Probably one of the most controversial subject in the modern day world - INTERVIEW! There is a popular philosophy in the corporate world today - "How many interviewers does it take to screw an innocent interviewee??" And the answer is "None. An INNOCENT interviewee is screwed anyways!" But the crux of the matter is...... "What is expected from an interview?"
As a popular ad goes.... "Is the purpose of an Interview the assessment of what a candidate knows or what he doesn't?" Isn't it so true. I mean I understand that an interviewer looks for certain parameters in a candidate that is of essence to the company. Let us accept the fact that a job is NEVER offered to losers. It takes some passion and some brilliance in any candidate who aspires for a job. But lets ALSO accept the fact that not ALL the interviewers feel that way. All of us are aware that we live in a world of cut-throat competition. A Dog-Eat-Dog situation does exist but that does not mean, making a person meek and shallow with a sense of I-know-nothing-and-I-am-not-fit-for-a-job kinda feeling is really UNPROFESSIONAL. I have friends and relatives who are managers and who do recruitment as well. I also understand the fact that every person who selects the candidate is also under some kinda pressure - of performance, selecting the right person, managing funds and so on and so forth. But a seasoned person who does recruitment would have already borne the brunt of pressure... And at least under "HUMANITARIAN" grounds one should see to it that the other person shouldn't feel like "Why-the-hell-did-I-enter-this-room" kinda feeling.
There is a million dollar question that comes at this point. "What does one expect out of an individual?" Well... If someone could decode that then all our problems are solved. Even a zillion books cannot answer this one correctly. Indian engineering institutions concentrate mainly on the curriculum and not on the overall development of an individual. After all its "THE PERCENTAGE SCORE" that really DEFINES a person. I mean what kinda parameter is that?? I know people who do not have a great academic record but trust me "They can make MIRACLES happen". So coming back to the point, It is the FCDs and the 80%s that matter the most. A student NEVER worries about the ISSUE until he enters the final year where he well "Has To Face The MUZIK", but can't something be done about it? 70% of the students who pass out are not fit for employment, says MR. N.R.N. They lack the basic English knowledge, the means to socialize, the way of communication and the list continues. But have we ever wondered why we have put ourselves in such a situation?
India boasts of having the second largest "EMPLOYABLE" population. But are we really "Employable"? Lets put our thinking caps on for a second and try to figure out the root cause for this problem. We NEVER look to come out of our comfort zone. We are all VERY comfortable and we are SATISFIED. Thats what makes the person who gets through and the one who does not something SPECIAL. Now, all this stuff is making a simple discussion about an Interviewer's perspective too GYAN kinda stuff. Why have an academic perspective while recruiting a fresher? A common answer that most Interviewers get to hear is "My academic performance is not an index of my abilities". It might be so common that I know of a few people who were requested NOT to give such an EXERCISED answer! But what can a poor fresher answer to such a question? If he had known the answer he would definitely have scored much more than what he has presently scored.
Now that I have finally taken up the matter of "The Curious Case Of a Fresher", there props up another million dollar question, "What SHOULD a fresher know?" While one interviewer might look into the depths of one subject the other one might look into another. There arises NO question of one's interest in the subject while it comes to choosing a job. An electronics topper eventually ends up in a CS company while an average CS guy might find himself in an electronics company. And not even "Caught in the wrong job?" boasting monster.com can help us on that front. If one is LUCKY(luck = being at the right college + having a GREAT placement cell + some amount of divine intervention) then the experience of an interview is a SWEET one, but most of the freshers today have to go through HELL(hell = depressing interviews + rejection + feeling-of-being-a-failure + not-having-an-offer-while-their-friends-have-one).
As the world has its way, the interview decides relationships, conflicts within oneself and with the relationships and finally the hardships one faces "In Pursuit Of THE FIRST JOB". The relationships suffer as one comes to know the true face of one's importance in the relation(REFERRALS - coming up in the next blog post). Also we feel sad when we do not succeed while the others around us do but we feel sadder when the OTHERS are our friends! An interview for a fresher is a once in a lifetime experience, so its up to the individual to make it a rewarding one. Lets accept reality - the process WON'T change. So instead let us change. They want an academic record, let us possess one. I mean not all of us can be toppers but hey the corporate world is not made of toppers. There is place for lesser mortals too. A decent score would suffice i guess(What is a decent score? *Scratching my head in confusion*). And then... BUILD A PERSONA. The fear factors should be abolished- NOT the Khathron-ka-Khiladi-types, but the fears of attending the interview. Developing a good English toolkit is a super skill set to have as well. Aptitude and most importantly ATTITUDE is all that matters.
