I want to be Anthony Gonzalves

I was born the year the Americans landed on the moon. Which meant that by the time I got to high school, there wasn't a whole heck of a lot to cheer about. Those born in the 80s or later can jump up and down about outsourcing, one whole Olympic gold per billion, and Aishwarya. Oh and Coke, Nike, and foreign exchange convertibility if they care. Those born in the earlier part of the century might have gotten a chance to sit on Nehru's lap and talk Lady Mountbatten. Perhaps play poker with Gandhi, or the back nine with Sarojini.

By the time I was a twinkle in Mummy's eye, there was shall we say a certain lull, a paucity, a vacuum, in role-models of the political variety. Maybe it was just me but I did not find myself waking up too often to Binaca-polished cheers of "I want to be like Jagjivan" or "I wish I could grab a drink with Morarji". I was led to believe Sardar Patel was India's Roosevelt - soft voice, big stick and all - and that all the aforementioned were great people one might role model. The problem was that the entity conveying said greatness was Simon & Schuster not a real hero him(her)self.

So lacking a Kennedy amongst us, my child-like need for a hero - which existed because well, because I was a child - sought solace elsewhere. So like a lot of other kids my generation, I gravitated toward sport. There I discovered the situation was slightly better but not egregiously so. Perhaps a pale yellow alert in the Bush-Chaney grading system if you examine the summary facts:

• After the firangs made us play on astro-turf, we didn't win an Olympic medal in the national sport: hockey. Before the firangs made us play on astro-turf, the only Olympic medal we won was in hockey. By the time I was old enough to dissect a frog, hockey had became like the rest of Indian history - just about anyone who could run and carry a stick was able to raid and plunder: the Dutch, the Germans, the Aussies. Chak De anything but Indian hockey in the 80s.
• I grew up barraged by noise about how I was living in the mecca of Indian soccer. Turned out, the two best players in the Calcutta league were imports from the middle-east - college kids Jamshed and Majid - who with all due respect would be lucky to be ball boys for a real European club's second social team
• Vijay made it to the quarters of one Wimbledon and choked - supposedly an achievement which Indian tennis buffs talked about for decades. Ramesh's first serve wouldn't make Lindsey Lohan proud, assuming Lindsey plays tennis when not attending to other pressing affairs of health
• Prakash won one major tournament and since then his biggest contribution to India has been his daughter. Mind you he deserves high marks for that. Lots of famous Indians have not left behind scions similarly pleasing to the eye so credit to PP where its due
• Miandad with that last-ball six. And Imran for about three series when he would either hit an Amarnath or two on the head and / or bowl about three of our top chaps in two overs with a cricket ball I am convinced was tampered with a Thumbs up bottle cap. That sort of thing made it hard to focus even on the 1983 and 1984 wins. Losing off the last ball and that too to Pakistan - it has taken twenty years and the 20-20 victory to clear that palate somewhat. To this day I wake up in the middle of the night cursing "He knew he had to get 4!!! Anything but a full-toss. Anything. A Trevor Chappel. Anything, Sharma, anything!!"

So where did that leave little old me, desperate to believe the local offerings had to be better than battery-packed hooch without a Kingfisher in sight?

In one word, Amitabh. Anthony Gonzalvez. Vijay. Veeru. Coolie. Kaalia, Babu Moshai. No matter who you were, what mood you were in, and no matter what his ridiculous outfit du jour (and they were all ridiculous - white suit with white shoes, yellow shirt with an orange jacket, both showing a hirsute chest while he fought a shark or presented watermelons to a love interest), he could at least take you to a make believe world that was far more pleasant than the real one you faced as soon as you got up from the popcorn strewn seat. He could be Rakhi's Kabhi-Kabhi lover or Rakhi's Shakti-shali son, and Oedipus couldn't have carried the role more convincingly. To all those Kolkatans out there who will claim "Yes but Utpal was a better thespian", here's what I have to say to you: "I saw Amitabh in concert a few weeks ago in SF and at 68 he still pulled a crowd that caused a two hour traffic jam. So, bondhugon, get over it!"

After the concert I also realized that there are some good reasons why Anthony Gonzalvez stood up so clearly as a role-model for a boy desperate to believe that better pickings had to be available than the ones at hand.

