Yea, I saw this movie last night and I must admit I quite enjoyed it. It is a grand opus of some 120 crores of which 110 crores were paid to Hritik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai, 9.99995 crores to the sets, elephants, horses, other actors, the director, spot boys etc and about thirty seven rupees towards the actual plot.
Total eye-candy, Hritik and Aishwarya, the latter being so wooden in some scenes that they could have used a portrait of hers and no one would have known. But through most of the scenes, both the protagonists have done a great job and Hritik has put me personally in a tight spot. He has these rippling muscles which he displays at various times in the movies causing the missus to swoon and ask ME when I'm going to get pecs like that. Three months, I told her bravely, just give me three months, but she laughed sardonically and continued ogling at the said Roshan.
The plot is about 17 minutes long but judicious use of songs and languorous camera work stretch out the movie into a 220 minute opus. The missus kept pointing out the jewellery (its called jadhaav), the clothes (which are the rage with brides and grooms in Mumbai), Hrithik's muscles (I have reason to believe that his pectorals are actually two soup dishes turned upside down and painted over) and the language (more about this)
The language in Hindi movies is always difficult for Mumbaikars like me. Our forte is stuff like "Kayko Boam maar rahela hai?" which always freaks out the Delhi types. When people start saying "Tumhare muhabbat mein pareshan.." etc., the Mumbaikar in me starts feeling a little woozy. And Joe Da Akbar has some seriously heavy artillery where it comes to language. There was a song that went on about "chilman" which to the best of my knowledge is a clay pipe which junkies use to smoke cannabis. It behoves not for main stream cinema to contain such allusions. The missus contests my theory, of course, giving some tall claims about "chilman" being a curtain, but when I point out that she is from Mysore, you, the erudite reader, will agree that my knowledge of Urdu is superior.
All the same, the movie is heartily recommended. Akbar is portrayed as a kind and humane monarch who has the deductive logic skills of a beetle, thus getting Joe Da into trouble. But the story writer, who frankly is no Alfred Hitchcock, gets the mess cleaned up without raising anyone's heart rate by even a beat. What I really loved were the sets and the camera work, and of course H. Roshan, who has splendid personality, even when he is wearing clothes. Mrs. Bachhan is ok, but she has several cup sizes to go before she makes my pulse skip. And the music and choreography is wonderful.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The African Diaries - The Land of the Watermelon Smugglers
The Ethiopian Airlines flight to Addis Ababa and Entebbe leaves Mumbai at 5.45 am, for which you have to report at 2.45 am, which is a time for feeling like a corpse. Everyone in the airport was behaving like a zombie. A particularly petrified specimen wearing a blue coat, peaked cap and wings on his lapels was wandering around like Frankenstein's monster. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Tom", I whispered, "is that our pilot?". "Gotta be" he said, nonchalantly "hardly any other flights taking off at this time". I tried hard to recall the Gayatri Mantra.
The lady at check-in asked us where our visas for Uganda were, and gave us a look of intense suspicion when we told her that it was visa on arrival. I sweated a bit under the collar because I just realized that all that we had was George's unsupported word for it. For all we knew, Uganda might be more paranoid than North Korea even, and I had visions of a Tom Hanks like existence in The Terminal. Then I spied her giving the same treatment to another doofus first timer and realized that this babe was the practical joker in chief there. A lot of high fives would be exchanged behind the check-in counter once the flight had taken off.
The flight was most pleasant. The stewardess fell for my looks and kept plying me with champagne. When I had landed at Addis five hours later, I was drunk as a lord. So were Tom and George and when they kissed us good-bye (the stewardesses, that is), they told us that we had to catch another plane to Entebbe. I realized, to my horror, that I had lost all sense of direction. And further horrors, so had messrs Tom and George. We spent the next hour staggering around Addis Ababa Bole airport. Finally, a kind soul took pity on us and shoved us onto a plane he swore was going to Entebbe. Actually, the sign said Kigali but this guy told us it was the same thing.
