Wednesday, 30 July 2014
Sunday, 27 July 2014
Jasoos Kutty will eat what he likes, mind it
Blogs like these usually start with, ”Many of my best friends are Muslims, yet…”. I won’t do that, not because I don’t have any Muslim friends, but because I don’t have any friends at all. My field of work, spying, doesn’t allow such pleasures.
What I intend to take up is a news report that appeared in The Indian Express. A school in Kerala run by a Christian management served pork curry to NCC cadets. The school teacher served fish curry and pickles to Muslim cadets, and pork curry to the those who wanted it. The issue was raised at the local mosque. Later protesters vandalised the school, beat up some teachers. To add teeth to the protests, the newsreport says, people started coming from outside.
After the incident, the local community leaders have defended their actions. They appear as quotes in the news report.
“27 of the 100 cadets were Muslims.”
“40% of the students in the school are Muslims.”
“Pork was served during the holy month of Ramzan.”
Now what I ask is, was any Muslim student served pork? If no, why the protests.
The defence given by the community leaders is just plain lame.
Do Muslims stop eating beef during Hindu festivals as a rule anywhere?
Now tomorrow, if Hindus, the majority community, demand everyone else must stop eating beef during their festivals, will their demand be justified?
The school principal and the teacher in charge of NCC have been suspended for now. The education department takes pains to justify the suspension, saying protests would have got worse if it wasn’t done. Incidentally, the department comes under a Muslim League minister.
Religion plays an important role in Kerala politics. Just a few months ago, during the Lok Sabha elections, the Christian community, wary of rising Muslim intolerance, looked eager to break bread with the BJP. What would surprise many is all this is happening in Kerala, which prides itself for being the most literate state. But this literacy is skin-deep. Kerala is as communal, narrow-minded and misogynist as any other state in the country.
You would wonder Kutty, who rarely eats pork, should get so worked up.
The way things are going, the right to eat what I like seems to be the only thing worth fighting for in this country.
Jasoos Kutty will not let anyone else decide his diet.
Friday, 18 July 2014
Jasoos Narayanan Kutty cracks the mystery of Maracana: Why Messi lost the World Cup
Parankimala is in mourning. Half the city switched off the neons,
brought down the flexboards, tore apart the festoons the day the yellow brigade
was ground to dust by a goal machine in their own backyard. The lights had gone
out of their lives, it seemed.
The other half was still hopeful. Their god still ruled the skyline in
these parts. Messi was everywhere. He came in mundu, lifted halfway and tied
around his waist, in avatars of Rajinikanth, Mohanlal and Mammootty. No, no
Sachin Tendulkar. Not because the fans hadn’t heard of the cricket god, but
because they hadn’t seen him in mundu.
In one corner of the city, Kutty’s Tea & Toddy had put up a poster
of the Argentina star telling the faithful, “Messi oru thadavai shonnaal, nooru
thadavai shonna maathiri.”
That was last week. This Sunday it all changed. Messi proved he too is
human. Like Karna, in his battle of his life, the genius forgot his
brahmastras, and missed the target by inches, yards and miles.
“Everyone says the Germans deserved to win. That they played well, so
they won. Bullcrap,” Kutty said to a group of tourists from India at his shop,
editing the last word to avoid offending a couple of censor board officials
present in the group.
“But they did play well throughout the tournament. They were the most
consistent,” one of the listeners said.
“The truth is always behind the scenes, I will take it to my grave. The
world will never get to know that.”
“Come on Kutty,” said Georgio, the detective’s biggest fan and abettor.
His prodding invariably made Kutty open up. And when Dhanno also joined the
conversation, wanting to know the secret, Kutty had no option.
“See, it started on June 12. A trend. I got to know of it when my old friend Velayudhan Kutty called me from Bangalore. He told me all the teams he was supporting were losing. Unimaginable because these were teams strong on paper, and in form. Yes, you could say their rivals played better football, but there was a reason for their playing bad football.”
“Oh, like that. Then what did you tell him?”
“It is all written in the stars. These days it is very fashionable to ridicule things like horoscopes but there is a science, logic and reasoning behind it.”
“See, it started on June 12. A trend. I got to know of it when my old friend Velayudhan Kutty called me from Bangalore. He told me all the teams he was supporting were losing. Unimaginable because these were teams strong on paper, and in form. Yes, you could say their rivals played better football, but there was a reason for their playing bad football.”
“Oh, like that. Then what did you tell him?”
“It is all written in the stars. These days it is very fashionable to ridicule things like horoscopes but there is a science, logic and reasoning behind it.”
“Oh, OK.”
Kutty surveyed his audience, saw faces lit up with interest.
“Often it is not enough that the stars are in your favour. If your supporters are having a very bad time, they will drag you down.”
“OK. So, Spain might have best alignment of stars but if their fans are not equally blessed, they could be in trouble.”
“Exactly. The teams’ fortunes are linked to that of their most fanatic fans,” Kutty explained, “And Velu, though India doesn’t play the World Cup, is crazy about 3-4 teams.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this? I don’t want to bore you, you know.”
“Yes, please,” the demand was unanimous.
“We spoke a long time, but I will give you a gist.”
*****************************************
FLASHBACK
SCENE 1, ACT 1
“See Velu, the harm is already done. You are late.”
“No, the team I support is taking the field tomorrow. Argentina. Something can be done I am sure.”
“I can try. Send me your date of birth and time of birth.”
I then took out the board and marbles I use to do fortune-telling.
“Hmm, Velu, the stars are not aligned in your favour. Rahu is on the left, that means 2+2+5+6+8… Kethu is Left of Centre… 23+3-2+3-2…”
“If you have trouble counting, I have a calculator here.”