I hope someone comes up with a how to IMPRESS AN INTERVIEWER cause I have not succeeded though I have attended a lot of interviews out of oh-well "In Pursuit Of My Notion Of A Right Job". But "THE DREAM JOB"- the name suggests it all!!!! "It always is and always will be a DREAM"... No job can give you the complete satisfaction unless of course if it is your PASSION.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT ANYONE??????????????????????????????
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
A BROKEN HEART- My first short story
Murugan was a specialist cook. Not that he owned a classy restaurant at Juhu nor did he own a chat shop at Andheri; his was a makeshift shop at the Chattrapathi Shivaji Terminus- in short called as the CST. The shop was a dingy corner of the station; the place where the strong stench of urine caused those travelling by AC coaches and the likes ruffle their noses and curse the government endlessly for its apathy and hurl a few abuses at the people who were responsible for the stench. The shop was propped up with two bamboo poles and plastic gunny bags to give it a ‘hut’ish look. A bucket with clean water was placed on the left side where the customers could wash hands and another bucket of clean water with a steel tumbler chained to it made up for the drinking water. A broken down creaking wooden table made for displaying his daily wares which usually were Idlis softer than rose petals and lush green chutney righty salted which made him a favorite among his customers. Sometimes, he also prepared vada which usually sold like hot cakes; weekend specials included different types of dosas for which he used to prepare three different kinds of chutneys- red, white and green.
Murugan’s customers were usually porters, second class travelers and a few late night revelers who looked to stomach some good food at low prices. His daily routine included getting up at 4 in the morning, pour the gluttonous white batter onto rounded pans and immerse in steaming water to cook them into delicious idlis. A boy usually helped him with the chutney; scraping the coconuts and grinding them to a slightly watery paste. On days when business was really high, the water level used to increase considerably in the chutney. He would then wrap the idlis with banana leaves and put them into a stainless steel container securing the lid tightly to ensure that they remained soft and fluffy. He had carved quite a niche for himself and was a happy and content man for a migrant into Mumbai.
On the fateful day, Murugan as usual got up at 4 am, but felt very sick; he didn’t feel like going to work but remembered that it was the month end and that he had to send in money to his family at Chennai. He also had to settle his sister in with a nice groom and that required a lot of money too. He had big plans for his sister- a handsome groom with a government job with a decent place of his own…….. He reluctantly went about his routine, all the time mulling over his childhood and how his parents would pamper him at home whenever he fell ill. He went down to his usual corner in the ever awake station. He salaamed the guard at the corner who mockingly came over for a free meal of idlis and chutney. Murugan hated these people as they had a free will over him. But what could he do? Powerless as a refusal could land him out of the station and cost him his dear place at the corner which came free of cost (of course! Nothing’s ever free; his idlis and chutney to the guards took care of that part!) and all those food inspectors and so called ‘moral’ people who had all the interest in the world for the health of the people had to be taken care of too. Only that they took money and refused his idlis; a bit expensive by Murugan’s standard, but he was helpless.
The morning whiled away uneventful with the usual flow of customers, the hustle and bustle of the station with the world rushing away in some unknown frenzy. As the afternoon wore on, the commotion suddenly increased with a certain panic added to the frenzy. Murugan first heard some faint sound. Was that a gun that went off? At first Murugan thought that it was some mad pickpocket who had tried to outrun the police who had fired in the air to scare the hell out of him. But as the firing continued with the sounds getting louder and louder with people scurrying helter-skelter with manic, harried and pained expressions, as if their whole life depended upon how fast they could run and how loud they could scream, Murugan’s fear rose and so did his adrenalin. He did not know what to do; the guared had dropped his plate and rushed in the direction of the gun shots. Murugan quickly left his dear post and ran for cover. He jumped into the small space between the staircase and the passageway. He was unseen by the people on the platform running madly for dear life but he could see the goings-on through the small hole that some kid had dug out while playing hide and seek waiting for a cancelled train.