I sat next to a kindly old white woman who said she was going to Kigali. "You mean Entebbe", I said. "Oh no, Kigali. That's the capital of Rwanda". I spent the next hour trying to convey to Tom and George that we were being hijacked to a country where the idea of an evening's entertainment is a cosy little genocide. Well, the egg was on my face, because the flight was going to Kigali via Entebbe, where we were going to be ejected from the plane and secondly, the genocide thing is history. Rwanda is now one of the most stable countries in Africa.......
(the I.S. is yelling at me to knock it off and get some zzzzzs, it is 2 a.m, we just watched Jodha Akbar, by the way, but stay tuned. I am going to reveal a lot of Africa's dark secrets)
The lady at check-in asked us where our visas for Uganda were, and gave us a look of intense suspicion when we told her that it was visa on arrival. I sweated a bit under the collar because I just realized that all that we had was George's unsupported word for it. For all we knew, Uganda might be more paranoid than North Korea even, and I had visions of a Tom Hanks like existence in The Terminal. Then I spied her giving the same treatment to another doofus first timer and realized that this babe was the practical joker in chief there. A lot of high fives would be exchanged behind the check-in counter once the flight had taken off.
The flight was most pleasant. The stewardess fell for my looks and kept plying me with champagne. When I had landed at Addis five hours later, I was drunk as a lord. So were Tom and George and when they kissed us good-bye (the stewardesses, that is), they told us that we had to catch another plane to Entebbe. I realized, to my horror, that I had lost all sense of direction. And further horrors, so had messrs Tom and George. We spent the next hour staggering around Addis Ababa Bole airport. Finally, a kind soul took pity on us and shoved us onto a plane he swore was going to Entebbe. Actually, the sign said Kigali but this guy told us it was the same thing.
I sat next to a kindly old white woman who said she was going to Kigali. "You mean Entebbe", I said. "Oh no, Kigali. That's the capital of Rwanda". I spent the next hour trying to convey to Tom and George that we were being hijacked to a country where the idea of an evening's entertainment is a cosy little genocide. Well, the egg was on my face, because the flight was going to Kigali via Entebbe, where we were going to be ejected from the plane and secondly, the genocide thing is history. Rwanda is now one of the most stable countries in Africa.......
(the I.S. is yelling at me to knock it off and get some zzzzzs, it is 2 a.m, we just watched Jodha Akbar, by the way, but stay tuned. I am going to reveal a lot of Africa's dark secrets)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The African Diaries - Prologue
I'm just back from East Africa after a 12 day trip which I managed to spend mostly in hotels and restaurants. I had intended to spend time in the bush but I couldn't find it. It might have been that the hostile natives were determined to keep its location a secret. Then again, The Rouge Bar in Kampala might not have been the right place to start looking. Either way, Africa kept that little secret with her. In its place, I made another discovery, no less momentous, that sequentially consuming 4 shots of a liqueur named Zappa will disconnect the motor nerves responsible for controlling one's legs. I realize I am speaking in riddles and that you, dear reader, are itching to clout me one on the cerebellum (but you don't know my address, ha ha ha) so without further ado, I shall pitch into my great epic.
Four score and seven years ago... oops, wrong speech .... a couple of weeks ago, some of us were having a working lunch and purely out of scientific motives, one of us ordered beer. My mates (I'll call them Tom and George) declared that Africa would be the next engine of growth for the world economy. One thing led to another and before I knew what was happening, I had signed up for a trip to Uganda and Ethiopia.
I had a personal problem. I had not cleared this with my immediate superior at home and I spent most of my time on the ride back thinking of plausible explanations. The I.S. (immediate superior) conceals, behind a petite appearance, a keen nose for funny business and is extremely un-Gandhian when I try to pull a fast one. So I decided to tell her the truth. "Sweetheart" I said "Africa is the engine for world growth". "You've been drinking beer", she diagnosed. "True, my angel" I replied, "but not germane to the issue"
She gave me the look and I suddenly found that truth had vanished from my lips. "Er, Tom and George have this really important assignment in Africa and are begging me to accompany them so that I may contribute my valuable insights."
