An Unlikely Accomplice

An excerpt from An Unlikely Accomplice, my short story in a new anthology, The Turning Point.

A strange mix of citrusy fragrance infused with phenyl and medication made Brigadier Khanna’s nostrils twitch and woke him up from the fangs of endless slumber. Something prevented his right eyelid from opening and it wasn’t just the pounding headache. It felt like a paperweight balancing on his eyeball. He attempted to lift his right hand to yank out whatever was mounting pressure on his eye when he felt a whiplash, as if his wrist were chained to something. With a half open eye, he tried to bring the blurred ceiling back into focus. Clean. White. Exempt from dangling fans. There was no hint of chipping paint on it. There were no destructive sounds of violence from the distance. No loud shrills from victims being tortured. No stench of urine, sweat or blood. He knew it right away. It wasn’t what he’d suspected in his subconscious state. There hadn’t been a war. No war. No prisoner of war. No such luck. He’d die a war virgin.

Corporate poker

An excerpt from my second novel, Powerplay.

Vivek took in the magnificent view of the grounds in the stadium, as he sat waiting for everyone to assemble in the swanky conference room he had been ushered in to a few minutes ago. Harsh sat beside him, shooting off mails to his Madrid office. Vivek could sense he was tense. For his own part, he felt a slight tingle of anxiety running in his veins. There had been no indication of anything, whatsoever, from Krishnan or anyone else from the team, but just a taciturn message asking them to meet. Up until then, he had had to field calls and follow-up on e-mails from their global partnerships group, that was pushing him for sponsorship deals.

As Krishnan walked in with his array of C-level executives, Vivek noted that his demeanour was as austere as before. A quick introduction around the room was the only time spent in trivial formalities. “Tell me Harsh, why the sudden interest in sports? Your background shows anything but,” he began without preamble. There was nothing like a planned interrogation to get the adrenalin pumping for Vivek. His mind sprung to complete attention.

“I have a number of retail ventures. I see a scenario where the sports market is ripe to take a cue from the retail industry,” Harsh responded candidly, leaning into the plush chair; his attitude remarkably nonchalant. “Owning a sports team will allow me to diversify a bit and also push into the entertainment peripherals, which is a natural fit for my . . .” he carried on verbalising his justification, as Vivek enthusiastically nodded in agreement. “And frankly I am a huge cricket buff. I’ve wanted to own a franchise for a long time. The timing is right. And I like the game of high risks.”

“That’s all very good, but frankly I fail to see the compelling reason.” Krishnan furthered his grilling process.

“Allow me,” Vivek interjected, the compulsive pitcher that he was. “Retail is all about segmentation, targeted marketing, statistics, analysis, and low margins. I see the cricket franchises all fat and happy with their star players and crowd frenzy, with no interest in doing more than the bare minimum to sell their tickets. No offense, gentlemen. I am certain that we could completely change the way sports teams are run by using our advanced analytics capabilities. It’ll allow us to not only avoid overpaying for talent, but also to make sure we get the highest possible price for each ticket that we sell.”

“But from beach towels to cricket, it’s more than diversification.” Krishnan didn’t seem in a mood to yield. Or reveal, for that matter.

Harsh chuckled. Everyone in the room did, too. Vivek suspected the beach towel story would be with Harsh for as long as he shall live. It was how he had made his first dime, after all.

“Here’s the problem,” Krishnan argued. “That price tag isn’t going down well with anyone here. Thirteen hundred is far lower than what other teams are selling for. We could talk about a stake for you instead of complete ownership, if you’re open to it.”

Far lower than other teams, yes, but, it’s more than what your team is worth, buddy. Did no one tell you that the going rate for your team isn’t a penny above twelve hundred? Vivek mentally ticked him off, as Harsh responded to this. “In the interest of saving everyone’s time and being completely transparent, let me just say that it’s not something I’m interested in. It’s all or nothing.”

There was silence in the room. From behind the glass, while taking a sip of water, Vivek’s gaze fixated firmly on Krishnan, assessing if he really needed any further convincing.

More heated-discussions later, Krishnan wound his way to the subject of sponsorships, again. Vivek knew without a doubt that Harsh was not even a bit interested in sponsoring players’ underwears or shoes or socks or whatever the hell they were trying to get funding for. And he knew Krishnan had a fair idea of that. So then, why was he continuing this ridiculous streak of pushing them for sponsorships? Vivek studied him: his face was expressionless; his tone, tedious; and his frame, flaccid. But his eyes shone with trickery. Gotcha!

