Opinion

Opinion — View Comments
21
Aug 09

Failed American show, not suitable for Indians.

Yes, we’re talking about ‘Sacch Ka Saamna’ (face the truth), a failed American concept popularly known as The Moment of Truth. At first, the show seems like a good idea. Yea, sure. Why not? We can handle it. Can we?

Now, just hold that thought. First, for those who have no clue, see what the show is all about here.

From day one, I’ve been following up with the Indian version – Saach Ka Saamna – and noticed a particular trend.

Here’s what I caught my nerve:

1. The entire show is based on the “polygraph machine,” a device that anticipates your bodily symptoms to distinguish between True and False. How accurate is the machine? Well, we don’t know. How do we know the producers are not fooling us or the contestants? Well, we don’t know that either.

Its not 100%. See here.

2. This means the entire show is based on such a willowy platform. Hence, the whole idea of ‘Sacch’ (Truth) is really far fetched.

3. From the many contestants that walked on stage and spurted out their personal and intimate secrets with the world, it seems they’ve shown no responsibility towards the Indian – mentality – people. Apart from the metros, the audience is still largely folks trying to maintain our heritage and culture.

Indians are not Americans. And Americans are not Indians.

By that I mean, its OK for people to kiss – display affection in public – in America, whereas in India we’re still far behind. Bollywood doesn’t count.

I’m sure there are many Indians out there who’ll find the show to be completely normal, straightforward and entertaining.

But, if we take in the bigger picture, what examples are we setting for the next generation?

4. This brings me to an important query, that being of, to what extent should television go, in the name of entertainment? Are TRPs the only thing that make sense?

And finally, by the above argument, I’m not pointing fingers at any individual, but merely trying to poke at the sheer audacity of a show that is based on a willowy “polygraph machine.”

A machine can’t understand emotions. And that’s why its a machine in the first place.

As readers, what is your take on the show and its authenticity? And is money the only thing that matters?

Opinion — View Comments
22
Jul 09

Let’s Disqus

Dear fan, avid reader, follower, the occasional passerby, the bored convict from Guantanamo Bay and the people from that feverish 60′s cult – the ones that don’t read a single word on my blog or any blog for that matter, you’ll be pleased to know – DisqusDisqusDisqus has been added to Cockybox.

This means a better platform for debates, discussions, feedback and most importantly conversation. A conversation with the writer. A conversation that can spark a profound arena of views that leave a deep impact on our mentality. From now on there will be an incessant effort to delve into subjects that deeply affect the world around us.

I had an aunt once. Not that she isn’t around anymore. But, she had the idea of getting everyone together. The idea being ‘participation’ and to ‘involve’ everyone’s brain on a subject. At first, the process caused mayhem, conflict, pillows flew across the room, and later when the dust settled down, there would be that one big idea, that one common ground – the area where everyone found comfort and peace.

Any how, the purpose is to make the girls want you. ‘Listening’ to them can help. In fact, it’s all you need to do. Now, go away. Shoo. Pick your nose. Call Dr. Doodles. But don’t take a bath. Save the world from fast-food.

Let the games begin.

Opinion — View Comments
2
May 09

Voting Blues

Post 26.11, we had that fever, that adrenalin rush, to stimulate every Indian’s voting leg. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry, including their families, their friends, their servants, their canines, were all infuriated by the infantile men in white. They shouted, they screamed at the top of their lungs, their erratic behaviour lead to the disobedient movement. Well, that’s our wayward approach to most situations.

All those psyched folks must be busy – at home, at work, at the pub, a few must be down in South Africa – titillated by western cheerleader, who, by the way, are beyond our social conforms.

Keep your pants on.

Here we are, the year 2009, and voting fails to excite us. Had it been similar to ‘Superpoke’ from Facebook, we’d be tickled by the idea. We would even go as far as sending it to 20 odd friends. Needless to say, that itch, is in all the wrong places.

We have better fish to fry. Once our minds get free from IPL, which is obviously recession proof, and the thought of taking your car to work, since all this while you were hard pressed to not do without your chopper, and maybe H1N1 (popularly known as swine flu), no, it’s not a code name for the US visa.

Let me add here, heading to the US, at the moment, well, is clearly not a good idea. All our punjabi folks aside, who could care less.

At the White House.

Obama must be sitting with the boys, from all those soon-to-be-making-bicycles automotive companies, and brainstorming their own version of Nano, with an in-built swine flu cum any-future-flu anti-virus, and most importantly, make all future cars Facebook and iPod ready.

“That’ll put us back in business boys. And if that doesn’t work, let’s call Steve.”

For all the others, keep reading.

What if there is a different flu out their? A Voting Flu. Popularly known as VF1. What would that mean for you and me?

Allow me to spread further.

This flu would show symptoms of voter’s anxiety, the sudden urge to vote, and even cause the host voting day-dreams and hysteria.

We could spread it via Facebook. Every ‘Superpoke’ or ‘Comment’ would infect the recipient. Every score update on your cellphone could add to the spread.

Hence, in no time, a nation full of VF1, would queue up to vote. I wouldn’t bother finding a cure for this one. For now, at least.

Opinion — View Comments
11
Feb 09

Recession

What a pain in the ass. Heartbroken? Dreams crushed like a twig, under Jumbo’s foot. He couldn’t see Reena’s love – the hippo at the pond – the last time he went in for a swim.

Nonetheless, you’re fried for no reason. Charged up for a riveting battle of twits, with the biggest lump in your throat – unable to swallow – you look for relief in a glass full of xxx.

Yuck! I can feel the sand in my mouth. Similar to the one found on the islands of Greece. Wonder how many blonds juggled in it.

Anyhow, you did call your wife. She has been waiting for that late night rendezvous – the one you can’t afford – the one you promised her months ago.

Why?

You had everything in shares.

Satyam shares. Eureka! Go explain that to her. Bloody recession has got nothing to do with it.

Moving along now.

Grab rum. Why? It’ll relax you.

Sedated? Not enough? Here. Take my glass.

Waiter – Yes sir! – *Repeat.

The endless running around, the wall – your only friend, tells you all about life. A nice tale about it passing by, but there was so much left in her.

Damn.

Where did she come from now? What does she want? Why me? I only have a couple of thousands rolled up in the glove compartment.

Ah! She looks happy.

Bitch!

She doesn’t care about the recession. In fact, I’m sure her business is booming. Look at all the depressed logs around. They all need her services.

She gives the best hair cut in town. You feel like a rock star in no time.

Answers. We’re all looking for some. If only we knew where to find them. A couple of bucks would do just fine.

Let me tell you about the runaway writer. No, no, no. Not the runaway bride. But a runaway writer – later to be found in the foothills of the Himalayas.

Many believe he is a myth. I disagree.

Met him at Barney’s, last week. He stood like a rock. Fit as ever. Didn’t write any longer though. But made all the ladies week in the knees.

Something about a nine iron – he didn’t mention golf though.

Here is a compilation of photographs of the world,

put together by the New York Times. They paint a vivid picture. Comical. A few.

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