Punjabi cuisine, like its people and culture, is varied and colourful. At chill, you are spoilt for choice.

When you think of Punjabi dishes, what comes to your mind? Butter chicken? Or sarson da saag and makki ki roti? The thing is, Punjabi cuisine, just like its people and culture, is varied and colourful. I was surprised at the number of dishes that are on offer at the Pun­jabi food festival at Radisson Blu. Veggies and non-veggies: Truly, you are spoilt for choice here.

There are no starters as such, but if you cannot do without, you may try the Amritsari fish fry. It’s a very popular Punjabi street food. The batter’s crisp and the flesh very tender inside. And the best part? There’s no smell when it cools a bit. Those familiar with the fish fry available on the streets here will know that when it cools a bit, it reeks a tad unpleasant, howling out to the world that you had it, hot or cold. That’s not the case with the Amritsari fish fry. One may be tempted to down quite a few while you sip your drink. Let me warn you: Don’t, for you risk the chance of not leaving enough space to gather the true taste of Punjab, which is not from one, but a manifestation in many.

I have never tasted mutton made Punjabi-style and so I tried rahra ghosht. It was wonderful. It is mutton in kheema gravy. Now before you settle to say what’s so special, know this: the kheema had been left for marination for a day with spices and then made into a gravy with hung curd. Hung curd? “Curd is sieved through fine muslin and what’s left is something buttery retaining some aspects of curd; that’s hung curd,” said chef Santhosh Yadav, who was flown in from Punjab to anchor the show. I had this curry with Amritsari kulcha, which the chef claims has eight layers (it certainly did not look it, for it was soft and relatively thin), slow cooked in a tandoor.

After trifling with palak paneer, the next show-stopper I found was pinde ke chole. Pind means village. So it must be something that’s very common in the villages of Punjab. But there’s more to this than meets the eye, or shall we say tongue? Pinde ke chole is made by boiling chole with amla for long and then made into a hung curd-based gravy. But there’s a difference here. It’s a tad on the hotter side, but like that of the effect of pepper that takes a bit to settle, only palpable in a while. So those who wolf down their food will miss this subtle effect of pinde ke chole. Slow and chewy is the way.

Next I tried maah ki daal. It sounds simple, it looks simple, but the process of making is not so simple. There’s black urad daal, Kashmiri rajmah, channah in it which serve time in the tandoor and then emerge to become what’s called maah ki daal.

Most of these dishes have good amounts of ghee. Of course, it goes without saying. The reason is that Punjabi people were into farming and they needed the energy to toil in the fields. So when you indulge, remember to sweat it out somehow later .

But the one dish I wanted to try very much was makki ki roti and sarson da saag. I have only had it twice before when a friend took me to a small Punjabi place and once at a friend’s place when her mother had come down from Delhi to visit her. It is amazing that such simple everyday ingredients could be made into something so spectacular. The saag I found superb. But the roti disappointed me a little. The thing is corn flour, which the roti is made from, has less adhesive strength; hence it is harder to make than ordinary roti. But when you serve on a large scale, pressing it into roti with your hand, on order, can be difficult.

If you like vegetarian food more, there’s aloo gobhi, baingan bharta and bhindi masala. To do my job well, I did not leave any of these untasted and by the time I was done, I was stuffed… happily stuffed.

Where: Chill, Radisson Blu, Banjara Hills.

What: Punjabi food festival.

Price of buffet for one: `1,500 plus taxes.

I have passed Chopsticks scores of times, but never once did I feel I must step in. For the first two years in this City my dinner had been Chinese from “bundies” at unearthly hours and as time passed by I made a conscious effort to avoid it — tasty though it is, I found it heavy and sometimes gave me problems the next morning.

So, when this great foodie friend of mine took me to Chopsticks on the Srinagar Colony main road, I confess, I was worried. Fantastic and affordable it may be, the risk remains of your running a gauntlet later. And it’s hardly Chinese now with our folks tweaking the fundamentals. The place looked crowded as we walked in, but we got a table.

It may not look posh, it’s not fancy, it’s not sprawling, but Chopsticks has something to it that makes people brave the heat outside and inside, and eat there. “It’s been there for more than two decades, you know,” said my friend. We ordered the garlic chicken and szechuan chicken noodles. The food came and we helped ourselves. At Chopsticks, there are no chopsticks; we ate with spoons. It was good, because there were no deliberate efforts to bring Indianness to Chinese by an excess of red chilli powder or any other spice.

We finished our meal and collected a parcel of chilli chicken for our friend in office and left. A day later I asked her how it was. “Very good,” she said.

Hyderabad boy Naveen Puligilla is driven by the love for speed. He is an amateur and does not have many racing accolades under his belt, but his passion has not failed him, for he has been picked as one of the 20 racers at this year’s Volkswagen Polo Cup.

The fastest he has driven is 250km per hour. Giving details as to where and when would be setting the cops on his trail. So let that be. Naveen Puligilla is not a professional racer, but he is one of the 20 drivers picked to race in the Volkswagen Polo Cup this year.

There are 12 races slated to happen across May and June in Coimbatore, Chennai and the Buddh International Circuit in Delhi. And Naveen, who till now had to be content with the practice he got from go-karting, is taking part in them.

Naveen, 27, bitten and infected by the speed bug when he was 18, says one of the things he was told by his instructor, Raymond Banerjee, was that he needs to lose weight. Naveen, a six-footer, weighs 103 kg. The cars for the qualifiers are single-seaters, 1.6 turbo-charged-diesel engine-powered. But when they saw his laptime on the 2.1km track, they were more than happy. Given that he was an amateur, he timed 1min 20seconds. “They thought my weight would be an issue. But my coach was impressed with my laptime. He advised me to lose some weight, after which I would be able to shave a second or a half off the current lap time,” he said. “They think I have a good chance.”

When the real show starts, he will be driving a 1.4 turbo-supercharged petrol engine with 180 bhp, 20 more than those used for the qualifiers.

The only other major race that Naveen participated in was a cross-country race in Punjab. “The idea is to reach your destination through the desert terrain in the least possible time. You have a map, and a navigator to assist you and that’s it,” he says. “I finished fourth.” Not bad.

Naveen, who runs a logistics company, says go-karting helped him a lot to improve his skills. “I go-kart whenever I can spare time. Go-karting helps you figure out the line you need to keep to remain quick. And if you keep to that line, you can be sure to finish well.”

Come to think of it — an all women’s golf group? Not that women wielding irons are an anomaly today; women’s golfing on the world scene is big and in India it is catching up. Most golf groups are made up of men and those with a member from the fairer sex, though rare, are there.

So, why not an all women’s golf group in the City? This is what some women here thought. Some of them are veterans who boast of more than 20 years of ‘driving’. There are novices gung-ho about the game after epiphanic moments when they get their shots right from the first moment they hold a club: that they are meant to do this.

When thoughts transformed to actions, Hyderabad’s first all-women’s golf group, the Birdies took birth. At the Golconda Golf Club on Tuesday, a gathering of women in the age group of seven to 70 plus pledged by the golf gods to stay true to their game.

Golf, however, is a curious game — a game of fluctuations, quoting the Oldest Member of the Marvis Bay Golf and Country Club in the golf world of PG Wodehouse, who is the last word on golf wisdom. Those, irrespective of sex, who reaped and gained leaps in their initial conquest, may find it hard to keep their shots straight. With their luck waning, birdies would be harder to come by, let alone eagles.

But the eagles among the birdies have pearls of wisdom to bestow on them so that the younger lot do not lose heart. Says Vasudha Murthy, 63, “The first two months are crucial because this is the hardest time for a beginner. People are most likely to quit then. If you pull through and pass these stages and play for two years, the game will have grown on you.”

Though Vasudha has been playing for 22 years, she does not assume the airs of an eagle, another wonderful aspect of golf because golf mayhap may be the only game that instills an un-uprootable sense of humility in a player. For one, anything can happen and the least of trifles can play havoc. She says with utmost deference to the game that she is not a great golfer, but a keen one.

Another eagle, Sulochana Reddy, 71, has been playing for 25 years. “The beauty of it is when you step out onto the course early in the morning, is the serenity of it all…” She is very enthused about the whole “girl golf gang” idea. She drove a good 40km to attend the launch. The Oldest Member will be happy.

Imran Ahmed’s story could be any immigrant’s, but what’s wonderful is how it’s told: with humour and good taste.

There is a little boy’s picture dressed in a suit on the front cover of The Perfect Gentlemen: A Muslim boy meets the West. That dashing nipper is the author, Imran Ahmed, himself, dressed for the Bonnie Boy contest once upon a time in Pakistan. Can’t really say what’s going on in dashing nipper’s cute head then: it could be confusion. He definitely does not look happy, for he could only become second in the contest, losing to the son of one of the organisers: first of the many small setbacks he would face in his life. Check out the back cover: there is a mug of the Imran Ahmed in present times, with a big smile. The Perfect Gentleman is about the story of the journey of the boy on the front cover to become the smiling man of now.

Ahmed’s story can be any immigrant’s story: the initial hardships when his parents land there in London, the struggle to belong in a foreign environment in spite of the huge cultural and religious divide, sometimes being subject to hostility manifested in the form of racism which was worsened by fears spreading among natives that immigrants are the cause of all their problems. Yet, Ahmed’s family endures, prevails and thrives, like most families from Asia do. What’s spectacular is that Ahmed is funny and has the capability to see the immigration issue from the natives’ point of view. Ahmed’s struggle to fit in is amusing. He dresses immaculately, his accent he hones to ‘posh perfection’, does well in school with perfect marksheets of ‘A’, and always tries to be a good boy. He looks down upon the scruffy natives, despises their northern accent and tries to feel superior. Ahmed warns that no one dare say “hopefully” before him, which is sticklers for proper usage say is wrong.