He saw the guard fall crying with agony; the guard whom he had despised, the one who used to relish his wares first thing in the morning, the one who had two five year olds and a wife who was suffering from anemia. He was unarmed, but yet he had moved in to save the old lady at the counter when a stray shot hit him square of his chest. Blood splattered everywhere. Murugan’s eyes welled up. Tears started rolling uncontrollably onto the dirty floor and his stifled sobbing continued endlessly. He saw the marauders; with backpacks and guns in hand, firing away indiscriminately at anything and everything. Many a life was wiped out; unaware that a father, a brother, a sister, a mother, a child, an uncle, an aunt, a friend…… a HUMAN cried their heart out for the life that was extinguished: not knowing why, not knowing where, and not knowing how. Murugan sensed them inching closer to his cocooned hideout. He prayed to all the 33crore Hindu gods and even chanted the names of Allah and Jesus; he did not fear his end, but the thought of deserting his longing sister and ailing parents made his spine chill.
Goosebumps erupted at the back of his neck, elbows and knees. His hands became numb with fear, his eyes became shrouded with tears of sorrow and his vision blurred. His tongue seared with pain each time he bit it to stifle the sound of his sobs. His entire body screamed with agony, the thought of death is a terrifying one, and Murugan got a taste of it that day. Then suddenly, as if miraculously, the foot steps that had threatened to loom towards him faded away in a distance and so did the shots. He lay there covered with dirt and grime, his own sweat, tears and urine sticking onto him; clinging on for dear life, still uncertain of his fate. He gathered all his will ad energy and took a peek, and a ghastly sight greeted him. Bodies lying everywhere, blood smattered over the floors; babies lying beside their dead mothers, heart wrenching wails and screams filled the air. The smell of blood, anguish, despair and death wafted through the station. There lay amongst the dead, people of all sizes, the young and the old; the theist, the atheist and the agnostic: irrespective of religion, cast, creed, color or sex, they lay in heaps of gore and bloodshed that would make even the strongest hearted person weep his heart out.
Murugan was but weak and helpless; fumbling outside his place of safety, in a state of confusion, guilt and shame. Confusion because he was uncertain whether the worst was over or yet to come; Guilt because he felt that he did not deserve the luck that had eluded the others and Shame because he could not help protect all that he loved in this city which had fed and watered him. He walked amongst the dead, ghostlike. Few of the survivors scored helping the injured who screamed with such pain and agony that made Murugan believe that death was a better option to pain. Ambulances rushed in and teams of doctors and paramedics arrived. The place was suddenly ablaze with harried people rushing through the pell-mell; stretchers carrying the dead and the injured. A doctor helped Murugan on a wheelchair and made him sip hot coffee. Murugan wanted to say that he was fine and he could find his way back home but words wouldn’t come out. He was led to a hospital where he made to lay down, wear clean clothes and served food and water. That night was the worst night in Murugan’s life. He was marred with the visions of what he saw, the sounds of pain and aguish, the hands that pleaded help and the guard who had laid there not moving a muscle. He screamed and wailed, twitched and turned; a wild madness gripped him. He wanted for the first time in his life to hurt the people who had destroyed not just the things he loved but also his character.
Murugan felt something sharp prick the side of his spine and when he woke up the next morning, he was bathed and sent to a doctor who gave him an endless lecture on how lucky he was and how the Almighty had thought he had to to live on and make the souls that had passed away to rest in peace knowing that someone somewhere had lived and led a full life because of their sacrifice. He wanted to scream and scream until the doctor went away but he knew better to shut up. He was later discharged that evening, given a pair of shirts and trousers which did not seem to be new, some money with which he had to start his life afresh. The marauders, he later learned had sneaked into a hotel and it took the police more than 2 days to free the people held helpless in the hotel. The TV screen splashed their faces which reflected his shadow 2 days earlier or was it the same even now? Murugan had not set foot outside his house since the day he had returned. He had not shaved, not bathed nor eaten anything since then.
A week later, an unshaven Murugan prepared the idlis in the usual fashion, but they were not the same. They were not as soft as they used to once be. The chutney did not imbibe the same flavor it once held. A scared and timorous Murugan made his way into the station. The guard that he used to salaam everyday with 2 idlis and a bowlful of chutney was replaced with another harried looking one who was just as afraid as he was. He could not see any of the old faces that he had gotten used to. The station had changed. It was teeming with police. He was told by the police that he could no longer have his shop there. He moved his makeshift setup across the station, away from the crowd. Murugan no longer had the usual charm over his customers. Even the few who came his way went away complaining that his food was terrible as he had to reheat and sell the left-over. His sales started to dip and Murugan started to despise the very profession he once loved.
