Teesri Kasam

Investing as a theme pops up periodically here, testament to my abiding interest therein. Success here can have a fairly direct correlation to material well-being. That said, in matters financial, it matters more what not to do, than otherwise. In this, I am reminded of the quintessential Bihari ethos of Teesri Kasam.

Flashback 1961. Mare Gaye Gulfam, penned by the indomitable Phanishwarnath Renu, was turned to film by some of Indian cinema's tallest. On camera were Raj Kapoor and Waheeda Rehman, but also Iftekhar, Keshto Mukherji, AK Hangal and Asit Sen: names that verily lit up the silver screen much as the faces of cinemagoers for generations. Rest of the crew was no less luminous: Renu himself, Basu Bhattacharya, Shankar Jaikishan, Lata Mangeshkar, Manna Dey, Asha Bhosale, Mukesh etc. Perhaps above all, was Shailendra, this being the only movie the lyricist extraordinaire ever produced. Thus, we got Teesri Kasam.

So how does Teesri Kasam connect to my investing experience, personal or observed? Simply that Hiranan, its bullock cart-driving protagonist, idealist yet unafraid to try the new, makes mistakes in his pursuit of life's affairs, swearing each time never to repeat them. And in a fashion, his three blunders, that lead to the eponymous three vows, mirror my view of the most common slips in financial matters.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Hiraman stumbles first in ignoring the risk-reward equation. His simpleton character tries to make a fast buck ferrying smuggled goods, merely managing a brush with the police and promising himself a long-term focus thereafter. Many of us, myself included, start life at the other end, content at managing money near-term and confusing bank balance for financial security. We fret about market risk but assume inflation-immunity. Consequently, savings go to FDs, PF contributions stay minimum, and equity action is a rushed, year-end Sec 80 investment at max. Thus, the power of compounding is missed for years.

Hiraman's second folly is not planning for oversized loads. He picks up a consignment of bamboo, being new, rams it into a horse-cart, and gets a thrashing. His kasam: avoid 'long poles'. Of such cargo, real estate is the most ubiquitous in our lives and the cause of much financial misery. I didn't buy my first till 12 years of career (missing two Gurgaon booms); yet others buy too early; or too much; and some simply a 2BHK that they outgrow in no time. A similar case could be made of Insurance. Point is to tackle the big rocks as soon as one is able, which means a financial plan.

Twice singed, Hiraman is then felled by the most confounding folly of 'em all. Tasked to transport Hirabai, a performer in the Great Bharat Nautanki Company, to the village fair, he is smitten by her beauty and (in his eyes) apparent virtue, during the course of their day-plus journey. His consequent conflict with zaalim zamana and zamindar is typical filmi (the denouement is anything but), culmintating in his third and final vow: say no to nautanki-walis. Cut to our financial lives; and how often have we similarly lost when appearances and emotions outbid logic and fact?

A tad more on that last named. Its typical setting, interestingly, is folks who spend a lifetime confusing investing to be a armchair sport. They watch the market ceaselessly, debate it tireslessly, and wait for the 'right level' endlessly. Then suddenly one day, armed with an ostensibly hot tip (delivered over sips of 'Glen' perhaps), they rush in to bet the ranch. They may get lucky, but mostly they don't, only to slink back into the corner, cursing their luck, the markets, or both.

Be it rooted in any of these mistakes, but it is the dud that we carry too long that has the biggest bite (I have never lost as much money as I have selling late). Pigheadedness, optimism, or sloth, we only invite peril home when the basic principle of stop-loss goes amiss.

These experiences aside, like most walks of life, success in investing must rest on the bedrock of lessons learnt. "The four most dangerous words in investing are: this time it’s different" is how one of the greats so adroitly put it. It remains a game where discipline and math plainly trump creativity and chance. Ignore this, and one is left to rue mare gaye gulfam.

Cinema Cinema

I love cinema. At the risk of domestic bliss, I can add that we haven’t got much of it lately (IPTV is a godsend, but the W isn't exactly chuffed at the prospect of which I'm perfectly capable, namely a weekend watching two to four, maybe more)! It is not as if good cinema is my sole preserve in the household though. The difference lies solely in my preference for remote control (some may aver it’s the couch) driven variety versus the more social cinematic experience in a theater.

Interestingly, I grew up to almost no moviegoing, nor much interest in films. Through school, cinema was regulated like fresh air on a chilly winter night: you may be unable to shut it out entirely, but at least limit its intake. I reckon this was mostly in keeping with a general bias towards discipline in upbringing (to which I owe a number of my latter-day strengths). Economics may have played a part too (thrift is good); concern over my grades most certainly did. Thus, I averaged one to two films in the 'hall' (as we called them) a year over this period. These were thanks to a friend who consistently planned such as his birthday outing; and the occasional parental endorsement (Dweep Ka Rahasya was one such: I loved it).

