Mozzarella

I was on the train back to Ahmedabad from Surat. It was running nearly an hour late, but for once I didn’t care about that or even my favourite hobby on trains (people-watching). For I was busy – immersed in this mesmerizing book called Future Shock (which unlike most other mesmerizing books is not fiction). And then this guy beside me tries to initiate a conversation.

“Itne der kitaab padke, ankhen thak nahi gayee?” (Haven’t you tired out your eyes after reading for so long). Ya, right. I had been reading only for a little over 2 hours.

“Nahi. Bahut achchee kitaab hai na.” (No. It’s a very good book, that’s why)

“Abhi thodi der use bandh karke, is collection of messages ko pado. Friendship ke bare me hai… Bahut achche hai” (Now close the book and read my collection of messages about friendship. They’re very nice)

I was somewhat pained, but being the nice guy I was (or the nice guy I try to be), I shut the book and took the cellphone he offered, at the same time trying to think of some way out of it. I couldn’t.

Hmm, first message. “A lover wipes away your tears when they fall. But a good friend never lets them fall in the first place.” Gulp! Really powerful stuff. A classic silverscreen award winning dialogue if there ever was one. I was nearly choking with emotion there.

After going through nearly 30 such messages, each one cheesier than the other, I handed back the cellphone not sure of what to say.

“Achcha collection hai na?” (A good collection, isn’t it?) Yeah, I’m about to go and hug all my lovely friends right now (since my ‘cell’ cannot send SMS).

“Haan. Lekin maine aise bahut pade hain. Email me aate hi rahte hain.” (Yes, but I’ve ready many like these. They appear all the time in my mail) I hoped that was a neutral enough answer – enough to make him stop, but not appear too brusque at the same time.

Thankfully, he stopped. He set me thinking however. How do people actually like this senti (no better word for it) crap? All this overly mushy stuff about friendship and love and all that? Though I was pretty sure that if I stood up and asked all those in the compartment, who believe in such fluff to raise their hands, most hands would fly up. Well they wouldn’t do it openly, but then again what’s e-mail and SMS for? To release the inner ‘romantic’ in ourselves…

If we look all around us, we see that this issue is more fundamental than any of us thought. Nearly any Hindi movie or serial banks on this sentimental eye-wash (no pun intended) to sell themselves. Directors and actors make big bucks banking on the audience to lap up their carefully crafted films – which are engineered to romanticize every aspect of everyday life. To show reality as running around trees, living in huge mansions, singing the national anthem in foreign lands and giving up one’s love for friendship (only to get it back from the ever loyal friend) etc. Maybe, I wasn’t a little clear in the last line, but I’m sure all of us have been exposed to that phony Karan Johar saga of life before. Not that he’s the only one.

These people have spawned what I call the ‘tissue-culture’ – clans of people who revel in such corny creations and believe in spending their hard-earned money (and loads of tissue paper to wipe their tears) on these goofy and ridiculous movies. I for one fail to see the point of these movies at all.

Sure. Been there. Done that. So what’s new?

For once, I decided to think differently – to try to see myself as one of the ‘tissue-culture’. Why not put myself in their shoes and try to see both sides of the argument?

So, maybe they enjoy these movies without putting any thought into them. Maybe, they really don’t care about reality (or are probably fed up with it?) and need these movies to make them forget it. Maybe they fantasize about such a life sometimes and can hence relate to it when it’s churned out on the widescreen. Come to think of it, they don’t really need a reason to like a movie, right? Or maybe, they see some rationale behind all these so called ‘populist’ movies. Probably, such senti messages, be they in movies or in SMS, actually help them get closer to their loved ones.

I realise that I have been a little narrow minded in my derision of all this. Maybe I dislike such movies but it’s not really my business or prerogative to go around telling people not to watch it etc. So Mr Patel (my fellow passenger was most probably one, seeing as there are 160,000 Patels in the Ahmedabad Telephone listing) seriously loves reading such messages and they make him feel wanted. Who was I to mock that?

Of course, there is another end of the spectrum as well – the very antithesis of the ‘populeteriat’, which I have dubbed the ‘pseudocracy’. This is another class of people, whom I have failed to understand as much as the earlier set. They read only the ‘pseudest’ (again, IITM lingo has certain words that have no clear English equivalent) books, watch only the movies of the ‘highest concept’ (read Kubrick and co.). They talk of only Kakfa, Nietzsche (hope I got the spelling right) and some other high-funda (IITM lingo rules!) writers whom I cannot really recall right now. They seem to dismiss anything even slightly populist. And it becomes an obssession sometimes. Even with people whose minds aren’t actually built that way – but those who have this interminable desire to worship the pseudocratic canon, to gain acceptance into such cliques probably. Once again, I may have gone a little overboard in my description, but I’m human after all.

