Sunday, 21 April 2013
PICS: The fascinating history of the Khan-i-Khanan Tomb
IN PICS: The hottest IPL wives and girlfriends
Kyly Boldy
Sakshi Dhoni
Jeanne Kietzmann
Geeta Basra
Shamone Jardim
Lee Furlong
Jessica Bratich-Johnson
Weird superstitions of Karnataka politicians
Many candidates have been rushing to file their nomination papers on Monday following astrologers' advice that today happens to be a very auspicious day to do so.
Many Congress leaders would never use a black ink pen to file their nomination papers. They would also wear four layers of clothes while doing so.
A common thing noticed is that these leaders always point their nomination papers North before filing their papers.
There is also a BJP leader who always wears a fur hat before he files his nomination.
Yeddyurappa himself has been famous for visiting several temples before he files his nomination.
Five is considered to be a lucky number for Deve Gowda. The first list announced had 122 names, adding up to five.
Gowda's son, H D Revanna wears a gold chain around his neck and also his waist before filing the nomination for good luck.
Centre opposes PIL seeking removal of Sebi chief
"They are obsessed with conspiracies...This man (SEBI chairman) has gone against Sahara and is looking into the case of RIL [ Get Quote ] and others," Attorney General (AG) G E Vahanvati submitted before a bench of justices S S Nijjar and Pinaki Chandra Ghose.
The AG was responding to arguments of Prashant Bhushan, appearing for petitioner Arun Kumar Agrawal, that M Abraham, a Kerala-cadre IAS officer and a whole-time member of SEBI, had written a letter to the Prime Minister that information regarding cases, pending with the market regulator, against some corporates were sought by the Finance Ministry.
Solicitor General Mohan Parasaran said Omita Paul, Secretary to the President, who was then advisor to the then finance minister, had "no role" in the appointment of Sinha as SEBI Chairman.
The Cabinet Committee on Appointment, headed by the Prime Minister, appoints the SEBI chairman and the advisor has no role in it.
Seeking dismissal of the PIL of Agrawal, the AG said that complete facts relating to two earlier petitions on the same issue were not disclosed to this court.
"I should have raised preliminary issues earlier. The court entertained the petition in good faith. The PIL petitioner should have disclosed these facts," Vahanvati said, adding "this kind of selective amnesia is not expected of a veteran PIL petitioner...”
Bhushan, however, said the PIL, filed by Agrawal, was different from earlier petitions of retired IPS officer Julio F Ribeiro which were dismissed as withdrawn and moreover, the court had granted him the liberty to file it afresh.
He also referred to the prayers sought by Agrawal and Ribeiro in their respective pleas.
Initiating the arguments, Bhushan said Sinha, who was appointed as SEBI Chairman for three years in February 2011, allegedly lacked "integrity" to head the market regulator which has "become an extremely important institution in the wake of various scams in the stock market in recent past."
He also referred to the rules governing the salary to be drawn by an IAS officer if he is sent on deputation to a PSU or to private firms, NGO and other independent bodies.
Sinha, who had become the CMD of UTI Asset Management Company, earlier hit by the Ketan Parikh stock scam, withdrew salaries which was inconsistent with the rules, he said.
The lawyer also said Sinha, who also served as Joint Secretary (Banking) and CMD of UTI Asset Management Company, gave wrong undertaking before becoming SEBI chairman that he was not privy to "various sensitive and strategic information".
Senior advocate Harish Salve, appearing for Sinha, raised preliminary objections relating to previous PILs on the issue and said "this court needs to decide the preliminary issues ... what the champion of human rights and public cause was doing since 2005."
The petition is a "motivated one" and does need to be entertained, Salve said, adding that he would later advance arguments on merits in the case.
Earlier, the court had issued the notice to the Centre and others on the PIL alleging irregularities in Sinha's appointment as chief of the market regulator.
The bench had impleaded the President's Secretary Omita Paul, who was advisor to the then Finance Minister, when the decision to appoint Sinha as SEBI chairman was taken.
The impleading was done after it was alleged that the process of selection of SEBI chairman was interfered with due to which incumbent C B Bhave was refused extension and Sinha appointed. It was contended that Sinha had not even applied for the post.
