son included is: it’s ok to cheat as long as you don’t get caught. And that’s bullshit.

Stuff..

* Thierry Henry has gone from football’s elite to football’s cheat. France will be doomed if they don’t replay their match with Ireland.

* Is it just me, or has no one else found it maddeningly ironic that David Headley, the suspect in the Mumbai terror attack, stayed at the Jewish Chabad house in Pune.

* Ali Campbell and UB40 are so simply wonderful that I danced and sang along more for those 60 minutes of watching them live than I have for any other band. Which makes you wonder why reggae is a dead genre. Have ska and hip-hop hijacked it?

Re-Union Jack

Inevitably, it has happened.
I’ve watched for the better part of five years now how the internet (social networking sites in particular), has spawned school reunions.
I have had to suffer old school pictures of friends as ugly bugs, and then the ususal too-smart-for-their-own-good and suffocatingly indulgent captions that accompany the reunion pics as well.
Facebook has finally snaked a whole bunch of school buddies back into my life.
I organised everything in school. From the devious, to the defiant, to the downright disastrous.
They want me to do it again. Bring them all together. I can’t wait.

Who can knock-down the Pacman?

Over the years the more I watched of Ali’s boxing matches the more I was convinced that the secret to his success lay as much in giving a beating as it did in taking one. He could absorb punishment and there is nothing more defeating for a boxing opponent than to see that your punches don’t matter.
Manny Pacquiao is the same. I’ve watched the last four of his fights and nobody hit him as much as Miguel Coutto the other day. And Manny looked as fresh as roses.
Floyd Mayweather Jr do you have the balls? Manny does.

The same Ramakant Achrekar drivel

As the media try to get a collective orgasm going over Sachin Tendulkar’s 20 years in cricket, I am dismayed.
No article on how the man who holds every cricket record failed to propel India to any.
Or, how Hansie Cronje worked out how to get him out inside his first 15 runs.
Or, how Tendulkar is the most boring person to watch when he does not have the bat in his hand.
A tribute is about finding the flaw despite the genius and then using that to flesh out the reality of this person’s private-public existence and contribution.

Abu Dhabi makes Dubai another Sharjah

Back in the day, when Dubai was booming, the whites would mock the Indians for living in Sharjah and working in Dubai, putting up with an hour and a half of traffic, one way. Now as Dubai dusts the effects of the bust off, the money has moved to Abu Dhabi, and so have the goras.
However, Abu Dhabi is now even costlier to live in than Dubai was. So the goras, and whoever else cares to, travel an hour and a half, one way, to work there.
Sum result: Abu Dhabi has made Dubai another Sharjah. Fancy that!

How dare they!?

At Mumbai international airport I nearly dropped dead at the bookstore. The shelves were filled with Indians writing English novels. So intimidated was I, that I nearly fainted.
What were all these Indians doing writing English novels? And who was publishing them? And who would read my first (Booker-winning, no less) book if there was such a crowd out there? Indians were not supposed to be so prolific about writing in English. And publishers were only supposed to pick those that had genius potential (ahem!). I did not buy any of these new writers. I just turned and ran.

Seeking God in money

Two Lords of Mammon have spoken seeking an association with the Lord of Mammals (and pretty much everything else).
Lloyd Blankfein, CEO of Goldman Sachs, believes banks serve a social purpose and are doing "God's work".
Barclays CEO John Varley took it one step further and spoke at the lectern in St. Martin-in-the-Fields. “Profit is not satanic,” he said.
Evidence of the fact that no market or socio-political system is truly ‘free’ of morality.
Of course, any true spiritual seeker knows, the soul and money are mutually exclusive – leave alone wealth.
Make money boys, but don’t spiritualise it.

Be patient... genius at work

It does not bother me when Manchester United play well and lose (like against Chelsea), but it upsets when they play crap and lose (like against Liverpool).
This season I have no problem not winning anything. The more intriguing aspect is watching the creation of a new world-class team. The development of Anderson, Fletcher and Carrick. The coming of age of Johnny Evans. The breaking in of Valencia, Obertan, Macheda and Wellbeck. And finally, the genius of the old guard. I just can’t see Sir Alex retiring. Though it’s more likely his ref-rants will get him banned first.

Chips and nickers

The Brits already impressed me no end with how seriously they took their fries. Now it’s time to doff the hat to their obsession with ‘nickers’, as in nick names. They will reduce any moniker to make up a nicker. And it must end with a ‘z’.
Bartholomew will be Baz! I have a colleague Gary who is Gaz, and Darrent Bent is evidently Daz. Shakespeare would have been Shaz. Of course, nevermind that Gaz and Daz are miles away from Gary and Darren. I love these guys. Truly a breed unto themselves. Chips, nickers and all that jazz.

Cock a doodle do!

The average size of the erect Indian male penis was too small to fit the WHO-standard size condom. I’m not kidding. They had condoms resized for India. This was, of course, like a few years ago. However, I only discovered this now.
So, basically, we Indian males should really be humble about our cockiness and… perhaps use Viagra. Also we should pray our desi babes don’t get anywhere near those gaijin monsters.
Suddenly, my kids are more than kids. They are living proof of my virility and size and manliness. Or maybe their mother was the Goddess of Fertility.

Pune FC, here I come

I have been a Manchester United supporter, consciously, from about 1992. Now at last, my home town of Pune has its own professional football club Pune FC (for the uninitiated).
I have never wanted to own an apartment. I have always wanted to own land and build my home. Chances are, it will happen. I have always wanted to own a fantastic music system. And I do.
I have wanted to own a restaurant, but I’m not so sure about that.
Now I want to own Pune FC. Rohan Gavaskar, I’m told, is a majority owner. Not for long.

The media you deserve

A former boss recently wrote in his column on www.exchange4media.com last week that the media scene in India is bleak.
He, in his typically easy style simply stated why journalism had been reduced to mediocrity, bottom-line-serving drivel.
However, if people get the government they deserve, then they most certainly get the media they deserve.
The Indian consumer of English media is still extremely gullible and aspirational. The consumer needs to mature to see through the wafer-thin cloak of integrity that covers our news-gathering. From Bollywood, to music, cricket, and newspapers – Indians must demand substance. And truth.

The Goa sensibility

Colva used to be a quaint getaway from the commercial north beaches of Goa. Surrounded by Longhinos, Martin’s and Pedro’s, it seemed to not let go of the Goa of the 1970s – paradise found.
Now it’s a dump. There’s a very clear western sensibility to enjoying and preserving the Goa of my youth. Tourists from Karnataka, coastal Maharashtra and anyway MP and northwards just do not share it. The day I left, the Goa Assembly was to pass an anti-racism bill that would ban shacks from favouring Whites over Indians. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Love on two wheels

Sadly, my kids are unlikely to experience one of the great mating rituals of my time.
The ritual is peculiar to a city like Pune, where two-wheelers are the life-blood of commuting. Hence, to get a girl to ride pillion with you used to be a milestone. If, and when, she held you on that bike… it was huge – equivalent to like, say, what the Americans would call ‘second base’.
It represented a public display of affection (which generally translated into uninhibited private displays). It also marked you as her’s.
Beats the backseat of a car any day?