Apart from these what harried Ahmed several times when he was growing up was doubts if his faith was the true one. The similarities between Islam and Christianity Ahmed found mind boggling. And with evangelical Christian friends about him, constantly warning him that if he does not convert, he shall go to hell, life was not very pleasant for him at times.

Also amusing are passages that describe his efforts to woo girls in school and college which don’t succeed at all. In his daydreaming sessions he is James Bond and Simon Templar who have no trouble having fast cars and gorgeous women. However, Ahmed’s quite a disaster in the wooing business though he says he has black hair, straight, long nose and is well-dressed at all times like Bond. It should be even more difficult now that the current Bond is blonde.

As life goes on Ahmed resolves his spiritual struggles. He realises the essence of the Sufi teachings that there are various paths to reaching God; once he thought this was grossly wrong. According to Milton, Ahmed’s college friend, Ahmed remains “narrow-minded and quite unpleasant when the main part of the book ends.” “There’s more explaining required about what made you change so much,” he says. But that’s another story.

Name: The Perfect Gentleman: A Muslim boy meets the West

Author: Imran Ahmed

Pages: 333

Published by: Hachette

…Or a new beginning? As Amish Tripathi’s Shiva trilogy comes to an end with The Oath of The Vayuputras, he has already bagged a `5 crore advance for his next series.

The voice that says “Hi, buddy” to me is tired and friendly. He has been travelling around for promotions of the book that marks the end of the trilogy that set him free — in many ways. While talking over the phone to him, him being in Pune, I hear the ripple of laughter of his son. He says the company of his wife and son is the “stress buster” in his life.

An essay in More Intelligent Life, titled We Ten Million, says that there are around 10 million writers yet to be published. That gives us a rough idea how hard it is these days for the men and women of letters.

Amish Tripathi’s life is any aspiring writer’s dream. For this former banker, for whom becoming a writer was nowhere in the back of his mind while growing up and till sometime back, the way his writing career has shaped after the release of The Immortals of Meluha is phenomenal… so phenomenal that as the one that completes it, The Oath of the Vayuputras, is out on the racks in bookstores, Westland publishing house has given him a `5 crore (it’s some sort of a record) advance for his next series. Just that “India’s first literary pop star” has many ideas for the series, but is yet to zero in on one; be sure “it will be mythological”.

Is it not astounding that the man who made a ‘dude’ out of a god was once an atheist? “I was shocked at the communal riots that happened in Mumbai in the early nineties. The violence and bloodshed rocked my faith. My friends and I became atheists after that,” Amish says.

But the books brought him back and gave him back his faith. It has also changed him a lot. “I was very aggressive and competitive (understandable: He was a ‘financial professional’),” Amish says. “I am calmer as a person now.”

If Valmiki may be credited for telling the story of a Ram who lives a perfect life to become a god, Amish may be credited for doing something similar: Only both works are spaced by centuries and the god who has become mortal is a “dude” who wears snakes for earrings, amulets, bracelets and headbands, and smokes weed.

Amish’s foray into writing was supposed to be on philosophy. He then decided that it be Shiva, and through the trilogy, he portrays the brutal, bloody war between good and evil, the original plan. Since Shiva is a mortal in the books, he will bleed, he will feel, and be like any other man. Since the good vs evil battle is a brutal one, he says “there will be blood” and “there will be deaths”.

At the moment, Amish is fully enjoying the writer’s life. He is happy and is patient and stays cool about what fate has brought him and has in store for him.

There are many layers to Debashish Bhattacharya, the Indian lap slide guitar maestro. He started to play at the age of three; Debashish, now at 40, says music is the cure to many of the ills of the world, lack of love and the path to consciousness.

“Will you have something?” Debashish Bhattacharya, the Indian lap slide guitar maestro, thought for a bit and said, “Yes, coffee, please.”“But black.”He was in the lull induced by the sumptuous Rajasthani meal he had before he showed up for the interview. As he ensconced himself in the sofa, he confided it had been a long time since he had any, a slight hint that he had indulged himself.

When I asked him about his performance scheduled that evening, the lull vanished. “Do you know what the concert is called?” Before I could answer, he said: “Music — a practice of consciousness.”

The lull was just ostensible. Debashish is always conscious. And he gives credit for it to music. “That is what the practice of music brings you: consciousness,” he asserted.

Life is a path that has many bends full of surprises, he explained. “Practice of music enables you to remain undaunted when you encounter those surprises. Those who are

conscious will enjoy them.” Debashish is a firm believer that Indian music is the deliverer of such a state. “Do you know that our music is called marg sangeet?” he asked. “It shows us a path. It teaches us about life. After all, life is important than concerts and events. That is why I want music as a part of school syllabus.”

Debashish talked excitedly about the fact that a poll found that a good many children in Scandinavian countries can sing in harmony if asked to do so impromptu. “Music is taught to them in school. And what one learns when one is a child remains forever. Can you imagine that here?”

Debashish also pointed out the lack of love and care for children of today. “Whatever I am, I am because of my parents. They taught me that if you need to achieve perfection in what you do, you cannot make compromises. Now parents don’t have time for their kids. For them, love means gifts in forms of gaming consoles and TV which will allow them to work through the day, and since the kids are busy with trinkets with buttons, the absence won’t be noticed. But no one realises that a generation that grossly lacks in love is being churned out. Do you think any child that grows up well loved by his parents will go astray? No. Never. No child who grows up well loved can do violent acts. No child who loves his parents will take a gun to school and claim the life of another.”

But would it not be hard to get everyone to learn music when it is believed that talent for music is inborn? “I do not expect everyone who learns music to become a maestro like Pandit Ravi Shankar. You do not learn so that you can perform. You learn for the joy of learning. As I told you, the practice of music develops in one a level of consciousness that may not be achieved in any other way. For instance, a person who takes music lessons may miss a note in a song in the beginning. He may miss it the second time, too: but as he keeps on practising, he will find it in some time.”

Debashish was a precocious child. Misled by the information on the web when I asked him about his “starting strumming” at the age of three and soon later started playing the Indian lap slide guitar, he corrected me, “No, I have never played the acoustic one. A couple of decades ago, it was the Hawaiian guitar, or the lap steel guitar, that was popular for its aspect of melody. The acoustic guitar was an accompanying instrument. Unlike in the acoustic guitar, the lap slide guitar’s tone is fluid and mellifluous. The notes do not break.”

His early exploits were not confined just to music. “I was a three-time badminton and TT champion in college. But I decided to stick to music as I learned from a saying of Swami Vivekananda that we must stick to one thing to succeed.”

Very rarely do we come across performers like Debashish. He talks to his audience and shares with them his insights about music, his takes on life during his performances. He is quite the romantic, the philosopher and poet. At 40, he says he is yet the 14-year-old boy, ever eager to swim farther into the sea of music. He says he thought himself a guitar god when he began to play, creating his own guitars (24-string chaturangui, the 14 string gandharvi and the anandi, a 4-string lap steel ukulele) but now he says years of playing and practice have decimated any such feeling making him say at the performance he gave at the Radisson Blue in Hyderabad, “I is a lie.”

]]> http://postnoon.com/2013/03/03/i-is-a-lie/112098/feed 1 http://postnoon.com/2013/02/23/the-curious-case-of-mr-jacob/110400 http://postnoon.com/2013/02/23/the-curious-case-of-mr-jacob/110400#comments Sat, 23 Feb 2013 08:50:51 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=110400

History says Alexander Malcolm Jacob was the man behind the botched sale of the Imperial, a diamond bigger than the Koh-i-noor, to the Nizam of Hyderabad. But was he just that, or was there more to this man than meets the eye?

Indeed, he’s mysterious; more than mysterious, curious. What else can be said of a man who of Italian decent, born in Syria, sold as slave when a boy, sailed to Bombay, and in a decade and a bit, became mayhaps the greatest gem trader in British India, only to fall from grace and wealth in the end trying to strike the deal of his life? The story of Alexander Malcolm Jacob, as the author of the book, John Zubrzycki, says, is something more that fiction cannot match in romance and adventure.

Even more intriguing would become Mr Jacob, when one learns that he was one of India’s chief practitioners of the occult then. Zubrzycki lists quotes of those who lived then and were known for possessing mysterious powers, attesting Jacob’s wonderful capabilities as a magician; one of the tricks mentioned in the book is borrowing a cane from his guests and making it shoot roots and bear grapes, which would be passed around for them to taste who would be stunned to learn that the grapes are real grapes. Robert D’Onston, who was suspected to be Jack The Ripper, was one among those who witnessed the cane trick. D’Onston, an avowed student of the occult, had met Jacob in Shimla, which was where the latter resided and did business, and saw and experienced first hand what Jacob was capable of. The jeweller pinned him onto the wall with one of his damascened spears from Persia. No blood was spilt, there was not the slightest signs of a wound, yet D’Onston would swear he felt the blade pass through him.

It must be said Jacob enjoyed his mysterious aura and he never minded much to clarify whatever notions people had about him. His chief concern was his business, and Zubrzycki writes that Jacob’s shop was the place for gems and other curiosities in those times and his clientele included rajahs of the princely states and viceroys.

From that shop of curiosities Jacob operated a network of spies, too. In fact, he was the inspiration for Lurgan Sahib in Rudyard Kipling’s Kim. By the dusk of the 19th century, Britain and Russia were playing hard for supremacy in Central Asia; Zubyrski writes that the British were able to take the Ali Masjid fort in Khyber Pass en route their march to Afghanistan; Jacob is said to have supplied information about the force manning the fort.

A fall follows a rise. Jacob’s rise was meteoric, but the adjective would be more apt to describe his fall. Jacob thought if he could sell the Imperial Diamond, bigger in size than the Koh-i-noor, to the then gem-crazy Nizam of Hyderabad — the largest and richest princely state — Mahboob Ali Khan, he would not have to work ever from the following day. That was his undoing. That was when the relatively newborn Imperial became manhoos, meaning unlucky, for the mysterious Mr Jacob.