You, dear reader, are a person of breeding and you do not want to know the contents of the speech that the I.S. delivered on this occasion. Suffice it to say that it lasted 15 minutes and melted a considerable amount of earwax. But the conclusion was "Do as you please" and I wasted no time in shinning up the attic for the old Samsonite.......
Four score and seven years ago... oops, wrong speech .... a couple of weeks ago, some of us were having a working lunch and purely out of scientific motives, one of us ordered beer. My mates (I'll call them Tom and George) declared that Africa would be the next engine of growth for the world economy. One thing led to another and before I knew what was happening, I had signed up for a trip to Uganda and Ethiopia.
I had a personal problem. I had not cleared this with my immediate superior at home and I spent most of my time on the ride back thinking of plausible explanations. The I.S. (immediate superior) conceals, behind a petite appearance, a keen nose for funny business and is extremely un-Gandhian when I try to pull a fast one. So I decided to tell her the truth. "Sweetheart" I said "Africa is the engine for world growth". "You've been drinking beer", she diagnosed. "True, my angel" I replied, "but not germane to the issue"
She gave me the look and I suddenly found that truth had vanished from my lips. "Er, Tom and George have this really important assignment in Africa and are begging me to accompany them so that I may contribute my valuable insights."
You, dear reader, are a person of breeding and you do not want to know the contents of the speech that the I.S. delivered on this occasion. Suffice it to say that it lasted 15 minutes and melted a considerable amount of earwax. But the conclusion was "Do as you please" and I wasted no time in shinning up the attic for the old Samsonite.......
Friday, February 8, 2008
Frozen in Mumbai
I'm a great believer in intuition and personal insight. My intuition and personal insight is that the temperature in Mumbai is -27 degrees. I know, I know, the thermometer says 9.6 Celsius but I think it is a great imperialist plot to lull the Indian public into a false sense of security. Even as we speak, CIA agents are shooting large beams of infra red radiation to melt the snow. According to my neighbor Mr. Shah, the world is tilting rapidly and very soon, the north pole will be where Srinagar is now and Mumbai will have the climate of Oslo. Mr. Shah knows everything. He knows when the market will go up, when it will go down, how much money the Finance Minister is eating, who will be the next Miss Universe, how many feet the sea levels will rise when the ice caps melt, when this will happen, which buildings in Versova, Mumbai will be submerged, how much the Nano will actually cost when it is launched, the share holding pattern of the Reliance group. Everything, except the fact that Wendy, their Pomeranian, is making out with a brown mongrel on the street outside. I don't want to tell him that, he'll probably have a heart attack. I don't want him to go just now. He's going to tell me his theory of how Jesus Christ and Buddha are the same person. It is based on the fact that Mary Magdalene, Christ's disciple was a prostitute and Amrapali of Magadha, the Buddha's disciple, was a prostitute too, and that Magdalene means from Magadha and hence Christ and Buddha are the same person, which means that Christ was buried in Kashmir.
As you will doubtless agree, this winter has frozen some brains too.
As you will doubtless agree, this winter has frozen some brains too.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Best B-School in the World
The other day there was this article in FT Business Standard about the 100 best B-schools in the world. Only one school from India made it to the list and that was The Indian School of Business (ISB), Hyderabad. To the great consternation of the IIMs A, B,C, L, K, and twenty one other alphabets, XLRI, FMS Delhi, SPJIMR and NSSFLMISMQG (Narendra Shenoy School For Losing Money in Stock Market Quickly and Gracefully - New school, but very good at what it specializes in).
Angry questions were asked about methodology, period of existence, how many of their graduates own Beemers, how many have shifted paradigms lately and so on. We thought we should shed some light on this fascinating and controversial topic, namely
What makes a B-school great?
To answer this question, we must ask another question. Why do people go to B-School? Any one? Yes you, who look like the before guy in a deo commercial, what do you think? To get a high paying job, did you say? Close, but no cigar, as Bill Clinton told the intern they had to hire after it was found that Lewinsky had stained her reputation. (Blot on her escutcheon, as one authority put it. But we digress.)