Bhushan had submitted the "appointment of Sinha is malafide and a result of a deep-rooted conspiracy" and placed various documents which were procured through Right to Information Act to buttress his allegations.
"Sinha failed to fulfil one of the eligibility conditions as laid down in the SEBI Act which requires that the Chairman shall be a person of high integrity. He is not a person of high integrity as is apparent from various facts," Bhushan had further said.
rediff.com
Big Brother is listening
the telegraph
Sunday, 14 April 2013
‘Corporate Money Has No Nationality. They Just Run India’
Author and activist Arundhati Roy sent some "cryptic" answers to an e-mail questionnaire sent by Outlook. Excerpts:
Can India's corporate sector, with all the taints of corruption and scams, decide India's political future?
Of course it can and of course it will. The whole point of the corruption is to consolidate power and money, isn't it? But perhaps we should not use the words 'Corporate India'...it is just a few corporations that run India who will be making those decisions. Even within 'corporate India' and the business community, there is an accelerated process of marginalisation and consolidation taking place. And corporate money has no nationality.
Considering that the corporate sector's worldview is so unidirectional and self-serving, why is it being accepted so blindly by the media and in turn by the people?
Because the corporations own and control the media. And the media controls the imagination of the people. RIL, for example, owns controlling shares in 27 TV channels. Logically, ril's political candidates are going to be promoted on those channels.
What gives the corporates the strength to force such views on the people?
Let me guess...could it be money? Lots of it?
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This election the Corporate Candidate will be the person who is seen as being able to 'deliver'...and that will include being able to put down people's rebellions across the country by deploying the army if necessary, in places like Jharkhand, Orissa and Chhattisgarh, where, in the corporate view, massive reserves of cold cash are languishing in the forests and mountains—not quite the US model, but getting there.
Do you consider all this to be good for India's democratic system and values?
Yes, it's excellent for Indian democracy. We should be run by corporations. The army should be deployed. Nothing should come in the way of corporate need. The poor should be moved into concentration camps outside large cities. The surplus population should be exterminated.
Sunday, 7 April 2013
Delhi’s Chhatarpur farmhouses are the playpens of the mysterious rich
Among the BMWs, Audis, helipads, swimming pools and other assorted bric-a-brac that enlivens the farmhouses of Chhatarpur in outer Delhi, lives a shy young Jersey cow. Every morning, long before young Shamsher Gurjar rises to face another day—his is a family of late risers, never fully up before 10 am—she is milked for the 19-year-old, six-foot scion of the 'CDR' establishment. "We keep several cows but this one is exclusively for Shamsher. He must have at least two glasses of milk before he even opens his eyes," says mother Aruna Gurjar, a dignified-looking fortysomething who has lived in one or another of the family's several sprawling Chhatarpur-Mandir Road farmhouses for over 20 years.
Aruna married into Chhatarpur. It was an arranged marriage that transported her from a typical Delhi neighbourhood—Okhla, billowing out from a very 1980s-style industrial area—into the most prominent (and some say most wealthy) 'rural' family of this southernmost district of the capital. Her husband Trilok Gurjar's father was the late Chaudhary Daya Ram, a.k.a. 'CDRr', a farmer-turned-real-estate-mogul who struck lucrative deals with hundreds of local farmers during the 1970s and '80s. It was a time when builders were voraciously buying up village land on which, for instance, neighbouring Gurgaon's high-rises and malls eventually came up.
Strung out in the ruruban swathe between Qutub Minar—once land's end for Delhiites—and millennial Gurgaon to the south, Chhatarpur and its 13 nearby villages form a strange hybrid. Parts of it still designated as a rural area in government records, this zone hosts roughly 300 farms. Altogether spanning some 700 acres, this is Delhi's independent republic of farmhouses. Its residents are a wealthy, quiet, reclusive bunch. Fifteen-foot-high walls enclose well-manicured gardens with fountains and fancy dwellings. Musclemen man the gates.