“Can’t you just shut up? I will have to count again. Rahu is on the left, that means 2+1+4+3+2… Kethu is Left of Centre… 12+1-2+3-5…”
“Kutty, I think you are doing it wrong. Earlier the numbers were different.”
“Stupid, you interrupt again. The stars are not stationary, they keep changing position. I will have to count again.”
“But astrology is based on the theory that stars don’t move.”
“Can’t you just shut up? How many times should I repeat astrology is a science. It keeps evolving with every new discovery of stars, planetary systems, galaxies.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Let me start again. Rahu is on the left, that means 3+1+5+2+1… Kethu is Left of Centre… 12+2-3+4-3… Gulikan is right of Centre, that is 12+3+3+2+1… Shukran is right below 21+3-1+5+2… That makes it 30.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means bad news. Very bad news. No point holding it back from you. Can you bear it? Be strong.”
“Please don’t tell me Argentina will lose.”
“First tell me do you support just Messi or the entire team.”
“I have been an Argentina fan since 1986, when I saw Maradona kiss that World Cup.”
“Then it is worse than I thought. Velu, your stars are not in the right order. You suffer from a rare astrological phenomenon called ‘Mithram Parajayam Dasha’. Whoever you support will be booted out. But my wicked mind has a solution.”
“What?”
“Why don’t you switch over? Start supporting some other team.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Whenever there is an Argentina match, support their rivals. Be vocal about your support. Post messages on Facebook and Twitter. Slowly even you will start believing you are supporting the other team.”
“That’s very logical.”
“I will also suggest some measures that will accentuate your ‘Mithram Parajayam Dasha’. Are you ready?”
“Bring it on, Kutty. You will not find a more willing subject. I feel like a spy already, living a false life like you do.”
“Turn your television, it should now be on the western side of the room.”
“How do I know which direction is the west?”
“The best way is to wake up early and see where the sun is rising from. But you may check the compass app on your iPhone.”
“OK.”
“When you watch the matches, you should keep one leg on a teapoy or a similar three-legged piece of furniture and the other leg on the floor.”
“OK.”
“You should keep a red handkerchief in the pocket. If you don’t have one, a red rose will do.”
“Done. If Argentina win, I will treat you the best arrack you can get in Idukki.”
FLASHBACK 1 ENDS
*********************************************
Kutty rose from his chair to get a vodka-sambharam.
“Then what went wrong,” asked Dhanno.
“Velu followed my instructions to the ‘t’ and managed to get Argentina into the final. But then everything went wrong.”
“What happened?”
“In the final, he did what was needed of him till that fateful phone call.”
Like any good story teller, Kutty let the suspense fill the air.
“At some point in the match, he got a call from Kamakshi, his lover. He did his best to shake her off, but she wouldn’t let go.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know if I should be telling you this. See the world will go topsy-turvy if this thing gets leaked. This is the football world cup we are talking about not the cricket, whose fans are used to fixing and betting.”
“Oh come on Kutty,” Dhanno borrowed the chair next to him from Georgio, caressed his hair, “How many stories you have told us, have we leaked any of it? Never. Your secret is safe with us.”
Having got the right incentive and a possibility of a great night ahead, Kutty continued.
******************************
FLASHBACK 2
SCENE 1 (VELU IN CONVERSATION WITH KAMAKSHI)
“Velu, do you like me?”
“Yes honey, I love you.”
“Did you see the sky tonight. Clear like a crystal.”
“My friend Kutty tells me crystals can’t be clear, it is the impurities that make them look like that.”
“I can count the number of stars in the sky. One there, two to its left, three to its right… Come on Velu get outside. We will count the stars together.”
“Don’t be childish. How can we count the stars together? I am in Indiranagar, you are in Jayanagar.”
“But the sky is the same. Come on, get outside.”
“I can’t. I am watching the world cup final. Germany versus Argentina. The next one will be four years later. I miss it now, I have to wait another 4 years.”
“You are worried about the 4-year wait. What about me? I have been waiting for saath janam. Tell me now. Do you love me or not?”
“I do, honey. It is just that I want Germany to win tonight. Muller will score two goals. That’s my prediction. And Klose will score one. We will win 3-0. You just wait.”
“I like Messi, he is so cute. Isn’t he a genius?”
“What genius? He plays for a good team, Barcelona, where he has good company. Against Germany, he can’t do anything. Just see how we are marking him. He is not getting any space at all. We won’t let him pee even, without us watching him. Hahahaha.”
“Hohohoho. You think you have cracked a joke. All Messi needs is one moment in 90 minutes to weave his magic. And with all you defenders marking him, our other players will get space to score a goal.”
“Argentina has one Messi, we have 11 players who all play the same level of football. We have another six waiting on the bench to get on the field.”
“Messi will score.”
“No.”
“Do you love me or not?”
“Why do you do that to me? Always emotionally blackmailing me.”
“Then say Messi will score and I will forgive you.”
“Can’t you girls just drink like us and go to bed? Messi won’t score, no, no, no.”
“Who do you want? Muller or me?”
“Arre baba, it is only one night, let me watch the match.”
“If you love me, come on the balcony.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“Did you see Bangalore Days?”
“We went together, remember.”
“Is that so, I thought I went with Ramesh.”
“Who is this Ramesh? Tell me now.”
“See, you got jealous.”
“No, not at all. I can live with that. I am mature.”
“Like Fahadh Faasil in Bangalore Days?”
“Don’t start doing that. Comparing me with Fahadh.”
“Why can’t I?”
“He is acting. It is just a movie. In real life, he is a jerk.”