Name: The Mysterious Mr Jacob

Author: John Zubrzycki

Pages: 322

Publisher: Random House India

As part of the Chinese New Year celebrations Golden Dragon Master Chef Hung Fong Ng at Taj Krishna has crafted an array of traditional delicacies apart from the usual.

At the Golden Dragon at Taj Krishna, it’s cosy. Let’s strip cosy of the meaning small, and let that word retain every other meaning it means: warm, comfortable and safe. The dark interiors above act like a cumulus cloud and take away the glare of the sunshine that seeps in through the glass walls. Chandelier-like structures made of Chinese lamps hang from the top illuminating only the tables. And as you walk to a table you notice the chairs which have Chinese inscriptions on them. Very very Chinese, indeed.

Let’s not digress from what matters most: food. As part of the Chinese New Year celebrations, the Golden Dragon Master Chef Hung Fong Ng has crafted an array of traditional delicacies apart from the usual. Keeping to the tradition, let’s start from starters.

There are the soft shell crabs, Wok tossed rock lobster chilli coriander, East coast prawns fresh chilli garlic oyster and the list goes on. I tried the crispy fried fish lemon pepper and tender chicken nuggets in hot and sour sauce. Both nicely done, and did justice to the adjectives used in their names. For vegetarians, the crunchy sweet corn and broccoli wild pepper; and mushrooms and water chestnut in barbeque glaze. There cannot be a better way to consume broccoli, so rich in nutrition yet a pain for many mums to convince their kids to eat. Perhaps after dinner, you may ask Hung Fong Ng, or the more fondly called Toni, how to make it. The one with the chestnut is like a gum with a juicy watery centre and not many starters are like that.

Time for soup. For seafood lovers, there’s the mixed seafood coriander soup, or the sliced fish and tomato egg drop soup. The first is a bit crowded and the second clear, so people who have different preferences about the soups have options. And oh, if you have picked the coriander soup, make sure to fish deep, for the deeper you go, the bigger, whiter and shinier the pearls you get, which in this case are chunks of prawn. Not a ‘fishy’ person? Try the minced lamp noodle soup, it’s quite a meal in itself. Now the main course. I tried the stir fried diced

chicken in sweet bean Chinese wine glaze and the Cantonese fried chicken on a bed of braised greens. When I was busy with these one of the men came along with the quick fried Chinese cabbage with garlic pearls and dry chillies. I am a carnivore, but this one I had second servings, which tells you how nice it is if it comes from a carnivore. As we entered with late noon languor into talking about what dessert must we have. I asked, “What about the new year special?”

Tony has introduced three new dishes on the menu: Diced duck in staranise flavoured orange sauce, pan fried rock lobster with lychees and dry red chilli, stir fried fresh sea squids with greens, mushrooms and water chestnut in barbeque glaze. I tried the duck. For my taste, I found it a bit too sweet. But that’s how the Chinese have it. But not to worry: you may tell Tony or any of the chefs of your preferences and like a good ol’ genie making your wish come good, “It will be done.”

 Place: Golden Dragon, Taj Krishna. Meal for Two: `2,500+taxes. (Exclusive of Alcohol prices)

Author John Zubrzycki goes beyond what is obvious in a person to delve into the depths and bring out a story that can leave readers stunned.

Alexander Malcolm Jacob was truly a man of many roles. Wikipedia searches reveal that he was born in Turkey, sold as a slave at 10, was well versed in Eastern life, language, art, literature, philosophy, and occultism and prospered as a jeweller only to end in ruin through the sale of the Imperial Diamond to the then Nizam Mir Mahbub Ali Khan. But there are shades that not many know of him. He was not just a jeweller: he was a magician and also a spy. And this is the story that John Zubrzycki, a former Delhi-based foreign correspondent and

diplomat, tells us in The Mysterious Mr Jacob.

Zubrzycki’s The Last Nizam: An Indian Prince in the Australian Outback, which also was launched here, came out six years ago. He admits he likes stories of eccentric, mysterious people. And so when he came across Jacob during his researches for the book on the Nizams, it was only natural that he wrote about this man, who inspired the character of Lurgan Sahib in Rudyard Kipling’s Kim. “Jacob’s story is like a thriller,” said Zubrzycki, who was at the Oxford Press bookstore at The Park for the launch of his book. “The rises and falls in his life… the aura he cultivated about him… the stories that built around him… there cannot be a jeweller with such an eventful story.”

Jacob’s story is stranger than fiction, Zubrzycki said. “He is said to have played a key role in the Great Game (the tug of war for power between the British and the Russians in the late 1800s and early 1900s) by getting information about a fort near the Khyber Pass. He was almost made a British envoy to Kabul.”

Zubrzycki also spoke about his meeting with Mukarram Jah, who was the protagonist in his first book, a man who was endowed with immense wealth and legacy, but turned his back against his heirloom and went to Australia and ran a sheep farm. “It was hard getting access to him,” Zubrzycki recalled. “But when his private secretary was convinced that I was serious about writing on him, I got to meet him. I met a man who was eager to tell his story. His face lit up when he spoke fondly of his days there driving bulldozers into the desert, about his Australian friends.”

There is a time for everything. In Gergana Stefanova’s case, there was a time when she learnt to paint in an art school in Bulgaria, there was a time when she worked as a bartender, a time when she worked as a waitress and there was a time when she had to paint walls. There was a time when she felt she had to do something more, a time she felt she must pursue her greatest passion — music — and she did, which took her to at least half a dozen countries in the last four years since she started performing.

Gergana’s friend Biserka Angelova’s case wasn’t as eventful as hers. The Bulgarian’s days involved travelling to various cities across her country and meeting new people as part of her marketing job, which required selling furniture. She was not unhappy, but at times a sense of dissatisfaction kept gnawing at her heart as unfulfilled desires always do. Her grandmother was a top-class Bulgarian folklore singer and she herself was the best singer in her school. And she always wanted to pursue a career in music, and that was what her family wished for her.

The friends — who were at school together — would jam now and then even after they left school and got busy with their own lives. Gergana sang and Bisy was on the keyboard. About a year back, it so came to pass that Gergana’s band mate told her that they needed to part ways, as he wanted to form a team with his girlfriend. About the same time, Bisy, unable to ignore her dream further, quit her safe, well-paying job. The idea was to team up with Gergana, who was in India then, though she made the plunge without telling her friend of her plan. Gergana was surprised when she knew what Bisy had done. But Gergana understood; she herself had taken the plunge some years ago with only her faith and desire to back her.

So the two friends became a team… just them…. Just Us.

“Oh, we had thought of a thousand names,” Gergana said , laughing, and added, “Two muffins was one of them.”

The duo performs at Seasons Lounge at Taj Krishna every evening.

Gergana is loquacious and Bisy reticent. It’s understandable, as Gergana has had the experience of seeing the world: Dubai, Norway, South Korea (it was here about four years ago that she decided she “must do something more”), India, Morocco, Abu Dhabi, Turkey and Iraq.

Bisy started learning English a couple of months ago and so needs Gergana’s help here and there. But when she warmed up, she responded with strings of exited “Yes yes yes… “ when asked if that’s what she meant; and an emphatic “No no no… “ to coriander in her food.

But there’s no reticence in Bisy when it comes to music. Asked if she could sing for us a Belgian song, she asked meekly if she could do it standing, stood up and, in a powerful voice, sang. To give you an idea of how it sounded, I can only think of the opening track of The English Patient. That’s a Hungarian lullaby, but the renditions of both matched here and there.

When the song was over, Bisy explained that the song was about a pretty girl who is sad and lonely when all her friends find husbands. She finally finds love, but to her misfortune, he turns out to be a drunkard.

“And then?”I asked.

“And she is still sad!” Bisy set off another round of laughter.

Bisy writes poems. “You know, she even has one about plastic bags,” said Gergana.

Gergana is learning the guitar on her own. “I can play the chords. I am at it all day.” As proof, she showed her fingertips where tiny calluses had formed. I noticed her prettily painted nails and noticed the same pattern on Bisy’s nails too. There was a time when Gergana painted nails, she admitted.

At Seasons Lounge in Taj Krishna, Gergana and Bisy leave out no genre — pop, blues, jazz and latino. They are great fans of Adele and Norah Jones.

The Just Us idea was not well received among their friends in the beginning. “No one believed in us, you see,” recounted Gergana. “Two girls. Just us. It did not make sense to them. And now they are like ‘Wow! Good. Great….ooh,’ and when we tell them that we are lounging in the sun, sipping something cool, we know we make them jealous.”

“This is exactly my dream,” interposed Bisy. “Now I firmly believe that dreams can come true.”

He’s faced some pretty tough times, but Martin Figura chose to see the lighter side of things. Little wonder then his poetry is a reflection of his outlook towards life.

When Martin Figura’s father died, he noticed that the undertaker had plumped his cheeks so that it appeared he was whistling. “It was funny,” says Martin.

Now don’t conclude that the man is insane. The relationship was difficult (to be more precise, “awkward”) for Martin because his father had killed his mother. Martin was nine then.“He was a paranoid schizophrenic,” says Martin.“He suspected her and he thought that she was trying to poison him.”

Incidents revolving around this tragedy and his childhood make the theme of Martin’s first collection of poems, Whistle, which he performed at the Taj Deccan. The performance organised by Taj Deccan and the British Council involved Martin reciting poems from Whistle while images from his childhood which connected with the poems were displayed in the background.

There are excerpts from the love letters of June, Martin’s mother, to his father Frank in Whistle, which shows how much she loved him. Frank, a Pole from Silesia, a disputed area around the time of the Second World War, was conscripted into the German Army when he was a teenager. He was captured and released, and later migrated to Britain as “most of the Poles did then and kept his past a secret for obvious reasons”.