See people, the purpose behind going to a B-school is not to land a high paying job. It is to land a high paying job with no duties and responsibilities. Alas, there are not enough of these around, and the competition for them can be intense. One of the major factors that employers consider when making such preferments is which B-school you went to.
Now you might think that a job with no duties and no responsibilities would need no formal qualification but you would be making a mistake. Such a job carries the enormous challenge of having to look stressed out and busy while being blissfully unoccupied.
There are many techniques for doing this. One is meetings. A good B-school will teach you how to sleep without closing your eyes. Indeed, the best B-schools even teach their graduates how to sleep without pausing in speech.
All the while, you will be frowning intensely and saying things like "paradigm shift". Paradigms are things that are shifted when your company is going down the drain. No one knows how these things are shifted. Definitely not by hiring a moving firm. But you don't have to worry about these details. You just have to suggest that a few paradigms be shifted. Your Christmas Bonus is secured.
The other major criterion is how many of the B-school's alumni have landed such jobs. Cutting edge corporate theory is that a B-school alumnus will hire someone from his or her alma mater. No one knows why this is so. Speculation is that there is a deep-rooted primal fear in all MBAs that someday every one will know how ignorant they are. This is probably true. Though there are takers for the other theory namely that the average B-school grad does not have enough brain cells to remember TWO B-school names.
Anyway, the purpose behind this little lecture was just to orient your minds to this deep and fascinating field of research inasmuch as the relevant parameters of the global market economy and the sub-prime crisis do not impinge upon the five year moving average of the adjusted Dow Jones Index unless there are significant paradigm shifts in multilateral directions. Bullshit, did you say? We prefer to call it bovine digestive residue.
Angry questions were asked about methodology, period of existence, how many of their graduates own Beemers, how many have shifted paradigms lately and so on. We thought we should shed some light on this fascinating and controversial topic, namely
What makes a B-school great?
To answer this question, we must ask another question. Why do people go to B-School? Any one? Yes you, who look like the before guy in a deo commercial, what do you think? To get a high paying job, did you say? Close, but no cigar, as Bill Clinton told the intern they had to hire after it was found that Lewinsky had stained her reputation. (Blot on her escutcheon, as one authority put it. But we digress.)
See people, the purpose behind going to a B-school is not to land a high paying job. It is to land a high paying job with no duties and responsibilities. Alas, there are not enough of these around, and the competition for them can be intense. One of the major factors that employers consider when making such preferments is which B-school you went to.
Now you might think that a job with no duties and no responsibilities would need no formal qualification but you would be making a mistake. Such a job carries the enormous challenge of having to look stressed out and busy while being blissfully unoccupied.
There are many techniques for doing this. One is meetings. A good B-school will teach you how to sleep without closing your eyes. Indeed, the best B-schools even teach their graduates how to sleep without pausing in speech.
All the while, you will be frowning intensely and saying things like "paradigm shift". Paradigms are things that are shifted when your company is going down the drain. No one knows how these things are shifted. Definitely not by hiring a moving firm. But you don't have to worry about these details. You just have to suggest that a few paradigms be shifted. Your Christmas Bonus is secured.
The other major criterion is how many of the B-school's alumni have landed such jobs. Cutting edge corporate theory is that a B-school alumnus will hire someone from his or her alma mater. No one knows why this is so. Speculation is that there is a deep-rooted primal fear in all MBAs that someday every one will know how ignorant they are. This is probably true. Though there are takers for the other theory namely that the average B-school grad does not have enough brain cells to remember TWO B-school names.
Anyway, the purpose behind this little lecture was just to orient your minds to this deep and fascinating field of research inasmuch as the relevant parameters of the global market economy and the sub-prime crisis do not impinge upon the five year moving average of the adjusted Dow Jones Index unless there are significant paradigm shifts in multilateral directions. Bullshit, did you say? We prefer to call it bovine digestive residue.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sentiments and the Stock Market
As I write this, the Indian stock market is curing a lot of punters of their constipation by going up and down like a yo-yo. I'm watching the CNBC TV18 channel to find out what the wisest in the land prognosticate for the stock market. After all, it's money, honey.