1. Like me, he couldn't dance if a necklace depended on it. Take this for example. Who in their right mind dances like this? Walk in, break up two perfectly decently paired people and break into song? If that isn't enough, steal the necklace right off of the poor unsuspecting muppet of a girl?
2. Awkward, gawky, no Amir Khan romantic. Just like me. I could totally relate to expressing love to a woman through a watermelon - purely as a matter of looking out for her daily intake of fruit.
3. He was taller than all the Pakistani cricketers including Sikander Bakht.
4. The rest of the pack. Take Jeetendra for example. Yes he had similar wardrobe malfunction issues but bracketing him with Amitabh was like clubbing David Boon with Usain Bolt as members of the set {Good Runners}.
5. Rekha.
6. His dad. I always thought Harivanshrai Bacchan outdid his son as an artist. Take Path Ki Pehchan. Or Madhsushala, or, well, pick up just anything senior B did. (Unfortunately senior B needed a better PR agency. Since his face wasn't plastered across every poster defiling every corner of town, Harivanshrai didn't get to build similar brand equity.)
7. His knowledge of English, and issues with its illogicalityness.
8. Only he could die 30 minutes after being shot right in the chest and one would suspend disbelief for that period. Or have the "Maa ka locket" save him because the bullet ricotched off it while he was riding 100 miles an hour on a motorbike. Jump off bridges onto a train as a 4 year old and reach the train 21 years later. Not everyone could carry that off, not even, well especially not Utpal.
9. Sholay. You know, people rave endlessly about Gabbar's entry when they talk about Sholay. Helen and her dance. But here's a less well known two minute clip that I find I can recite back to front because of just how well it is delivered. Possibly the smartest piece of comic relief in Indian cinema if I might go out on a limb.
10. Sanjeev-Anthony bhai-bhai. For the record, my parental unit are from UP and had adopted Calcutta as their home. Bachchan married a good Bhaduri girl and had worked in Calcutta for some time doing some odd job. So my intensely logical mind drew the following obvious connection: take the Venn intersection of the 100 million UP-ites with those that have Calcutta as their adopted home. Then ignore the small things - like looks, height, and voice. Once you do that, the parallels are unmistakable - like me, he is another Bhaiyya from UP with ties, tenuous as they might be, to Calcutta. Practically brothers you might say. Sanjeev-Anthony bhai-bhai.

Full Frontal Bonding

I am convinced that ET taught us Chemistry for about a year in high school. Either that or it was Borat, who early in his career while fleeing the long arm of Kazakhstani law, had found his way to Don Bosco Park Circus and successfully presented credentials that allowed him to masquerade as a Chemistry teacher. Since we can't be sure, we will for now refer to said entity by his purported initials, which anagram to "CKR". That year, 1986, was also the one in which Haley's comet re-visited the inner solar system after its fly-by in 1910. Even if the concurrency of the two events is purely coincidental, I rest easy knowing that some phenomena occur only once every 76 years or so.

To set the stage a bit, Chemistry wasn't exactly a source of great joy for me at any stage in school. My excuse being that unlike Physics, principles seemed few and far between, and the subject required rote learning of equations and such without the ability to derive them when needed. Since we have already established the capacity constraints associated with my brain, you can surely understand why I wasn't a card carrying Mendeleev fan. Because the pre-CKR teacher - Mrs. Jayaraman - was so good, I had learned to tolerate the subject and believe like she did that knowing the properties of alcohols, metals, semiconductors, and gases could lead to a healthier and happier life. Unfortunately, Mrs J met with a sad accident that put her out of commission for a few months and the school desperately sought a new Chemistry teacher.

So enter CKR. If you have to create a mental picture of him, think of a slightly shorter Borat with the language skills of Basil Fawlty's man Manuel. The first day he came to class, we were mostly grateful to have a warm body fill the vacuum. Given the extraordinary circumstances under which he was brought in, one could also understand the school not having done thorough reference checks through Scotland Yard and the like, so expectations weren't exactly high. But when CKR introduced himself as a Masters in Chemistry who had just landed in the big city from humble roots in the village, said expectations rose like overnight futures on pig ears after a storm in Idaho. Clearly here was the brightest chemical loving kid who had survived cut-throat competition and made it to the big time to fulfill his pedagogical dreams. The lack of polish would be made up copiously by a surreal depth of understanding of how molecules form, bonds are made and broken, and catalysts sip their cocktails while the reaction does its thing around them. And so what if his language was a little off, the words chosen a bit erratic - all surely telltale signs of genius.

That assumption turned out to be a tad naive. It wasn't long before we discovered that the issue was not just the absence of any evidence of communication skills in any known human language. It was also coupled with disorganized thought, and a not very visible understanding of Chemistry. Or at least what and how it needed to be taught. Take the case of CKR explaining polarity in covalent bonds, standing tall as Socrates probably did in his day:

CKR: "So bhain cobhalent bonds jano to phormason hoi, ektu ektu there becaaam polarijason sometime". If you weren't fluent at Bangla, that statement would be hard to understand. If you were, it would be harder, because you'd want to make sense out of it. The only slight hint we'd have at this point would be the sight of CKR in front of us holding two imaginary round objects we could only suppose were atoms or molecules. Then he'd push them together so one could triage that we were discussing some kind of bonding even though what had just been uttered was not very meaningful.

Class: "Eh? What sir, what?"

CKR: "Na na, boozle na?" (Did you not understand?) A desperate, slightly irritated look, hands on hips. Followed by a George Bush smirk and shoulder roll chuckle.