When the tragedy struck, Martin and his sisters were moved to the neighbours who told them that there had been an accident and their mother died. “But nobody explained the absence of my father,” Martin recalls.

Martin says he had always wanted to be a writer. “It’s curious because we knew nobody who was a writer, neither did we know anybody who knew any writers. But I read a lot when I was a boy. When other boys spent time with their girlfriends I was reading books.”Martin says he wrote poems when he was a teenager. “But bad poems, really,” he admits.

Martin joined the Army pretty young, as that was the best thing to do then. He says he found a sense of a family being in the barracks. He has not seen action in service, but he has done a lot of shooting… photographs. Now he does portraits of fellow writers and is pretty good at it.

It was towards the end of his Army career that he started writing again, funny poems. “I always wanted to do something creative. I wanted to write seriously, but I decided I would do it properly. And so I joined the Norwich School of Art & Design. You may say I learned my craft here,” Martin says.

About eight years ago, around the time, when poems of Whistle happened, he met his wife, Helen Ivory, poetess herself. “We met at a poetry festival and I was performing with the Joy of Six (a group of poets). We got on well. She was in a bad relationship and I was out of one and was planning to go away. Then she left him and moved in with me and after eight weeks, we decided to carry on,” remembers Martin. After six months, they married.

Helen says there has been a massive development in Martin’s poems. “Earlier, it would be funny poems. But I was there during the process of writing and compiling Whistle, so I know.”

Martin professes to be a huge fan of Randy Newman. “His songs are a mirror that shows us what we really are.” So when Martin feels morally “humpty dumpty” he listens to Randy Newman and is cured.

At the performance, Martin’s voice was smooth and solemn. From the audience came giggles and laughs at lighter twists in his poems. But mostly, it was rapt attention when Martin took them through his stories in verse. During the Q&A, he talked about his poems, his inspirations, his past and his bad back (caused by a slipped disc) worsened by the rickshaw rides he took in Delhi, which he says is the most daring thing to do on bad roads with the lights off on a dark night. And when he asked if the audience liked his work and what they thought of the performance, one among them blurted out, “We liked the pictures better.”

Though Martin’s voice is sonorous, the hapless man may not have followed his northern accent.Martin burst out laughing, “Thank you.” He was least displeased, but greatly amused.

In Martin’s cap

1. Poet, teacher, retired army major, qualified accountant, photographer.
2. Winner of Arts Council Lottery Fund Award in 2010 for Whistle.
3. Shortlisted for Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry for Whistle.
4. Winner of Poetry Society’s 2010 Hamish Canham Prize for his poem Victor.

This is the story of a woman who was born in ordinary circumstances, raised in a humble manner, trained to be a courtesan but with the spirit of a leader.

Name: In the City of Gold and Silver
Author: Kenizé Mourad
Pages: 436
Publisher: Full Circle

This is the story of a king who despite being rich, wise and able in body, but it’s doubtful if he was in his head, was put to exile by those who came as traders and then became rulers. First they begged for permits to ply their wares, then they became allies and finally masters.

This is the story of Awadh, that was arguably the richest at the time of the story, yet with a king who cowed down before the East India Company, and to forget his sorrows frolicked with his “fairies” and forgot his people and his duty to them, which were used as an excuse by his supercilious masters to rob him of his land and title and put him in exile, was fated to be taken — those who took it did it on the pretext of giving the natives civilisation.

This the story of a land where the aristocracy ate sweets with topping of crust of crushed rubies and never showed their worth in being born noble because majority of those called nobles either pandered to the enemy who were in numbers much much less than theirs or never could unite for that sensation of absolute nobility called freedom. To them, their land was dear and their life dearer, though it would have to be spent in servitude to those not of this land.

This is the story of a woman who was born in ordinary circumstances, raised in humble manner, trained to be a courtesan, but because she had a steady head, strong heart and could take off to surreal realms on wings of poetry and take those listening along with her, became one of the many wives of the aforementioned king who throughout the tale proves he does not deserve this true fairy.

Stories of the 1857 mutiny like In The City of Land and Gold about Begum Hazrat Mahal by Kenize Mourad will always evoke mixed emotions: sympathy for those who had to suffer then, animosity towards the British, and shame and indignation for the then royals, who could have driven them out by the sheer superiority in numbers they could muster and unity and planning.

Mourad wrote this in French and the book reviewed is the translation. The translator could have done a better job, to be frank, and there are places in want of proof-reading and editing. This is a story that tells you why it takes a heavenly genius to edit.

Theresa Hahl, a slam poet from Germany, is so swayed by her work that she is constantly writing and firmly believes that it is enough to just feel poetry even if you don’t understand the language.

She walks in gaiety, with feet clad in a pair of sneakers of anomaly — one red and the other white with polka dots. When I bring that up, she is quick to smile and say, “Not everything matches in life.” Right.

Meet Theresa Hahl, 23-year-old slam poet from Germany, who meets a person like a new place she is visiting; she looks at you with interest and curiosity, listens to you intently — perhaps she does not speak your language, but no matter. When the subject of conversation veers from something frivolous to serious, her face becomes grave, but then her answers end on a cheerful note.

A poetry slam is a competition at which poets read or recite original work; these performances are then judged on a numeric scale by previously selected members of the audience — says Wikipedia. I ask one of the officials at the Goethe Zentrum that was hosting Theresa before I met her to elucidate. She said, “It’s like rap, you know.”

However, Theresa says, “Not quite.” When I ask her if she would recite for me something of her work, she obliges; she is so swayed by the rhythm of her work that she starts tapping, her left hand slowly assumes the yo-yo gesture and shakes her arm where she stresses certain words, and gently punches down in the air for effect.

I sheepishly grin that I know no German. Without the slightest displeasure, she assures me, “That’s okay. If you don’t understand the language of a poem, it’s enough that you feel it.” And I feel it. The part where she kept pace with her feet and punched in the air is “Listen to your footsteps, then your heart beat” when you are pursuing something.

Theresa says she “stumbled” upon a slam poetry workshop and became one. Till then, for about six years, she had been donning many roles to find out where her true calling lay. She learned to play jazz guitar, she tried her hand at karate, she was a scout, she sang in the choir and studies literature and she paints. She even learned old Greek. Then she stumbled upon this workshop and she realised that she too has these complex thoughts which she wanted to let out. “And if he (the man who conducted the work shop) could, I can too, I thought.”

“I can paint, I can play the guitar. With language I can do both: the effect is mellifluous.”Theresa too tried to fit in. Good grades, good job, financial security, building a family… “I was too disturbed by the maniacal orderliness and discipline of the German way of life. There was hardly any space to do my thing,” she recalls.

Then Theresa went for a year to Canada and that’s when things cleared up and she got a purpose. “I was inspired by the people there. They are so enthusiastic about learning.” “That’s when and where I felt that I can and I will do something.”

Theresa compares her journey to walking up a mountain. “It’s very hard. It’s always hard. But when you reach the top, the view is worth every step you took.”

Slam poetry gave Theresa individuality, she says. And with persistent efforts she has found her “spot on the scene”. Indeed she has. Theresa, who has till now written about 30 slam poems, was the main mien in the documentary film Dichter and Kampfer, which is about the life of slam poets in Germany. In 2010, she won the Weidener Literaturpreis.

Theresa is a voracious reader. She confesses to be an Anglophone and says she loves the works of Dylan Thomas. “You know, Bob Dylan took his name from Dylan Thomas,” she informs. She crosses her legs and my eyes fall on her sneakers. Is this about not keeping with orderliness and discipline? “Well, yes. But I don’t do that all the time, you know. Sometimes you have to be in order to be taken seriously.”

Does she have occasions when she had to push herself to write? “No. I keep writing almost constantly,” says she. “I don’t have the writer’s block. If you have one, it merely means you don’t want to write. Maybe you need time and have to wait till it comes to you.”

So what’s a slam poet’s day like? When does it start? “I could wake up somewhere in Germany, Austria, or Switzerland… or in India… maybe on a train on my way back home… seldom later than 10 in the morning… mostly eight,” she says.

This is her first time in India, but Theresa is familiar with the works of RK Narayanan, loves the magic realism of Salman Rushdie and is influenced by Gandhi. “I am a pacifist at heart.”

It is time for her to prepare for her performance along with Kathak dancer, Mangala Bhatt, and pianist Daniel Gomez. She takes her leave and walks away, looking all around, “soaking up images that will come some day in her poetry”.

PS: At the performance on Sunday evening at the Taramati Baradari, Mangala Bhatt was dressed in regal black and the gold she wore glittered when the limelight fell on her. Theresa is dressed in black too, only that she wore those sneakers — the red one on her right foot and the polka-dotted one on her left.

Guide to slam poetry

One of the most vital and energetic movements in poetry during the 1990s, slam has revitalised interest in poetry in performance. Poetry began as part of an oral tradition, and movements like the Beats and the poets of Negritude were devoted to the spoken and performed aspects of their poems. This interest was reborn through the rise of poetry slams across America; while many poets in academia found fault with the movement, slam was well received among young poets and poets of diverse backgrounds as a democratising force. This generation of spoken word poetry is often highly politicised, drawing upon racial, economic, and gender injustices as well as current events for subject manner.

A slam itself is simply a poetry competition in which poets perform original work alone or in teams before an audience, which serves as judge. The work is judged as much on the manner and enthusiasm of its performance as its content or style, and many slam poems are not intended to be read silently from the page. The structure of the traditional slam was started by construction worker and poet Marc Smith in 1986 at a reading series in a Chicago jazz club. The competition quickly spread across the country, finding a notable home in New York City at the Nuyorican Poets Café.

Source: www.poets.org

Author Kenizé Mourad brings back into the spotlight the ignored queen, Begum Hazrat Mahal.