Well, all that the nice lady with the lousy make-up is talking about is "sentiment". It is news to me that hardened capitalists like stock market traders can be sentimental, but apparently, that's what they are. I can almost imagine them sniffling and wiping away a tear as they contemplate the widow or orphan whose bread they have just snatched. Well they are very sentimental people. Sometimes, they send stock prices up, especially when they are sentimental and happy. At other times, they send stock prices down real fast, like now, when they are sentimental and scared. Hmmm.
I get the sneaky, but extremely heretical here in my office, feeling that the people on CNBC TV18 do not know anything about the market, which direction it is going, why it will do so, what clothes are in, why it is uncool to have 17 long strands of hair combed across a bald pate in a bid to appear unbald. Oh no, the CNBC TV 18 guys know everything. If only we could understand properly what they are trying to say, we would all be millionaires. This dude just told us that in his view, the stock market would oscillate in a band. What band would that be sir? A jazz band? The New York Philharmonic? The Naval Band? A rubber band?
And now, another bloke tells us to adopt a wait and watch policy. That was so deep. He must have really put hours of thought before he came up with that one.
I think I will apply to CNBC TV18 for a job. I am ugly. I have no dress sense. I am very good at talking without routing the content through the brain. I have an MBA, too. Am I overqualified?
Well, all that the nice lady with the lousy make-up is talking about is "sentiment". It is news to me that hardened capitalists like stock market traders can be sentimental, but apparently, that's what they are. I can almost imagine them sniffling and wiping away a tear as they contemplate the widow or orphan whose bread they have just snatched. Well they are very sentimental people. Sometimes, they send stock prices up, especially when they are sentimental and happy. At other times, they send stock prices down real fast, like now, when they are sentimental and scared. Hmmm.
I get the sneaky, but extremely heretical here in my office, feeling that the people on CNBC TV18 do not know anything about the market, which direction it is going, why it will do so, what clothes are in, why it is uncool to have 17 long strands of hair combed across a bald pate in a bid to appear unbald. Oh no, the CNBC TV 18 guys know everything. If only we could understand properly what they are trying to say, we would all be millionaires. This dude just told us that in his view, the stock market would oscillate in a band. What band would that be sir? A jazz band? The New York Philharmonic? The Naval Band? A rubber band?
And now, another bloke tells us to adopt a wait and watch policy. That was so deep. He must have really put hours of thought before he came up with that one.
I think I will apply to CNBC TV18 for a job. I am ugly. I have no dress sense. I am very good at talking without routing the content through the brain. I have an MBA, too. Am I overqualified?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Why the stock market will go up again
As you know, the markets tragically crashed on Monday, despite CNBC TV18 saying that nothing of the sort was going to happen. Well, PC and Manmohan immediately invited me to Delhi for a briefing. They know I am a popular blogger, doing much to mould opinion in the cyberworld. (I don't want to sound like a braggart, but a recent survey indicated that twelve - yes twelve! - separate people actually read my blog).
As it happened, only PC met me because Yechury and Karat managed to corner Manmohan Singh outside his office as he was leaving and were beating him up for speaking to the US ambassador over the weekend, presumably about the Indo-US nuclear deal.
Me: Hello PC. What's happening to Manmohan?
PC: Thanks for coming at such short notice, Naren. Don't worry about Manmohan. He's used to it, plus the CPI(M) are really very decent people, they never hit you with sharp objects or cause much permanent damage. How are Sheela and the kids?
Me: They're fine. How's your son? Still profiteering at the stock market?
PC: Oh, nothing much, a few crores....
Me: Annually?
PC: Daily! What do you think he is, some kind of petty trader?
Me: Sorry, my bad. Well then, what did you want to speak to me about?
PC: As you know, the stock market crashed the other day, without anyone telling us a thing. We are on a mission to restore investor confidence in the market.