Vivek let the corporate poker kick-start. Things would get messy from now on; he knew that much from experience. But what he hadn’t counted on was how ungentlemanly the discussion pertaining to the gentleman’s game was going to get. 

Rich boys' club

I've never been a part of any cult. Not when I was in college, not when I first moved abroad, not when I worked for a music firm. I'm passionate about several things, just not enough to evoke that spark of fanaticism. Which is why it invariably intrigues me when I see people around me indulging in those.

My foray into the world of glitzy Apple products has been shamefully late. I still own a blackberry from 1965. But I do have a oh-so-yesteryear hand-me-down iPad from the other half. And I've finally bought a Mac but I still swear by my PC, more for the familiarity factor than anything else.

I met someone on the flight yesterday, a doc at that, who was traveling across the coast to be a part of a Tesla convention. Tesla, for the uninitiated, is the all-electric, sleek car made in the Silicon Valley which retails for about a 100k. It made me crease my forehead in slight disbelief as I probed. He came clean. A convention of Tesla owners was arranged to share experiences/ joy/ pride and discuss the upcoming features. So you buy a 100k car and then fly 5 hours to share your experiences? Yep, he went, not paying heed to the undertone of disbelief in my voice. Then it hit me. He was already converted. Just like millions of passionate followers of events/products from the Burning Man to Star Trek and from Lost to iPhone, this man, a heart surgeon, was undeniably a part of a cult. For a fleeting moment, I imagined being there. He must have read my mind because he volunteered, "it's strictly for owners."

I diverted my attention to the in-flight shopping magazine and to my seven-year old car that's in dire need of service and clean-up.

Of stunning mag covers

Stumbled upon a magazine cover. Stared at the stunning photo for a second and I seem to have figured out the process behind it. Sridevi's image has been superimposed on what I suspect is Kate Moss's. Then every pixel from Sri's body that falls outside the boundaries of Kate's body has been erased. Before you roll your eyes, know that realism comes from keeping Sri's face intact... well, at least the facial boundary.

So essentially, someone's face, someone else's body, chic jacket, image photoshopped to the hilt, the word 'fabulous' thrown in somewhere and you've got yourself a magazine cover! Boys and girls, that's your tip of the day.

ODing on TMI

Everywhere I look, it's confessions and more confessions. The reason couldn't be simpler. The urge to share far exceeds the wisdom to withhold. My social media timeline is a testimony to that. Whatever. One person’s poor judgment is another person’s entertainment. 

With FB graph search being rolled out to a large community of users this week, the topic couldn't be more topical. How much of venting satisfaction are we willing to get for potential foot-in-mouth embarrassment in the coming years? Food for thought.

Are Indian men ready to jump?

My article on GQIndia.com

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend an evening with a few businessmen from China. While the topics of conversation ranged from Macau gambling anecdotes to Sharapova’s comeback and from the sinking Euro to the newest model of Lamborghini parked outside, the one topic that made every Chinese eye on the dinner table sparkle with unrestrained enthusiasm was Kobe Bryant, one of the greatest basketball players of all time.

Now I'm a diehard Lakers fan, but by the end of the evening, it was clear to me that basketball has penetrated the world’s most populated nation. And then I saw what I was not prepared to see: A picture of Kobe, in a traditional purple silk Chinese blouse with enormous print and thick gold borders on his sleeves instead of the yellow/purple jersey I’m so accustomed to, as a wallpaper on one of their phones. Now, I frequently picture Kobe ferociously dunking from halfway across the court in a shiny printed silk blouse and feel severely traumatized.

China’s love affair with basketball began long before most European countries had heard of it. Fast forward to the early 2000s and the NBA (National Basketball Association) had turned out to the most popular sports league in China. China is in fact the largest market for the NBA outside the US, courtesy Yao Ming, the first and only (and now retired) Chinese player to make it to the NBA. On the drive home, thanks to the myriad Indo-China comparisons our media, economists and politicians have conditioned me with over the years, I began to think about basketball in India. 