Of course, the few I caught on TV (courtesy neighbours, till we acquired our own in '84) were not without a twist. Given that we did not stay out late, a chunk of these films were incomplete, missing 'climax'! I vividly remember the festive air in our middle-class community too, when Doordarshan decided to telecast movies on Thursday evenings, thus doubling frequency to a joyous twice weekly (the first such offering was Vachan, and I have good reason to forget all about it sans name). In short, the uninspired offerings and fragmented viewership did little to stoke my cinegoer buds (though an ill-understood Achanak or half-seen Ittefaq did plant seeds of love for crime-mystery-thriller genre that I have not shaken off ever since).

Later, the VCR came to town. It brought with it a rudimentary element of choice. Grainy picture quality (not that DD was any different) was small price to pay for the ability to watch what you wanted, and at the pace and time of your choosing. Naturally, video libraries, parlours etc mushroomed all over town. At home, the Pater made decisions of his own though (likely inspired by my scholastic record) and this contraption only entered the Jha household once the son had been packed off to College! Most of my movie-on-video, thus, was with friends. I emerged much enlightened from these soirees (I can sense your wicked smile, reader!) not the least of which was exposure to cinema beyond mainstream Hindi (a Khamosh or Prahar amidst The Godfather and The Medusa Touch). Not entirely unrelated, this included QSQT, a milestone in the sense I saw as well understood it (ah those vague, vicarious pleasures)!

Come College. My means stayed modest but the joys of freedom more than made up for it, strained by early stirrings of a sense of responsibility. Films played a part in this general process of self-discovery as always, occasionally as input, but often a companion in the journey. The plot stayed true at B-School too; save for a mild sharpening of the pen.

The intervening years have taught me how much I delight in having (almost one too) many balls in the air. As in life, so in the movies (or literature and friendships) and variety is an overarching theme. I can watch almost any movie once, and a few many times to this day. And thus, a remote control helps.

Today: 10-to-11

This Saturday, HT City carried a page depicting eleven gamechanging Hindi movies from the last decade. I am not sure if these movies, or at least all of them, were pathbreaking in the fashion described, but they nevertheless make a fair representation of popular cinema between 2001 and 2010. It would also be in order to mention their marked commercial success, remarkable for me in the sense that box-office recognition is a clear shibboleth of mainstream moviemaking. But lets talk the movies themselves first.

Two on the list were from 2001. Ashutosh Gowarikar-directed Lagaan was a period drama that combined dollops of patriotism, bestselling music and uniquely Indian love for cricket to hold the audience in thrall till a literal last-ball six symbolizing victory of good over evil. It also spawned a level of MBA-speak (email forwards were in vogue then), touting a case study for teamwork and assorted management principles. Farhan Akhtar's Dil Chahta hai was a coming of age story in notably youthful and upmarket urban setting much before our demographic dividend was taken as a given, though the economic prosperity subtext was well established. I know enough folks that identified with DCH’s college-and-after situations; or with one of the protagonists: the broody Sid, female-felled Sameer and merry-go-lucky Akash (for those of you that remember, I also know a Subodh!) in a fashion unprecedented for Hindi cinema.

Moving on, 2003 had two entries as well. Koi Mil Gaya was a ritual Hindi movie saga of underdog triumph most noteworthy for a starring role for Jaadu, a pint-size desi ET that brought director-producer Rakesh Roshan king-size success. Its friendly treatment of a mentally challenged character was a subtle baby-step, the overt sci-fi setting a pioneering attempt in a cinema mostly known for its formulaic approach. Likewise, under Raju Hirani's baton, Munnabhai MBBS tread a new path, making a winning concoction of two dons: one a do-gooder bhai, other a stickler university Prof. A commentary on med-school exam system, lady love's hard-to-get-with-a-difference act, Bombaiyya lingo and avuncular humour in the otherwise morbid hospital setting - it was a class act.

Cut to 2006 and Rang De Basanti redefined cinema's impact on society. High on patriotism, the Rakeysh Mehra directed film was a brilliant expression of youth angst, starkly contrasting contemporary political mess with inspiring idealism from our Freedom Struggle. Much beyond storytelling, RDB’s veritable clarion call against corruption, or mobilization of the aggrieved many, are no less pertinent today. Youth and the Great Indian Middle voted with their wallets and feet, the latter a glimmer of hope for causes lost in the mire of vested interests in our country.

2007 had no less than three mentions. Imtiaz Ali's Jab We Met was an uncomplicated, lighthearted romantic affair, very accurately described by HT as 'a breath of fresh air', the spunky Geet making it the only movie on the list with a heroine dominant plot. Shimit Amin made Chak De the same year, another nationalism-meets-sporting achievement offering that, at the very least, succeeded in getting our national game back in public consciousness. Aamir Khan's fairytale directorial debut in Taare Zameen Par was a landmark too, challenging educational system stereotypes in our notoriously conformist society. In the context of our impending Demographic Dividend, its advocacy of innovative career choices and empathetic handling of special children was outstanding.

