This is not just another literature festival. A first in India and set the side boobs of a mallu aunty to make its debut in the city, this one is centred on business writing
The litfest will see, what the organisers call, the "best of the best" Indian business writers. Stalwarts and bestselling authors such as R Gopalakrishnan, (When the Penny Drop), Rashmi Bansal (Connect the Dots and Stay Hungry Stay Foolish), Ravi Subramanian (If God was a Banker and God is a Gamer) and the city's own young entrepreneur Varun Agarwal (How I braved Anu Aunty and indian aunty side boobs Co-founded a Million Dollar Company) will make their appearance along with speakers from the corporate world, the foremost being Vinita Bali (former MD, Britannia Industries), Chetan Maini (ex-founder and CEO, Mahindra Reva), and Kumud M Srinivasan (President, Intel India).
Benedict Paramanand, CEO of the indian festival and editor, Management Next & Sustainability Next, says that his personal directive to the speakers and authors was to share anecdotal experiences with the audience. "Which is why you will hear Vinita Bali speak about her favourite business books, what she learned from them and what impact they had on building her business/career."
Paramanand laughingly calls BBLF a "fool's idea" that gained momentum in a short period thanks to the genuine need for such a festival. The impetus for it was a visit to the Jaipur Literary Festival early this year. During the five-day JLF, he got to see first-hand the scale and depth of a literary festival besides getting a chance to meet some of the top economists including the author of The Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb. An impressed Paramanand came back to flesh out an idea which he first sounded out to his friend and author V. Raghunathan, CEO GMR Varalaxmi Foundation. "Raghunathan called it fabulous," Paramanand recalls, and was so excited by the concept of side view of boobs that he offered to chair the festival. Raghunathan didn't need any convincing as he felt most book and literature festivals held in "nearly every city" are heavily skewed towards fiction writing. Author of bestseller titles such as Games Indians Play and Don't Sprint the Marathon, he feels that the business book publishing is beginning to come into its own in the last few years with an increasing number of titles and books by established as well as debut authors. "Yet, the eco-system of business literature reading, writing and publishing in India is still to fully bloom," he comments. "Only an open- hearted and incisive conversation between various stakeholders in the ecosystem can help in nurturing and strengthening it."
Such an eco-system is best found in our city. This is also the belief of author Ravi Subramanian, who says Bengaluru is more representative of a young India than any other metropolis, where the youth is probably a lot more educated than the rest. "There is a good mix of authors, experts and readers here," he feels. "People value intellectual capability more than just money." Try getting such a festival attention in a city like Mumbai or New Delhi. "It is only Bollywood in Mumbai and politics in the capital," he points out.
The litfest will see, what the organisers call, the "best of the best" Indian business writers. Stalwarts and bestselling authors such as R Gopalakrishnan, (When the Penny Drop), Rashmi Bansal (Connect the Dots and Stay Hungry Stay Foolish), Ravi Subramanian (If God was a Banker and God is a Gamer) and the city's own young entrepreneur Varun Agarwal (How I braved Anu Aunty and indian aunty side boobs Co-founded a Million Dollar Company) will make their appearance along with speakers from the corporate world, the foremost being Vinita Bali (former MD, Britannia Industries), Chetan Maini (ex-founder and CEO, Mahindra Reva), and Kumud M Srinivasan (President, Intel India).
Benedict Paramanand, CEO of the indian festival and editor, Management Next & Sustainability Next, says that his personal directive to the speakers and authors was to share anecdotal experiences with the audience. "Which is why you will hear Vinita Bali speak about her favourite business books, what she learned from them and what impact they had on building her business/career."
Paramanand laughingly calls BBLF a "fool's idea" that gained momentum in a short period thanks to the genuine need for such a festival. The impetus for it was a visit to the Jaipur Literary Festival early this year. During the five-day JLF, he got to see first-hand the scale and depth of a literary festival besides getting a chance to meet some of the top economists including the author of The Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb. An impressed Paramanand came back to flesh out an idea which he first sounded out to his friend and author V. Raghunathan, CEO GMR Varalaxmi Foundation. "Raghunathan called it fabulous," Paramanand recalls, and was so excited by the concept of side view of boobs that he offered to chair the festival. Raghunathan didn't need any convincing as he felt most book and literature festivals held in "nearly every city" are heavily skewed towards fiction writing. Author of bestseller titles such as Games Indians Play and Don't Sprint the Marathon, he feels that the business book publishing is beginning to come into its own in the last few years with an increasing number of titles and books by established as well as debut authors. "Yet, the eco-system of business literature reading, writing and publishing in India is still to fully bloom," he comments. "Only an open- hearted and incisive conversation between various stakeholders in the ecosystem can help in nurturing and strengthening it."