Me: But wasn't the stock market overheated? Several economists including Bimal Jalan, former RBI governor, have called it a bubble.
PC: Oh no, definitely not a bubble. It was a very stable exponential rise. These guys are very impulsive and short sighted. Don't think before they speak.
Me: Even Bimal Jalan?
PC: Especially Bimal Jalan! He thinks he understands economics better than us just because he happens to be an economist. Let me tell you, we have been having some wonderful indicators. Our per capita income is up 0.2 %. Corruption is down 0.2 % And the percentage of the population below the poverty line has dropped by, let me see (leafing through his papers) 0.2%. Plus we have a better human rights record than China, unless you count Gujarat.
Me: Why do you think the crash happened?
PC: It happened because of the US sub prime crisis, but it will pass.
Me: But hasn't that been brewing for months now? Why should that result in such a steep crash?
PC: Our little broker community, while tremendously able and competent, is a little slow on the uptake, especially if things are spoken in a Yankee accent. They thought the sub-prime crisis meant that the Al-Qaeda had captured a nuclear under-sea vessel.
Me: Which way do you think the market will go now?
PC: Oh, there's only one way for the market to go, and that's up!
Me: Because the fundamentals of the economy are still good?
PC: Yes. And also because the entire experience of the crash has raised the average investor IQ by just 0.2 %
As it happened, only PC met me because Yechury and Karat managed to corner Manmohan Singh outside his office as he was leaving and were beating him up for speaking to the US ambassador over the weekend, presumably about the Indo-US nuclear deal.
Me: Hello PC. What's happening to Manmohan?
PC: Thanks for coming at such short notice, Naren. Don't worry about Manmohan. He's used to it, plus the CPI(M) are really very decent people, they never hit you with sharp objects or cause much permanent damage. How are Sheela and the kids?
Me: They're fine. How's your son? Still profiteering at the stock market?
PC: Oh, nothing much, a few crores....
Me: Annually?
PC: Daily! What do you think he is, some kind of petty trader?
Me: Sorry, my bad. Well then, what did you want to speak to me about?
PC: As you know, the stock market crashed the other day, without anyone telling us a thing. We are on a mission to restore investor confidence in the market.
Me: But wasn't the stock market overheated? Several economists including Bimal Jalan, former RBI governor, have called it a bubble.
PC: Oh no, definitely not a bubble. It was a very stable exponential rise. These guys are very impulsive and short sighted. Don't think before they speak.
Me: Even Bimal Jalan?
PC: Especially Bimal Jalan! He thinks he understands economics better than us just because he happens to be an economist. Let me tell you, we have been having some wonderful indicators. Our per capita income is up 0.2 %. Corruption is down 0.2 % And the percentage of the population below the poverty line has dropped by, let me see (leafing through his papers) 0.2%. Plus we have a better human rights record than China, unless you count Gujarat.
Me: Why do you think the crash happened?
PC: It happened because of the US sub prime crisis, but it will pass.
Me: But hasn't that been brewing for months now? Why should that result in such a steep crash?
PC: Our little broker community, while tremendously able and competent, is a little slow on the uptake, especially if things are spoken in a Yankee accent. They thought the sub-prime crisis meant that the Al-Qaeda had captured a nuclear under-sea vessel.
Me: Which way do you think the market will go now?
PC: Oh, there's only one way for the market to go, and that's up!
Me: Because the fundamentals of the economy are still good?
PC: Yes. And also because the entire experience of the crash has raised the average investor IQ by just 0.2 %
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
In which I meet some movie stars
I can't say I have a great fascination for movie stars. Primarily it is a case of sourus grapus, a common medical condition which heightens one's awareness of the incompetence of others. Therefore my considered opinion is that, after fashion models, the president of India (and the vice president of course) and the guys who comment on the stock market, Hindi movie actors are the most useless bipeds in the world.
Thus, when Ajay Devgan, Arshad Warsi and Ayesha Takia walked into a Provogue store in Malad West, I was standing non-chalantly, leaning against a wall and making snide remarks that I had seen better looking personnel in airlines and restaurants while the wife and kids were busy swooning.