“I don’t believe it. He is so tough. He oozes confidence.”
(Velu takes off his shirt, takes a selfie of his six-pack and sends it to Kamakshi.)
“Does Fahadh have that? A six-pack?”
“Shah Rukh, Aamir and Salman have it, and they are all 50 years old. You are jealous.”
“No, I am not. I am just trying to make you see reason.”
“Fahadh doesn’t need a six-pack. He is tough without one. The way he looks at me, ooommmmmaaaa.”
“Kamakshi you are being unfair, eh. That was a bloody film.”
“Did you see Nivin Pauly in that film? Any girl would want to be with him. So confident, and funny. The jokes he cracks, I fell off the chair laughing.”
“Oh those stale ones from Khushwant Singh’s joke book.”
(Velu swears at the Sardar, mumbles, ‘He wrote novels, edited newspapers, why the fuck did he have to publish joke books.’)
“No, they weren’t from Khushwant Singh’s joke book. I have read them. They were original ones.”
“Don’t you remember the joke I cracked when we were at the Barista’s on Brigade Road on Simi’s birthday? None of Nivin’s jokes comes close to it.”
“O!O! We laugh at your jokes to please you. Nivin is any day better than you when it comes to jokes.”
“Kamakshi, in the film did you see how Nivin was fooled by the air hostess? He spent all the money, and she sleeps with some hunk. Such a loser he is.”
“That Isha Talwar is a *****.”
“Messi just missed a chance. I told you this is Muller’s night. He is going to score two goals.”
“Don’t try to change the topic Velu. And Dulquer Salman. Isn’t he cool? He looks sexy in those sunglasses.”
(Velu takes another selfie, this time with sunglasses on, and sends it to Kamakshi)
“Is he better than that?”
“Who wears sunglasses at night? Velu, you are jealous.”
“No, I am not.”
“Oh God, how Dulquer rides the motorcycles. Fast and furious. The wheelies, perfect.”
“I can do better wheelies, it is just that I don’t break the law.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I will, just give me a chance.”
“No, you can’t. And whatever you say , Fahadh, Nivin and Dulquer are cool. I love them.”
“For god’s sake, they are all married, Kamakshi.”
“So what?”
“Now you are being unreasonable.”
“One last time, Velu do you love me or not?”
“I love you with all my heart.”
“Then come to the balcony, let us count the stars.”
“OK, I am coming.”
(Velu and Kamakshi start counting the stars together)
“One there, two to its left, three to its right, four, five, six, below the fifth one… “
FLASHBACK 2 ENDS
********************************
Kutty turned to his spellbound audience, which by now had grown by a few hundreds. The news had spread how Argentina lost the final, and no one in Parankimala wanted to miss the story.
“They counted and counted and counted till they reached 1,12,349. Then Kamakshi got bored and went to sleep. Velu returned to his TV, and saw the Germans kissing the World Cup. Messi was nowhere to be seen.”
“See Velu, the harm is already done. You are late.”
“No, the team I support is taking the field tomorrow. Argentina. Something can be done I am sure.”
“I can try. Send me your date of birth and time of birth.”
I then took out the board and marbles I use to do fortune-telling.
“Hmm, Velu, the stars are not aligned in your favour. Rahu is on the left, that means 2+2+5+6+8… Kethu is Left of Centre… 23+3-2+3-2…”
“If you have trouble counting, I have a calculator here.”
“Can’t you just shut up? I will have to count again. Rahu is on the left, that means 2+1+4+3+2… Kethu is Left of Centre… 12+1-2+3-5…”
“Kutty, I think you are doing it wrong. Earlier the numbers were different.”
“Stupid, you interrupt again. The stars are not stationary, they keep changing position. I will have to count again.”
“But astrology is based on the theory that stars don’t move.”
“Can’t you just shut up? How many times should I repeat astrology is a science. It keeps evolving with every new discovery of stars, planetary systems, galaxies.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Let me start again. Rahu is on the left, that means 3+1+5+2+1… Kethu is Left of Centre… 12+2-3+4-3… Gulikan is right of Centre, that is 12+3+3+2+1… Shukran is right below 21+3-1+5+2… That makes it 30.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means bad news. Very bad news. No point holding it back from you. Can you bear it? Be strong.”
“Please don’t tell me Argentina will lose.”
“First tell me do you support just Messi or the entire team.”
“I have been an Argentina fan since 1986, when I saw Maradona kiss that World Cup.”
“Then it is worse than I thought. Velu, your stars are not in the right order. You suffer from a rare astrological phenomenon called ‘Mithram Parajayam Dasha’. Whoever you support will be booted out. But my wicked mind has a solution.”
“What?”
“Why don’t you switch over? Start supporting some other team.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Whenever there is an Argentina match, support their rivals. Be vocal about your support. Post messages on Facebook and Twitter. Slowly even you will start believing you are supporting the other team.”
“That’s very logical.”
“I will also suggest some measures that will accentuate your ‘Mithram Parajayam Dasha’. Are you ready?”
“Bring it on, Kutty. You will not find a more willing subject. I feel like a spy already, living a false life like you do.”
“Turn your television, it should now be on the western side of the room.”
“How do I know which direction is the west?”
“The best way is to wake up early and see where the sun is rising from. But you may check the compass app on your iPhone.”
“OK.”
“When you watch the matches, you should keep one leg on a teapoy or a similar three-legged piece of furniture and the other leg on the floor.”
“OK.”
“You should keep a red handkerchief in the pocket. If you don’t have one, a red rose will do.”
“Done. If Argentina win, I will treat you the best arrack you can get in Idukki.”