Murugan’s state of sleeplessness continued. Finally he decided to pack up and leave the place for good. He wanted to go home- to his unmarried sister, his loving parents and the people he knew. At the whistle of the train he took a last glance at the corner that had been his home for years which now stood secluded and morose. Murugan looked at his hand and saw what he saw every time he looked at them- BLOOD stained all over. Shaking his head and boarding the train he realized why his idlis had lost their tenderness……………………………
Murugan’s customers were usually porters, second class travelers and a few late night revelers who looked to stomach some good food at low prices. His daily routine included getting up at 4 in the morning, pour the gluttonous white batter onto rounded pans and immerse in steaming water to cook them into delicious idlis. A boy usually helped him with the chutney; scraping the coconuts and grinding them to a slightly watery paste. On days when business was really high, the water level used to increase considerably in the chutney. He would then wrap the idlis with banana leaves and put them into a stainless steel container securing the lid tightly to ensure that they remained soft and fluffy. He had carved quite a niche for himself and was a happy and content man for a migrant into Mumbai.
On the fateful day, Murugan as usual got up at 4 am, but felt very sick; he didn’t feel like going to work but remembered that it was the month end and that he had to send in money to his family at Chennai. He also had to settle his sister in with a nice groom and that required a lot of money too. He had big plans for his sister- a handsome groom with a government job with a decent place of his own…….. He reluctantly went about his routine, all the time mulling over his childhood and how his parents would pamper him at home whenever he fell ill. He went down to his usual corner in the ever awake station. He salaamed the guard at the corner who mockingly came over for a free meal of idlis and chutney. Murugan hated these people as they had a free will over him. But what could he do? Powerless as a refusal could land him out of the station and cost him his dear place at the corner which came free of cost (of course! Nothing’s ever free; his idlis and chutney to the guards took care of that part!) and all those food inspectors and so called ‘moral’ people who had all the interest in the world for the health of the people had to be taken care of too. Only that they took money and refused his idlis; a bit expensive by Murugan’s standard, but he was helpless.
The morning whiled away uneventful with the usual flow of customers, the hustle and bustle of the station with the world rushing away in some unknown frenzy. As the afternoon wore on, the commotion suddenly increased with a certain panic added to the frenzy. Murugan first heard some faint sound. Was that a gun that went off? At first Murugan thought that it was some mad pickpocket who had tried to outrun the police who had fired in the air to scare the hell out of him. But as the firing continued with the sounds getting louder and louder with people scurrying helter-skelter with manic, harried and pained expressions, as if their whole life depended upon how fast they could run and how loud they could scream, Murugan’s fear rose and so did his adrenalin. He did not know what to do; the guared had dropped his plate and rushed in the direction of the gun shots. Murugan quickly left his dear post and ran for cover. He jumped into the small space between the staircase and the passageway. He was unseen by the people on the platform running madly for dear life but he could see the goings-on through the small hole that some kid had dug out while playing hide and seek waiting for a cancelled train.
He saw the guard fall crying with agony; the guard whom he had despised, the one who used to relish his wares first thing in the morning, the one who had two five year olds and a wife who was suffering from anemia. He was unarmed, but yet he had moved in to save the old lady at the counter when a stray shot hit him square of his chest. Blood splattered everywhere. Murugan’s eyes welled up. Tears started rolling uncontrollably onto the dirty floor and his stifled sobbing continued endlessly. He saw the marauders; with backpacks and guns in hand, firing away indiscriminately at anything and everything. Many a life was wiped out; unaware that a father, a brother, a sister, a mother, a child, an uncle, an aunt, a friend…… a HUMAN cried their heart out for the life that was extinguished: not knowing why, not knowing where, and not knowing how. Murugan sensed them inching closer to his cocooned hideout. He prayed to all the 33crore Hindu gods and even chanted the names of Allah and Jesus; he did not fear his end, but the thought of deserting his longing sister and ailing parents made his spine chill.