The owners are obviously people who foresaw how much homes in green belts would be worth once the rest of Delhi (and lately, Gurgaon) became a concrete jungle. Typically, land sells for anywhere between Rs 2-10 crore an acre in Chhatarpur today. Their possessions tower over the otherwise modest roads and impoverished quarters that dot the landscape every few hundred yards. Besides the owners of large companies, it has proved to be an area of investment for real estate magnate DLF too—it has sold over 100 farmhouses here. DLF, of course, was a pioneer of the land bank model. Its deals negotiated in the early '80s with local farmers ensured it a strong foothold in the Mehrauli-Gurgaon belt.
Security guards dutifully stonewall enquiries about the identity of residents, but voter lists reveal some names. Businessman Rakesh Bharti Mittal owns a farmhouse here, as do lawyers R.K. Anand and K.K. Venugopal. Avtar Singh Rikhy (ex-LS secretary-general) figures, as does the infamous Ponty Chadha's relative R.S. Chadha. Retired army officers too have made Chhatarpur their home, as have writers such as William Dalrymple and several politicians. Diljit Titus, the reputed lawyer who owns a vintage car museum, is another one with a farmhouse here.
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One fixture of ordinary life in Chhatarpur is the need to leave the area for productive work—there are no regular office buildings, no factories, nor, really, even farms in the strictest sense in the area. In fact, there are no signs of a living, vibrant community—no libraries, malls or even shopping centres in the immediate vicinity. There is a dearth of public spaces—the seclusion of each house means residents have to meet via weekly rwa gatherings. "That's when we get to see the neighbours," says Shamsher, most of whose friends live "in town". Kitty parties, with 20 or more members, many from outside Chhatarpur, are a common way for women to interact. "It takes a long time to get used to living in a farmhouse, without neighbours dropping in," says Aruna.
For the rest of Delhi, Chhatarpur figures when there is a 'big' wedding to attend. Like in March 2011, when the "most expensive wedding ever" (sources say some Rs 250 crore was spent) was held at Kanwar Singh Tanwar's farmhouse when his son Lalit married Yogita, ex-MLA Sukhbir Singh Jaunapuria's daughter. The groom was gifted a chopper, no less. The Gurjar family, though, isn't too impressed. "People in Chhatarpur own aeroplanes, who's in awe of a chopper?" asks Trilok Gurjar. The two families are, incidentally, related through marriage.
Indeed, Chhatarpur is "different" from the many other exclusive enclaves of the capital. From Jor Bagh to Sainik Farms to Nizamuddin to Sundar Nagar, there are many in Delhi which are wealthy and exclusive, even mysterious and forbidding. Some were carved out of rural areas or barren land but even among these, Chhatarpur is in a zone by itself. For one, things work like in a cabal: what happens in Chhatarpur stays there. It is an area that only opens its doors to you if you marry into it, if you are born here, or—and this is an increasingly popular route—if you make pots of money and buy your way in.
With the money rolling in, real estate firms such as CDR Estates, now led by Trilok Gurjar and son Shamsher, continue to shape Chhatarpur into an even more exclusive club—a mix of impregnable farmhouses and gated residential enclaves interspersed with older villages. "Today's Chhatarpur is a product of yesterday's hard-nosed bargains with the landlords of 12 neighbouring villages who sold their holdings to builders in Delhi and Gurgaon," says property broker Pradeep Mishra. The villages include Ghitorni, Sultanpur, Manglapuri, Gadaipur, Satbari, Mandi, Jaunapur, Fatehpur and lead up to Bhatti Mines.
Parts of this region fall under the Delhi government's expansion plans for residential buildings. Chhatarpur falls in the 'J' zone of Delhi's master plan for 2021, which foresees residential expansion beyond farmhouses for the area. Even now, from time to time, the state breathes down the necks of residents living in areas still designated as rural.
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"From outside, you cannot see what is going on inside, the walls go way up and the gates always closed. The people living inside are also perhaps too powerful to question," says a local property broker. Being a farmhouse owner means being bound by a number of tough laws—which still exist on paper. For instance, a farmhouse cannot be split into apartments. With the rules slowly changing, Chhatarpur may become an even more prominent status symbol for the elite. The rush has pushed a host of professionals into Chhatarpur homes over the last two decades. Chartered accountants, "social workers", writers, businessmen and a host of others have started moving in.