FLASHBACK 1 ENDS
*********************************************
Kutty rose from his chair to get a vodka-sambharam.
“Then what went wrong,” asked Dhanno.
“Velu followed my instructions to the ‘t’ and managed to get Argentina into the final. But then everything went wrong.”
“What happened?”
“In the final, he did what was needed of him till that fateful phone call.”
Like any good story teller, Kutty let the suspense fill the air.
“At some point in the match, he got a call from Kamakshi, his lover. He did his best to shake her off, but she wouldn’t let go.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know if I should be telling you this. See the world will go topsy-turvy if this thing gets leaked. This is the football world cup we are talking about not the cricket, whose fans are used to fixing and betting.”
“Oh come on Kutty,” Dhanno borrowed the chair next to him from Georgio, caressed his hair, “How many stories you have told us, have we leaked any of it? Never. Your secret is safe with us.”
Having got the right incentive and a possibility of a great night ahead, Kutty continued.
******************************
FLASHBACK 2
SCENE 1 (VELU IN CONVERSATION WITH KAMAKSHI)
“Velu, do you like me?”
“Yes honey, I love you.”
“Did you see the sky tonight. Clear like a crystal.”
“My friend Kutty tells me crystals can’t be clear, it is the impurities that make them look like that.”
“I can count the number of stars in the sky. One there, two to its left, three to its right… Come on Velu get outside. We will count the stars together.”
“Don’t be childish. How can we count the stars together? I am in Indiranagar, you are in Jayanagar.”
“But the sky is the same. Come on, get outside.”
“I can’t. I am watching the world cup final. Germany versus Argentina. The next one will be four years later. I miss it now, I have to wait another 4 years.”
“You are worried about the 4-year wait. What about me? I have been waiting for saath janam. Tell me now. Do you love me or not?”
“I do, honey. It is just that I want Germany to win tonight. Muller will score two goals. That’s my prediction. And Klose will score one. We will win 3-0. You just wait.”
“I like Messi, he is so cute. Isn’t he a genius?”
“What genius? He plays for a good team, Barcelona, where he has good company. Against Germany, he can’t do anything. Just see how we are marking him. He is not getting any space at all. We won’t let him pee even, without us watching him. Hahahaha.”
“Hohohoho. You think you have cracked a joke. All Messi needs is one moment in 90 minutes to weave his magic. And with all you defenders marking him, our other players will get space to score a goal.”
“Argentina has one Messi, we have 11 players who all play the same level of football. We have another six waiting on the bench to get on the field.”
“Messi will score.”
“No.”
“Do you love me or not?”
“Why do you do that to me? Always emotionally blackmailing me.”
“Then say Messi will score and I will forgive you.”
“Can’t you girls just drink like us and go to bed? Messi won’t score, no, no, no.”
“Who do you want? Muller or me?”
“Arre baba, it is only one night, let me watch the match.”
“If you love me, come on the balcony.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“Did you see Bangalore Days?”
“We went together, remember.”
“Is that so, I thought I went with Ramesh.”
“Who is this Ramesh? Tell me now.”
“See, you got jealous.”
“No, not at all. I can live with that. I am mature.”
“Like Fahadh Faasil in Bangalore Days?”
“Don’t start doing that. Comparing me with Fahadh.”
“Why can’t I?”
“He is acting. It is just a movie. In real life, he is a jerk.”
“I don’t believe it. He is so tough. He oozes confidence.”
(Velu takes off his shirt, takes a selfie of his six-pack and sends it to Kamakshi.)
“Does Fahadh have that? A six-pack?”
“Shah Rukh, Aamir and Salman have it, and they are all 50 years old. You are jealous.”
“No, I am not. I am just trying to make you see reason.”
“Fahadh doesn’t need a six-pack. He is tough without one. The way he looks at me, ooommmmmaaaa.”
“Kamakshi you are being unfair, eh. That was a bloody film.”
“Did you see Nivin Pauly in that film? Any girl would want to be with him. So confident, and funny. The jokes he cracks, I fell off the chair laughing.”
“Oh those stale ones from Khushwant Singh’s joke book.”
(Velu swears at the Sardar, mumbles, ‘He wrote novels, edited newspapers, why the fuck did he have to publish joke books.’)
“No, they weren’t from Khushwant Singh’s joke book. I have read them. They were original ones.”
“Don’t you remember the joke I cracked when we were at the Barista’s on Brigade Road on Simi’s birthday? None of Nivin’s jokes comes close to it.”
“O!O! We laugh at your jokes to please you. Nivin is any day better than you when it comes to jokes.”
“Kamakshi, in the film did you see how Nivin was fooled by the air hostess? He spent all the money, and she sleeps with some hunk. Such a loser he is.”
“That Isha Talwar is a *****.”
“Messi just missed a chance. I told you this is Muller’s night. He is going to score two goals.”
“Don’t try to change the topic Velu. And Dulquer Salman. Isn’t he cool? He looks sexy in those sunglasses.”
(Velu takes another selfie, this time with sunglasses on, and sends it to Kamakshi)
“Is he better than that?”
“Who wears sunglasses at night? Velu, you are jealous.”
“No, I am not.”
“Oh God, how Dulquer rides the motorcycles. Fast and furious. The wheelies, perfect.”
“I can do better wheelies, it is just that I don’t break the law.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I will, just give me a chance.”
“No, you can’t. And whatever you say , Fahadh, Nivin and Dulquer are cool. I love them.”
“For god’s sake, they are all married, Kamakshi.”
“So what?”
“Now you are being unreasonable.”
“One last time, Velu do you love me or not?”
“I love you with all my heart.”
“Then come to the balcony, let us count the stars.”