So what am I? Pseudocractic or populeterian? Sure, I don’t like these crassly commercial movies like K3G, KNPH and all those other K’s (detest them in fact), but nor can I really get what’s so hot about Tarantino and Kubrick. I hate TV soaps, but can’t really get past a few pages of Rand. There are exceptions of course. I love Munnabhai MBBS (commercial, but a real laugh riot) and also The Catcher In The Rye (termed by many as ‘high-level’). So what am I? Forgive the excess fantasy imagery but I have to say this:

“The Pseudocracy stood high upon their vantage points on the gleaming ivory towers – watching and secretly scorning the seemingly inane Populateriat running about on the roads and enjoying themselves over their hollow and vacuous creations. Me – I was in the first storey. Tempted to run down and forget everything and yet, strangely drawn towards the Pseudocrats up on the top. I did neither…”


(Lack of coherent thought in this blog can be attributed to 5 hours of incessant sitting in a chair coach. Actually, that’s a very lame excuse. Forget it.)

(Don’t read this post unless you’ve read the one before this)

And so, our swift reporter soon reached the swank locality of Caerphilly and positioned himself right behind the rear wall of Camembert’s sprawling mansion – Das Käsehaus. He took out his half-chewed graphic pen and PDA. After looking around for a while he saw a brick in the wall which was very different from the others, due to it’s light orange colour. A closer look revealed several of them, clustered together. McYuri (aka the Puffer) started scribbling:

“The star of the ‘highly acclaimed’ Mega Monster series, may be a ‘perfectionist’ on screen, but can be pretty sloppy off it. The rear wall of his mansion, littered with discoloured bricks is a standing example of this. Further investigation revealed that he had crashed into this wall in his Chevre after a night of especially wild drinking and hence the hasty repair job, before people got too curious. But couldn’t hide it from us, could you Cheddie ol’ boy?”

The Puffer was looking intently at the nearby poster. It was for the sequel to Big Bad Computer Generated Monsters 2 (BBCGM 2), titled ‘BBCGM 4: Did we forget something?’ The Puffer was trying to figure out why the poster was bothering him when he heard the grating sound of gates being opened.

The lean, muscled figure of Camembert Cheddar emerged from the august rear-gates of the Käsehaus. A small stray dog followed him, and was in turn followed closely by that Sultan of scandal, McYuri. The Puffer wrote:

“Camembert Cheddar is known for fighting horrendous monsters onscreen, but offscreen he’s a bit of a softie actually. Only this morning he was spotted playing along with an exotic Chinese dog of the Cheesehuahua species. In retrospect, it kind of fits his ‘dogged’ image, doesn’t it?”

“Walk along, Cheddie boy. I’m just getting warmed up,” whispered the Puffer.

Camembert walked along Farmstead Avenue for a mile or so until he reached a small rowhouse. He opened the gates and walked in nonchalantly. A blonde petite woman rushed out, let out a small scream and jumped right into his arms smothering his face with kisses. Camembert was only too eager to reciprocate.

The crown prince of gossip nearly dropped his PDA in his excitement and started puffing his cheeks in and out. Like a predator, he edged closer and closer slowly moving in for the kill. Camembert and the woman walked into the house and shut the door.

McYuri quickly unsheathed his secret weapon, the same one that had brought many a celebrity down to his/her knees, begging forgiveness – the super-slomo-high-fidelity-mega-zoom camera. And he had a really advanced one too. It could sneak around corners and was even rumoured to take photographs through concrete walls. The Puffer, however wanted a clear shot catching Camembert in the act. He looked at the back of his camera and chuckled quietly at the irony of the camera’s high fidelity feature, when it had been responsible for so many instances of infidelity, even when none existed.

Shocking news!!! (which you expected all along anyway)
Camembert Cheddar, the star of the greatest romantic epics of our era such as Faithfully Yours and Till Death Do Us Part, was surprisingly caught in an intimate embrace followed by an afternoon of marathon love-making with an unidentified woman. This was followed by a sauna, a shower, and some other unspeakable activities, which our highly moral newspaper cannot print (‘cos we’ve run out of paper and ideas).