Time is fickle. As it chugs on, it pushes some names into the vortex of oblivion, and spares others. Time is fickle, as after years of oblivion, it employs some means to bring back those forgotten that truly deserve a mention, because their actions are such that even the vortex of oblivion cannot keep them submerged forever.

Begum Hazrat Mahal. Rings no bell? Nana Sahib… Tatya Tope… Jhansi ki Rani Laxmi Bai… these are the names that pop up when we think of the First War of Independence, or the mutiny of 1857. Along with them, Begum Hazrat Mahal, or the Begum of Awadh, also played a key role in that massive yet doomed enterprise against the British. Yet it’s inexplicable why she was never accorded a proper place in the pantheon of freedom fighters. Here, in this case, time employed Kenizé Mourad to bring Begum Hazrat Mahal back from the vortex of oblivion.

“It’s just unfair,” said Mourad, author and journalist, who was in Hyderabad to talk about her novel about the Begum, In the City of Gold and Silver. “Everyone remembers Jhansi ki Rani, but no one remembers Begum Hazrat Mahal. She too deserves the same standing that the Rani holds, maybe more, because the Rani was involved in the fighting for six months and Hazrat Mahal fought the British for two years.”

Mourad, who is the daughter of a Turkish princess and an Indian rajah of the royal family of Kotwara (Muzaffar Ali, revered filmmaker, is her half-brother), first heard of the Begum from Prince Anjum, the great-great grandson of the Begum. “The royal families in Lucknow have many stories to tell about the Begum’s courage and valour,” she says. “But I was amazed that apart from those in Lucknow and the royal families there, there were not many who could tell me about this brave woman.”

The book is the effort of three years of research and it took Mourad two years to write it. “The research was difficult as there were not many documents about her to be found, but for a few in Delhi and Lucknow.”

Breaking the general perception about Muslim women was a great inspiration to tell this story, says Mourad. “I wanted to show that there were Muslim women who were not submissive to men, who were rulers in their own right.” For instance, the Begum then; in modern times, Benazir Bhutto, whom Mourad knew well.

Though this is a novel, Mourad’s work is based on facts. “I have invented nothing, but only recreated,” she says; but she confesses she has taken one liberty. “When Wajid Ali Shah (the ruler of Awadh and husband of the Begum) was sent on exile to Kolkata, the matters of the state had to be looked after by Hazrat Mahal. When she had to stand up to the British, she may have had to confer with Raja Jai Lal Singh, who managed the forces, upon these issues,” Mourad says and adds, smiling, “She was extremely beautiful and he was a handsome man. So there could have been something between them.”

Central Canteen would be deemed by most pure vegetarian restaurants as a kick to the knee, and to other college canteens as a blow below the belt.

It’s a bit bigger than most canteens on college campuses, the Central Canteen. Climb up the flight of stairs and enter the eatery on the JBEIT campus to find round tables that have wooden and plastic chairs around them occupied by students, some eating, some chatting, some writing assignments, some even snoozing. So what?

So what? The menu is hot by the sheer number of dishes they serve. Given the scope of a college canteen, the vegetarian menu is vast, very very vast that you are truly spoilt for choices.

There are at least more than 10 varieties of dosa: palak dosa, coconut dosa, paneer dosa… The same applies to rice: palak rice, coconut rice, special veg fried rice, pulav… this is could take long so let’s sum up — there are at least more than 30 varieties of rice. Though predominantly vegetarian, at the Central Canteen you will get dishes made with egg.

You also get cocktail rice which is a combination of rice and noodles.

Do you dare ask “So what?” yet? Well, here’s the winner. At Central Canteen not only do you get such numerous options, all the dishes are affordable to the letter. Most of the rice dishes are priced in the range of `30 to `50. The special thali that comes with soup and snacks like gobi manchurian apart from the usual rice, dal, sambhar, curd, pulav and sweet like double ka meetha is priced just `50. They have some snappy desserts too, the carrot halwa with ice cream, called Blow Hot, Blow Cold. The ways of the Central Canteen would be deemed by most pure vegetarian restaurants as a kick to the knee and to the other canteens as a blow below the belt. Because if the food is good, the price will be burn a hole in your pocket, and if the food’s bad, we all know what would the food be like. Patron flow from nearby campuses, too, where some of which even lack a canteen and are situated about 4km, or 5km away.

“It’s not surprising because it’s good food and the prices are very affordable,” said Abhishai. “Students from nearby colleges like Global come here have lunch and go back.”

What’s his and his friend Ephriam’s favourite? “The rice dishes, of course,” said the latter, who had vegetable special fried rice for lunch and looked yet to recover from the pleasant lull you are in after eating rice.

The general perception is no, but the truth is yes. There are aficionados that stand by classics, un-swayed by the onslaught of the likes of Fifty Shades of Grey.

Among the books on the racks in Landmark, marked new arrivals, you will find a book called Seduce. If you are “seduced”, then be ready to Surrender and then Satisfy. If you arrange these books in order, their covers will give you the complete picture: a woman lying on a couch with her head thrown back with her lover at her feet, “at work”.

Since the gigantic success of Fifty shades of Grey, bookstores have been stashed with similar books and justifiably so because of the steady sale. If you can see beyond the hysteria set off by books of erotica and sensuality, then next place on the podium of popularity, at least here in Hyderabad, is taken by books such as I too have a love story, Oh Shit, Not Again! and She Broke Up, I Didn’t!… I Just Kissed Someone Else!

And somewhere tucked away in a corner of a bookstore, quiet and sombre like a chapel, you will find the section “Classics”. It’s extraordinary if you find a soul browsing the collection there on a week day.

Works of Shakespeare, Joyce, Hardy and Austen lie there uncomplaining, though these are doyens and it is the sheer class of their work that has given them eternal life.

So, do people read classics today? The general perception is no, but the truth is yes. There are still aficionados that stand by classics, un-swayed by the onslaught of the likes of Fifty Shades of Grey.

“Of course, if you consider the sales, classics are way behind in comparison with bestsellers,” Siju Joy, who works with Landmark. “But there’s a steady, loyal bunch which come on Saturdays and Sundays and pick an old favourite.”

Siju says when they had an offer on classics, the section was teeming with people. “There were people from all age groups,” said Siju and added that he remembers a guy who had come three days in a row and gone back with “basketful of books”.Otherwise, it’s mostly college students and the mature crowd that come for classics.

“Pride and Prejudice of Jane Austen is a great favourite,” said Siju. “So are works of Charles Dickens. Youngsters who are with theatre groups come looking for works of Chekov and Shaw. I remember a senior citizen asking for Homer’s Odyssey.”“There are even takers for Shakespeare.”

There is a newfound interest in classics when they are made into movies. “There was demand for Christmas Carol and Alice in Wonderland when these were made into movies,” said Ramesh M, who is with Crosswords.

Sunayana Sen, who works with Facebook, said of her love for works of Tagore. “I don’t read much of English classics, but I read a lot of Tagore. I have read Merchant of Venice and Tempest, as I wanted to check out what’s the hype about Shakespeare.”

Kovuuri Ganapathy Reddy, who works with the AP information centre in Delhi, recalled fond memories of reading Wuthering Heights. “That’s a dark and intense book.”Ganapathy Reddy said the essence of classics is it has everlasting life.“Classics stand the test of time. You can go back to it and re-read anytime and it still fascinates you.”

]]> http://postnoon.com/2013/01/12/do-people-still-read-classics/102200/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/27/top-5-sexiest-women-of-2012/98004 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/27/top-5-sexiest-women-of-2012/98004#comments Thu, 27 Dec 2012 09:43:10 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=98004 Billed as a benchmark for female charm, the sexiest people of the year list is always the most awaited one. Find out who made Postnoon’s list.

Mila Kunis

Ask them men how they hate Ashton Kutcher who is dating Kunis. Take a look at the November issue of the Esquire where the pretty woman poses topless on the cover and you will too join the ranks of Kutcher haters. Thank her mother for leaving for the US rather than sticking on in Ukrainian SSR. Else our eyes would never have seen those delectable curves, the coal black eyes, and the pout of those full lips that drips of OOMPH!

Sofía Margarita Vergara

Know what’s Sofía Vergara’s middle name? Need clues? It starts with M, it’s intoxicating like the woman we are talking about, only difference is that the mixture is made from tequila, mixed with Cointreau or similar orange-flavoured liqueur and lime or lemon juice, often served with salt on the glass rim while what makes Sophia intoxicating is her buxom, delectable, curvy, sexy, sweet self.

Olivia Wilde

Boy! Is she hot! Voted the sexiest vegetarian celebrity by Peta, Olivia can be quite in your face. Who else would say about her failed marriage to Tao Ruspoli, an Italian Prince, she felt like her “vagina was dead”? And so she called it quits and is now with comedian Jason Sudeikis and Daily Mail quotes her as saying they has sex like “Kenyan marathon runners” and are “blissfully in love”. Quite the Wilde child, eh Olivia!

Lisa Hayden

She wanted to be a yoga instructor when she was 18, a possible clue to her figure. Her looks are thanks to her Australian mother and Malayali father. And we must thank her friend profusely for telling her to pursue modelling, else she would never have started modelling, come to India, walk the ramp here and get into movies.

Olivia Munn

This lass is a heady mix of Chinese descent from her mother’s side and that of Irish and German from the father’s. Don’t think Olivia is just exotic in looks and figure, she can make you laugh and is an author, too. She’s a strong woman and stands up for what she believes is right, for once she helped Peta free a sick elephant from a touring circus.