This is something the Gurjar family and other original residents rue—and sort of poke fun at. "Many Dilliwallahs move to a farmhouse only to return to the hustle and bustle of Greater Kailash or Vasant Vihar within months," says Trilok Gurjar. Life on the farm isn't easy, even one within city limits. With peace and privacy comes the harsh reality of seclusion and isolation. Yet, the rush hasn't abated.
outlook
Chashme Buddoor (1981)
'80s, quiet and laidback. It lets loose a nostalgia for simple
pleasures like Campa Cola and Tutti Fruti ice cream, and makes you
rediscover the times when jaunty young men could fall for girls in
two-plait hairstyle and "leheriya dupatta". Yet you also sense that
the characters and their relationships still have a contemporary ring.
The bachelors' barsaati with half-smoked cigarettes and coconut shell
ashtray could be true of any age. The theme of friendship, jealousies
and misunderstandings coming in the way of love is as timeless. Yes,
the acting is great and pace unhurried. But what you notice most are
the small things. How the minutest of characters come alive, how Sai
Paranjpe liberally uses popular Delhi actors like Vinod Nagpal (music
teacher) and Keemti Anand (the waiter), regulars back then in the
theatre circuit and DD serials. There's an uncanny eye for detailing,
right down to the banal chore of the grandmother: filling achaar from
a huge martbaan into a small bottle.
The magic is in Paranjpe's writing. She is irreverent and cheeky, be
it the inventive titles where she asserts herself by showing a woman's
hands replacing the man's in the director credit. Or the way, she
rolls in the interval. The odd line from the song (kali ghodi pe gora
saiya chamake) is delightfully tongue-in-cheek, when juxtaposed with
the hero riding a black mobike. Even the romance begins quirkily—over
a besan laddoo served in a tea cup and a clean towel washed with
"khushbudaar, jhaagwala Chamko". And then there's the dad refusing to
acknowledge his daughter could be in a relationship with insane logic:
"Chhoti hai abhi, ice cream khaati hai". Best is the manner in which
Paranjpe plays with the conventions of Hindi cinema—right from the
brilliant songs' montage to the deliberately over-the-top climax with
a suitably deafening BG score. Chashme Buddoor is joy forever.
Outlook
Saturday, 6 April 2013
China's 'String of Pearls' is closer than you think
22 such Chinese operations have been recorded, one as recently as February, 2013. One submarine was spotted near the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Headlines Today has exclusive access to a report from the Indian Navy to the Defence Ministry that says 22 unknown submarine contacts were detected by Indian and U.S sonar in the Indian Ocean.
The assessment is that China is the only other navy capable of operating in the area. The assessment has been confirmed by U.S. and Indian intelligence inputs.
The extent of Chinese submarines' unchallenged forays into the Indian Ocean can be deeply troubling for the Indian Navy.
Sources tell Headlines Today that one contact with a suspected Chinese submarine took place just 90 km from Indian soil in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Six contacts took place north-west of the Straits of Malacca, 13 south of Sri Lanka and two as far as the Arabian Sea.
The first such Chinese submarine was spotted on sonar in August 2012 during a patrol of Indian and U.S. navy ships, confident that they are the only two navies operating in the southern part of the Indian Ocean.
According to the report, the People's Liberation Army's naval wing is deploying the state-of-the art nuclear submarines on a 10,000-mile deepwater run. The launch location is Sanya in the South China Sea.
Official sources say the Chinese submariners could be preparing to sneak into India's backyard, test Indian Navy's conviction in keeping them out and probably pioneer a permanent presence in the Indian Ocean region.
indiatoday
Are Ads Moving Past the ‘Standard Indian Housewife’?
If I won a rupee every time an Indian commercial stereotyped women, I could have bought a Ford Figo to use as storage space.
The timing of the Figo ad, which showed buxom women tied up and stuffed in the car’s trunk to emphasize the “extra-large boot,” not only caused national outrage and international embarrassment, but also extinguished whatever lingering hope we Indians might have had from our advertisers. Indian advertising had been outrageous enough lately, with a series of brands reminding the Indian woman of the value of submission – whether through whitening their vagina for her prized husband (Clean and Dry), or by enduring his sharp rebuke without a single word (Mother Dairy).