Goosebumps erupted at the back of his neck, elbows and knees. His hands became numb with fear, his eyes became shrouded with tears of sorrow and his vision blurred. His tongue seared with pain each time he bit it to stifle the sound of his sobs. His entire body screamed with agony, the thought of death is a terrifying one, and Murugan got a taste of it that day. Then suddenly, as if miraculously, the foot steps that had threatened to loom towards him faded away in a distance and so did the shots. He lay there covered with dirt and grime, his own sweat, tears and urine sticking onto him; clinging on for dear life, still uncertain of his fate. He gathered all his will ad energy and took a peek, and a ghastly sight greeted him. Bodies lying everywhere, blood smattered over the floors; babies lying beside their dead mothers, heart wrenching wails and screams filled the air. The smell of blood, anguish, despair and death wafted through the station. There lay amongst the dead, people of all sizes, the young and the old; the theist, the atheist and the agnostic: irrespective of religion, cast, creed, color or sex, they lay in heaps of gore and bloodshed that would make even the strongest hearted person weep his heart out.
Murugan was but weak and helpless; fumbling outside his place of safety, in a state of confusion, guilt and shame. Confusion because he was uncertain whether the worst was over or yet to come; Guilt because he felt that he did not deserve the luck that had eluded the others and Shame because he could not help protect all that he loved in this city which had fed and watered him. He walked amongst the dead, ghostlike. Few of the survivors scored helping the injured who screamed with such pain and agony that made Murugan believe that death was a better option to pain. Ambulances rushed in and teams of doctors and paramedics arrived. The place was suddenly ablaze with harried people rushing through the pell-mell; stretchers carrying the dead and the injured. A doctor helped Murugan on a wheelchair and made him sip hot coffee. Murugan wanted to say that he was fine and he could find his way back home but words wouldn’t come out. He was led to a hospital where he made to lay down, wear clean clothes and served food and water. That night was the worst night in Murugan’s life. He was marred with the visions of what he saw, the sounds of pain and aguish, the hands that pleaded help and the guard who had laid there not moving a muscle. He screamed and wailed, twitched and turned; a wild madness gripped him. He wanted for the first time in his life to hurt the people who had destroyed not just the things he loved but also his character.
Murugan felt something sharp prick the side of his spine and when he woke up the next morning, he was bathed and sent to a doctor who gave him an endless lecture on how lucky he was and how the Almighty had thought he had to to live on and make the souls that had passed away to rest in peace knowing that someone somewhere had lived and led a full life because of their sacrifice. He wanted to scream and scream until the doctor went away but he knew better to shut up. He was later discharged that evening, given a pair of shirts and trousers which did not seem to be new, some money with which he had to start his life afresh. The marauders, he later learned had sneaked into a hotel and it took the police more than 2 days to free the people held helpless in the hotel. The TV screen splashed their faces which reflected his shadow 2 days earlier or was it the same even now? Murugan had not set foot outside his house since the day he had returned. He had not shaved, not bathed nor eaten anything since then.
A week later, an unshaven Murugan prepared the idlis in the usual fashion, but they were not the same. They were not as soft as they used to once be. The chutney did not imbibe the same flavor it once held. A scared and timorous Murugan made his way into the station. The guard that he used to salaam everyday with 2 idlis and a bowlful of chutney was replaced with another harried looking one who was just as afraid as he was. He could not see any of the old faces that he had gotten used to. The station had changed. It was teeming with police. He was told by the police that he could no longer have his shop there. He moved his makeshift setup across the station, away from the crowd. Murugan no longer had the usual charm over his customers. Even the few who came his way went away complaining that his food was terrible as he had to reheat and sell the left-over. His sales started to dip and Murugan started to despise the very profession he once loved.
Murugan’s state of sleeplessness continued. Finally he decided to pack up and leave the place for good. He wanted to go home- to his unmarried sister, his loving parents and the people he knew. At the whistle of the train he took a last glance at the corner that had been his home for years which now stood secluded and morose. Murugan looked at his hand and saw what he saw every time he looked at them- BLOOD stained all over. Shaking his head and boarding the train he realized why his idlis had lost their tenderness……………………………
Thursday, February 18, 2010
“MY NAME IS KHAN- And I am NOT a terrorist”
Now, if ever there was a genius businessman, it would have to be SRK. No Ambani, N.Murthy or Mahindra could ever employ what he did. And what a mix of ingredients- autism, terrorism, religion, hurricane, airport fiascos and last but not the least “The Prez of America himself!!!” ; I really couldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t watched the movie myself.
Mastermind at wooing audiences; Create a BIG BIG hype about the movie, talk about the project years on end, rope in the heroine who made him the hit he is today, “Partner” with his best friend, K Jo the director, put in “The Dharma” banner and have the movie produced in the name of “Gauri Khan” and “Heeroo Johar”, Make statements that endear you to all my MUSLIM brothers and sisters worldwide and last but not the least- bring in patriotism by making the movie a national issue and mingle it with politics……… All I can say is….. “GENIUS”……...