The small messages in the brackets were McYuri’s personal comments, which would obviously be deleted in the main article. He needed a photograph now and that doyen of daredevil photography was considering the ways he could get into the house. He saw a weedy, dishevelled tramp shuffling along the road and stopped him.

“Hey! Hey you! D’you know who lives here?” asked McYuri.

“Go screw yourself, you stupid dork!” said the tramp, clearly not in a helpful mood as he trudged away down the road.

“Hmm, must be one of those out-of-work actors. Anyway, let’s see…” thought the Puffer. Of course! He appended a few lines to the earlier piece.

“They’ve been at it like rabbits for some two years now. Wonder what poor Brie Cheddar will think,” said a friend, under condition of anonymity. “Bertie is a good and faithful human being and he sincerely wants to be a good husband, but he regrets that it’s not possible any longer. He still says that he loves Brie from the very bottom of his heart, but the rest of his heart has already been pledged to someone else,” said a close family friend. He added that the unidentified woman happened to be the love interest of up and coming star, Stephen Dork.”

Now, the story looked complete – except for the photograph. McYuri scouted all around the house and slowly started to scale the wall. He was nearly at the top when his cellphone rang loudly startling him. He fell off the wall and landed violently on his posterior.

“You blasted sonova*****! I was about to take the Pulitzer winner when you toppled me!”

“Oh, really?” came the low growl of Celeberus from the other end.

“Uh, I mean… I was… er… That bloody um… tramp, that stupid fool! I was scolding him… stupid people really…”

“Stop your dilly-dallying, you nimcompoop! What are you doing in Caerphilly?” hollered Celeberus, causing the McYuri to hold the cellphone one-foot away from his ear. “Cheddar is shooting his latest movie at Alpine Gulch! And you, being the halfwit that you are! Trying to get insignificant awards like the Pulitzer! What are you photographing? Mould growing on cheese?”

“That’s impossible! Cheddar is right here! I’ve got a big scoop already. Cheddar in an extramarital affair! In broad daylight with this dishy looking broad!”

At that exact moment, the man whom the Puffer was following, walked out of the house. “Don’t forget your chef’s hat, darling,” said the woman.

“I’ve not. I have it right here with me, sweetie. Bye!” said the man. He waved his hand and ambled down the road. The Puffer slapped his hand to his forehead in frustration.

“Damn! Camembert and his chef look nearly identical! That is so cliché!” exclaimed the Puffer.

“Well, that’s what Hollywood is, ain’t it? You don’t sell movies or tabloids without being cliché,” said Celeberus in such a normal voice, that the Puffer nearly dropped his phone in surprise before checking the speaker volume.

“WELL, GET OVER TO ALPINE GULCH, YOU IMBECILE!” broadcasted Celeberus, reaching new heights of intensity. The Puffer jumped and clutched his ear violently, this time really dropping his cellphone.

After a few callisthenic exercises, he had recovered and was back to his usual self again. After thinking for about 30 seconds, he took out his PDA and started editing his entries.

“Camembert Cheddar is the star of maybe the greatest romantic epics of our era such as Faithfully Yours and Till Death Do Us Part. But his chef does not seem to subscribe to his master’s highly loyal ideals. Yours truly caught him today, engaged in a passionate…”

(Concluded)

Being home at Ahmedabad during the holidays means a lot to me. I get to catch up on my reading, my sleep and most important of all – Home Grub (I cannot stress enough on this (I have nightmares of mess food sometimes (Hey, I used nested brackets (Hey, I used them again…)))… ∞). There’s one drawback though. Having to wake up in the morning and drink that wonderful piping hot coffee only to stare at what in my humble opinion is the most useless newspaper ever – The Times Of India.

Yeah, I meant that, all you ToI fans (who even go to the extent of buying the previous day’s ToI in Chennai). You’re welcome to disagree of course, but pray do read this post and the next one completely to get what I mean. The inadequate news coverage, the shabby outlook (Read the Hindu for a nice contrast), the excessive advertisements, a really bad crossie on weekdays… I could go on and on. Though I must admit that my viewpoint is somewhat prejudiced after reading the Hindu for some six years now. Before you can say Bhajpa, let me tell you that I am not a political person and have no comments whatsoever to make on any newspaper’s political leanings.