The crowd energy was simply awesome. They had to shut the store for a while till the stars were done and then whisked out through a side entrance.
After this, I have become a much sought after raconteur. People who, upon hearing me expound on interesting episodes in my life , begged me to write a book about it instead of telling them, now want to know every detail of the great encounter. Did he shake hands with you? Did she? Is she as sexy in person as she is on screen? Is Arshad Warsi witty? The answers are yes, yes, no and no idea. But you wont catch me saying it like that. Oh, no siree, I am milking it for all its worth. Just the other day, I was forced - FORCED - to have two extra drinks because I hadn't got through the whole story.
Friday, January 11, 2008
How to tell Australian cricketers from monkeys
In our endeavor to educate the ignorant public (you, that is), we have decided to take up a sensitive topic which is How to tell an Australian cricketer from a monkey. We know this a very tricky subject and that even experts like Harbhajan Singh have been known to make mistakes (he recently called the Australian cricketer Andrew Symonds a monkey and nearly got suspended. Silly of him. He should have said "ape", which scientists will tell you is different from "monkey").
As we were saying, it can be done, telling them apart, that is. By the time you are done reading this article you will be distinguishing between Australian Cricketers and monkeys with a confidence rate of 71.224%
Let's start with the basics. Australian cricketers are not monkeys. We know this is hard to believe but trust us. There are many points of difference, though most of them are discernible only under an electron microscope.
Firstly, monkeys are primates but unlike humans, do not have an opposing thumb. Australian cricketers, who resemble humans more closely, do. This enables them to bunch up their digits into a fist and extend only the middle one, the universal gorilla symbol for love and friendship.
Secondly, the average Australian cricketer has less hair than most species of monkey. This is the best distinguishing physical characteristic, according to several authorities in this field, because facial features can be very misleading. The leading case on the topic is Symonds v/s Singh where the plaintiff sued the defendant for having called him, the plaintiff, a monkey face. The courts ruled against the plaintiff on the grounds of reasonable similarity.
Thirdly, most monkeys in the wild do not appeal in unison, unlike the Australian cricketers. Their preferred method of pressuring the umpire would be to bite him in the nuts. This is why the BCCI, along with the entire Indian cricket team, wants Umpires Bucknor and Benson to officiate in the Jungle Olympics.
And lastly, Australian cricketers, unlike monkeys, do not mate promiscuously with multiple females. Unless they are Shane Warne.
We hope this article was illuminating, though the space provided was hardly enough to do justice to this vast subject. The reader is most welcome to attend the author's lectures delivered in the primates section of the Bombay zoo. He will be the one scratching his butt. Aussie style.
As we were saying, it can be done, telling them apart, that is. By the time you are done reading this article you will be distinguishing between Australian Cricketers and monkeys with a confidence rate of 71.224%
Let's start with the basics. Australian cricketers are not monkeys. We know this is hard to believe but trust us. There are many points of difference, though most of them are discernible only under an electron microscope.
Firstly, monkeys are primates but unlike humans, do not have an opposing thumb. Australian cricketers, who resemble humans more closely, do. This enables them to bunch up their digits into a fist and extend only the middle one, the universal gorilla symbol for love and friendship.
Secondly, the average Australian cricketer has less hair than most species of monkey. This is the best distinguishing physical characteristic, according to several authorities in this field, because facial features can be very misleading. The leading case on the topic is Symonds v/s Singh where the plaintiff sued the defendant for having called him, the plaintiff, a monkey face. The courts ruled against the plaintiff on the grounds of reasonable similarity.
Thirdly, most monkeys in the wild do not appeal in unison, unlike the Australian cricketers. Their preferred method of pressuring the umpire would be to bite him in the nuts. This is why the BCCI, along with the entire Indian cricket team, wants Umpires Bucknor and Benson to officiate in the Jungle Olympics.
And lastly, Australian cricketers, unlike monkeys, do not mate promiscuously with multiple females. Unless they are Shane Warne.