“OK, I am coming.”
(Velu and Kamakshi start counting the stars together)
“One there, two to its left, three to its right, four, five, six, below the fifth one… “
FLASHBACK 2 ENDS
********************************
Kutty turned to his spellbound audience, which by now had grown by a few hundreds. The news had spread how Argentina lost the final, and no one in Parankimala wanted to miss the story.
“They counted and counted and counted till they reached 1,12,349. Then Kamakshi got bored and went to sleep. Velu returned to his TV, and saw the Germans kissing the World Cup. Messi was nowhere to be seen.”
Monday, 7 July 2014
When Jasoos Narayanan Kutty spied on Rajdeep Sardesai
File No 109867/2005/330
Mission Media: Under cover in CNN-IBN
Excerpts from the case diary
SMELL THE COFFEE
Day 1 in office.
The Editor walks in, looks at the television screens in his cabin and shouts out , “Do we have this?”
“Yes sir,” the desk right outside replies promptly.
“Do we have this?”
“Long time back sir.”
“Do we have this then?”
“Sir, we did a live report on that.”
“OK, then do we have this?”
“We are checking it, sir.”
“Guys, smell the coffee, show some energy. It is 10 in the morning and I have to ask for things. Smell the coffee.”
Rajdeep Sardesai, not Dipika Padukone, is coffee’s biggest ambassador.
Kutty, the observant detective that he is, started drinking coffee straightaway.
*************************
THE SPIRITUAL EDITOR
Rajdeep is a very spiritual man. He has immense faith in an old monk, not Asaram I can assure you. Till a few years ago, his good night tweets were dedicated to him. But sometime down the line, Bollywood numbers replaced the old monk. Kutty doesn’t know if the Editor still holds him in high regard, but his ward has become a fan of the old monk.
*************************
NEWSROOM, THE JUNGLE
The Editor’s love for the wildlife is unparalleled.
What would you call people you love? Chunnu, Munnu, Gullu are Kutty’s favourites. But not for Rajdeep.
So, we have pot-bellied Panthers, tattooed Tigers in the newsroom. Yes, we have tigresses as well.
*************************
THE RAJDEEP TOUCH
It happened a few years ago. A young employee had quit to take an offer from a newly launched channel. No amount of cajoling by the bosses could stop him. But he ended staying back. The reason: his father got a call from Rajdeep telling him his son was committing a blunder.
He knew everyone on the floor by name. He would surprise even a fresher by calling out. What happens when he doesn’t know someone’s name? A new joinee was returning with a cup, you guessed it right, of coffee, the editor stopped him and said, “Hello, I am Rajdeep Sardesai…”
*************************
CHILD PSYCHOLOGY
You have faced this situation many times before. Your neighbour’s child pulls a prank, you want to scold him, but can’t. What do you do? You scold your child instead.
Now, what happens when you are dealing with some 100 people, all under your watch, all people you like. The Editor gives a dose of child psychology.
Example:
Kutty commits a mistake, his neighbour on the news desk gets the pounding. Usually everyone gets the message, but not Kutty. Once the punishment is over, Kutty turns to the ‘subject’ of Editor’s anger, and says, “I told you, didn’t I?”
*************************
THE IMPORTANCE OF MEDITATION
Often the Editor loses his cool, and forgets child psychology. This is when things get dangerous. He shouts at the person he actually wants to scold. You need to learn to deal with such a situation. This is how Kutty does it.
“This is the last time I am telling you.”
Kutty stares into the computer monitor. With all the belief he can muster, he starts reciting the school prayer.
‘Om sahano vavatu’
“If you can’t do this right, I will get someone who can.”
‘Sahano bhunaktu’
“What kind of English is running on the channel?”
‘Sahaviryam karavavahai’
“What the fuck is happening?”
‘Ma vidvishavahai’
“!@#$%^~!@$^%&*”
‘Om shanti hi, shanti hi, shanti hi’
****************************
THE SMS THAT FOLLOWS
Often such exchanges are followed by an SMS from the Editor. He would apologise for losing his temper. The SMS comes even if you are wrong and deserved that tongue lashing. Many in the newsroom have saved those SMSs on their phones.
I know what you are asking. No, Kutty never got that SMS. Not because he did no wrong ever but because Rajdeep doesn’t have his number. Kutty couldn’t have shared his mobile number, he was on an undercover mission.
Mission Media: Under cover in CNN-IBN
Excerpts from the case diary
SMELL THE COFFEE
Day 1 in office.
The Editor walks in, looks at the television screens in his cabin and shouts out , “Do we have this?”
“Yes sir,” the desk right outside replies promptly.
“Do we have this?”
“Long time back sir.”
“Do we have this then?”
“Sir, we did a live report on that.”
“OK, then do we have this?”
“We are checking it, sir.”
“Guys, smell the coffee, show some energy. It is 10 in the morning and I have to ask for things. Smell the coffee.”
Rajdeep Sardesai, not Dipika Padukone, is coffee’s biggest ambassador.
Kutty, the observant detective that he is, started drinking coffee straightaway.
*************************
THE SPIRITUAL EDITOR
Rajdeep is a very spiritual man. He has immense faith in an old monk, not Asaram I can assure you. Till a few years ago, his good night tweets were dedicated to him. But sometime down the line, Bollywood numbers replaced the old monk. Kutty doesn’t know if the Editor still holds him in high regard, but his ward has become a fan of the old monk.
*************************
NEWSROOM, THE JUNGLE
The Editor’s love for the wildlife is unparalleled.
What would you call people you love? Chunnu, Munnu, Gullu are Kutty’s favourites. But not for Rajdeep.