Of late, the trend seems to beckon all actors to establish their acting credentials; the trick is to perform roles of physically or mentally challenged people; put in some emotional stuff about how difficult life is for them and bang, awards galore, critical acclaim and crowd appreciation- And being “Emotionally charged Indians” for totally unemotional reasons, it has proved to be a blessing in disguise for the “Indian Filmmaker” time and again.
MNIK, the name of the movie itself, is a certain crowd puller, with Islam being the second largest religion in the world according to Wikipedia; the name pulled them like bees to their hive. I saw more than half the theatres filled with Muslims first day first show. The movie shows SRK to be a loyal Muslim who offers namaaz irrespective of the place and people religiously; even goes to the extent of deciding that a certain person at a dargah has elements of terrorism in him- amazing for a person with Asperger’s syndrome; which according to Wikipedia(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome), has connotations of High level Autism which makes it a serious disorder, where people have difficulty in social interactions, exhibit repetitive behavior and mannerisms and are very unreceptive to change.
The movie brings in religion in more forms than one; the incident involving a hijab, marrying a Hindu, killing an innocent because of the religion, being renounced by his wife after that, people declaring that he wasn’t able to meet the Prez ‘cause he was a Muslim and all that jazz; trying to prove that its not the religion but only the people who are responsible and not all people who follow the same are to be blamed……… A Desperate attempt I would say…….. Agreed humiliation is a part an entire set of people undergo but such is the price one has to pay for another set of people who are continuously engaged in disrupting societal harmony; how many times have we seen an entire family paying the price, being put to shame and humiliation, for a folly committed by just one member of their family?
“Meet the President of America and tell him that you are not a terrorist”, and off goes this person with social inhibition making friends on the way, which CANNOT happen even after lifelong therapy and treatment (take a peek at the URL I have attached earlier); has the capacity to understand so much that some people he had met earlier were stuck in a freak hurricane and needed his assistance; a person who barely understood his wife and child had feelings for unknown people is beyond my realm of understanding. One more intriguing thought that does not cease to escape my thread of questioning is that how an affected part of the United States of America was left unattended to; even by the media itself and it required a certain person to awaken the civic authorities; agreed even the Americans have their fair share of problems, but come on, for Christ’s sake ;), this isn’t Yediyurappa who’s in command!!! It’s Mr. American President, whose administration as of now has problems dealing with the finance but certainly does NOT lack in civilian aid! Might take some time, but certainly does not require a mentally unstable person to remind them.
Last but not the least of the things that have gone astray; A Muslim, mentally ill person finds it difficult to meet the President of the USA; how touché; How many mentally stable, well to do, Citizens by birthright, people with REAL problems can meet the president of the USA easily? Come on, now isn’t it obvious why there is so much security surrounding ‘The’ US President… How many attempts have been successful in assassinating the Prez? And given the recent list of Islamic terror strikes, forget the president, any other individual would feel insecure; obviously, after we get to know the person, we might be able to decide, but certainly NOT at the first instance. This part of the movie was so “Indian”, that when most of the crowd was like weeping their hearts out, I was like….. WTH???
Hmmm, the bit about the Shiv Sena fiasco, again, a Master at work I would say…. When the whole of the police was behind guarding theatres and SRK’s business, the terrorists had other plans…… Now after that, the whole line, “My Name is Khan and I am NOT a terrorist”, begins to sound so damn corny………. Well, what the hell….. when the other billion on the other side believe that SRK is one of the greatest Indians who have ever lived, the fact that the movie does less than anything to support the same, goes unnoticed………
“My Name is Khan”, surely, is one hell of a cash in on “The Vulnerable Indian”; and boy how SRK managed to showcase it; “I am an Indian first and then a Mumbaikar”; Now haven’t we heard another TRUE, REAL and a TAXPAYER Indian say this……. Only one of them can be true and the recently concluded SA test series where he played his heart out only proves that he actually means what he says….. “Being an Indian” is way different from “Being a TRUE Indian”…….. One should not club politics and business but who cares…. Here’s an example of politics turned into business…..
MNIK………………….. REVEALS THE EXTENT TO WHICH WE BELIEVE THE CONTRARY EVEN WHEN THE TRUTH SLAPS US RIGHT ACROSS THE FACE………………..
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