Such an eco-system is best found in our city. This is also the belief of author Ravi Subramanian, who says Bengaluru is more representative of a young India than any other metropolis, where the youth is probably a lot more educated than the rest. "There is a good mix of authors, experts and readers here," he feels. "People value intellectual capability more than just money." Try getting such a festival attention in a city like Mumbai or New Delhi. "It is only Bollywood in Mumbai and politics in the capital," he points out.
Let's face it. Every Indian has a little bit of a fascist in them, and a indian aunty side boobs were also or we
would not have let Indira Gandhi get away with imposing the Emergency.
We dream of strong lead ers. We can live with extra-constitutional
measures prohibiting one activity or another in the name of what we see
as a higher cause. And if we oppose certain bans, well, we are perfectly
fine with others. Each one of us intuitively knows what it took Gramsci
much effort to figure out: that undemocratic decisions can only be
accepted, even with protest, if they possess more than a modicum of
popular legitimacy.
The ban of the moment in India is the prohibition of the sale of meat in sundry national locations so as not to offend the sensibilities of Jains and Hindus. Instead of addressing the rationale for the ban, the BJP and Congress are busy trading accusations: You started it! No you did! The genealogy of the ban is no doubt nail-biting stuff for political commentators and work-shirkers on social media, but it obfuscates the point that this state of affairs is something for which we as a people are also collectively responsible.
Forged in this crucible, I too have my list of things I wish banned. Or, rather, things I wish had been banned in those thrilling years growing up in India - by any state or non-state actor, secular or religious agent, natural or supernatural force.
For starters, I wish they had banned the gullibility of Indian mothers to the messages of advertising. the best of indian aunty one today takes the messages of advertising at face value, even if we let ourselves be fooled by the subliminal proposition that owning a luxury car might make one more fundamentally decent as a person. Alas, the 1980s in India were a different story altogether. Mothers believed the lies of a devious cartel of food products, from Bournvita to Boost, which meant being forced to consume gallons of milk in the hope that it would make one as tall as Kapil Dev. Or, in the name of nutrition, having to chew through the synthetic soy-rubber amalgam that was Nutrela. Or having to muster up the courage to drink Rasna's swamp-green Khus flavour, which gave one the sense of eating the Khus mats we used to soak and drape on our windows to beat the Delhi summer heat during vacations there.
Good times.
Iwish they had banned the massive unwritten archive of homespun middle-class wisdom that so straitjacketed one's life. Enlightened parents, who otherwise read Benjamin Spock and wanted to rear their brood as little rationalists, eagerly listened to and acted upon these untested principles whose origins remain murky to date. Too much TV-watching will spoil your eyes. Reading while lying down will spoil your eyes. Thanda pani will give you a sore throat. If your son seems sleepy at an odd hour, he may be on drugs (thank various B-grade Doordarshan serials for that one). Introducing a pocket money system at home will make your children go to discos and talk rudely to you.
I wish they had banned nosiness, specifically the nosiness of the nosy neighbourhood aunty, or better still, banned the concept of the nosy neighbourhood aunty itself. Perched on her third floor window like a hawk scouring its prey, from the time the school buses started disgorging students home till close to the witching hour, Aunty monitored the top bourgeois felonies in the neighbourhood, including "tumhara beta cigarette pee raha tha" and "tumhari beti shorts mein ghoom rahi thi". Aunty also magically knew that Mr Malhotra's evening schedule had a mysteriously unaccounted for 30-minute chunk in it (actually a yoga class in the neighbourhood and not the extra-marital affair or contraband smuggling operation she would have preferred it to be).
I wish they had banned extra-curricular activities at school. The insufferable boasting of Indian parents about their children's academic achievements was compounded by the extracurricular boasting about their debating, quizzing, or elocutionary skills. I have horrendous memories of suffering incongruous renditions of "My Horse Dobbin" during Durga Puja cultural programmes and watching one's peers "doing Western dance" to Osibisa. Hopefully in today's India, with politicians who are not even particularly interested in curricular activities, the craze for "extra-currics" has somewhat diminished.