Ian Somerhalder

Now you’ll know who Ian Somerhalder is. For many girls this man is the manifestation of sexiness. The shiny vulpine eyes, the sinister smile… it would not have been hard for the producers of Vampire Diaries to cast him as Damon Salvatore. But he’s quite the nice guy in real life. He was actively involved in the cleanup after the Deepwater Horizon oil drilling disaster on April 22, 2010. Somerhalder supports the “It Gets Better Project”, which makes it a goal to prevent suicide among LGBT youth, and also has set up a foundation the purpose of which is to spread awareness among people about environmental and animal protection.

Ryan Guzman

Ryan Guzman is a man of many roles: model, mixed martial arts fighter, dancer and actor. Guzman started as a model for Calvin Klein underwear back in 2009. “Girls come up to me, and start crying. Or they’re so nervous they are shaking. Some have tried to sneak grabs of my abs and my butt!,” he said in an interview with Cosmopolitan, in response to a question on his soaring popularity after Step up 4.

Shemar Moore

Curious, but no one can, girls mostly, have enough of the shirtless Shemar Moore. The man with the ‘god bod’ is a perfect candidate for erotic shots, those in the industry would confess. Moore started as a fashion model. He would then go on to play Malcolm Winters on The Young and the Restless and Derek Morgan on CBS’s Criminal Minds.

Abhay Deol

He can hardly be called a star, but an actor, he is. He is completely on the opposite side when it comes to requirements to be a Bolly wood star: no biceps, triceps, six packs or eight packs. But Abhay is quite the cool guy and many gals find him very sexy. And he seems to have that playful aspect of Dharmendra, his uncle.

Tom Hardy

This was Tom Hardy’s year. No one could have been Bane in the Dark Knight Rises… no one but him. With his voice, look, and physical presence, Hardy imparted something that made Bane not an evil man, but a man on a mission and he played it so well that you empathise with the baddie sometimes.

In a world where there’s no certainty about anything, it’s amazing how entrepreneurs strike gold. There is an immense appeal to the word and everyone wants to be an entrepreneur today. Its appeal may be compared to the routine rags-to-riches story: the hard beginnings, no or scarce capital, one’s belief in something new and novel which no one else shares… the odds are plenty. That’s perhaps why every entrepreneur’s story has aspects of those of Aladdin’s and Sinbad’s where luck favours the brave.

From the outside, entrepreneurs are no way different from those around them. But it’s a fact that they are wired differently inside which is the whole point. They see opportunities that don’t catch the eyes of all and sundry, and they are willing to explore them and take chances in investing their time and money.

Keith Cameron Smith’s The 10 Secrets of Entrepreneurs: How to stop being an employee says it all. It is about the special aspects that separate entrepreneurs from the ordinary. It expounds on the virtues that help some people make and build wealth from something new.

To be honest, these are lessons we gather from our professional and personal lives every day. It’s just that Smith has taken the trouble to list them drawing inspiration and examples from his own life and others who have made it.

Smith may want to rethink the advice about hanging out with millionaires and the good it would do you. Imagine hanging out with John McAfee.

These are hardly secrets: they are open secrets. Everyone knows them, some act on them and but only a few get them right.

But is there any secret — one wonders? At least that’s what Kungfu Panda seems to tell us. After all that hi-fi martial artistry, they get a scroll that had no secret for them. May be there’s no secret at all, but do what you have to do.

Name: 10 secrets of Entrepreneurs

Author: Keith Cameron Smith

Pages: 116

Publisher: Hachette India

Odysseus had a tough time escaping from the sea goddess Calypso. But the restaurant at La Calypso is different. Even if he left, he would want to keep coming back.

When the meal is done, the waiter brings the bill and with it, a feedback form. Diners mostly are reluctant and wear a look on their face that says, “Now what?” If the food is bad, some flatly refuse to obli­ge; some vent their spleen in the nastiest of remarks. If it is good, the remarks would be like, “Very nice,” or “Good”. But would they doodle their satisfaction along with expressing it in words?

At La Calypso, this happens… often. They have a visitors’ book which they proudly present to diners after meals. Most of the comments are adorned with doodles, some simple, some done elaborately, taking time. One customer has gone to the extent of giving marks: KC Sreekanth Menon gives nine out of 10 for ambience, eight for food and eight again for service.

La Calypso is a hotel erected on premises that may not be called sprawling. But it’s neatly done, making efficient use of the space available. There’s a small garden where benches and tables are laid, each pair segregated by small trees, which not only are green and pretty, but accord privacy. The restaurant opens to one side to a balcony with a trellis above, with cute small round tables which makes for a pleasant tea or coffee time early or late in the day, or maybe a candle-lit dinner in the night. The trees ensure that flicker of the flame is minimum.

Apologies, we have digressed from the ma­in object of interest. The food spectr­um at La Calypso comprises Indian, Conti­nental, Chinese and Italian cuisine and what I am to tell you now is no exaggeration and several satisfied people who have dined here will vouch for me: the food is excellent.

I started with the Goan rawa fry — prawns with a batter of semolina, deep fried, served with tartar sauce (homemade, mind you). The form of the first nugget I ruined attempting to eat it with fork and knife. “Please use your hands,” said Sanjay Ghosh, chief manager of operations, who along with Fatima Bhinderwala, finance controller, was at lunch with me. “You must have it with the batter intact.” I did; it was fantastic.

Then came various kebabs and tikkas. All well done, tender and soft, but of these, three were outstanding: the Avakai murg tikka, stuffed tangdi kebab, and the murg reshmi kebab. The first one is chicken marinated in mango pickle with cashew cream, roasted. The speciality of the tangdi kebab here is that it has minced mutton stuffed in it; needless to say, the impact is double. And lastly, the reshmi kebab. I have had reshmi kebab several times, at several places, but this one was different because it had a small stack of something that resembled optic fibre. “What is that?” I asked. “That is Resham, sir,” replied Hitesh Variya, the food executive. The stack of optic fibres is made from sugar melted to a point where it turns golden off-white. “This is how it is served in the north,” said Fatima, who is from Rajasthan.

Executive chef Mukesh Rawat, a man of few words (his cooking does the talking), told me to try Poulet La Calypso. Popeyes will love it. It is chicken stuffed with spinach and mushroom, with cheese on top, served with a bit of rice.

However, the clincher is the Goan cuisine. The chicken cafreal — chicken marinated in rum, cooked in Goan masala, served with grilled potato and tomato — is slightly on the tangy side, but exquisite. By then, I was about done when Hitesh said, “Please try the prawns curry rice.” I am glad I did, as that was the deal: Prawns cooked in Goan coconut gravy. I had it with rice and followed it with a phulka. Everything is balanced; the gravy’s not too thick, nor too runny, but just perfect. And oh, you get phulkas here, which is vanishing from many eateries elsewhere in Hyderabad.

For dessert I had bebinca, made from jaggery and coconut milk. This Goan delicacy goes with ice cream, but I had it neat.

I was feeling pleasantly drowsy, a bit stuffed, to be frank, and so Sanjay suggested that I have some juice made from kokum, a typical Goan fruit, to, you know, “wake up”. I don’t know what Jeeves gave Wooster, who had had a late night, to bring him about tastes like, but the effect was similar. I was up and kicking; and glad that I made the 20km ride from Secunderabad to Old Hafeezpet.

Where: Old Hafeezpet, Miyapur.

When: 7.30 am to 11am.

Meal for two: Rs.500 (approximate) without alcohol.

Prices inclusive of taxes.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/12/16/people-like-it-they-doodle/95049/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/10/louis-xiii-cognac-a-drink-to-remember/93494 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/10/louis-xiii-cognac-a-drink-to-remember/93494#comments Mon, 10 Dec 2012 09:39:48 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=93494

Vincent Cleme, brand ambassador for Louis XIII cognac, waxes eloquent about the rare drink.

Cognac. The word brings to mind a picture of someone comfortably ensconced in a sofa by the fire, with the dog by his or her feet, reading a book while taking sips from a balloon snifter glass. Even if not in pictures, our notions of cognac are varied: It’s something to be had after dinner, it’s a seasonal drink, it’s to be had in winter, it may not be mixed, but should be had neat… but the truth is these are notions — to be precise, myths — that hold no water.

“There are some cognacs like that, but there are many others that can be consumed like any other spirit,” said the brand ambassador for Remy Martin, Vincent Cleme, who was in town for the promotion of Louis XIII, a very, very rare cognac, at Park Hyatt. “For instance, it’s said cognac may not be mixed with anything, but should be had neat. But the fact is that you may mix it with any juice like any other spirit and the result is wonderful. I like cognac with ginger ale.”

Indians are mostly lovers of whiskey and beer. But Cleme believes that by dispelling the myths about cognac, it can find admirers here. “I have come across many people here and abroad who had wrong ideas about cognac. There were many lovers of the single malt who said they would stick to that. There were many who thought it would be too strong. But I have been able to win them over with Louis XIII.” Cleme said the single malt lovers were surprised when they tried it, and those who thought it would be too strong were equally so, “because they found it very smooth”.

So what’s special about Louis XIII? “It’s made from eaux de vie that has been aged a 100 years,” Cleme said, with gravity. Eaux de vie, which translates from French to “water of life”, is a clear, colourless fruit brandy that is produced by means of fermentation and double distillation.

The tale goes that Paul Emile Remy Martin in 1874 decided that he would make cognac from the eaux de vie that’s been in the family cellar for a 100 years. These were being saved up as dowry for his daughters. Perhaps he had more than that required for the original purpose and so he decided to make cognac with it. Cleme calls it with reverence: “An act of genius”.

Everything that happened from the Big Bang that led to the creation of the info-universe of today is relevant in this story.

Those who have missed the tech bus must read Wave Rider: A chronicle of the Information Age. It’s not just the story of Ajit Balakrishnan, founder and the CEO of rediff.com, as told by him, for there can be no fine line drawn between the developments of information technology and the story of a trendsetting Indian Internet company. Everything that happened from the big bang that led to the creation of the info-universe (that is still expanding as we speak) of today is relevant in this story.