We hope this article was illuminating, though the space provided was hardly enough to do justice to this vast subject. The reader is most welcome to attend the author's lectures delivered in the primates section of the Bombay zoo. He will be the one scratching his butt. Aussie style.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
How did Benazir die?
In an effort to make sense of the myriad theories about Ms. Benazir Bhutto's death, this blog decided to depute its worthless-but-devoted-to-journalism founder Narendra Shenoy to Pakistan to find the truth.
Honest and intrepid, Shenoy's quest started with preparing ground research. Fearlessly typing in "Pakistan terrorism Bhutto Assassination" into a toolbar graciously provided by M/s Google & Co. for this very purpose, Shenoy speedily unearthed a few unknown but potentially deadly facts about that fine country, listed below for your benefit
1. Ain't no democracy there
2. No government even
3. No law and order neither
4. Plenty bearded blokes who are living in AD 632 and who can shoot quicker than they can think
Having unearthed all that information, Shenoy stretched out on the living room sofa and, deciding that this crime was best solved by employing the little grey cells, poured himself an 18 year old Glenfiddich. 'Bout as old as little Bilawal' he reflected. "More mature than him, though".
Scotland yard had been called in earlier and had delivered its verdict. "Sniper", Inspector Plod had told the press.
A little earlier, a Pakistan government (assuming one exists) spokesman had declared that Ms. Bhutto died from hitting her head on the door handle of her car when a human bomb went off.
When she died of course, the official (if there is such a thing in Pakistan) report was that she was gunned down by two people wielding assault machine guns.
Easily confused with a sniper, of course.
"Plod, you're an ass", said Shenoy, to the Scotland yard detective. "It's clear as daylight. The murder was committed by administering strychnine through her anti-dandruff shampoo medicine, which was given to her by the husband of her former maid whom she had dismissed for being a thief and thus competing with her husband Asif Ali Zardari."
The case solved, Shenoy decided to take the rest of the day off and reflect on the wisdom and inner beauty of this fine lady who had left no stone unturned in her effort to liberate the people of Kashmir by waging a jihad against the Pandits who, with their wives and children posed a dangerous threat to the people of Kashmir, especially by being unarmed just so that they could pretend to be innocent.
Honest and intrepid, Shenoy's quest started with preparing ground research. Fearlessly typing in "Pakistan terrorism Bhutto Assassination" into a toolbar graciously provided by M/s Google & Co. for this very purpose, Shenoy speedily unearthed a few unknown but potentially deadly facts about that fine country, listed below for your benefit
1. Ain't no democracy there
2. No government even
3. No law and order neither
4. Plenty bearded blokes who are living in AD 632 and who can shoot quicker than they can think
Having unearthed all that information, Shenoy stretched out on the living room sofa and, deciding that this crime was best solved by employing the little grey cells, poured himself an 18 year old Glenfiddich. 'Bout as old as little Bilawal' he reflected. "More mature than him, though".
Scotland yard had been called in earlier and had delivered its verdict. "Sniper", Inspector Plod had told the press.
A little earlier, a Pakistan government (assuming one exists) spokesman had declared that Ms. Bhutto died from hitting her head on the door handle of her car when a human bomb went off.
When she died of course, the official (if there is such a thing in Pakistan) report was that she was gunned down by two people wielding assault machine guns.
Easily confused with a sniper, of course.
"Plod, you're an ass", said Shenoy, to the Scotland yard detective. "It's clear as daylight. The murder was committed by administering strychnine through her anti-dandruff shampoo medicine, which was given to her by the husband of her former maid whom she had dismissed for being a thief and thus competing with her husband Asif Ali Zardari."
The case solved, Shenoy decided to take the rest of the day off and reflect on the wisdom and inner beauty of this fine lady who had left no stone unturned in her effort to liberate the people of Kashmir by waging a jihad against the Pandits who, with their wives and children posed a dangerous threat to the people of Kashmir, especially by being unarmed just so that they could pretend to be innocent.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