Class: "Na sir, na" (No we didn't.)

Deep throated grunt and swallow followed by a jump to the board and the drawing of two circles with dots at their centers. Palms then raised to cup the circles from the outside, pushing them together as if trying to get the board to let him connect the chalk edges. Thankfully he would have written "Cl" on each circle indicating Chlorine atoms were involved, because small chuckles would have started to run in Mexican waves through the class as the prurient adolescent mind started to wander.

CKR: "Cl-Cl atoms hoi jai Cl-Cl molecule". Look of satisfied glee as if all was clear now and there was no room for any doubt. Back to the board, and the two circles would be replaced by intersecting ones showing Cl-Cl.

CKR: "Bonding. No polarijason".

Ok, so two chlorine atoms were bonding to create a molecule and it wasn't polarized.

Class: "Eh, why sir?"

CKR: "Why mane ta kee?" (What do you mean why?). "Cl-Cl kano polarije hobe?" (Why will Cl- Cl polarize?)

Class: "Why will Cl-Cl NOT polarize?"

CKR: "Aamar Englees bhalo noi so you are making phun?" (Just because my English isn't good you're laughing at my expense?)

Class: "No sir. We just have no idea what it is you said".

About 25 minutes or so later about 3 people would have understood that since the two Chlorine atoms were electronegatively identical, they would share the electrons in the bond created between them and so there would be no resultant polarity, creating a net neutral molecule. 53 others would still be staring at two circular orbs with a little nub in the center, translating innuendo into graphic imagery, pretty much giving up on what covalent bonds did.

Then he'd move on to why H-F or similar bonds had polarity. This is the all-time CKR classic.

CKR: "Now, imajeeen H-F straacture". (This we got, "Imagine the structure of an HF molecule") 56 pairs of eyes waiting for another pair of nipple-topped circles, which would be drawn forthwith.

CKR: "Eta Eta Eta ektu polarije hoi jai" When excited CKR would speak really fast and occasionally stutter. Apparently the H-F combo had some polarity to it. Then without preamble or warning of any kind, he would lean over, stand on one leg and do a Travolta-like move, stretching his torso far out to the left.

CKR: "Aee reaacsaan - eta, one atom gates leftaidd to the seeft!" Stunned, complete silence - imagine Borat doing the floor exercises at the Olympics, one arm outstretched high in the air, his whole body leaning like the Tower of Pisa pointing due East. Not a word understood, it may as well have been a Marxist symbol.

CKR: "Boozley na?" (Did you not understand?). Hours later, someone would pick up the chapter relating to this topic and explain despite CKR that all he was trying to say was that since H and F had different electronegative properties, a chemical bond between them had electrons shared unequally, they moved toward the more negative one. So the bond would form with electrons having "shifted to the left - or in CKR speak "leftaidd to the seeft"".

Since then, I have researched and confirmed that the X-Files have not carried the CKR story, but if attempts at establishing contact with the producers are successful, we may have a good chance of sending Mulder and Scully to dig deeper into CKR's FBI files.

Other CKR classics:
"The SN2 reaacsan cannot happen from phront side. So electrophile atttacks from baaaackside". The specifics of the SN2 chemistry are pretty vague in my mind but the dramatization is crystal clear. Thankfully there were no images or similar props on this one, but his hands would move to show how one pair from a nucleophile attacks an electron deficient electrophile and bonds to it. The hands would move to show how direct frontal attack was futile, so the approaching ion would settle for penetration from the rear. I kid you not, I could not make this stuff up if I wanted to; the R rated nature of this display was mightily thrilling for 16 and 17 year old boys who had been turning to Chapter 9 of every Biology text handed to them.

In one Chemistry lab situation when dealing with the possibilities of Sulphuric acid, he warned us to be careful: "Bisaal Explosaan Hobay. Sobb Party Moray Jabay". Loosely translated this was Nostradamus talk: "There shall be a mighty explosion and all parties concerned shall die". He then proceeded as he was wont to talk about how Hydrogen Sulphide would be "paaaaaassed" through a most interesting visual involving aspects of the anatomy one might associate with hydrogen sulphide.

Very quickly we were quite clear that anyone who cared would need to pick up a book and learn their own Chemistry, but missing CKRs class should only be done at one's own expense since the comic relief was unparalleled . Discovering Borat years later proved that CKR had either moved to Kazakhstan or that imbecilic genius knows no geographic boundaries.

What is perhaps less well known and possibly a fitting end to the CKR saga was the final exam in 11th grade. We all got our Chemistry grades but never actually saw the graded papers. Apparently he had given us all scores at random without grading anything at all. Unlike the practiced criminal however, the poor rookie had left the ungraded exam in the hot air oven in the school's chemistry lab (quite appropriately one might add). An enterprising member of our class found them, CKR was unceremoniously ejected from the premises, and Chemistry class was back to its equilibrium state - empty.