It’s just curious, the ways of fate, as Ajit Balakrishan recounts that he was not at all interested in the computer that he encountered at IIM-Calcutta. The machine was a mass of wires “nested on a one-foot square metal board” where the wires had to be connected to on the board to reflect the logical sequences in the operator’s mind. Balakrishnan was caught by his professor looking out of the window, drawn by the action on the football field. And he confesses that he had half a mind to say “no” when asked if he did not find the control panel interesting. The year was 1970.

Now, Ajit Balakrishnan runs one of the pioneering Internet companies based in India.

The book is peppered with Ajit’s insights into the world of technology that is extremely helpful to someone who has been in the dark about the explosion of information on the web.

He extrapolates findings of case studies from the history of major industrial and technological developments to current trends to make sense of what’s happening today. Pages where Ajit introspects are very important because the reader gets to see from close quarters how functions the reasoning of an entrepreneur, his hopes, fears and the lessons learned.

Name: Wave Rider: A chronicle of the Information Age

Author: Ajit Balakrishnan

Pages: 213

Publisher: Pan Macmillan

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/12/08/an-entrepreneur-reasons/93026/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/01/2012-year-in-review-hot-wheels/91415 http://postnoon.com/2012/12/01/2012-year-in-review-hot-wheels/91415#comments Sat, 01 Dec 2012 06:51:52 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=91415 It’s a combination of many aspects that makes a good car: Speed, design, beauty and strength. This year did not disappoint car-lovers as it witnessed the release of some real beauties. We list some of the best.

Bentley Continental GT V8

This new babe from the Bentley stable is an absolute stunner with superb features like charismatic power unit, beguiling soundtrack. It’s nimble on its feet, making it so much fun to drive. It’s a car but when it rolls forward, it’s so smooth, as smooth as a plane.

Ferrari F12 Berlinetta

This happens to be Ferrari’s fastest road car. It can do 0-62mhp in just 3.1 secs and can hit a maximum speed of 211 mph. It’s not just faster than most cars on the road; unlike many speedsters, which can only go really quick in a straight line, in this you can swerve around the corners without taking your foot off the accelerator.

Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet

According to the wiseguys at Top Gear, this is the most economical (27 mpg on the highway), lowest-emitting sports cars of all. And it’s a vast improvement from the earlier ones. It’s got child seats in the back. So maybe on the next make-the-heads-turn trip, your young ‘un can come along with the missus.

Mini Roadster Cooper S

In the Cooper S Roadster is combined the nimble-handling dynamics, athleticism and the quirks that come with every Mini. While most sports cars can only boast of go-karting-like handling, the Cooper S delivers on the promise, thanks to the short wheel-base. So, small she may be, but she can dance on the road.

Rolls-Royce Phantom II

Regardless of what you are, who you are — dictator, president, king, emperor — you will have to stand in a queue to buy one of these; very democratic, to say the least. It’s still that imposing, regal, royal machine, but you will be delighted to know the Phantom II has got a satnav system complete with a massive 8.8in screen and a 360-degree camera system to help park this strapping vehicle. Meaning forget about nicks, you can see anything coming from anywhere.

BMW 6-series Gran Coupé

Accommodating is the word that comes to one’s mind when one looks at the Gran Coupé, the BMW’s first four-door coupé. Apart from seating five people comfortably, luggage space has increased from the standard 460 litres to a solid 1,265 litres. Now don’t be foxed into thinking it can just seat people: the eight-speed automatic gearbox machine can hit 250km per hour. Meaning sporty with lots of practicality.

Audi A3

It is a success, the A3. It’s much improved than the one before it. Bad, irritating roads lie ahead of you? No worries, you almost won’t feel a thing and if the roads are smooth, it gives you an experience that will linger on your self and soul after the ride’s over. You will eagerly await to be in it.

McLaren MP4-12C Spider

Well, it’s the spider version of the McLaren MP4-12C that was released in 2011. Top Gear raves about it to the point where it claims that it could be possibly better than Ferrari 458 Spider. It can do the 0-62mph in 3.1 secs, and despite the 616bhp engine, it’s easy to handle and immensely flexible.

Mercedes-Benz SL

The SL has been around since 1954, yet its name and reputation stand undented. SL comes from the German Sport Leicht, or Sport Lightweight. Know what was special about the 2012 model? Almost all of it was built entirely from aluminium, making it 110 kg lighter than its predecessor. Owners of one model or the other from the SL range include Jeremy Clarkson, Gordon Ramsey and the one and only Steve Jobs.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/12/01/2012-year-in-review-hot-wheels/91415/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/29/boris-johnson-means-business/90988 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/29/boris-johnson-means-business/90988#comments Thu, 29 Nov 2012 09:40:12 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=90988

Amidst chuckles, laughs and quips, the mayor of London effectively made his case. He was here on a mission and he knew how to win a crowd.

Boris Johnson was everything you read and hear about him. He came, he saw, he charmed everyone at the Indian School of Business. And there were moments aplenty where people giggled, chuckled and laughed varying with the tone and the manner Boris made quips, but the mayor of London was here on a mission and amid the wisecracks, he made his case.

Boris means business. In his brief address and the question answer session that followed that was what Boris tried to prove: the mutual benefits India and Britain stand to gain.

Boris knows how to win a crowd. No where else has he in his life seen a building in the shape of a fish (the AP fisheries department office), Boris said quite approvingly. “In London we have a Gherkin, a Shard and a Pickled Onion. But never in my life have I seen a building shaped as a fish.” And he talked of his Indian connections for whom he got two bottles of whisky and riled against France without actually taking their name for their plans of nationalising Arcelor-Mittal plants, owned by Lakshmi Mittal. He claimed that London is any day more business-friendly than Paris.

Boris and his team is in India to look for new business opportunities. Ever since he landed in Delhi, he has been making his country’s case on how business friendly it is. “Did you see the Olympics?” Boris asked and went on to say despite the predictions of the doomsters everything went well and congratulated India for its performance.

As expected, one of the questions raised was about the strict visa process, which Boris has been a vociferous opponent of. Earlier in the week, he had said he did not want to see Americans and Canadians eating Britain’s lunch, an indirect warning how Britain shall lose in the education sector if it goes on with stricter visa processes and immigration laws. In recent times, there has been a decline in the number of Indian students heading to Britain. And so when the question was asked, he said, “Even if I am not there to personally stamp your visas, I am sure our friends at the British high commission will help you.”

The moderator of the session asked about Boris’s week-long stint as management consultant upon graduating from Oxford before he joined The Times. This is what he said once of his time there: Try as I might, I could not look at an overhead projection of a growth profit matrix, and stay conscious.” But Boris sounded regretful that he did not stick on instead of “always attacking everyone”, working in the media. “That’s what the media does. Attack everyone. But that’s its function and it’s necessary.”

But Boris loves his current job because he thinks it gives him a chance to make a difference to the world. When there was mention of the India-England test series, Boris said, “The fortunes of our team have changed since our landing in Delhi.”

Michelin-starred chef Baptiste Fournier was at the ITC Kakatiya to show how Indian wines could be paired with French food. Baptiste talks to Postnoon about his culinary journey.

The show was over and Baptiste Fournier sat down with a glass of champagne. The guests he had served were slowly leaving the Hyder Hall, ITC Kakatiya. He saw they were pleased both with the food and the wines paired with them. A little while ago he had been standing chatting with every company at each table, basking in the lavish praise showered on him by his guests; one of them quipped that the one-star Michelin chef would get three stars soon. One star means very good; two means outstanding; three means perfection. As she said this, Baptiste’s expression altered, first earnestness, then mild interest and finally modesty mingled with dry wit: “Yeah, right.”

Earlier, in the afternoon, Baptiste who was scheduled to talk to us about his coming to India and taking part in this unique programme where French cuisine would be paired with wines from Four Seasons, was delayed by at least 45 minutes. The reason? “He has gone to get the right spices and produce,” said an official at the ITC.

If there’s anything that’s makes Baptiste Baptiste, it is this ardour for the quality for the things with which he cooks. “You see, the produce has to be first rate. French cuisine is all about making something tasty retaining the taste of the produce and keeping a balance with the spices. Foremost comes the taste of the produce,” he explained. “And then comes the wine. The pairing has to be carefully done, as the wine complements the food.” Baptiste is just 32, but he is an expert in pairing, as will Abhay Kewadkhar, chief winemaker and director at USL wines, certify.

“When I was in France last year, I had gone to Sancerre (where Baptiste hails from) sometime last year and I told my French friends that I would like to take them out to lunch to a place of their choice. They suggested La Tour. We went there, had a wonderful lunch. I had clamps and Pinot Noir. I thought I should say hello to the chef. This young man walked up to us and greeted us. We got introduced and that’s how this programme happened,” recalled Kewadkhar.

There’s an interesting story about La Tour, the restaurant his father ran before Baptiste took over. “My father bought it in 1979 and the following year I was born. I practically grew up in the kitchen and that’s how I started to love cooking,” Baptiste said.

There were hard times too. When Baptiste took over from his father after being recognised as one of the six young promising chefs by Gault Millau Guide, the staff would not co-operate. When my father told them something, they would follow. When I did, they loafed,” he said. “It was tough times, because they were not willing to change and slowly one by one, they started to leave, even those who had been working with my father for 20 years. A year after I took over, the Michelin star happened. And we started new branches and all who left came back.”

So he proved himself the tough way? “You may say that,” shuffling a bit in the seat Baptiste said.

Baptiste reminisced of the days at the restaurant of Guy Savoy, the three-star Michelin chef. “The third one came after I joined; not because of me, of course. There I learned the nuances of French cuisine. Oh, I would be yelled at a lot: “Do that! Do this! Not that way! This way! I worked there so hard.” He said it like it’s a “Phew!”