So, we have pot-bellied Panthers, tattooed Tigers in the newsroom. Yes, we have tigresses as well.
*************************
THE RAJDEEP TOUCH
It happened a few years ago. A young employee had quit to take an offer from a newly launched channel. No amount of cajoling by the bosses could stop him. But he ended staying back. The reason: his father got a call from Rajdeep telling him his son was committing a blunder.
He knew everyone on the floor by name. He would surprise even a fresher by calling out. What happens when he doesn’t know someone’s name? A new joinee was returning with a cup, you guessed it right, of coffee, the editor stopped him and said, “Hello, I am Rajdeep Sardesai…”
*************************
CHILD PSYCHOLOGY
You have faced this situation many times before. Your neighbour’s child pulls a prank, you want to scold him, but can’t. What do you do? You scold your child instead.
Now, what happens when you are dealing with some 100 people, all under your watch, all people you like. The Editor gives a dose of child psychology.
Example:
Kutty commits a mistake, his neighbour on the news desk gets the pounding. Usually everyone gets the message, but not Kutty. Once the punishment is over, Kutty turns to the ‘subject’ of Editor’s anger, and says, “I told you, didn’t I?”
*************************
THE IMPORTANCE OF MEDITATION
Often the Editor loses his cool, and forgets child psychology. This is when things get dangerous. He shouts at the person he actually wants to scold. You need to learn to deal with such a situation. This is how Kutty does it.
“This is the last time I am telling you.”
Kutty stares into the computer monitor. With all the belief he can muster, he starts reciting the school prayer.
‘Om sahano vavatu’
“If you can’t do this right, I will get someone who can.”
‘Sahano bhunaktu’
“What kind of English is running on the channel?”
‘Sahaviryam karavavahai’
“What the fuck is happening?”
‘Ma vidvishavahai’
“!@#$%^~!@$^%&*”
‘Om shanti hi, shanti hi, shanti hi’
****************************
THE SMS THAT FOLLOWS
Often such exchanges are followed by an SMS from the Editor. He would apologise for losing his temper. The SMS comes even if you are wrong and deserved that tongue lashing. Many in the newsroom have saved those SMSs on their phones.
I know what you are asking. No, Kutty never got that SMS. Not because he did no wrong ever but because Rajdeep doesn’t have his number. Kutty couldn’t have shared his mobile number, he was on an undercover mission.
Saturday, 5 July 2014
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
How Jasoos Kutty beat Brazil in a football match
Parankimala. A hill overlooking the sea. Years ago, when a group of explorers crossed the seven seas and reached here, it had many kinds of trees, mysterious flowers, plants of the kind never seen, but none that appealed to the visitors. They didn’t take the trouble to know what they were or why they were there. Today the hill is acres of rubber plantation that resemble Idukki and Wayanad, from where the adventurous lot had come. Somewhere between the hill and the sea a small town has come up. In appearance, in flavour, in colour it resembles any Kerala town, but drive a few kilometres here or there, you are in a different country. Brazil .
It is highly unlikely the Malayalees took the voyage to the Mecca of Football for their passion for the game. But once here, they embraced the sport, and showered it the love they never showed to kuttiyum kolum (Gully danda).
When the football world cup came here, I had no doubts where I would set up base. Kutty Tea & Toddy came up in one corner of the town, with a clear view of the sea and the bikini. You might wonder what kind of shop mixes tea and toddy, but that is how I am. My day here involves loitering, drinking, eating, watching football and regaling my customers with stories of my adventures, of which I have a long list.
I was busy experimenting with my drinks when a group of youngsters entered my shop. I sized them up. Indians. Wealthy. Fatigued. Homesick. Vulnerable.
“Murugaa 3 shikanji, 2 sambharam and 3 lime water for the beautiful ladies. Table No 5. Welcome to Kutty Tea & Toddy friends.”
“How did you know what we wanted?”
“He is Jasoos Narayanan Kutty. He knows all,” shouted Georgio, two tables away.
Georgio is a regular here, comes to read newspapers, talk football and listen to my heroics. His real name is quite long, I have jotted it down somewhere, it could be on the calendar, on a newspaper I read months ago, on a restaurant bill...
“Oh, Kutty. You must be from Kerala. How did you land here,” one of the guests asked.
“It’s a long story. How I, after opening my tea shop in Everest, Moon and Mars, landed in Parankimala.”
“A story worth listening to,” Georgio gave his approval. The bait was set, but will the prey fall for it?
“Mallu tea shop in Everest and moon, the old joke,” one of the visitors said.
“No, no. Kutty can do anything. You just don’t know him,” Georgio plodded on, “Kutty, tell your story.”
”We anyway don’t have much to do,” said one, “How did you come here?”
“Like I said, it is a long story. It happened long before the Goddess of Small Things won the Booker, Maradona won the World Cup, arrack was banned in Kerala and before I did a Marquez in Malayalam… Speaking of my novel in Malayalam, that is also quite a story. Very interesting and exciting. Should I tell that story first?”
“No. Tell us how you came here.”
“OK. As you wish. See children, football in this part of the world is a bit like cricket in Mumbai. It is the lifeline of Brazil . Every town, every village has its own football stories to tell. Every Brazilian identifies with a football team. And they are passionate about their teams. This much you know. What you don’t know is the extremes a team will go to to ensure they have an advantage over their rivals. Add to this the rivalry with Argentina and the scouts from Europe . Each of them trying to spot talent. This is where I came into play.”
“I thought you were a spy.”