So I sometimes wonder if this Indian pathology indian of banning everything under the sun is simply the return of the repressed, an unfulfilled desire viciously asserting itself against books, food habits, provocative ideas, or pretty much anything that annoys any individual or group. Maybe we should let people decide for themselves as they develop their sense of self what they want to ban from their own lives and conversely what they want to keep as central to it. A radical idea otherwise known as choice. Who knows, we may actually find that as these people go through life, they may be easier with the idea that others may actually like what they dislike and vice-versa.
But, I suspect, that is an idea our families, schools, religious and cultural communities, political leaders, and neighbourhood aunties may not much care for. In short, an idea that everyone might band together to ban.
The ban of the moment in India is the prohibition of the sale of meat in sundry national locations so as not to offend the sensibilities of Jains and Hindus. Instead of addressing the rationale for the ban, the BJP and Congress are busy trading accusations: You started it! No you did! The genealogy of the ban is no doubt nail-biting stuff for political commentators and work-shirkers on social media, but it obfuscates the point that this state of affairs is something for which we as a people are also collectively responsible.
Forged in this crucible, I too have my list of things I wish banned. Or, rather, things I wish had been banned in those thrilling years growing up in India - by any state or non-state actor, secular or religious agent, natural or supernatural force.
For starters, I wish they had banned the gullibility of Indian mothers to the messages of advertising. the best of indian aunty one today takes the messages of advertising at face value, even if we let ourselves be fooled by the subliminal proposition that owning a luxury car might make one more fundamentally decent as a person. Alas, the 1980s in India were a different story altogether. Mothers believed the lies of a devious cartel of food products, from Bournvita to Boost, which meant being forced to consume gallons of milk in the hope that it would make one as tall as Kapil Dev. Or, in the name of nutrition, having to chew through the synthetic soy-rubber amalgam that was Nutrela. Or having to muster up the courage to drink Rasna's swamp-green Khus flavour, which gave one the sense of eating the Khus mats we used to soak and drape on our windows to beat the Delhi summer heat during vacations there.
Good times.
Iwish they had banned the massive unwritten archive of homespun middle-class wisdom that so straitjacketed one's life. Enlightened parents, who otherwise read Benjamin Spock and wanted to rear their brood as little rationalists, eagerly listened to and acted upon these untested principles whose origins remain murky to date. Too much TV-watching will spoil your eyes. Reading while lying down will spoil your eyes. Thanda pani will give you a sore throat. If your son seems sleepy at an odd hour, he may be on drugs (thank various B-grade Doordarshan serials for that one). Introducing a pocket money system at home will make your children go to discos and talk rudely to you.
I wish they had banned nosiness, specifically the nosiness of the nosy neighbourhood aunty, or better still, banned the concept of the nosy neighbourhood aunty itself. Perched on her third floor window like a hawk scouring its prey, from the time the school buses started disgorging students home till close to the witching hour, Aunty monitored the top bourgeois felonies in the neighbourhood, including "tumhara beta cigarette pee raha tha" and "tumhari beti shorts mein ghoom rahi thi". Aunty also magically knew that Mr Malhotra's evening schedule had a mysteriously unaccounted for 30-minute chunk in it (actually a yoga class in the neighbourhood and not the extra-marital affair or contraband smuggling operation she would have preferred it to be).
I wish they had banned extra-curricular activities at school. The insufferable boasting of Indian parents about their children's academic achievements was compounded by the extracurricular boasting about their debating, quizzing, or elocutionary skills. I have horrendous memories of suffering incongruous renditions of "My Horse Dobbin" during Durga Puja cultural programmes and watching one's peers "doing Western dance" to Osibisa. Hopefully in today's India, with politicians who are not even particularly interested in curricular activities, the craze for "extra-currics" has somewhat diminished.
So I sometimes wonder if this Indian pathology indian of banning everything under the sun is simply the return of the repressed, an unfulfilled desire viciously asserting itself against books, food habits, provocative ideas, or pretty much anything that annoys any individual or group. Maybe we should let people decide for themselves as they develop their sense of self what they want to ban from their own lives and conversely what they want to keep as central to it. A radical idea otherwise known as choice. Who knows, we may actually find that as these people go through life, they may be easier with the idea that others may actually like what they dislike and vice-versa.
But, I suspect, that is an idea our families, schools, religious and cultural communities, political leaders, and neighbourhood aunties may not much care for. In short, an idea that everyone might band together to ban.
aunty in white saree showing side boobs
best indian aunty side boob ever
white side boob