But he talks like a man who found his light when he talks of his time at Alain Passard’s. “I was like a fish in the sea. I loved it there. I learned there the various ways you could come up with something brilliant with vegetables,” he smiled. “Passard’s style is like… like…”

“Poetry?” suggested the translator with us.

“Yes… yes… like poetry.”

French cuisine puts no weight on the tummy and not at all plays with your innards. At the wine pairing session, if anything stood out, it was the Fresh French Surprise. That’s pineapple minced, slowly cooked in a low flame, then a dash of rum, served wi­th yoghurt specially treated. You won’t know it’s pineapple. It tingles the tongue to point you feel pleasantly stung, wondering, “What is this?” Baptiste left a clue: slices of pineapple that had been marinated with honey for half a day.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/11/25/fresh-french-surprise/89969/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/25/of-falafels-and-shawarmas/89950 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/25/of-falafels-and-shawarmas/89950#comments Sun, 25 Nov 2012 06:41:19 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=89950 A bite of the shawarma and then a bite of the chilli they serve at Ghazleh is enough to make you forget all dietary restrictions.

The strong of the nose can sniff out the smell of meat roasting from the Ghazeleh shawarma joint ten metres from the turning before Food World at West Marredpally. Now, when you reach there, chances are that you may find their attempts at adornments gaudy and the premises a bit seedy: the joint is just a tarpaulin stretched over a thatched roof erected on poles of wood and the walls bright red, and the entrance embellished by tuni bulbs. But the smell’s good… very good.

And you will find some people who will swear by the shawarma here. A youngster from Sudan enrolled in a nearby college for BCA is one of them. “It ees very good,” he affirms. Nice? “Very nice,” he reaffirms. Is it anything like the shawarma you get in Sudan? “Yes, yes.” He should know. Guess what he said is breakfast for a university student in Sudan… shawarma.

And Masr, the 19-year-old boy who runs the shop, says proudly their tahini sauce comes close in taste to that you get in Cairo. “A guy from Cairo who visited us told us so,” he beams.

The HPS-schooled young entrepreneur who lives in Masab Tank opened shop in Marredpally after noticing on visits to his friends that the place lacked the Arabian flavour. And so he talked to his mum and she helped him set up Ghazaleh.

It’s not just the shawarma that’s on the menu at Ghazaleh. There’s falafel and grilled chicken, which goes well with their tahini sauce.

Yet what’s sorely missed is the salad comprising green chilies, carrots, beetroots and cucumbers done in vinegar that comes with the shawarma in countries like UAE. A bite of the shawarma and then a bite of the chilli and the burning feeling sousing in the tender meat as you chew… Ah!

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/11/25/of-falafels-and-shawarmas/89950/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/12/the-grapes-of-matt/87554 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/12/the-grapes-of-matt/87554#comments Mon, 12 Nov 2012 09:42:17 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=87554

As an 11-year-old, New Zealander Matt Thomson sampled wine for the first time. He grew up and decided to take his love for wine to a different level by becoming a professional winemaker.

There was an 11-year-old Kiwi boy who would sneak up where the wines were kept in his house and have savoury sips of them. The wine would be kept secured, as the family reserved it for special occasions… not to mention that the boy was just 11, and the age to enjoy wine legally being something less than a decade away. The trysts with wine sealed the boy’s love for it and he decided he should become a winemaker. And he has and is a good one at that.

He is Matt Thomson, wine consultant, Saint Clair, one of the finest winemakers in New Zealand since 1978 and Matt has been associated with them since its inception. Matt had come down to Hyderabad for a wine tasting session at the Park Hyatt.

Matt cannot exactly place his fascination for wine beyond “I love wine”. In those three words everything is summed up. Prod him a little more and he says, “A crazy love for wine.” He did a Masters in chemistry from the University of Otago and learnt and read up everything that could help him fulfil his dream. “I enrolled for courses that could help me understand whatever goes into making it,” Matt said. Back then, wine-making was not that huge in New Zealand. But Matt was sure: this was his true calling.

Wine brought him love, too. Sophie Parker, a lawyer, reviewed Matt’s Sauvignon Blanc and she liked it and gave it the okay. “It tasted great and it was something for everyone,” she recalls. True to its description, it was light-bodied, dry, crisp wine with the subtle flavours of gooseberry, passion fruit, and grapefruit. Sophie should know: though a lawyer, Sophie’s father was a winemaker and you may safely rule out chances of errors of judgment from her when it comes to wines. One may say wine “completes” Matt.

There are other connections, too, adds Matt. “My father’s a lawyer, my brother’s a lawyer… so… you know…” he smiles.

Though Matt began with “I love wine”, it is clear it is the various aspects of this work that he enjoys. “It’s like a good chef,” Matt says. “He has to get the best ingredients and the best of products. He has a garden and he knows somehow to use what it produces to make the perfect dish.”

Coming up with the meal to pair it with seems a challenge to the ordinary. But a winemaker knows. For instance, Sauvignon Blanc and oysters make an excellent pair. “The grapes are planted in a region not far from the sea,” explains Matt. “So the grapes are influenced by the wind that blows from there. You see, there’s a lot that goes into wine making: geography, soil, wind, time of harvest. That’s why you will find most wine lovers and winemakers are very clever people,” he says with a nod.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/11/12/the-grapes-of-matt/87554/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/10/more-than-meets-the-eye/87042 http://postnoon.com/2012/11/10/more-than-meets-the-eye/87042#comments Sat, 10 Nov 2012 09:41:40 +0000 Rajesh Ravindran http://postnoon.com/?p=87042

The Economics of Killing describes the role Western countries played in fueling wars and thus creating a deadly cycle of violence.

When the Libyan civil war was at its peak, the great nations of the world differed on what course of action must be taken to end it. The US was wary about arming the rebels who they feared may have links to al-Qaeda. The British Prime Minister David Cameroon suggested that his country could arm the rebels, which were at times hamstrung for ammunition and other sort of help, and declare the area a no-flyzone. France was dead against any such move: they vehemently demanded that such a measure would mandate the approval of the Security Council of the United Nations, which they knew would never happen, as China and Russia would only be too glad to nip such actions in the bud, lest setting a precedent for their own citizens to take cue from and rise up.

Well, this was what you got from the papers, from the news channels and the Internet. But ever wondered there is more than meets the eye; the real reason for France’s ‘NO’ to the no-fly zone? They anticipated the drop in demand for the French-made Mirage fighters, that the Libyan air force had, if they were to be shot down by the “superior” American jets. Please don’t jump to think what a nice, righteous man is Cameron. By offering to arm the rebels, he was merely opening avenues for UK’s arms industry.

This is what Vijay Mehta’s Killing of Economics: How the West Fuels War And Poverty in the Developing World does. It tells you the story hidden underneath the lines and lays bare to you whatever’s happening and why it’s happening. It tells you the story how the one per cent of the world gets to the keep, if not everything, but most of it, and leave so little for the rest, which is the reason of many an unrest in the world.

One wonders while reading the book if the developed nations had been planning it all out: the war mongering, then taking sides and helping out and the leaving the region in perennial turmoil, where the parties concerned would need a constant supply of arms, which would be supplied by the “powerful”, “caring” West, which would talk among themselves and worry about the sad state of affairs.

The role played by the arms industry in the policy-making of many Western countries is astounding. We all know about it, but to what extent and how deep, we are unsure. The book explains the roles played by the military-industrial complex in the US and in China that lead to the financial crisis of 2008.

The book also offers an insight into many other conflicts and concerns: Afghanistan, Tibet, the Middle East et al. One feels that most of it is caused by greed, insecurity and lack of trust and the infernal intentions of some great nations to remain great and prosperous and keep the rest in the dark.

Name: Killing of Economics: How the West Fuels War And Poverty in the Developing World

Author: Vijay Mehta

Pages: 248

Publisher: Pluto Press

Nischal’s love for the subject led him to develop models to help students understand math better.

When Nischal Narayanam had difficulty understanding three-dimensional objects in mathematics (most of us would remember that teachers would draw cubes and cuboids and spheres on boards in geometry classes), he asked his mother to get him models for better understanding. His mother scoured the markets, but could not find any. So Nischal made his own models. At the time he was a 9-year-old studying in class V.

“Around that time, his father brought home a financial statement of our sugar business — Nischal spotted a mistake in that,” recalls his mother, Dr Padmavati, who spotted something unique in her son.

Today Nischal is 17. He is also a Guinness world record-holder for memorising the most number of random objects (225) and the most numbers memorised in a minute (132, that too binary numbers). He is doing his BCom and is a CA student. So when he tells you that it is his mission to convert the fear of math to joy, you may trust him.

Reports say that 65 per cent of students get the shivers when they hear the word ‘math’. But at Nischal’s Smart Learning Solutions, where he is mentor, you can see kids who have been trained to shred fiery mathematical knots to pieces in seconds: 24×56… 1344: pop comes the answer… no fear whatsoever. One thinks it’s magic.

The means are different — either abacus or vedic mathematics. But your fear of the subject is zero. As part of his mission to rid children of mathphobia, Nischal’s Smart Learning Solutions will conduct math enhancement programmes for students from class I to X during Dussera vacations. With the help of math lab that a younger Nischal developed), trainees conduct sessions in math, vedic mathematics, abacus and chess.

Chess? “Many eminent mathematicians played chess well. John Nunn was a mathematician and a grandmaster,” says Lanka Rao, international chess master. “Albert Einstein was a good chess player, too.”

Nischal’s methods have ardent fans in many eminent people. One among them is P Ramanachari, the former head of department for maths in Hyderabad Public School, who is now senior trainer in Nischal’s institute. “I was immensely impressed when I first saw their models and their applications,” he says. “I wish we had these much earlier.”

In Nischal’s world, math is not scary — there’s no need to mug up — but an absolute joy.