“Yes I am. But a CIA friend of mine asked a favour for his friend who was working for a European club. I was asked to search the alleys and beaches of Brazil for the player of the future, the chosen one. Even a headstart of two years would help them buy talent cheap. ‘Bypass the system’, he said, ‘We do not want to wait till he plays the local league’.”
“Some kind of inside info.”
“Exactly. I infiltrated a community in Rio de Janeiro first. Mingled with them, went to football matches with them, and finally I joined the local team of what we call in India the galli players.”
“You play football also?”
“Central defender. Not many appreciate us defenders. But we are the backbone of any successful team. The unsung heroes. The world worships the strikers but how many know about Puyol, Baresi, Maldini.”
“Only the connoisseurs.”
“Actually, I have won several tournaments in India. As a central defender, I even scored a few goals. One of them I remember vividly. It so happened I took the ball out of our box, and kept running, running and running, dodging one opponent after another. All of a sudden I found myself again in the penalty box. Then I heard someone shout, ‘shoot ch****e, shoot.’ I didn’t think twice, kicked the ball hard. Goooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllll.”
“You made up the story, didn’t you?”
“You don’t believe me. See this is how I did it.”
I took a football from the shelf, took aim at an imaginary goalpost, shot the ball to the top left corner of the post. Seconds later we heard the egg seller down the road scream, giving us an exact location of where it landed. It happens. You need a large heart to understand football, and Brazilians have it. But this particular egg seller walked down, seeking damages. My worst fears were confirmed. He was a 24-carat Malayalee. People like him sully Brazil ’s name. I had to shell out a few reals to get him off my back.
“That must have been quite a goal.”
“Kutty omitted one bit,” said Murugan bringing our guests crispy vadas soaked in sambhar, “It was a self goal.”
Let me tell you one thing, man to man, heart to heart. Never, ever help a bachpan ka friend. Even if you want to, never employ him in your business. These langotiya yaars will out you every chance they get just to prove how close we are.
“Kutty and I are childhood friends. We went to the same school, sat on the same bench, ate from the same plate, when there was no food in his house, I used to get him pazhankanji. He still remembers those years. He brought me here, to Brazil, gave me work. So what if it’s just a waiter’s job, at least he did that much.”
See this is what I said. Never, ever employ a bachpan ka friend, he will do this to you.
“The referee called it a self goal. But to this day, I believe there was some fixing.”
“Kutty, I believe you,” said one of the women, and gifted me a lovely smile.
“If not for you, what would this world be! What is your name?”
“Let us say my name is Dhanno.”
“Such a nice name, Basanti would have been better.”
“Kutty, the story please.”
“Yeah the story. Which one?”
“Your clandestine mission in Brazil to scout soccer talent.”
“The team I joined, I again became the central defender. We played in several cities, villages, on the streets, in the fields, on the beaches, on every vacant bit of land we could find. But soon I found myself in trouble.”
“What happened?”
“See, I take my job very seriously. In this case the defender’s job. I perfected the art of adangi maarna there. No striker worth his salt could get past me. Soon maar adangi became a common phrase in our part of Brazil, and I became the focus of attention. Bigger local clubs started approaching me to sign me up.”
“Did you sign for any club,” asked Dhanno.
“No. I was here on a different mission. I couldn’t have. Then one day I met my match. A striker who could break the chakravyuh I built. A young boy with magnetic boots. Unbelievable ball control. As if the ball was tied to his boots with a string. He decided if he needed to loosen the string or tighten it. He dribbled like a ballet dancer, swerving, ducking, leaping... what a beauty. You could compose music to match his moves on the pitch. He broke down our defences at will, scored two goals.”
“You lost the match.”
“We scored two of ours. But it became a prestige issue for me. If he breaks down the fort I built, then he will have to become Abhimanyu, I decided. We asked two of players to mark him. If he gets the ball in the box, create a melee out there, a free for all. It worked fine till the 90th minute. He came like a raging bull, skipping every adangi on the way.”
“Then what happened.”
“Well, there was no way I was going to allow him a goal. I did what was required of me.”
“You brought him down.”
“You kicked him”
”You broke his leg.”
“Something similar. I hit him where it hurts most.”
“What do you mean?”
“The oldest trick in gali football. I caught him by his balls.”
“No, you didn’t .”
I took Dhanno’s sambharam, poured a little vodka into it, drank it in one go and started telling them the story of my novel in Malayalam. It is better than Marquez, I guarantee.
It is highly unlikely the Malayalees took the voyage to the Mecca of Football for their passion for the game. But once here, they embraced the sport, and showered it the love they never showed to kuttiyum kolum (Gully danda).
When the football world cup came here, I had no doubts where I would set up base. Kutty Tea & Toddy came up in one corner of the town, with a clear view of the sea and the bikini. You might wonder what kind of shop mixes tea and toddy, but that is how I am. My day here involves loitering, drinking, eating, watching football and regaling my customers with stories of my adventures, of which I have a long list.
I was busy experimenting with my drinks when a group of youngsters entered my shop. I sized them up. Indians. Wealthy. Fatigued. Homesick. Vulnerable.
“Murugaa 3 shikanji, 2 sambharam and 3 lime water for the beautiful ladies. Table No 5. Welcome to Kutty Tea & Toddy friends.”
“How did you know what we wanted?”
“He is Jasoos Narayanan Kutty. He knows all,” shouted Georgio, two tables away.
Georgio is a regular here, comes to read newspapers, talk football and listen to my heroics. His real name is quite long, I have jotted it down somewhere, it could be on the calendar, on a newspaper I read months ago, on a restaurant bill...
“Oh, Kutty. You must be from Kerala. How did you land here,” one of the guests asked.
“It’s a long story. How I, after opening my tea shop in Everest, Moon and Mars, landed in Parankimala.”