So where does India figure in this story of a nation embracing a new sport professionally? It’s on the verge of it, from all the stories I hear. And it has all the right reasons. Basketball is a fast-paced game that gets the pulse racing and adrenaline pumping; it doesn’t make you linger around for hours as in football or hockey just to witness a goal. And here’s a non-scientific but effective test: Every NBA game I’ve attended, I’ve heard the Indians in the crowd cheer just as loud if not louder than the rest and small as my sample size may be, it tells me that there’s nothing in our DNA that’d forbid us from becoming basketball fans.

To gain a little insight, I caught up with Karan Madhok, who is smack in the middle of all the basketball action in India. The signs of impending change are prominent and the developments are rather encouraging: the NBA increasing its presence and promotional activities in India, a Director of Basketball Operations from the NBA setting up base in Mumbai (bringing along with him coaching clinics and training camps), a multi-city recreational league as a result of the NBA-Mahindra alliance, and a 30-year IMG-Reliance partnership set up to create a surge in infrastructure development across the country. The blueprint has been laid out and the momentum is building up. We could just be a couple of years away from a professional basketball league in India, Madhok says. Now all we need is a player or two from India to make it to the NBA to stimulate our interest and all eyes are on the impossibly tall and talented Bhullar brothers and Satnam Singh.

Obstinate as we may be, we invariably end up making room for the new. Clothes, shoes, crushes, relationships, taste buds. We let go of our reins and watch as the old and the new learn to co-exist in harmony. We’ve already been privy to football fever sweeping over the under-35 demographic in India and its time for the age-old craze to scoot over a bit further.

How long before we see Kobe Bryant sporting an atrocious maharaja outfit at an exhibition game in India? If that doesn’t win Indian hearts and bring them over to the other side, I don’t know what will. 

The next big eerie thing

This appeared on GQIndia.com last week

Coachella, the mother of all music festivals, or so us patrons like to believe, will be remembered for a lot more than kickass music this year. What other festival is spread over two weekends with the exact same lineup of popular and upcoming musicians/bands because there’s just no ground big enough to accommodate about 120,000 die-hard fans? Electrifying acts aside, the biggest bolt from the blue was undoubtedly a hologram resurrecting late rappers Tupac Shakur and Nate Dogg last Sunday.


What’s being referred to as Tupac’s hologram (or his ghost, depending on which side of the coin you want to see), the technology is all set to revolutionize performances and concerts. It’s not a new concept in the least. It’s been around since the 19th century. You’ve seen it plenty in Star Wars. This application of the concept isn’t new either. The first hologram concert was the ‘World is mine’ by Hatsune Miku, who is a female persona, in Tokyo. The video is worth a watch (it’s on YouTube) just for her moves if nothing else. Trust Japan to manufacture a pop star out of nothing. And it wasn’t a one time concert to showcase the marriage of music and technology either. She regularly performs and goes on tours. But Tupac’s, conceptualized and orchestrated by Dr. Dre, was a first of sorts created for an actual person. And it awed as the late rappers performed along side a live Snoop Dogg. It was truly an incredible jaw-dropping-eyes-popping-out-heart-skipping-a-beat moment.

Digital Domain Media is the company behind the lifelike Tupac Shakur visual effect. Rumor has it that soon enough the company might arrange for Tupac, the 25-year old rapper who was shot to death in Vegas in 1996, to go on tour. Rumor also has it that The Jackson 5 has proposed a similar tour of Michael Jackson. While I’m namedropping, I heard about the Beatles too.

So how does it all work? An oversimplified explanation goes like this. An image is projected onto a mirror that reflects it down to a transparent film that is tightly stretched in a 45 degree angle and ends up looking like 3D. Though the projected image has been widely described as a "hologram," it is a 2-D image and not a hologram, which is 3-D. A single projection can cost up to $400k. It is also extremely difficult and time consuming to create but the results can be quite precise as already witnessed.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. A huge part of Japan’s proposal to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup is to broadcast entire games to stadiums all across the world in life-sized holograms. To get a taste of this, check out the promotional videos on the 2022 bid website.

As long as we’re speculating, the technology can do wonders for those with loaded wallets. For instance, bringing to life your favorite deceased grandma in her beach house. Of course, you’ll need a footage of her. Or a Jimi Hendrix fan making him perform at his wedding reception. Or dirty dancing with Patrick Swayze. Or having a Muhammad Ali for an opponent and even beating him. Or an adult movie star in your bedroom. The possibilities are limitless.

Pretty soon, the lines will be so blurred, they won’t call it a parallel universe anymore.