So after some really pointless asides, I finally get back why I dislike ToI so much apart from the reasons I mentioned earlier. Because it is almost like a tabloid due to its painful predilection towards gossip. And I’m sure you know what kind of gossip I’m talking about – the celebrity kind. At first, it used to amuse me. But now it just irritates the hell out of me. And ToI devotes at least two whole pages to it. Not to mention the various snippets that are scattered about in the paper, especially the ones classified innocuously as ‘International News’ (Britney Spears staying in some arbit hotel… Puhleeeese!)

This irritation culminated on the 17th of December 2004. And so on that day, Camembert Cheddar was born…

SAY CHEESE!

Deep in the unused tunnels of the old subway system under the Big Apple lies a chamber with a strange mural painted inside.

Untouched for aeons, until 1955 when an unfortunate photographer wanted to take a crapper at the subway station and accidentally stumbled upon it. The mural, was of the Norse God of mischief, Loki. Now the photographer, Mr. Woodin knew not what to make of such a sign – but in his infinite denseness saw this as message to spread havoc and chaos all over the earth. And thus, the International Paparazzi Organization (IPO) was started. (The name speaks a lot about his creativity)

Anyway, after that little history lesson (pretty much filler material actually), we get back to the 89th floor of the Vauxhalla building in Los Angeles, where Bosseidon, the present CEO of the IPO was MIA. And therefore in charge was his secretary, the snarling guardian of the CEO’s office, Celeberus. He presently looked up from beyond the terminal of Argus, the supercomputer which kept track of every celebrity listed in the database to see McYuri stroll inside languidly.

McYuri was part-Russian, part-Irish and one of the top celebrity gossip writers of the Fifth Estate as the IPO liked to call itself and its brethren (though some of the world’s self-respecting newspapers often referred to it as the Filth Estate). Much of this reputation was thanks to McYuri or Der Puffer, as he was also known, due to his significant corpulence, fishy activities and the extremely poisonous scoops he was responsible - for these usually reminded one of a bloated species of pisces residing in the Great Barrier Reef. However all his vitriol generally evaporated when confronted by Celeberus.

“What are you upto, you lazy maggot? Shouldn’t you be at work today, you procrastinating pufferfish!” shouted Celeberus.

“Er… I was going to but…”

“But what? You worm, I don’t want your pathetic excuses! Now let’s see… Aha, number 1 in demand… Today and for the last one year or so. Camembert Cheddar,” said Celeberus. “The guy’s a living enigma! We don’t have anything on him on our files here! Now locate him and get some dirt on him, pronto!”

“Y-yes, Sir! I’ll do that right away, Sir and please enjoy your coffee,” said McYuri bowing and exiting at the same time.

“Coffee! Of course!” exclaimed Celeberus. He picked up the intercom. “Three cups of coffee along with those Pedigree biscuits! And make it snappy, ya ineffectual bozo! Or I’ll have your job for this!”

(to be continued)

******************************************************************************

(Enter Pinky, a scrawny-looking subnormal white lab rat and Brain an exceptionally brilliant one, with an abnormally enlarged cranium. They are in a place with heaps of crates connected by elaborate strands of cobwebs, all illuminated by steadily shining bulbs. Faint whispers fill the air competing with the sudden grinding sounds emanating from stuck gears. The place has an aura of what IITians call ‘give-up’-ness)

BRAIN: (looking all around in wonder) Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?

PINKY: (inspecting the shallow recesses of a crate marked ‘Temporal memory’) Ummmm, I think so, Brain… but isn’t the title of this blog a little, well… cheesy?

BRAIN: Uh… well… maybe. Do not concern yourself with trivialities, my cerebrally-challenged friend. For today is a momentous day…

PINKY: (excitedly) Oh, I know, I know! Someone’s started a blaaaawwwg, someone’s started a blaaaawwwg…

BRAIN: (patiently) No, Pinky. (dramatically) Today, we have finally succeeded in infiltrating the human mind. Though there seems to be a lot of… trash in this one.

PINKY: (picking up a name-tag) It says here that the owner’s name is Aziz. Oooo, zingy…

BRAIN: (snatching the tag) That’s impossible! I have the name down as Ashish in my files. (observes the tag and also picks up another one which says ‘Engine’) Hmm, what do we have here? Multiple personality disorder? Schizophrenia? False identities? Mechanical personalization?

PINKY: Maybe he forgot his name.

BRAIN: Your flair for the obvious and the ridiculous never ceases to amaze me, Pinky. But do you realize what this means?