“A story worth listening to,” Georgio gave his approval. The bait was set, but will the prey fall for it?
“Mallu tea shop in Everest and moon, the old joke,” one of the visitors said.
“No, no. Kutty can do anything. You just don’t know him,” Georgio plodded on, “Kutty, tell your story.”
”We anyway don’t have much to do,” said one, “How did you come here?”
“Like I said, it is a long story. It happened long before the Goddess of Small Things won the Booker, Maradona won the World Cup, arrack was banned in Kerala and before I did a Marquez in Malayalam… Speaking of my novel in Malayalam, that is also quite a story. Very interesting and exciting. Should I tell that story first?”
“No. Tell us how you came here.”
“OK. As you wish. See children, football in this part of the world is a bit like cricket in Mumbai. It is the lifeline of Brazil . Every town, every village has its own football stories to tell. Every Brazilian identifies with a football team. And they are passionate about their teams. This much you know. What you don’t know is the extremes a team will go to to ensure they have an advantage over their rivals. Add to this the rivalry with Argentina and the scouts from Europe . Each of them trying to spot talent. This is where I came into play.”
“I thought you were a spy.”
“Yes I am. But a CIA friend of mine asked a favour for his friend who was working for a European club. I was asked to search the alleys and beaches of Brazil for the player of the future, the chosen one. Even a headstart of two years would help them buy talent cheap. ‘Bypass the system’, he said, ‘We do not want to wait till he plays the local league’.”
“Some kind of inside info.”
“Exactly. I infiltrated a community in Rio de Janeiro first. Mingled with them, went to football matches with them, and finally I joined the local team of what we call in India the galli players.”
“You play football also?”
“Central defender. Not many appreciate us defenders. But we are the backbone of any successful team. The unsung heroes. The world worships the strikers but how many know about Puyol, Baresi, Maldini.”
“Only the connoisseurs.”
“Actually, I have won several tournaments in India. As a central defender, I even scored a few goals. One of them I remember vividly. It so happened I took the ball out of our box, and kept running, running and running, dodging one opponent after another. All of a sudden I found myself again in the penalty box. Then I heard someone shout, ‘shoot ch****e, shoot.’ I didn’t think twice, kicked the ball hard. Goooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllll.”
“You made up the story, didn’t you?”
“You don’t believe me. See this is how I did it.”
I took a football from the shelf, took aim at an imaginary goalpost, shot the ball to the top left corner of the post. Seconds later we heard the egg seller down the road scream, giving us an exact location of where it landed. It happens. You need a large heart to understand football, and Brazilians have it. But this particular egg seller walked down, seeking damages. My worst fears were confirmed. He was a 24-carat Malayalee. People like him sully Brazil ’s name. I had to shell out a few reals to get him off my back.
“That must have been quite a goal.”
“Kutty omitted one bit,” said Murugan bringing our guests crispy vadas soaked in sambhar, “It was a self goal.”
Let me tell you one thing, man to man, heart to heart. Never, ever help a bachpan ka friend. Even if you want to, never employ him in your business. These langotiya yaars will out you every chance they get just to prove how close we are.
“Kutty and I are childhood friends. We went to the same school, sat on the same bench, ate from the same plate, when there was no food in his house, I used to get him pazhankanji. He still remembers those years. He brought me here, to Brazil, gave me work. So what if it’s just a waiter’s job, at least he did that much.”
See this is what I said. Never, ever employ a bachpan ka friend, he will do this to you.
“The referee called it a self goal. But to this day, I believe there was some fixing.”
“Kutty, I believe you,” said one of the women, and gifted me a lovely smile.
“If not for you, what would this world be! What is your name?”
“Let us say my name is Dhanno.”
“Such a nice name, Basanti would have been better.”
“Kutty, the story please.”
“Yeah the story. Which one?”
“Your clandestine mission in Brazil to scout soccer talent.”
“The team I joined, I again became the central defender. We played in several cities, villages, on the streets, in the fields, on the beaches, on every vacant bit of land we could find. But soon I found myself in trouble.”
“What happened?”
“See, I take my job very seriously. In this case the defender’s job. I perfected the art of adangi maarna there. No striker worth his salt could get past me. Soon maar adangi became a common phrase in our part of Brazil, and I became the focus of attention. Bigger local clubs started approaching me to sign me up.”
“Did you sign for any club,” asked Dhanno.
“No. I was here on a different mission. I couldn’t have. Then one day I met my match. A striker who could break the chakravyuh I built. A young boy with magnetic boots. Unbelievable ball control. As if the ball was tied to his boots with a string. He decided if he needed to loosen the string or tighten it. He dribbled like a ballet dancer, swerving, ducking, leaping... what a beauty. You could compose music to match his moves on the pitch. He broke down our defences at will, scored two goals.”
“You lost the match.”
“We scored two of ours. But it became a prestige issue for me. If he breaks down the fort I built, then he will have to become Abhimanyu, I decided. We asked two of players to mark him. If he gets the ball in the box, create a melee out there, a free for all. It worked fine till the 90th minute. He came like a raging bull, skipping every adangi on the way.”
“Then what happened.”
“Well, there was no way I was going to allow him a goal. I did what was required of me.”
“You brought him down.”
“You kicked him”
”You broke his leg.”
“Something similar. I hit him where it hurts most.”
“What do you mean?”
“The oldest trick in gali football. I caught him by his balls.”
“No, you didn’t .”
I took Dhanno’s sambharam, poured a little vodka into it, drank it in one go and started telling them the story of my novel in Malayalam. It is better than Marquez, I guarantee.
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
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