From 2009, HT's choice of Hirani's 3 Idiots was a shoo-in. Well-deserved questioning of learning-by-rote or overly-emphasized, narrow definition of scholastic achievement was at the film’s core; and a subtle Roarkian undercurrent on encouraging excellence blended with a humourous take on college hostel life. One more that captured the imagination of more than the youth around whom it was pivoted.

The only movie from the list I have not seen (unintended; to be corrected shortly) is Shankar's Robot from 2010. It is also the only feature (and it is telling that I can aver thus with complete confidence, without having actually seen the film!) incomplete without a panegyric to its hero, the inimitable Rajnikanth and his flair for shattering box office records.

I shall pause now. Dabangg, I presume is too recent to need me to jog those grey cells. Any case, but for an overly hyped item number, I found it a decent watch if not in the same league as others in the pantheon (no elitist rant, just that Salman does not much agree with me most times). Equally, and on the topic of my rating being influenced by lead actors, I present Aamir Khan, a bigger presence in this pastiche than any other, and who taught me the lesson of not judging a book by its cover! But that’s a story for a later day...

Baal Ki Khaal

This one is dedicated to two childhood friends, each with canine companions that went by the name Snowy. Both wore crowns of flipped up tufts of hair that settled into a more orderly mop by the time it reached the back of their heads (though one believed he took it after Shashi Kapoor!). Both wore their principles on their sleeves, embodying all thought good in boyhood – much the kind that mothers made examples of. And both were only too willing, in their inimitably individual ways, to battle lengthening odds in a world where childhood innocence was rapidly fading away.

The first of the duo now sports a mildly sparser mane, perhaps in deference to ravages of time. Even as his contemporaries get cynical with age, his spunk has not dimmed much: he remains almost as idealistic to a fault. Peddling counsel in a premier brainwasher outfit (aka Strategy Consulting), his worldly ambitions revolve around Pedder Road, desiring future lodgings in its vicinity. Meanwhile, he plays proud papa to a precociously gifted child. On meeting old partners in crime he debates residential choices in modest Mumbai vs garish Gurgaon (purely in sq ft terms), but mostly signs off ruing lost opportunities to ride the real estate boom at either. The script alas has not altered much in a few price correction cycles. Yet, the world would be so much a better place if only a fraction of his fantastic ideas were to change address from his first class brain to take up abode in the real world without. My best for you, Mr M; and hope that, some day, the letter does not stand for Muddle too.

The other hero, equally principled but more action-prone, has the privilege of staying unsullied by tests of time only accorded to larger-than-life fictional characters. He occasionally comes to mind when trying to hook my 14 month old to Cartoon Network for a few moments of domestic calm (and yes, we shall rue this TV pitch later). Meet Tintin, who last week made it to Indian mainstream media with news that his canon is to be translated into Hindi. For sake of the hordes of new friends nee fans he shall inevitably add in the new Indian avatar (he already does Bengali), one hopes Tintin stays Tintin, even as his support cast and the books adopt new name tags. This is important: this space has argued against avoidable tinkering with Enid Blyton's legacy earlier. Equally, word-play is intrinsic to Tintin reading pleasure: its characters indulge in malapropism, spoonerism, cuss-words-that-aren't, et al (google them if need) hence greater danger of being lost in translation.

Fortunately, two differences can be discerned upfront. Firstly, the Famous Five body of work existed and was accessible to the young English reader; and changes focused on style than substance, presentation tweaks presumably due to audience inability to appreciate the books' context. Tintin in Hindi, on the other hand, explores new readership vistas. Second, the English versions, where my friendship with the evil-fighting Belgian reporter took roots, too were brilliant adaptations from original French. The Tintin team has been there, done that (Hindi is translation # 58, with over 200 million endorsing sales). Thus, my sense is largely unaltered plots, even as some props take into account Indian sensibilities. Hence Snowy, originally Milou, becomes Natkhat and Thomson and Thompson aka Dupont et Dupond turn Santu-Bantu without much ado (unless you believe that Bianca became Mallika Castafiore for Sherawat reasons - her crooning 'abhi to main jawan hoon' perhaps for our other protagonist, the adorable Mr M, should easily settle that one)!

And what better way to test the hypothesis than check for Captain Archibald Haddock's colourful curses - 'dus hazaar tadtadate toofan' (ten thousand thundering typhoons) is easy; 'karodo karod kasmasate kaale kacchuve' (millions-and-millions-of squirming-black-turtles, replacing the iconic billions-of-bilious-blue-blistering-barnacles) sounds a wee bit of compromise. There may be more (difficult to replicate 'Thomson with a P like in psychology' in Santu-Bantu milieu) but intent remains ideal and the touchstone (one learns from you sometimes, Mr M) of my vote today. Thumbs up for the Tintin effort therefore; and no elitist position, caught up in (what Tintin's catchphrase 'Great Snakes' has changed to) 'baal ki khaal'!