But that’s just one side of the story. The other is the recent attempt by a handful of brands to be different. Sit before your television set for an entire day, and there are chances you will catch new ads that are creating alternative narratives around women. Most of them are doing so by transcending the basic building-block of Indian advertising: The Standard Housewife. No matter what else women do in commercials, whether it is selling cement in bikinis or waxing clearly hairless legs for a date, their ultimate aim seems to be to keep a great house – judged by the whiteness of her husband’s shirt and the height of her child.
And why should they show otherwise, advertisers have argued, for according to them, the majority of Indian women, particularly in what they call India 2 (Tier II and III cities), know of no greater validation than being appreciated for precisely these things. This is why the recent trickle of ads extending the idea of the woman consumer is worth noting.
Some of them have the single working woman spending her own money for her own sake.“Kuch apne dil ke liye” (something for your own heart) goes the tagline for the new Vita Marie honey-oat biscuits by Britannia, a straight response to the standard trope of the housewife fussing over the cholesterol level of her overworked husband. In the ad, a young photographer spends a long, rough day on the streets, capturing charming images of homeless children at the order of her demanding editor. We see her next at her house, where she presumably — and happily — lives alone, starting her crazy day with a healthy snack, because as she stresses, “Dil pe bahut pressure hai yaar” (there is too much pressure on the heart).
In another example, an ad for the Mia range of jewelry for Tanishq, a young, stylish girl is getting ready for office, trying to make some space in her cluttered bedroom to approach the full-length mirror, when she spots a small box, takes out a pair of light earrings and puts them on, to feel a little positive about what is going to be the day on which she receives another unsatisfactory pay raise. Both these ads try to capture the everyday struggles of what is a fast-growing section of the Indian female workforce: the mid-level professional.
In an ad for MIOT Hospital, the pilot getting a joint replaced is a woman – because, the ad says, she can’t rely on anything less trustworthy for her own most-valued self. Since pain-relief brands have always used the image of the aching housewife, it is surprising that the MIOT ad makes not the slightest deal of her being a woman, that too in a traditionally male occupation.
Working women in Indian ads aren’t that new. But what is new is the treatment: the new ads neither feed the old stereotype of whip-cracking boardroom woman, nor project them as inspirational do-gooders. The girl on screen is no longer working to prove herself to a man or, worse, her own parents. It is almost as if nobody remembers the Fair and Lovely ad from just a few years ago, in which a girl’s first response to her father lamenting the lack of a son is to buy a tube of the fairness cream – a purchase which leads, naturally, to an unspecified great job and proud parents.
The other set of the new Indian woman ads present married women trying to balance work and family, and often – like many people we know – failing.
In the new Idea commercial, the wife is dealing with an absent maid, the bane of the Indian housewife, at the same time as she faces an urgent deadline for a freelance writing assignment, and she takes her frustrations out on the husband. In a new Ariel commercial, the husband proceeds to cook dinner after a text from the wife about being stuck at work, and then, for the first time in the storied history of the Indian Husband in Advertising, washes his stained shirt himself. In a third example, the ad for Google Chrome, a bored wife decides to do something with the recipes her mother sends her over e-mail and ends up blogging her way to nothing less than a book contract.
I am not suggesting that showing a woman as independent or concerned about her job is the best way to challenge stereotyping, or that this recent trend indicates a conscious decision or a coherent shift. My point is that the more we try out new themes, the less dominant the old fixations will become. Didn’t the terrorizing mother-in-law (remember the early Harpic ad, where she inspects the toilet bowl for stains as the daughter-in-law’s heart drums in her chest?) disappear, as the advertisers discovered the more pressing challenges before Indian women?
We are talking about a very small proportion of our advertising output – I can count the ads on my fingers – made even more insignificant by the mad flow of television; but together, they promise some minor relief from the dispiriting sameness of the most mass media content involving women. If advertisements do indeed create normalcy, then we might be headed somewhere less bizarre.
Snigdha Poonam is Arts Editor at The Caravan.
NYT