PINKY: Umm, we’ve walked into one of those buy-one-get-two-free deals which come on TV…

BRAIN: (voice rising as he holds up the name-tags) This, my friend, is our gateway to world domination!

PINKY: Name-tags? We left scores of them in the lab back there!

BRAIN: (ignoring Pinky) This man, clearly has at least two contrasting characters locked away in this place. Just think of what could happen, if we could set them against each other!

PINKY: (solemnly) There will be a Great War, the likes of which has never been seen before. The good shall triumph over evil and the world will once again (singing) be a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race…

BRAIN: (a little irritated) Keep up with that Michael Jackson drivel Pinky, and I shall perilously support you by the little appendage of your right hand from a really high window. (Pinky stops) Anyway, as I was saying… we could cause an internal conflict between Engine and Azizman and they would destroy each other along with the physical owner of this brain in the process.

PINKY: Oooo, nice plan, Brain. Narf!

BRAIN: Thank you, Pinky. And soon we shall perfect this process and ruin the important heads of state in this world. The catastrophic consequences would trigger a string of violence finishing off most, if not all, of the imbecilic human race…

PINKY: And the squeak shall inherit the earth! Bravo, Brain! (Pinky jumps around clapping his hands gleefully while Brain stares at him in disgust before resuming his observation of the surroundings)

BRAIN: (examining a set of pipelines) So what do we have here? Gas pipelines in the brain?

PINKY: (reading the notice board beside the pipes) It says here:

“Woe betide all thee who touch these pipes
For be they muggoo or give-up types
Know not the power of the cosmic explosion
That launches them into farting motion

Many a sem was ruined by it
As grades sunk into that bottomless pit
Hours and hours spent at the patisserie
When they should’ve been mugging Perry

Endless discussions of inane things
Of grub and Quake and past flings
Over glasses and glasses of sweet ice tea
(Oh, damn… give my ten bucks back, Vamsi)

So, naïve stranger, be gone from this place
Unless, of course, you’re another hopeless case
Would love to fart with you some time
Indulge yourself… This ain’t no crime”

Hey, Brain! Take a look at this…

BRAIN: This person has apparently elected to waste his time in er… what-do-you-call it… farting. No wonder the air around here is filled with murmurs of preposterous conspiracy theories.

PINKY: (pricking up his ears) You know? I can actually hear something now… Hey, did you know that Woodwards Gripe water is a decent substitute for the elixir of life? Zort!

BRAIN: (poring through a crate marked ‘Obsessions’) It seems that Azizman’s unhealthy fixation with Woodwards Gripe water seems to be catching on to you, Pinky.
(Pinky is about to perform his best imitation of the octogenarian grandmom, when Brain looks at him sternly) Let’s not go there, Pinky. I’m not sure I can stand a replay of that commercial again.

PINKY: Haha… Oops! Sorry Brain, kind of got carried away. (he stares at Brain noticing something new)

BRAIN: What happened?

PINKY: Brain, what’s with the new hairdo? How did you get actually grow some hair?

BRAIN: WHAT?!?!? NO! It’s not possible! (he rushes and looks at his reflection on a shiny untouched surface marked ‘PMT courses’) Oh, my God, I actually have weird hair like Engine’s…

PINKY: And I feel like playing multiplayer Quake even though I suck at it!

BRAIN: I desperately desire a packet of Classic Salted Lays at this present moment!

PINKY: Yeah, I want to crank up the music at full volume without giving a damn about my neighbours.

(Pinky and Brain look at each other incredulously)

BRAIN: (gasping with a great effort) Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?

PINKY: I think so, Brain. But don’t you think that the Mozzarella was a little sour?

BRAIN: (gritting his teeth) No, Pinky. We’ve been transplanted with this subject’s personality. We are him and he is us…

PINKY: …and who cares what lies ahead of us…

BRAIN: …and the past is but a four-lettered word…

PINKY: …let’s go to Gurunath and have some curd!

BRAIN: You know… This ‘philosophy’ of life has made me ponder over my grandiose plans and the sheer futility of them all…

PINKY: I know,
“What is this life if, full of care…

BRAIN: …we have no time to stand and stare?”

PINKY: Righto. Oh hang on, Brain. What are we going to do tomorrow night?

BRAIN: Oh, that. The same thing we do every night, Pinky. (voice rising) Play Age Of Empires II on LAN! 11...

They’re Pinky, Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain…