Leaving Mumbai

The only grim part of the marriage biz is leaving behind your parents, your friends and moving on to a new life with your spouse. And as I bid farewell to my colleagues in Mumbai, I left them with a missive that bespoke of the good ol' times spent in their company. Given below is an extract of the letter.

"Hi friends,
Like they say, our feelings are the purest in the hour of farewell. As I bid adieu to all of you here, some of the most memorable and sweet memories shine through like a pristine glass and add to my nostalgia. And I remember the first time I tiptoed gingerly into a world of warm smiles and was ushered in heartily by one and all.
Some fuzzy memories remain of the times I spent here. Some of which are:
1. sitting on the upholstered pieces to watch the planes go by (like a bunch of bewildered kids)
2. bursting into a lively laughter for no rhyme and reason (making everyone the butt of our sad japes)
3. hooting and whooping in the movie hall (and driving others off the wall)
4. doling out the verbal lashings to the clients over phone (of course with the mute button on)
5. sharing the sweet things of life like chocolates, downloadable ditties and films (to drool on our fave heroes)

It’s difficult to leave behind the familiar environs and walk right ahead into a life filled with uncertainties and unknowns. At such times, its only the memories that holds you in good stead and gives you the strength to move on. Here is a personal note of thanks to everyone before I bid a farewell:

Ajith: Thanks for guiding me on my tour all the way to Montreal and for your fun-filled quips on days when things looked down.
Sagar: Thanks for all the wise cracks and creative tips on life and art.
Monika: Thanks for all the gyaan and sound advice on work and things beyond work.
Melvin: A BIG Thank You for making my last few months in Sify memorable with your funny antics, doltish moves, and friendly advice.
Deepti: Thanks for sharing the laughs, books, songs, and everything that a girlie loves :P
Farhan: Thanks for your pira$%@ versions of movies.
Kanchan: Thanks for coming back to me every time I fought with you.
Minjal: Thanks for giving me that million buck smile whenever I felt low.
Sathish: Thanks for well…err…hmmm…FOR EVERYTHING (I am sure the team will miss you equally when you tread home to Chennai.)
Sunil: Thanks for the ENTERTAINMENT dude.
Akash and Ketan: Thanks for putting up with my arguments and fights :P
Burjees: Thanks for all your help and friendly smiles.
Thiagu: Thanks for all those pranksy moves (will miss them really)
Sachin and Sonali: Thanks for sharing some of the “side-effects” of shaadi :P
Fijo: Thanks for that sweet killer smile :P
Suraj: Thanks for your creative inputs (that helped me learn so much more).
Bhupendra: Thanks for keeping me amused with your anecdotes :)
Vijay: Never got to know you better..thanks anyways for accepting me for what I am.
Au Revoir.
Pooja"

Movies Worth a Dekko!

First came Slumdog Millionaire that showed the squalor-ridden streets, crippled hopes, and some raucously disturbing vignettes of our city, Mumbai. The film ended up bagging 8 honors in its kitty, including that of the Best Film and Best Director. So, what happens when an Indian turns the searchlight inwards and pulls his camera focus on similar montages of another goddamned city, Delhi (in the form of a Delhi 6)? Rakesh Omprakash Mehra’s pot-pourri of the city’s colorful jalebi-sweet side and its dark-sinister alleys may not be as celebrated as its foreign counterpart. This despite its outstanding musical (A.R. Rehman) and lyrical qualities and a peppering of real drama/problems. So why was it not considered to be on the same artistic wavelength as its predecessor?
Part of the problem lies in the movie’s distinctly unfilmi (read Hollywood and Bollywood) flavor. The film doesn’t shock/titillate but instead has you sympathize with the city’s idiosyncrasies. For instance, the scene (1) where Roshan’s (Abhishek Bachan) sick grand mom is being rushed to the hospital, and who seeing a mother cow deliver a baby, rushes to offer her prayers or the (2) one where the actor in Lord Shiva’s garb dances obsequiously on seeing a local politician, reflect the city’s culture that we all identify with. The film’s highlight is the scene where Roshan imagines a world that amalgamates the best of the twin worlds (Delhi and New York). He knows he will never see a Statue of Liberty in the midst of the gallis and nukkads of Chandni Chowk nor will he ever espy a colorful riot on the streets of New York. The real world will always have a mélange of the good, bad, and the ugly. The film unspools the chequered layers of the “good” and the “evil” lurking within each one of us. That may be the film’s strong point or its Achilles heels (for its failure to feed hype-hungry interests).

I was lucky to watch the Oscar-winning (and deserving) film, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, based on the novel by Scott Fitzgerald. It’s not just the technical lick of polish or the padding of grandiosity that won laurels for the film. It is surprisingly moving (and I can’t help wondering why it was believed to be lacking in the emotional quotient at all) and touches upon many aspects of a human life. Benjamin’s (Brad Pitt) aging back shows us how being in a pool of mortal beings teaches him life’s myriad challenges. Benjamin falls in love with Daisy (Cate Blanchett) whom he meets when he is a withered 70 year-old. Their love blossoms when they meet at life’s crossroads (when both are in their 40s) and start a life together. The only problem is that Benjamin cannot be her husband or the father of her child, when his life is going in a reverse direction. The film not only reminds us of a mortal life that we all lead and how we end up losing a loved one at some point of time or the other, it also shows us the importance of cherishing a beloved’s presence in our lives. An epithet of a clock chiming in the reverse way bespeaks of the curious case of Benjamin Button. The ending of the movie is poignant with the flood waters carrying with it the ornate clock and thus bringing an end to a history best left untold.

Three Cheers to Zoya Akthar

Luck by Chance – Movie Review

Sometimes, the opening credits manage to capture a film’s essence and give a slice of its content, style, camera-work, sound effects et al. Not too long ago, some crisp video clips peppered with bright water colors had formed part of the opening bits of Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. This had built on to the film’s youthful and effervescent look. The opening credit sequences of Zoya Akthar’s Luck by Chance will be remembered too, for its unique montages that bespeak of “real” untold stories juxtaposed with the “reel” credits. For instance, there is a glimpse of a man piecing together the sequins in a dress that is to contribute to the bling, blang, and glamour quotient of the filmdom. And there are supporting actors wearing costumes that blend smoothly into a filmi backdrop but contrast in a real milieu. Needless to say, these opening clips set the lyrical mood of the movie and amaze you with a riveting portrayal of the film industry.

As the movie unravels, we see a naïve-looking Sona (Konkana Sen Sharma) who is a film aspirant, approach a producer. Maybe the rough and tumble of the film industry makes her stronger because a few rolls later, we see a self-assured Sona making her trips to the studios in the garb of a character artist. She partakes in a few scenes with the “important” actors (even Aamir Khan) but fails to make a foray as the leading actress in any movie. Being promised of meatier roles by the producer, she bides her time for the “big break”. There is a parallel story of Vikram (Farhan Akthar) who like the zillion others has thronged to Mumbai in pursuit of celluloid money and fame. He bumps into Sona and the two strike an instant chord of friendship, followed by a subtle romance. An evening scene with the two of them chinking their glasses of wine and wallowing in each other’s dreams, will strike you as the most romantic moment in the film.

We soon meet another character, Rommy Rolly (Rishi Kapoor), a film producer/director who has created stars like Zaffar Khan (Hrithik Roshan). However, he has to now run hell-for-leather seeking dates for his half-accomplished movie with the actor. Zaffar leaves Rommy for a bigger banner/producer (read Karan Johar playing himself). And by a quirk of fate, Vikram lands up as a replacement hero in Rommy’s film. He is favored by luck and also by Neera Mishra (Dimple Kapadia) who is a former actress and the mother of Vikram’s co-star, Nikki Mishra (Isha Sharvani). He manages to beguile both the ladies to shin his way up on the filmi career. Sona learns of his viles and distances herself from him. Her own “big break” seems elusive and she ends up donning a bahu avataar in a soap opera.

Meanwhile Vikram learns of some important lessons, coming from no one else but Shahrukh Khan (playing himself) about “being with people who knew you when you were a nobody”. Vikram has a change of heart and beseeches forgiveness of Sona, who by now realizes that he loves her only to fulfill his own selfish needs. She decides to part ways with Vikram forever and treads on a career path that may not pitchfork her into the filmland, but will proffer her the job satisfaction at least.

Here is a film that presents an oeuvre of the Akthar family (with Javed penning the crisp dialogues, Farhan essaying a near-perfect role, and Zoya executing the film with skills of a masterhand). Needless to say, Konkana, Rishi, and Dimple excel in the acting department while giving full justice to their respective roles. Dimple (cheekily called a crocodile wrapped in a chiffon sari in the movie) delights with her diva-like attitude, while also displaying her vulnerable side towards the fag end of the movie. An unforgettable scene is where Farhan enters an audition room to find a serpentine queue of aspirants, and casts a gloomy look at his soiled shoes, while cringing uncomfortably at the thought of coming croppers.

The Moulin-Rouge look of the song, Baawre looks amazing and so do the other song sequences laced with foot-tapping music and glitzy shots.

The only thing that you would want to pull up the director is for showing the innumerable allusions to the film industry, with almost everyone in the film connected to the industry in someway or the other. Nevertheless, the movie succeeds in unlayering the several folds within the industry, and subtly commenting on them without delivering a homily or taking a dig at it.

All in all, a good effort at film-making! And at the risk of sounding sexist, a movie made by a female director always has its heart in the right place and a feminist sensibility at work always conjures up extraordinary efforts! Three cheers to Zoya Akthar.

The Coming Back

And here I am back with a throb in my heart and a thrill in my brain to do some serious writing and let out thoughts in my blog that has been craving for my attention these past few months.

And Sunday happens to be the perfect time to waltz your mind off, tossing out blog wisecracks and commenting on the lure, luster, and lurgies of a city gone by. That is if you are one of the many yuppies about town, having nothing spectacular to do on a weekend.

So yes, here I go full-steam on the thoughts that have been playing on in my mind for quite some time. I read parts of “The White Tiger’ and saw rushes of “Slumdog Millionaire” just to satiate my heightened curiosity on what was so extraordinarily great about the twin stories. And came back well, not so disappointed about the pieces of work, that has been described by puritans as efforts to sell slum India to the west. Have you noticed that of late, it has become chic to write about the heap of shit, or the rustic paan stains on the floor, or about the buffaloes taking a dip in the water lily ponds. Most of us see these depraved conditions all the time while zipping past the slums that border our bustling city. And yet, the stories have managed to waddle, gaggle, squeal and moan across the muddy mindscapes of we, the city-goers. Not to mention the humungous waves that the poverty-rich film has created and that fervently run on the globe’s smokescreens. On one hand, we are shell-shocked on the brazenness dished out so unpalatably and on the other hand, we are smug happy about we making it to the Oscars and Bookers, while piggy-riding on the poops and hoops of a Slum India.

Anyways, I read another novel called “Almost Single” and felt a huge sense of relief for this book centered on the highfalutin city life for a change. It made for fun reading, particularly because it was written from a woman’s perspective and on stuff that we women “care” most about – love, friendship, and betrayal. Not that women are desensitized to write anything else, but relationships or the lack of it always stays on the top of our “belting-out list”. And unlike, the “unfair” sex, we experience a horde of emotions all the time, while tumbling along in a relationship. And that reminds me of a toxic flick, by the name “About Adam” that almost had the vomit climbing up my throat. This film is about Adam, a sex addict who works his wiles to tot up a hat-trick of sleeping with all of his fiancée’s sisters (and sister-in-law too). And yet manages to stick along famously with his beau! One of the reviews in NY Times described the film as something that promotes the sensible notion that a little discretion and secrecy are necessary to maintain domestic peace. Wonder what the world is coming to - the world for us that revolves around men and their sickening judgments on things they can’t decipher or even care two figs about.

Sometimes, I feel that this is something that divides the poor from the rich, the rustic from the uber-modern. While the poor set off to gather things they need to survive in the world, the rich worry about the world of love/lust and security come crumbling down, all the same. Now that I have made one earth-shattering statement of the day, let me now retreat to the real world that stinks and stings all right, but excites and inspires as well.

Bridge to Terabithia - Movie Review

This movie’s teaser and a few opening scenes might suggest a storyline similar to “Peter Pan”, “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, “The Chronicles of Narnia” and other fantasy tales. However, as the story lurches ahead, you would realize that that the film is not about exploring a magic land with talking trees and mythical animals; it is about bridging the gap between reality and the unseen realms of imagination in one’s own mindscape.

The movie is seen through the eyes of Jesse (Josh Hutcherson), a quiet 10 year old who lives a cloistered life. The only way he expresses himself is through brushstrokes and vivid colors on a white canvas. Being the son of a poor farmer, he faces blunt barbs from the kids at his school and has no one whom he can befriend. Enters Leslie Burke (Anna Sophia), a new student who finds it difficult to make friends at school. A bond of friendship soon develops between the two, making them livelier and happier than ever.

On an afternoon jaunt, they enter a forest land by swinging on a rope across the creek. Anna tells Jeese to “open the eyes of his mind” and they “see” a magical land that they name as “Terabithia”. This land with its whimsy creatures like walking trees, a swarm of warrior flies, and evil lurking shadows are all conjured up by the two young and spirited minds. For them, the magical retreat is a chink of light that shines through their otherwise dull and mundane lives. Jesse and Anna soon become great friends and their relationship eventually veers towards love. A scene where Jesse bids adieu to Anna and learns that he has fallen in love, will remain etched in your memory for long.

It’s only after Anna dies in a freak accident, does Jesse see the imaginary world come crumbling down. He learns some of the grim realities that will prepare him to face more of life’s travails. The movie ends with Jesse ushering his kid sister into “Tiberthia” as the crowned princess.

The film’s performances are essayed to perfection by its protagonists, who inject both life and boundless energy into it. Though the animations cannot be called the highlight of the film, it nevertheless grips one’s interests throughout the movie.

What makes this movie different from the other fantasy flicks is that the characters do not remain forever in their little utopia that is all fair and bright, but regularly return to the rough and tumble world, to which they belong. It truly is a movie that can be watched by both kids and adults.

The Triumph of Hope Over Despair

This is my fourth entry to the Quick Tales Competition. :)

Reverie lifted her pen to write, but words couldn’t reach the tip of her pen. Instead a small blob of ink dripped from the pen onto the page of her journal. Flipping through the blank pages, she realized her heart was pretty much like it, devastatingly stark, and which lacked anyone to love or be loved by.

She decided to empty out her ache and fatigue and fill in the pages of her journal with her thoughts thus….

“I've been living in the shadows of my past,
the moments of grief though have only helped me last,
For I knew there will be a new beginning,
In the story of my life,
I hope to pen the chapter of love,
someday and I hope the ink never dries…”

Slowly, with her trembling hands, she tore the pages she'd written out of the journal, and, for a moment, prepared to shred them into tiny pieces. But something stopped her. She knew that the pages deserved better than going straight to the trash. She threw them out of her window, hoping that her words find someone with a sincere heart to read it and value its worth.

Large drops of sweat streamed over Prithvi’s brow. Someone was speaking on his cell phone,” Listen…not more than 100 tickets have been sold yet”. Prithvi knew that the hype over his live music show had burst like a bubble. He was finished and that no one would possibly whisk the welcome mat for him ever again. The twists and turns, the high drama and intrigue in his life may have possibly entered the last act. But Prithvi was raring to prove that his spirit is unbeatable and braced himself with the piece that was to express the vigor of his creative beginnings. Melodies of his song wafted in the breath of the summer winds waiting for words to adorn its forlorn form.

The wind flew, carrying the soul of the song, on its soaking wings. It left the sheets at the door of the man who aspired to re-write his destiny. When he read the lines penned by an unknown hand, he knew it was going to be the one to lend beauty and magic to his swan-song.

“Prithvi rocks with his voice!!! “, became the rallying cry in popular music, the day after he performed. The tickets of all his future shows were now sold out.

Reverie’s words of love, longing, and pursuit had held out a silent promise to herself and to the listeners. She had known all along that the human spirit can never be crushed, and the chainless mind can never be subdued.

Virtual Epiphany Circa 2010

This is my third entry to the Quick Tales competition.

It was 13th January, 2010, when I had started writing my online journal. This was during my stint as a student in US. For the first time, I had been away from my family and friends in India whom I missed terribly. So, during the lonely hours, I would bang away at the keyboard to record my day’s solemn occurrences. Some people did care to read up my trivia. Probably it was my unusual handle, Tearful_Tanya that attracted a huge fan base. Within minutes of posting an entry, people would start to leave their messages. I used to get favorable comments mostly, but at times there were taunts like “Your writing sucks!” too, that I had to live with.

But my eyes would always trawl through the feedback section for one xman_woody who would encourage me to dream and work harder on my writings. I wanted to know more about him. This prompted me to leave a comment for him, one day. His reply came instantly. And this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that I always had dreamt of.

“Isn’t it a chirpy morning today?” was his message that reached me everyday, and that always managed to lift my low spirits. He would always talk on the periphery of any subject that I would touch upon during our discussions. I found that queer, but I thought it was because he didn’t want to divulge any details about himself. But I did manage to unravel things about him through our regular conversations. I knew that there certainly existed a bond, that was growing strong with each passing day, but it saddened me to think that we lived and loved only in the virtual world.

I had started feeling almost an isolation of being cut out from the real world and this made me dash off a message one day,” I want to meet you. I want to know if you are for real or not!” His reply was in the positive. I told him we could meet at the coffee parlor near my house. And to this he concurred.

So on the anointed day, I turned up at the place and looked around with hopeful eyes and an eager-beaver heart. I waited for an hour and then decided to start my laptop using the free wireless access at the coffee house. I logged on and left the message, “Are you there?” And within seconds I got a reply, “I was waiting for you!” “I thought you would come to see me”, was my message to him this time. “Yes! I am right here waiting for you.” I ran my astonished eyes at this message. I found another comment in my inbox. It read “Come be part of the discussion rooms to receive messages written by our virtual bots. This will simulate the feel of interacting with real people.” I found xman_woody at the top of the list of virtual participants!

And when the two worlds met!

This is my second entry to the Quick Tales competition.

The evening wind that had descended on the quiet village roused the bossom of the autumn trees and blew away its dry leaves. The leaves now collected itself near a mound of earth. John who had come this way in search of wood was attracted to this 2-foot high mound. As he bent down to have a closer look, he saw a journal nestling cozily inside the sandy loam of clay. He read the lines that adorned its first sheet:

“You CAME at last.
I had sung into the wind to bring me the one I would love the best.
And today, after the golden orb of the sun had closed over the horizon,
I had seen you, are you for real or a vision”

No sooner had he read the lines, the mound suddenly vanished and so did everything else that had been around him. The brown earth that he was standing upon earlier had now taken the form of a stone cobbled path. The dim view of the forests was now replaced by a sparkling night scene of a city, bustling with people, and brimming with vigor. John ran his startled eyes on what surrounded him. He didn’t know where he was. At a distance, John noticed a man making a candle from the wax drippings. There was a candle burning next to him that had the shape of a journal. John blew the candle off hurriedly and took it in his hands. He was surprised to find that the candle had some wax tablets within it and inscribed on it were some lines….

“And again in my dream,
you quietly tip-toed in,
I saw in your eyes a twinkle,
by the glow of a flickering candle.”

John stopped reading the diary and looked on in astonishment. He did not know if he was dreaming or if it was real. Was he only a figment of someone’s imagination? John woke up perspiring. So that was a dream after all, he said to himself letting out a heaving sigh. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the journal again, this time kept next to him. The lines now read:

”You slept with your head propped on a mossy rock;
your face was the most pleasant one that I have seen.
But you live in my mind’s realm,
you are only a dream! I will not allow your thoughts to remain;
Goodbye, O! Vision for I will never see you again.”

The diary now fell from John’s hands.

By reading the diary, he had crossed the mark that separated his own world from that of the real one. He had to meet with the same fate that was ordained for anyone who learnt the truth about the twin worlds!

My Guarding Angel

(This is my entry to the Caferati Quick Tales 2008 contest.)

I flipped through the pages of the journal that I had unearthed from the remote crevices of a closet beside some dilapidated ruins. I passed a look of distaste at the owner of this wreckage who looked every bit a chunk of misery himself. A blanket shrouded his left leg (the other one had been amputated just below his knee, some years back). “Maybe Munshiram will live another day”, was the missive that the local physician had sent me. And I had received the news with not much melancholy. On turning the last few pages of the journal, I saw something scribbled in deep blue ink. Somehow, my interest was arrested and I started to read the contents of this page.

“I lost the only one I ever really had in my life, my eight-year Sumi. On that fateful morning, I was awakened by the sound of an approaching storm and almost instantly, water had flooded in through the backdoor of our house and I had found myself surrounded by a seething, rushing torrent of waters. As I fought the blow of the rains, I looked in vain for Sumi who had suddenly disappeared. Two days later, her remains were fished out from a river. She had gone to her mother’s abode, was what everyone consoled me with later.

Why could not I have saved her? Why could I have not protected her from an untimely death? I had an answer to this when I saw a tiny form bundled in a thin blanket bobbing up and down the same rivulet that had drowned my child. The baby had been abandoned and left to die in the waters. While swimming across to reach her, something struck my feet hard. However, I held her small figure close to my chest and swam till I had found someone to take her away. I woke up in the hospital two days later with an amputated foot. But I was happy that I found my lost baby again. I named her after my own daughter. I was the fount of her wisdom and the apple of her eyes. That was before she got married. Now she sends me a few wads of notes every year and hardly ever writes to me. It breaks my heart to know that she doesn’t like me anymore…”

My eyes welled up with tears, for this child had been me and the man lying in the bed had been my guarding angel. I choked back my tears as I took his hands into mine. A smile now flitted across his features while he raised his eyes to heaven gushing with tears.

A little Introspection on the Day of Celebration

15th of August…A flurry of activities underlines this day. On this day, everyone gets on a high horse to discuss problems of the country threadbare and do some serious introspection only to stuff back the high-rhetoric into a bundle, a day later. Huh!

So on this day, I decided to do some introspection myself. This was to find out if things have really changed in all these 61 prized years. I was ready to tack my journal with things that would either make me go tut-tut-tut or put a smug smile on my face. Read on to find out about my mission’s progress through the day.

Morning blues came in the form of a bumpy rickshaw ride on the traffic-heavy Mumbai roads. And thanks to the abundance of rain puddles, I experienced (not for the first time though) the agonies of being thrown into mid-air and being pulled back by virtue of sheer gravity. 61 years back, one would have heard of people rolling and pirouetting on the kuccha road tracks. We would have wished this experience to fade away into the sepia-tinted frames. I wonder if the BMC is making us relive that era by not filling up the piddling puddles. Right, things have not changed much on our “roads” to independence.

Completely different was my experience while boarding a new-fangled, sparkling train from Dadar. This train had (believe it or not) sleek aesthetics, padded and ergonomically designed seats, freshly painted interiors with tinted glass, shiny hangers, et al. Full marks to the politicians who made this happen by ensuring that they burn down enough trains (under religious/social/regional pretexts) annually for the CR to replace them with new ones.

As the train clickety-clacked through some breath-stopping (well literally) landscapes of pooping cows, overflowing drains, dirty nallahs, I wondered if it will take another 61 years to clean all this mess. And surely another 61 years to clear the cobwebs from the minds of our inefficient and corrupt babus!

However, something passed me that made me squeal with delight. It was Ranbir’s poster on the back of a BEST bus. I was happy seeing the change that has come about in the la-la land of Indian movies. Even though we are pilfering movies/songs (like never before) from the west, we are treaded in the right direction at least when it comes to making our heroes strip (remember the Saawariya towel act). The producers have finally woken up to the view that the female species love to lap up every cheesy chunk of these chick magnets! Did we hear of this in the Alam Ara era, hell no! And may we galz get to see more of Ranbir (no pun intended!).

And yes the television was never so full of the adrenaline pumping speeches/songs/films about nationality. I was impressed with one of the hard-hitting dialogues by SRK in the film Swades that I watched on this day. He says Indians love to couch on the “nationality” idiom all the time and call themselves a culture-rich nation when the truth is that we are lagging behind most of the countries on every count. SRK drove home the point that it is work and not talk that will get India on the global radar. Yes, we did hear a homily on pretty much the same lines coming from our netas of yesteryears. But things have remained the way as they have always been!

For instance, the number of medals that we win in the Olympics remains constant every leap year. It’s a shame that we are celebrating the success of a solitary bronze/silver/gold medal won in the games when other countries have piled on enough metals to open a mine for themselves. So when Abhinav Bindra was quizzed on how he felt after he won that medal, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu. Some may talk about coming home and dry at least on the “IT/BPO front”? Well, a small piece of info for all of you. Some of the BPO employees who were on a holiday on July 4 (US Independence Day) worked on August 15 because they were not entitled to enjoy any Indian holidays! Another shocking fact is that while we burn our mid-night fluorescent bulbs and bend over backwards (till our heads touch the back of our feet) to get the outsourced work done, we get only 10 or 20% of the wages of our Western counterparts. All this suggest a modern form of slavery (not very different from the bonded slavery days of a pre-independent India).

So its true, things have not changed much. I wonder why are we not in the same league of the developed countries when we have ample resources and enough grit to make things happen? Where did we go wrong? I only wish that we bounce back from seemingly nowhere and in quick time so that we do not have to do such introspection on the day we got our freedom. Amen!

Bheja Fry - Review

Being a pleasant rainy day, I thought of gorging on some sumptuous pakoras downed with a steaming cup of chai. Instead, I settled down for a 70 mm movie on my small computer screen, innovatively titled Bheja Fry. And this movie did wring out a smile from me and left me with images of how someone can turn your whole orbit upside down with a single jagged swathe of their idiocy! For some reason, this film took me back a few decades, when we got to savor some real-good comedies aired on Doordarshan, devoid of any tasteless or crass elements (so ubiquitously present in today’s comedy films/serials).

Vinay Pathak with his caricature-friendly idiotic looks and Rajat Kapoor as a poker-faced high-class society guy deserve the maximum plaudits for their many-layered performances. This film looks a bit theatrical with the characters popping in and out of the frame, and with most of the scenes shot in the same location making you wonder, if the ennui will set in? But the movie gets only better because you get to study the characters better and even predict their behavior or reaction in the most kooky circumstances.

Ranjeet Thadani (Rajat Kapoor) is shown as a meanie with even the opening scene suggesting that where he is holding a morsel of food far enough to be out of a dog’s reach. He and his yuppie friends hold a dinner party every Friday to “introduce” some unsuspecting, dim-witted guest, whom they amuse themselves with. He later justifies this to his wife (Sarika) as “good harmless fun” (albeit at another’s expense). Ranjeet takes a fair stab at finding out another block-head for the next soiree. This is no one else but Bharat Bhushan (Vinay Pathak) whose irritating talk actually sets your teeth on edge and makes you wonder if this guy will end up being a target of Ranjeet and his friends, or make them the victims instead. And as predicted, the mad cap Bharat messes up Ranjeet’s life and relationships even before the latter has the time to react to the sorry happenstances.

Ranjeet is forced to take Bharat’s help to set his life back on track. Bharat on the other hand, seems more interested in living up to his “one of a kind buster” image with his super-idiotic and zany antics. Needless to say, he muddies up things every time, much to Ranjeet’s annoyance. This however conjures up some real witty scenes that raise the smile quotient. One of them is where Bharat unwittingly calls Ranjeet’s girl friend a “turkey” and explains to her that it is another word for nymphomania.

The other two characters that delight are that of Ranvir Shourey’s and Milind Soman’s. While the former plays a Tax officer and Bharat’s friend, the latter is Ranjeet’s friend who amuses himself no end at the convoluted twists and turns (and rubs off the infectious giggles on us too).

The only point where you want to haul the director (Rajat Kapoor) over the coals is when it comes to the originality aspect of the movie. Why does it have to be a rip-off of the French movie Le Dîner de cons? Why can’t we create our own comic plots? But overall, Bheja Fry is a great entertainer, though it doesn’t have the elements of a masala pot pourri. Wish they make more of this stuff!

Ugli Aur Pagli - Review

There were times when I had to scoot myself to the seat while watching some really amusing antics on the screen, and my guffaws would have reverberated off the walls in the theatre. And though the movie had the usual fare of the burping, snoring, and farting jokes, it did manage to tickle my jocular because of its few hilarious moments. It is certainly not a film which will make you sit by yourself in a haze of nostalgic bliss long after it has ended (something that Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na managed to pull off) and it is certainly not a patch on Pyaar Ke Side Effects. However, there is something about both Ugli and Pagli that will hook your eyeballs and guarantee some good laughs.

Firstly, Ranvir (Ranvir Shorey) and Kuhu (Mallika Sherawat) as the quintessential (believe it or not) college-going dude and dudess manage to snag at their respective cozy corners in our hearts. Ranvir is a loser who has failed his engineering exams four times in a row and is quite not ready to charm a girl yet. On the other hand, Kuhu, we realize is a “pagli” and a “talli” as well, and together they define a new “domineering girl and a whipped boy relationship”. Now come on, how many films have actually shown a girl treat a guy like a puppet on a string, whip him up crazy, or make him roam around streets donning a high-heeled stiletto and a petti-coat! And despite this swagger and torture, the guy still likes to goggle over our zesty Kuhu. Reason: He is deeply and madly in love with her!!! Are the audiences ready to view a spectacle like this without their eyebrows disappearing into hairlines? I guess the answer is a big “No”, considering the “thanda” response to the film, so far.

But nevertheless, the movie has its share of some real fun. For instance, the scene where Ranvir, thanks to a rather flatulent combination of whisky and chana, lets off a “deboo” and realizes that the girl in the lift would rather puke over him than give him a come hither look. Or the scene where Kuhu wears her undies outside her clothes, a la superwoman, will send you into a flat spin for sure.

Having said that, I also think, the movie doesn’t plum the depths of your heart unlike the original My Sassy Girl (in its Korean version). Perhaps the chemistry between our sassy lass and Ranvir didn’t work or the script simply lacks the luster and the gooey delight. The movie careens towards a disastrous end when Kuhu suddenly disappears for no rhyme or reason, leaving Ranvir quite lovelorn. He then decides to pen down his own story (albeit a happy ending) that wins the brownie points of a film director! And couple of years later ends up meeting his lady love to earn the much-needed smooch (I bet half of the people in the theatre who were waiting for this lip-lock wouldn’t have shown an inkling of interest to witness it towards the end!)

On the acting front, the tongue-lashing Mallika and the funny Ranvir play their parts convincingly. The other character who impressed was Sushmita Mukherjee who plays Mallika’s mother. Her impersonation of Sharmila’s accent is to watch out for!

So if you would like to see the high voltage quirks and rants of our “ugli” and “pagli”, and amuse yourself silly, then go for this movie.

Kerala Rhapsody - Part 2

Collecting worry lines and singing “Life is a grind” had become an everyday-norm for me till the time I took a snap decision to punctuate life with some fun and good food. And we (moi, mom, and pa) found ourselves heaving our way back to Kerala, our homeland. Here is an attempt at painting an account of the journey through God’s own country (truly!!!).
Starting off with some train tidbits,we traveled by the new-fangled all-AC Kurla - Kochuveli Garib Rath Express. The first thing that you will notice about this train is that there is an additional berth attached to the window side space (that has obviously has increased the coach capacity and added to Laloo’s revenue). The only flip side is that four people would have to share a row on one side and that makes it a tad uncomfortable. The food served in the train was good, though I missed the goodies that we used to buy at every station courtesy the window pass-through of the regular non A/C trains. These woes apart, the AC ride was fairly good.

We got down at Ernakulam, the bustling city of North Kerala to catch a bus to our destination, Munnar. It took about 4 hours to reach Munnar, and the path definitely was ridden with a lot of twists and turns. I was happy to find that the clime was cool here, though not very chilly. Unlike other vacation spots, Munnar is not completely commercialized and therefore it does manage to mesmerize you with its cherubic and innocent looks.

The next day, we embarked on the journey to espy the tea plantations (said to be the key attraction of Munnar). These plantations shrouded in fog and spread far across the terrain offered a beautiful view. It seemed as if nature had a whisked a welcome-mat for all those eager to admire its beauty and glory.

These tea plantations owned by Tata offer jobs to more than 40000 people. We heard that tending after the tea plants is no easy task, for the saplings are under constant attack from pests and even from the mist! In addition, the tea plants have to be trimmed every 20 days and cut every five years.

As we drove through the swirling paths to observe the plantations, my heart was constantly in limbo. And on looking down, I would have nearly choked in a dead swoon, for we were on the top most points of Munnar.

For those who don’t know, you can take the routes from Munnar to Madupatty, Coimbature, Cochin, and Thekkady to explore further.

On our way to Madupatty, we saw machans (houses nested in tall trees) and were told that these were built by the advisasis dwelling there. And I wondered how cool it would be to live in the midst of nature...rippling water, picturesque terrains, verdant meadows. Unlike we city dwellers who constantly feel the need to break free from the city's shrill sounds and polluted air, people living there may not even need to sling the vacation bag and tread on to places far and wide!We passed by the photo/echo/top view/shooting points replete with unspoilt natural surroundings. We also saw the cardamom and coffee plantations on the way to Cochin. The Attukudu Water falls was a comfy retreat, as we squatted on the rocks and dipped our feet in the cold waters.

We also went the Coimbature direction to Rajmallai that houses the Eravikulam National Park. A good three hours drive from this place is the Chinnar wild life sanctuary that has a watch tower from where you get an aerial view of the entire area. But you have to climb a stagerring 100 steps to get there! We also passed the Sandal Wood forest, and were informed that one of these trees could have fetched a few lakh rupees for its owner!!!

We stayed a few days in Munnar, and soaked in the warm hospitality of the place and also savored the delicious food made from Munnar’s fine spices. Then, we retreated to Ernakulam, from where we took a train to Guruvayoor. This place, famous for the Krishna temple, attracts hordes of tourists every year. A serpentine queue of devotees is a familiar sight here. It is heartening to see so many people waiting patiently under the scorching sun to offer their prayers.

Our last leg of journey was the Cochin city, where we shopped and ate to our heart’s content. Mom was particularly happy to have tasted the authentic meen curry that is made in the earthern pots.

Overall, this trip was amazing and an adrenalin race from start to finish!! And so yes, I am now ready to face the rat race of the city life.

Race - Film Review

Looks like there is a six-cornered tussle or “Race” between all the actors of this film. For everyone one seems to be busy garnering a meaty screen presence by cutting moral corners or nudging each other off the sleeves. The beauties turn up in the slinkiest bib n tucker, each vying for your attention. And if that is not enough, you have Saif’s stubble to catch your eyeballs and Anil’s lovable quirks. The only problem is that the course of this “Race” gives you sudden jerks and sharp turns, and leaves you overtly out-of-breath. For in an attempt to bring on the “twist n turns”, the director swerves the film off the track completely.

If you still want to hear an account of this film, here it is ....in my shytle…

The two brothers - Ranvir (Saif) and Rajeev (Akshay) are in the horse-racing biz (see, that’s the first thread of the RACE connection). The second is the fact that Rajeev is perpetually racing with his brother….trying to unsuccessfully outdo him till he decides to bump him off forever. One such attempt pitchforks Saif into the hospital, and he is pronounced not dead yet. Lo and behold, he bungee jumps out of the hospital to shake a leg or two with his girl friend, Shaina (Bipasha Basu). And there is not even a single bruise mark on his body after an earth-shattering accident. That’s Unbreakable Part 2!

Anyways, Ranvir learns that Rajeev is in love with our sexy siren, and decides to sacrifice his love for bro’s sake. And Rajeev promises to have Complan instead of hard drink as his breakfast menu everyday, after his marriage to Shaina. So the marriage happens and then another story unfolds. Shaina and Ranvir plot to kill the Unbreakable, the second time. But not before he gets to sleep with Bips and groove to a Touch-Me-Touch Me Not number (with Katrina Kaif in tow).

And as part of another convoluted twist, we learn that Shaina is actually on Ranvir’s side. Or not? Because she pushes the latter off a building after bidding a short farewell. And just when the partners in crime are about to pounce on the dead man’s insurance money, Sophiya (Katrina) surfaces claiming to be Ranvir’s wife.

Around the same time, Robert Decosta (Anil Kapoor) and his assistant (Sameera Reddy) enter the fray to investigate into the murder. Because Anil gets all his crime fundas right by munching fruits, his secretary strives to supply a generous amount of all kinda seasonal exotics (bananas, berries, melons, grapes). He names it and she gets it! OK..now coming back to the story….already gone awry…Sophiya recounts how she got married to Ranvir amid all the hip-swinging and shaking in a queer little Cape Town.

However, it turns that Sophiya has been acting on Rajeev’s orders! And that Anil is in cahoots with Rajeev…leaving our poor Bips all alone! But hey wait, Ranvir nows emerges from the ashes and becomes the Dead Man Walking. He jumps, rolls, and pirouettes to save his damsel-in-distress (But wait ..wait…was she not the one who ditched him earlier on?)

Whatever, Ranvir now returns back to bro’s den and challenges him to a race (NO…NOT AGAIN). At this point, some of the deadly secrets are revealed….And bet…you won’t find them half as engrossing as the full-on race that we all started off with.

After the film credits start to roll, a semblance of normalcy comes back to you…you thanks stars for being able to order your brain to go on a roller-coaster ride with no bumps guarantee!!!

PS: And RACE wins the race for being the most disappointing thriller of the year.

Of Clones and Copycats

It was my third day at the convent school, and I remember having come home crying, because I had flunked a simple class test. My mom couldn’t understand why that happened, because I was nearly good at alphabets and figures, and had prepared so well for the test. It was then that I told her, how unflinchingly I had copied all the answers from my neighbor’s notebook! Since then, I have been of this belief that, in life, you achieve success by dint of brains and creativity, than borrowed ingenuity.

So, I decided never to cheat or copy, and happily went on with my life joggling in the groove of my beliefs. Now imagine, the stunned plaintiveness with which I received the tidings that my favorite songs from the movie, Jab We Met are in fact, a direct lift from some foreign songs. When I heard the original track of the song Aao Milo Chale (called Di belakangku by Peter Pan), I was shocked, because every sinew of this Indonesian song sounded the same as its Indian version. Then the revelation, that almost all of Pritam’s songs are brazenly copied from bizarre sources, was like a blow to me. And to think that, I used to like this guy’s music! I had simply drooled on a ditty from the movie, Life in a Metro, “composed” by Pritam, whose opening guitar notes have in fact, been strung by the band called Queensrÿche in the album, Silent Lucidity. No big surprise, that the movie itself borrows some parts from the English blockbuster, The Apartment.

In another startling revelation, one of the websites claimed that R.D. Burman’s song Mehbooba Mehbooba (that by itself has umpteen remixed versions) is a rip-off of the song Say you love me by Demis Roussoss. The website (www.itwofs.com) also points out to the evergreen melody, Tumse Milkar, (my personal favourite ) of being on the same music wavelength as Leo Sayer’s When I Need You. Several such Hindi numbers (which I have been humming and munching on since my salad days) have been identified as brazen lifts from foreign sources.

Also, the much-lauded SLB movie, Black (the movie I used to watch with tears in my eyes) turned out to be a cut-copy-paste product of the English film, The Miracle Maker? I remember, during my reporter days, I had come across such "inspired" directors who bought movie CDs to the studio, and designed/directed every frame by watching the original film. When I had questioned them about it, they came up with an interesting repartee ...“Why, it’s not the same story..it is set in an Indian context!” Well, as long as Hollywood doesn't sit up and take notice, all is safe and well with the directors. But David Dhawan (who made Partner on the lines of a Hollywood movie, Hitch) was not so lucky. He was accused of plagiarism by the producers of the original movie. Now come on, Dhawan’s Partner, cannot possibly be a dead ringer of Hitch, for the former is labourously dovetailed with a potpourri of Indian tadkas, jhatkas, and matkas.

Huh, now take a peek-a-boo at this site (www.bollycat.com) and you will know how many Hollywood movies have “inspired” our creative talents back home to produce some of the most unoriginal and banal movies of the times.

Well, plagiarism is not new to Bollywood, and has been thriving since its inception. Does that mean that we genuinely lack the creativity to belt out good music or produce original scripts? Why do we have to look elsewhere for the "inspiration", "creative muse", "influences", and what have you? Why not turn the searchlights inwards? Today Indian films/music albums reach out to audiences far and wide. It's no longer possible to bamboozle the audiences who are completely aware as to what is original and what is not (if the revelations and comments in the given websites, are anything to go by). It’s time that the Indian producers/musicians wake up to this fact and pull up their socks by bringing a whiff of originality than being pulled out of the competition!

PS: No part of this piece is lifted from any source. And yes I still like to believe that originality is better than the so-called inspirations!

FilmFare Awards Nite - Some Facts and Revelations

While there was a full-on display of chutzpah, punch ‘n’ pep at the 53rd Filmfare Awards nite, there was also a lot of ‘read-in between lines’ spouted by the Khan duo (SRK and Saif). It was easy to surmise that a line has been drawn clear between the “Over the hump” and “Down in the Dump” camps in Filmistan. The former comprised survivors whose filmi collections set the cash register ringing this year (SRK and Farha Khan), and the latter were the film-makers who as they say had to pay a price for their self-indulgence (Sanjay Leela Bhansali and RGV).

SRK even went to the extent of stumping out the ‘Na-real’ awards for what he believed were the the worst ‘performances’ of the year. He mocked at the Saawariya director and dismissed Ranbir as a kiddo, picked on Jodha-Akbar’s longish narration, and wondered if Darsheel should have even been included in the nominations for the Best Actor Award this year. He did not spare even Big B, as he grubbed up the topic of ‘not-being-in-the-AB’s-list-of-Invitees”. He was not too happy with Akshay’s growing popularity either, and heckled him during his on-stage performance. In short, SRK made it pike-staff clear that if someone is to rule the filmdom, it is he himself. And that’s one of the reasons why OSO was never panned by critics so much as Saawariya or Aag, though OSO was the worst of the lot. No one complained about the crass comedy, or the regressive lines mouthed by SRK himself in the movie, and no one said it was awfully directed. Reason: No one dares to defy the King Khan.

It was also clear that SRK’s comments on the awards nite did not go down well with a lot of people. The ‘blue-towel’ act of the Khans was met with a tepid response from the audience, while some rooted for other performers to win the coveted actor award! (Like Hrithik Roshan who put it succinctly well in his “May the best child win!” quip!) SRK’s giving away the worst-dressed award to Vidya Balan was not in the best spirit and Vidya retaliated by “You look like a waiter yourself” repartee! Now Vidya had better watch out, for having rubbed Khan the wrong way!

The Filmfare shebang also managed to pep up enough interest as it focused on the very-much-in-love duo (Kareena and Saif) as well as the on-again-off-again couple (Deepika and Ranbir)! If you remember, the Stardust function held sometime back, also had banked on the Kareena-Saif-Shahid triumvirate story and speculated on what happened JAB THEY ALL MET. This leaves one wondering if award shows are another way of conjuring up tabloid slants or really awarding the deserving performers!

Because, I was part of a film magazine myself, I know how deftly one of the most awaited reality shows, i.e., the award functions is arranged. The scripts are written for the anchors, the invitees are personally delivered, calls are made to inform the “big stars” that they have been nominated, and their dates booked well in advance for performing at the gala event. In contrast, some wannabe stars get the snub and do not get invited at all. The decision to award the performance is also based on the ‘power’ and ‘clout’ wielded by the stars than pure merit. For instance, in one of the recently-held award functions, SRK’s film, Chak De, won a bevy of awards, including the Best Film (when the more deserving winner was TZP). This was a pre-planned move to ensure SRK’s presence in the awards function. So, the excitement about the awards nite may have chugged and finally died down, but the question still remains, is the “talent” or “performance” that wins the awards each year, or is it something else?

Working with "Devils"

The clock is ticking away, the pressure is mounting, your head is splitting into smithereens, but hell, you can’t do anything about it! Because what figures prominently in your life is work, more than what you can pitchfork on your priority heap. And that’s when the flame of love and peace flickers out from your life.

The movie, “Devil Wears the Prada” talks about the same work obsession shared by a slew of svelte women working for a fashion magazine. This movie has Andy (Anne Hathaway) executing the insane orders of her boss (Meryl Steep) in a bid to shin her way up in a journalist career. She works round the clock, dons stilettos, goes for a makeover, and kowtows to her boss like the other assistants. She bawls her heart out on realizing that her boss doesn’t even applaud any of her efforts and instead saddles her on with zanier demands. Andy’s friends want her to quit the job, but she finds it difficult to give up her career aspirations, when the door to instant fame is just a few paces away. However, it doesn’t take long for her to realize that giving up on the job that “million girls would love to take up” is the only way of getting a whiff of happiness back in her life.

But that was a picture-perfect ending! Come to think of it, how many people in real would actually think of “quitting and getting a life” as an option, in this morbidly cut-throat competitive world? I know, had I put up with the ego and demands of my erstwhile boss (editor of a film magazine), I would have been rubbing shoulders with the who’s who in the film industry. I could not survive because I wanted to break free. And free I was, as I jumped on to the IT bandwagon and revved up my chance of kick starting an alternative career. But then, history has an awfully vicious habit of repeating itself. I was in the midst of all the wonderful things again like swelling work, foul-mouthed bosses, and thankless errands! So, forced I was to resort to chopping and changing jobs every single year of my life. But did things change for the better? Hell no! Imagine my frustration when after 5-6 years of building a life around the quicksand called “WORK”, my BOSS tells me that I need an appropriate training on the job! Worse comes to the worse. After having burnt the mid-night oil, tossing and turning in the sleep only to have nightmares of not meeting the deadlines, I get something really sweet as my REWARD. A mail from the BOSS saying that the Project has won some award, when I am not even there in the list of team members who contributed to the project’s success! OK, OK, I know, time to break free again!

But then, I know, certain things will never change. For instance, if you are the hard-working type, you will never get your due. If you are smart enough, you might just win your boss’s approval, and then you may have to wait a couple of years to get your boss chinwag about your promotion, and if that doesn’t happen, then twiddle your fingers of course. For all you know, you might get real lucky! So there is no escaping from WORK and the crazy odds and ends that come along with it. As I try doing the balancing act between work and work of course, I mutter the famous lines spouted by Meryl Steep in the movie “Oh don’t be silly, everyone wants this. Everyone wants to be us.”

Taare Zameen Par - Review

This movie will make you relive your childhood – the time of life that bursts forth in a riot of laughing colors, the time when you look at the world through dreamy eyes and amble in carefree abandon. And in tow with the squealing joy comes the dreary prospect of going to school, racing through the homework, and cramming to meet the grades! However close the childhood travails are to reality, it takes pluck and sensitivities of an actor like Aamir Khan to portray it on the big screen!

Taare Zameen Par, Aamir’s first cinematic endeavor definitely stands out as a winner for its inventive narration and unique appeal.

This movie revolves around the 9 year old Ishaan Awasthi [Darsheel Safary] who hates the rigors of the school life. He bunks classes and saunters across the roads instead, quietly observing the palette of colors that surround him. These vivid hues and an éclat of imagination find expression in his paintings. However, no one appreciates his creative fervor. Instead he is baulked at by his parents for not paying attention to studies. They are unaware of the fact that the child has dyslexia, which means reading common words is as difficult for him as reading a foreign language. He is therefore, packed off to a boarding school, where another torturous experience numbs him like a blow. He is reduced to a mere chunk of misery.

But luckily for him, help is afoot just around the corner in the form of art teacher Ram Niwas Nikhumb (Aamir Khan). Ram infuses in him an optimistic vim while working out novel methods to make reading and writing easier for him. In an all-is-well-that-ends-well ending, that may look clichéd; the kid wins the painting competition and earns the brownie points of his teachers, parents, friends et al.

On the acting front, Aamir is a treat to watch while Darsheel essays a natural performance. Some of the scenes in the film too, like the one that showed a few spastic children performing were no doubt real and therefore, portrayed real emotions and real drama.

Aamir Khan, the “thinking actor” forces us to think hard about the current façade of parenthood that focuses on academic progress and the effect that it can have on the young and impressionable minds. He sends out a message to the parents to gauge and appreciate the real potential of their children. Taare Zameen Par is a must-watch for all the parents and kids of course!

Weekend Potpourri

As the weekend zips through blithely, I attempt to capture and pen down the flitting thoughts that come to my mind.

Filmi Flavor:
Two films that I saw over this weekend were Khoya Khoya Chand and Dus Kahiyaan. The former does manage to capture the nuances of the tinsel world (that shimmered during the 50’s and 60’s). A slew of films, released this year (like Om Shanti Om and Saawariya), attempted to recreate the magic and aura of this golden period in Indian cinema, but none could have done it better than Khoya Khoya Chand.

The film’s central character Nikhat, (Soha Ali Khan) is an actress who has carved out a niche for herself in the film industry and is a bundle of talent. However, in the blind pursuit of love, she ends up heart-broken and an alcoholic. I would have liked this movie, if it had a more coherent ending…perhaps one that would have shown Nikhat emerging a winner, despite the odds. She need not have been portrayed as someone who steadfastly needs and seeks succor from the men in her life.

This film fails to touch a chord with the audiences and will therefore not be appreciated by most. Dus Kahiyaan (featuring 10 unconnected stories) was a big disappointment. Except for Rice Plate and Gubbare, none of the short stories really leaves an impact! A couple of them were way too amateurish to be shown on the big screen, and you thank heavens that it doesn’t tax your mind for long!

Food Fetish:
I stumbled upon this wonderful site http://www.vahrehvah.com/ which attempts to explore the numerous spice combinations that adds to the depth of flavor in the Indian cooking. Truly, Indian cooking is a celebration of spices- one that pleases the eyes and tickles your taste-buds. It truly appeals to your senses!

That reminds of a bizarre place in Montreal – a hotel owned and run by blind people. When you enter this hotel, you are directed to a dark corner, and you can hear only the whispers of the blind waiter or smell the wafting aromas of the food. Strangely enough, the experience is as much palate-rewarding as its unique appeal (of course sans the visual sense ).

Cricket Crackers:
Remember the infamous Bodyline Series! I came across one of the videos, that showed Chappell directing his brother, Trevor, to bowl the last ball of match, underarm. I espied, one of the most shameful moments of the international cricket. Wonder, why no action taken against the erring Australian team that so brazenly broke the rules to win the match. Hope we dont encounter moments like these again in what- is- considered-to- be a gentleman's game of cricket.

Signing off for now…will be back with some more pot-pourri thoughts in my next posting.

Reviving the Golden Memories - DD's Heydays

Sometimes life just whizzes past your eyes and leaves you with the sepia-tinted memories, so profound that they stay in your heart forever.

With tender fondness, I reminisce the good ol’ DD (yes, our own Doordarshan) days that formed an inimitable part of my childhood. As I take a stroll down the memory lane, an era flashes by...of the 80s and 90s, untouched by the concept of channel flicking or sweep of the TRPs. This was the time when television (DD) had reached out to the nook and corners of the country and touched lives in a way that will be remembered for years to come.

For, can anyone forget DD’s Malgudi Days that had the lovable “chami” or Swaminathan? He could have been any child living in the quiet Indian suburbs, who hated going to the school and instead doted on the small adventures of life. Be it the humming of the Ta-na-na-na-na, or the squealing joy in R.K. Laxman’s sketches, Malgudi still does exists in the Indian mindscape.

Was it not fun espying the twitching eyes of Mungerilal who forever wallowed in the field of impossible dreams? And Wagle whose gaffes were funny enough and funnier was the way he chose to cover them up. In some way, these characters represented the middle class with their aspirations of making it big (though not always having the means to realize their far-fetched dreams).

Another character that comes to my mind is that of Mr. Yogi (may be the Mr. tag never left him because of his NRI status). This “foreign-return” youth scouts for a life partner and ends up disappointed each time. The traditions and travails of an arranged marriage, was shown with a sprinkling of humor and so was the expectations of/from the would-be groom.

While comedy ruled the roost, equally popular were the detective serials like Byomkesh Bakshi and Karamchand. The former starred a dhoti-clad Rajit Kapur, who analyzed and resolved knotty cases. On the other hand, Pankaj Kapoor as the carrot-chewing Karamchand, was a delight and so was Kitty, his assistant.

Not to be left behind were soap operas such as Hum Log and Buniyaad. (Much later came, Shanti and Swabhimaan, the two longest-running week day soaps on Indian Television.)
On the other hand, weekends were replete with the colors of Rangoli and the masti of cartoon serials like Jungle Book. (Remember the lines Chadi Pehenke Phool khila hai). Watching the mythological serials like Mahabharat and Chandrakanta on a weekend was as regular a routine as drinking a cup of tea!


Along with the dose of comedy, action, and drama was
an adrenaline shot of vibrant news capsules like Surabhi and Bharat –Ek Khoj. These programs unravelled the mysteries and intrigue of the rich Indian culture.

I would like to make a special mention of Udaan, the serial that is closest to my heart. This showed a young girl (Kavita Chowdary) who comes from a humble background and moves up to the position of an IPS officer. The IPS saw a rise in the number of women applicants after this serial became a huge hit in India. Cumulatively, the programs helped DD achieve what the media was designed to do in the first place.

With the onslaught of the cable network during the late 90’s, the hours of TV programming increased, but the quality of the serials (including DD's) showed a big dip. Today’s television content comprising the crass comedies, saas-bahu rasps, or the mindless reality dramas are all made with an eye on the TRP ratings.

How I wish the golden period comes again and retouch our lives, renew our thoughts, and enlighten our hearts!

Three Cheers to Madhuri!

Like they say, every bit of work that you do should be your soul’s best. You should be able to pursue your passion doggedly, breaking barriers and molding the mindsets. That just about sums up the life of India’s most popular actress - Madhuri Dixit. And the best part is that her come-back film, Aaja Nachle also happens to be a sparkling example of how sweat and passion blend to conjure up a winning concoction!

This film narrates a simple story of Dia (Madhuri Dixit) – free-spirited and rebellious. She is someone who loves dancing and considers it as an art-form that can warm the cockles of anyone’s heart. An institution called Ajanta nestled in a small town called Shamili is the place where Dia learns the lessons of life and dance. Here, she falls in love with an American photographer and faces the dilemma of losing her love or forsaking her family. She chooses the former and earns the wrath of the town inmates who had once adored her for what she was! She leaves the town and moves to New York, where she shins her way up to become a professional choreographer. True, her love disappoints but she finds a source of strength in her daughter.

She returns to India to meet her teacher who, as she is informed, on his death-bed. She also learns that Ajanta, a hub of art, is soon going to be demolished, and a mall is to be constructed in its place. She has to now rekindle the love of music and dance in the heart of the town that has closed its door on her. The movie is about how, with her sheer grit, she pulls off the unimaginable!

I can think of a few movies that were created on similar lines: Chocalat, an English movie about how a lady selling chocolates transforms the conservative locals into a fun-loving lot. It will also be compared with Lagaan. But, what sets Aaja Nachle apart is the way each frame is executed to the finest detail – whether it be the dance, drama, costumes, or the characters – all breathe life into the script!


And there is another reason, why we should be proud of this film! It marks the come-back of Madhuri Dixit, the first Bollywood actress, who even today, is on par with any male actor – whether it be Amitabh or Shahrukh! Her beauty and dance is as celebrated as her acting skills, and her name revered by anyone who loves films. She has proved that a woman can balance both her domestic life pulls and a glamorous workplace pushes. She is truly, someone all Indian women can look up to.

I particularly loved this film, because it showed, that love and marriage need not complete a woman. She can be single and yet happy. She can make her own decisions, and yes...she has a mind and soul of her own too (something which most Hindi films never portray). I give this film a thumbs up!

Saawariya – An Ode to Love

I would have never thought of penning a movie review, but I couldn’t help dedicating paens of praise for Saawariya. This is a film painted in rich hues of blue and green from an artistic palette. It is a beautiful composition of love and pathos that tugs at your heartstrings and speaks to your soul. It offers myriad tints of surreal imagination – the Venetian gondolas cruising along the back canals, bright turquoise glow of the rippling water, and a bird's eye view of an imaginary land with magical neon lights and domed houses (you can even see a wagon chugging along and building to the crescendo of the film). Wait, wait, its not all imagery and props…Saawariya offers more than just visual delight!

It makes you laugh, and cry at times, and feel for its characters. You can almost relate to Raj (Ranbir Kapoor) and Sakina (Sonam Kapoor) when their paths cross and diverge or when love drives them to a maddening frenzy. It makes you think…haven’t I lived through these moments before...loved and lost....grieved and groveled for the love that was never mine?

Saawariyan is a simple story of a lonely guy who falls heads over heels in love with a girl he meets on a somber night, and is heart-broken to hear that she is waiting for Aman (Salman Khan) who has promised to return soon. When Raj and Sakina meet on the deserted bylanes, and exchange banters like long lost friends, cheerily hug and hold each other, you do see the sparks flying…and you think …I am no stranger to the torrents of passion, I know how the thread of love had spun a cocoon around my heart and blinded me to the realities of life.

Some of these film’s moments will stay in your heart forever-

1. Raj confessing his love and Sakina brushing it off as a joke, though fully knowing it is not.
2. Sakina asking Raj what would he do if her lover returns (since they have grown used to each other’s company).
3. Sakina walking away from Raj into the arms of her lover whom she had never hoped to return, and Raj smiling despite the hurt and pain

As I came out the theatre, I reminisced the lines of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s whose novel (White Nights) inspired this film:

"May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart ... Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"

All in all, Saawariya scores on every front and takes Indians films to a new level. It has introduced the concept of theatrical stories dovetailed with technical finesse on the visual part and hauntingly hummable tracks. A must-see for all the movie buffs and for those in love :)

How I fell in love with Canada?

Imagine an amalgamation of the most divine colors caught in a silver prism – orange, red, yellow, green, and blue…that’s Canada for you.

Presenting my ditties of a romantic encounter with Montreal (Canada): the beautiful town of the maples, bountiful rivers, and a piebald atmosphere.

Part 1 (26th October)

Flight Frenzy

I had one of the craziest whirl-arounds (and this one literally took me round the globe) to reach Canada. I took the flight from Mumbai to Chennai, and boarded the late night flight to Paris. The connecting flight over the Atlantic took me to Montreal, my destination. And in the process, I saw one of the longest days in my life. Night evaded me and I could catch glimpse of its velvety splendor only after 30 hours of daylight.

Hilton Heights

It is the height of comfort and luxury outta here in Hotel Hilton (where I am put up now), with a good measure of impeccable room service. You wish things were half as organized in India as it is here. This makes me want to stay here forever!

Canada Clime

It is not as cold as I had expected it to be. Since I am carrying the paraphernalia of warm clothes with me, I am doubly disappointed with the clime. The temperature here is between 10 to 15 degrees which is pretty tolerable. Snowfall is expected next week. I am waiting for the day when I would clap my eyes on the tiny snowflakes that would shroud the Montreal town. I have read about the ice-capped mountain peaks and the vaulted houses with the snow packs on them and this has always reminded me of the cream cones. A delectable view would that be, isn’t it?


Food n Flavor

And yes, I love the food (how can I forget writing about it). So, I went chomp-chomp on the fresh buns, croissants, pastries, muffins, and peanut butter ( I had this calorie-rich delicacy for the first time!). I also tasted the berries of autumn, plums, and a huge green apple. I was transported into the world of Hiedi (one of my fave novel characters) who stayed up in the green Alps and had fresh n tasty bread, fruits, and cottage cheese. Afternoons are salad times, and this introduced me to something they call ‘Tofu’ (It is the Canadian version of soya bean.) And, I was surprised that they have rice too (I thought, rice was very much Indian) and they cook it with beans and flavors like our Biryani. Another delicacy, that I heard being raved about is the maple syrup, that is served with almost everything. (For people who don’t know, Canada has a picture of the maple leaf on its national flag.) And on Sunday, a maple-heavy breakfast has been planned and so is a jaunt to the downtown Montreal. So here I am, waiting for the outing and the snow. More on this later…

Part 2 (28th October)

Chilling out in the Cold

Today, I visited some parts of downtown Montreal and lived through the coldest day of my life ever. The temperature was around 1 degree and the icy wind lashed out as I and my friend walked down the streets of Westmont and Sherbrooke. We went to a local coffee shop which was all decked up for the Halloween. Again coming back to my fave topic, food, I had a Jewish delicacy that had omeletes, sugar-coated potatoes, and fresh fruits thrown in together and maple syrup all over it! Slurp...slurp... People here know how to mix the food and light up the taste buds for sure! I watched the film Ratatouille yesterday, which was replete with some awesome one-liners about the art of cooking, and I am strangely very gung-ho about trying some of cooking myself. Let me wait till I get back to India. I did some mini-shopping today. I have got home a huge French loaf of bread. Now, I am wondering how am I going to eat that gargantuan stuff.

Part 3 (31st October)

Halloween Horrors

It is supposed to be the time when the spirits roam around untamed and pay a visit to the earthlings. I read up that stuff in a write-up which someone gave me. Scary, isn't it? I mean, I never knew that Halloween is meant to be scary, I thought it is the time when children get their candies, and frisk about in fancy costumes. Well, I did see one of the scariest Halloween costumes (look here) donned by one of the waiters in a coffee shop.

I was adviced to stay indoors after 7 :( and wear strange costumes so that a ghost takes me to be one of its kinds (As if I don't look like one already!). The Halloween horrors apart, I toted up another dish to my fave menu, when I went out for lunch today. We had an annoying wait of an hour before we got our orders served. To compense for that we got a huge cake and dollops of ice-creams from the hotel owner. So the wait was for good! I had spagetti with basil sauce and it tasted divine. I am gonna try some new dish at the hotel today (everyday I have something with a grosteque name). Let's see what horrors they cook for Halloween today.

Part 4 (3rd November)

The Old Montreal Odyssey

It was supposed to be the last weekend I was spending in Montreal and that was my best. I savored the myriad sights and smells of the good ol' Montreal known for its architectural wonders and great eating joints. We went to Biodome, which had replicas of the ecosystems like the Tropical forest of America, St. Lawrence Marine Ecosystem, Laurentian forest, and yes....hold your breath..the Polar world! It was difficult to believe that what I descried was merely an exhibit as each of the environments had real-life hills, trees, and a variety of animals ranging from macaws, to the lynx, and penguins as well as different kinds of fish.

We then went to Loblaw, a huge grocery store from where I picked up some real swiss chocs and a can of maple syrup [can't stop talking about it :) ] This was followed by a trip to the City Hall which looks like our Victoria terminal, with its remarkable stone dome, turrets, and pointed arches. We went to a cosy Italian food joint for our lunch and here I had wine-flavored rissoto (Italian rice) for the first time, downed it with a cup of Cappucino.

Next, we traipsed along the cold cobbled streets and visited a church with some beautiful interiors. The day ended with a trip to the movie-land, where I saw the movie Death at a Funeral. And yes, I also went to an Indian restaurant and had the spicy vindaloo, Kashmiri Pulao rice, and a gulab jamun. I quite liked that place, particularly, because it played some romantic Hindi numbers and had a quaint Indian touch to it.

Part 5 (7th November)

Last Day in Montreal

They say I am lucky to have seen the snowflakes on my last day in Montreal. I went to see Montreal downtown for one last time, and this time my friend took to me to a movie first and then to a Lebanese hotel. Whoever thought that the Lebanese delicacies are all meat and chicken, should come to this place, for it proffers some of the best vegan delights, I have ever tasted. Some of the menu highlights for the foodies: Creamy chickpea paste and the fried falafa (that reminded me of our samosas!)


Bidding Adieu

As I bid my farewell to my friends in Montreal, I felt a twinge in my heart, for I had fallen in love with the place already, and wished to stay longer, sigh!

Lastly, I would like to thank my guarding angels in Montreal who made my trip most memorable. If you are reading this, I would like to tell you that it has been a pleasure knowing you all. Thank you again and wish you all the luck in life.

All that Jazz and Pizzazz - Has Media Forgotten Its Purpose Today?

I remember my days working as a film reporter with ScreenIndia. The sales of this magazine were definitely dwindling because unlike other film magazines, it did not have a litany of juicy gossip columns. I still recall that look of disapproval I was met with, when the editor happened to read one such “spiced up” question that I had innocuously put to the rocking sensation, Palash Sen. My query was about his sporting a cool look in his new music video!) So while the other film magazines covered news on who was sleeping with whom, who was giving the most controversial sound-bites et al, our magazine strictly kept to the business of films: covering news on the film shooting, budgets, and profiles of people who deserved to be in the limelight. It is another story that we reporters knew probably much more about the clandestine lives of certain film stars (more on that later).

I don’t know if the magazine still exists or if it has changed its reporting stratagem, but I am sure it cannot survive in today’s media-turned-crazy world. A world where every news tidbits are twisted and convulsed by the media-men to win some brownie points: in the form of increased readership or TRPs. Every news channel or newspaper today has a section to cover the filmi cocktail parties and celebrity gossip stories.

Not to be left behind, even the non-filmi broadcast section, has spruced up its news coverings. I shudder when I come across some gory news capsules, replete with live shootings of a crowd lynching a man, terrorists slicing off someone’s throat, and people being burnt alive. Another chilly icing on this cake is the whole caboodle of sting operations, which started off with a Tehelka. And the Karan Thapars, Barkha Dutts, Rajdeep Sardesias were born as media channels bagged bigger chunks of viewership.

Talking about these media celebrities, they seem to be so much drunk by their own self-importance that they try to give off their opinions when not asked for. They seem to have forgotten one of the most important aspects of journalism, which is covering news objectively and not butting in with your own viewpoints. One such instance was when Karan Thapar was “opinionating” in what was supposed to be an interview with Benazir Bhutto, and the latter pointed out to Thapar that the interview questions were supposed to be shorter than the answers themselves!

So, the newsy and the juicy news set the TRPs of the media channels, soaring sky-high but does it help in improving human lives. Barring a few exceptions, has media sent across a strong message to the viewers and galvanized them into doing something positive? Has it helped to rebuild the affected lives? Was not the fourth estate, read Media, formed to serve this larger purpose? The purpose has been long forgotten, what remains is jazz and a splash of pizzazz.

The Attitude Look

Some girls are blessed, some are not.
Some of the heavenly haloed angels like Anjelina Jolie or Jeniffer with their elegance and oomph swing and sway luck in their favor. They would never look anything but smart, never mess their hair, never wear anything silly, never look plump; in short, they are perfection-personified. On the other hand, if you are the not-so blessed gal, then all your attempts to prim or trim would surely end up as glorious duds!

For instance, in your attempt to curl up your hair, you would have ended up darting a remorseful bye to them. The left-over few strands of your tresses would have then threatened to pull themselves out any time they wish to, just like the coalition members of a ruling party! Phew!

So if you do not belong to the “hollowed” category of girls, you can never hope to get there…where the toned looks, shimmering hair, or a flawless complexion beckons! Like some are not born with a proverbial silver spoon in their mouth, some girls are not born to wear the beauty tiaras. But remember, where beauty fails, confidence and attitude scores. When your beauty tips go haywire, curls do not impress, or looks fail to win over the odds and the nods, push that Attitude button and gloat like million bucks.

Presenting some make-up tips to don the attitude a.k.a atta gal look:


1. Blend well a matte foundation of poise, confidence, and self-belief.
2. Apply two layers of this winning concoction.
3. Whisk off the fear and worries.
4. Avoid tones of diffidence, gloom, or desperation.
5. Touchup with dual active determination.
6. For sheer finish, use a positive mindset.
7. Apply a lacquer to light up that winning smile and kiss success.

So go on gals, wear your attitude in style and bask in the glory of success. Even if your crowning glory look best to win the crown of the “Best Untamed hair” and your figure va-va-vrooms out of the hour-glass proportions, never lose that fire in your belly to do your best and come up trumps.

Posters Tell a Story

(Out of my treasuretrove of articles is this one, which was published in Screenindia, 2001. It has been selected by the MINISTRY OF INFORMATION AND BROADCASTING to be a part of its Research and Training Library.)

They are not mere display placards or props meant to attract the crowds. The film posters, in fact serve a greater purpose. They form a part of the visual lexicon that offers a distilled form of the film’s wealth of art, culture, and aesthetics. They are also records for those who are interested to know all about the history of Indian cinema.

"The marvel of the century, the wonder of the world," was how the first publicity posters read, that of the moving pictures made by Lumiere Brothers, published in the Times Of India. That was way back in the year 1896. In the early days, posters only had the names of the cast and crew of the film. Later, posters with hand-made paintings began to materalize. Says Meher Bijlani, an art dealer and director of Artquest gallery that held an exhibition on Indian art recently, "Paintings and sketches with reference to photographs of its films were done by the artists on canvas using oil and acrylic which would then be sent for printing. Famed artists like MF Husain and Raja Ravi Verma were the early practioners of this art form."

Historical film like the magnum opus, Mughal-e-Azam, made during the ‘60s, were presented in grand style and the paintings done gave a glimpse of the films’ opulent sets, sweeping battle scenes, colorful decor, costumes etc. As film journalist, Firoze Rangoonwalla and the author of the book, The Pictorial History of Indian Cinema, says, “Everything about the film (Mughal-e-Asam) was at its finest.” And that included the film’s posters which depicted the poetry and the nostalgia of history.

Later on, the off-set process was made use of where pictures were carved on stones. An inked impression would then be made on a rubber blanket and which then embossed on sheets of paper to be printed. The trend of using stills for posters started in the earlier ‘30s.


The posters of the films made during the period like V. Shantaram’s Duniya Na Mane, Aadmi and Padosi were the ones that deleaneted the theme of the film. Shantaram, a cinematographer turned filmmaker attached much importance to the projecting of the right stills for all his films having received training in this art form. One of the stills from his film, Duniya Na Mane shows a man trying to reverse the hands of a clock. The character is an elderly person who has married a younger girl and is shown as obsessed with looking youthful.


The stills to be used in the posters are decided by the director in collaboration with the photographer. Some of the cinema stills are shot at the time of actual filming lending credibility to it. Fali Mistry was a well known photographer who shot some of the most memorable stills of the film, Guide. About him, director Vijay Anand says, "Mistry did excellent photography for the film. He used different lenses to show the different shades of Dev Anand’s character."

The latest technology is to use vinyl prints that give the real photo impression. Here the artwork for the film’s posters is first prepared on the computer. During the number of processes like pre-press, proofing, inspecting, it is checked whether the computer artwork is suitable for printing or not. The final prints are then carefully trimmed from vinyl rolls. “The advantage of using vinyl prints is that they give a life-like appearance to the pictures,” informs Muneesh Sappel, the art director of a production house. The new forms of technology used in the production of the posters has added a new lease of life to it.

For instance, the posters of Yash Chopra’s, Dil To Pagal Hai had an effervescent feel of youth and were appreciated by the audiences which had much to do with the menial printing used in its making. “It made the posters seem sharp and attractive and gave a whiff of the fresh and youthful look of the film,” says one of the managers of Chopra’s office. In other words they helped to serve old wine in newfangled glasses peppered with an eclat of imagination.


A trip down movielane reveals how the posters effectively conveyed the theme of the story and evoked many layered feelings of the films. The posters of the neo-classical films like Do Bigha Zameen, Jagte Raho, Kagaz Ke Phool and even some of Satyajit Ray’s films outlined the tragic mood of the films. The pictures of a trolley-pulling Balraj Sahni or an angst-ridden Guru Dutt left a tremendous impact on the audiences. As the art critic, Gayatri Sinha puts it, “The photography on posters create the social context in Indian cinema.”


Have the filmmakers today toned down on the publicity through posters with the advent of the audio-visual media like television, radio and the internet? No, say the trade pundits. Publicity is still much the same through the outdoor media as well. The trailers that are short films of excerpts from the forthcoming films shown on television today have come across as a strong means of publicity, though.

Posters still crop up in and around some of the plush places of the city just before the release of the films. Atmanand and Vivek who won this year’s Screen award for the best publicity design say, “In many of the smaller towns, posters are the only mode of publicity. It has an edge over the other forms of media because it can be seen by large number of people on the move”.

With repetitive images of films being projected, it seems today a visual rut has set in. As a result a feeling of deja-vu grips us everytime we see the posters of the film. For instance, action films have gory stills with a hero brandishing a gun or a pole-axe. Love triangles have the hero sandwiched between his twin interests while the family dramas have the entire family coming together for a photo-shoot.

Of late, the stills of the film Ek Chhoti Si Love Story stood out in contrast
which may have seemed pornographic but were outrageously real. They depicted a young boy’s fantasies and high jinks of having a fling with a woman elder to him. Most of the posters however have a tenuos connection with the films. More often the stills shown on the posters may not be present in the film itself. The voluptuous heroines who appear on the posters may have precious little to do with the film (their’s may not be more than a three-minute appearance in all). Sanjay Dutt once made a clean breast (no pun intended) of this when he declared that the posters of his own film, Jung were misleading, and earned the wrath of the film’s producers.

Cinema posters play the role of conveying the theme of the story, a top-up to the publicity of the film. But with all of them tarred with the same brush, there is little to choose from. No wonder, the films made today sink without a trace. Remember the posters of Dilwale Dulhaniyan Le Jayenge which were refreshingly crisp and a hit with the masses. One of them showed the hero, Shah Rukh Khan carrying off his prized possession, a demure dulhaniyan on his back. And that does expound the title of the film.

Clearly posters promote the films as well as the star. So while the top-league stars jut out of the posters, the not so glam ones may not find a prominent place. Bigger battles have been fought over this issue. Like Raveena Tandon who played second fiddle to Shilpa Shetty in the film, Pardesi Babu bemoaned that her face rarely appeared in the promos. Sometimes the posters solely focus on the actors and glamour. For example, the publicity blitz accompanying the film, Tujhe Meri Kasam or rather the hero, Ritesh Deshmukh was done to an extent that one could not travel the city without coming across the film’s posters.

Thus, down the years, cinema has shaped our attitudes, lifestyles and values while the posters too created an impact by perpetuating myriad images from the films. Film posters are in fact objects d’art that captures the essence of the films in pictorial terms. Neither change in time nor technology can reduce its magic or mystique.

Why do we Hate Anything “Different”?

Recently, we heard about Geetanjali Nagpal, a well-known model of the 90s, found begging on the streets. We were quick to call her insane and a junkie even before the medical reports came in. And when Ram Gopal Varma’s Aag nosedived at the turnstiles, we called him a maniac and an inconsistent film maker. While Varma brushes off the comments saying it didn’t matter if critics pan or praise his films, Gitanjali is not even in a state to react to what is being bandied about her.

Gitanjali may have been a rebel and may have found refuge in drugs after her not-so successful stint in modeling. Her personal relations may have been turbulent and in the absence of emotional and material succor, she would have gone to the extent of begging on streets. Should we therefore label her as kooky-different or abnormal?

In the case of Ram Gopal Varma, his film modeled on the classic Sholay, failed because we could not savor the presentation of characters like Jai, Veeru, Basanti, et al (whom we grew up loving) albeit in a different backdrop. Remember how we all hated Gurinder Chadda’s Bride and Prejudice because the movie with its tadka of Indian spice was very dissimilar to the original Austen novel. Their attempts, unsuccessful though, should have been appreciated as a gutsy move. But instead we chose to rip them apart and bedaub their creations with a black paint.

This leads me to some questions. Why do we expect people to conform to certain notions and conventions? Why is a diversion from the rigid norms and the breaking of molds not considered as acceptable? Why do we always wade in our opinions about someone’s life style, way of thinking, or creative manifestation if it is different from what we expect it to be? I think it is high time we stop passing judgments on others based on our perceived notion of an incongruity. Let’s get around to accept that what is different is normal too.

Everything Happens for the Best

Sometimes things spiral out of control, they seem to unsettle you, unnerve you at first, but in fact they are blessings in disguise. Whoever has said “Things always turn around for good” is dead cert right! The reason being, God puts us in trying and knotty situations so that we learn something out of it. At the same time, He removes the pellets of trouble and agony to ensure a smooth ride for all of us.

Today something happened which I will never forget in my life. It seemed that it was not a good day for me at all. I got a call informing me that Mom is unwell and I decided to leave work and head straight home. But work came in at the last minute, and I could leave only at 6 in the evening. I couldn’t find a single riskhaw to ferry me across to the station and I knew that I would be missing my regular train because of this. When I reached the platform, I boarded some train without checking where it was heading to. I was then told that the train would not stop at Dadar, the place where I wanted to get down and board the next train from. As things went for a burton, I kept cursing my luck. Tears filled my eyes and I blamed God for putting me in a situation like this today, when I wanted to go home so badly.

I had no other option but to travel in the same train and get down at the last stop, i.e. CST. The terminus was abuzz with passengers bustling to and fro while getting into a few trains that stood there. I heard that some trains were cancelled while most of them delayed by a couple of hours since there was a major strike. I got into one of the trains and could easily find a seat too. The lady who sat next to me clued up that it would be difficult for anyone not boarding from the terminus, to get into the trains. She was true, for the train as it stood there for another 15 minutes, soon got packed to capacity. The train did stop at stations like Dadar and Thane, but couldn’t really pick up more than two of the 100 waiting commuters! Had I managed to reach Dadar, I would have been one of those 100 odd people. I also learnt that the late evening trains were cancelled and people had a real bad time commuting back to their respective houses.

Within a couple of hours, I reached home to find that mom was feeling much better and I thanked God heartily for this happy turn of events.

So friends, never curse your luck or blame God when faced with odds and troubles. Maybe God chose that situation for you to bail you out of any impending trouble. Always keep the faith and keep the old chin up too!

Dreams ‘n’ Dullsville

A long queue waiting outside the Passport Office, people occupying every nook and cranny of the already overcrowded foyers, some forcing their way into the doorways, upsy-daisies falling and tripping all over…Ok..now cut that out! Picture this...arriving jet lagged in a new country, espying a whole new landscape of busy streets, motley crowds, sunny beaches, heady cocktails… wait…wait, I tell myself…its time to jerk awake out of the reverie. The passport to my dream destination is still elusive. Three years back, I had applied for it with stars in my eyes and dreams of making it far. It’s been twenty trips to the PO so far and no sign of anyone jamming the dream passport into my hands. Now I have firmly come to believe that getting a passport is even more difficult than solving a 500-piece puzzle.

So here I am in pursuit of my ‘past’port. Once inside the office, I lose myself again amidst the umpteen cabins and counters till someone guides me to the right place. And yes there is a crowd waiting there too. I am told that they would call out my name soon after they locate the file. Never thought that tracing a solitary file would take up more than an hour and a half! Waiting thus, I remember the lines from Jane Austen’s “Emma” …the two letters that express perfection. I dream about my name being spelt out with that same panache. But the letters elude me for long. I hear someone picking up a fight with one of the babus and exploding into one of the “YOU KNOW WHO I AM...” rasps. He is send out packing half an hour later. I am telling you, never lose your temper in a PO, a frayed temper = Passport Mislaid.

At last, I hear my name being called out only to be moved from one room to another where I descry another long queue. So well, another hour of waiting before it is disclosed to me that my passport had the most intriguing of the trailing routes. It was transferred from Mumbai to Bangalore or Pune (they are not sure where) and now they are trying to trace its next stopover. My first application to the Mumbai Passport Office (one in 2004) did not produce any passport since I had to move down to Bangalore and the address verification at my Mumbai home couldn't happen. Later I shifted to Pune and couldn’t keep track of the transfer progress. So I am informed that I have to again apply for the passport. In other words, fill up umpteen forms, slog for days, stand in queues from 8 am to 1 pm! NOT AGAIN. But first, I need to stand in the line to collect what they call the Personal Particulars form. I realize I have forgotten to bring my photos to glue to this PP. Actually, I didn’t know which photo I should carry along. Last time, they felt my photos do not represent the “real size” of a passport photo. At other times, they thought it was either scary, smudgy, or unrecognizable.

So if you thought you could get a passport without a hassle, then think again. It is one of the worst struggles against the babudom, and inspite the legislations and the RTI threats, nothing seems to really improve the situation. I feel my dreams go down again like the most leaden of the lead balloons but at the same time a hope flickers in my heart, one day I will lay hands on my Passport…Remember Scarlett o’ Hara who said “There is always a tomorrow”.

The Kerala Rhapsody

"Some journeys we choose to go on, some journeys choose us"

So my big trip to Kerala finally happened! This was to be another brief visit to my native town after two years. I found out for the first time that train rides can be really amazing, that is you don't mind the wisps of sweat sticking on to you or the journey's sheer length - all of 84 hours!! Also with the railway add-ons introduced by Laloo Yadav– the brand new compartments, cleaner loos, newfangled berths, better quality of food et al, you would have hardly anything to whine about. Our train – the Kanyakumari express took a long route covering parts of Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Kerala. A gourmet that I am, I tasted all kinds of food enroute – be it the Paav bhaaji of Sholapur, the sapad of Kerala/TN or the spicy sambar-rice of Andhra, I relished them all.

Ah well, it was the wrong time to tap the Kerala terrain with the azure sky alighting with the blazing sun and dollops of scorched fluffy clouds. The terra-firma bathed in the summer glory and the temparature rolled and pirouetted in the air. So we decided to beat the heat with cool waters of the Shang Mugham beach located near the capital town, Trivandrum. Here we descried the amazing hues shining through the summer sands - ivory, beige, honey and brown.

We watched the golden sun bobbing down the beach waters – the view seemed heavenly enough and yes this did live up to the Kerala hype of ‘God’s Own Country’. Another trump card of Kerala is its incredible cuisine. Unfortunately, being a vegetarian I couldn’t quite enjoy all of its delicacies – for the menu was strictly fishiterian. Fragrance of roasting spices and summer fruits filled the air. The exotic fruits and spice conserve like nongu (palm fruit), Kasuvandi (cashew nuts), Kapapazham (red banana), Maracheeni (tapioca) all made for a savory experience. I also realized that there is a slight difference in the way we construe the menu and what is being actually served here. To give an example, my order for a tomato omelet produced a heapful of tomato slices thrown into an omelete. While a north Indian thali was a south Indian thali in disguise with only additional supplies of rotis and a bleak dal. So if you want to try a different cuisine, make sure you go with someone who has lived in the city for long to understand its cuisine lingo.

We went to see Eklavya and I was stunned to see the natives enjoying a Hindi movie and whistling cheerily on the entry of their fave Bollywood stars. So, Hindi films clearly make good moolah at the Kerala turnstiles as well. One of the things that strikes you in Kerala is that it is unbelievably spick and span – the beaches, the railway stations, the roads, all of it. I was told that one has to cough up a fine if found sneezing or spitting in public places. Amazing stuff this is!

It is also the season of marriage in Kerala. You can figure this out seeing the crowd outside the matrimony bureaus or the jewelry shops. I would like to add here that my visit centered around the same business – getting hitched. Here I experienced for the first time, what you feel when you have your prospective in-laws examining you or asking you questions you wouldn’t like to answer. I learnt that even a middle-class family here has to spend a royal amount to wed off their daughters. Apparently a traditional Kerala Hindu marriage can be complete only if the bride's trousseau is “gilded” in jewelry worth crores. Marriage is some kind of a celebration here for sure.

We met our relatives living in the distant suburbs and learnt how their lives are really different from ours. No health clubs, shopping malls, gyms outta here but life is still beautiful. A stride down the country side led me to thinking that if I ever decide to settle here, my life would take a 360 degree turn. My cousin brother regaled us with the farmland stories of how the plants are budded and how rubber is grown in homestead gardens. Also, how lucky you could be if you sell off the entire plantation only for 3 lakhs!!!

Another cousin of mine who is a lawyer told us how the divorce rates has risen now with a case for divorce being registered every 30 minutes…alarming isn’t it? I also witnessed some of the fiercest fisti-cuffs and drunken brawls during my stay and it saddened me to think that along with the goodness also comes a modicum of grief and the gravitas. As I treaded back home…some realizations dawned on me—all simple but at the same time, utterly profound. Of all the journeys, this was truly a memorable one.

Story of an Indian - Standing Tall

The alarm crowed. A lusty king of the farmyard cock-a-doodle-do. He shut the mobile up. One hour and five minutes was all he had before his day began. He would steal five minutes from that. Look the other way, he told that frowning creature in his soul. I do it all the time. A little corruption, a little bribery…I negotiate the world 24/7. So why not an extra 5 minutes of sleep? He told himself and buried his head under the pillow. And so began another day in the life of an Indian.

He had his work cut out for him. Mails to be rushed through, proposals to be completed, client calls to be made…a day of strife to get to the overwhelming "to do" list. Rahul Shenoy greeted his Monday morning hum-drum through the open window. He looked at the Mumbai life toing and froing, people whizzing past, traffic plying….he wished he could equal this pace and frenzy.

An hour later, Rahul was driving past the screaming reds, pallid whites, lurid blues and on an occasion, a bright yellow. It was the silver Mercedes-Benz that caught his attention. He had always dreamt to own one. With a job as a project analyst in a BPO and no prospects ahead, he could have hardly afforded that. True, he had worked hard…tried to flatter…gain favor of everyone around him in a bid to shin his way up. But nothing seemed to work. Two years back he had come to Mumbai leaving his home-town with dreams to make it big. He still was where he had started off from. He felt the oddest sense of being almost invisible; unseen; unknown on the Mumbai streets and a mind rusted with grievance. He stiffened a little and tried to mull over the other troubles in his life.

Rahul heard a crash in the distance that almost startled him. He strained his eyes to see what had happened. A guy had fallen off his bike. No...he was bumped off thus by a gang of ruffians. Passers-by stopped and stared as the goons started blowing hits and punches at the guy who had injured his head by hitting on the pavement. People accumulated. Some stayed on and some left but no one intervened.

“Help me” cried out the guy in a strained voice. Rahul grew stiffer and whiter …..how he hated the feeling of standing there helpless. Rahul thought, and had this gradual drawing together of force…he had almost sensed the revulsion that was to come to the surface and about to burst onto them.

He sprang forward and leapt at the guys. And then he thought…he was not a hero who could accomplish the heap-o-pulp, moreover he was unarmed. He looked at the crowd and hollered at them. Two men came forward, and then another, and in this extraordinary stillness, a mob gathered and swooped on the goons. Some were caught trying to escape while some managed to flee off.

Rahul stopped a taxi to rush the injured man to the hospital. The crowd cheered behind him. Rahul could not believe what had happened; with the excitement falling and rising he looked back at the crowd. He spotted a Mercedes owner veering off the spot and yakking on his phone about the jam that had taken long to clear owing to some “stupid accident”. A half-smile formed on his lips after witnessing this turn of events. He didn’t want to own his dream car or dwell on the pipe dream side of things anymore. He had fought his battle bravely. He had learnt how to stand tall.

A Soulful Cricket Melody

Once upon a time… in the realm of cricket…BCCI ( Bandstand of Chaotic Cricket in India ) was headed by Mr. Dolemiaow and ICC ( International Cricket Control ) was led by Mr. Maalcoomb. Both had gathered together in a soiree for singing. But, ere their voices crackle to the symphony of music, the BCCI fell out of tune with ICC. This greatly riled Mr.Maal and he asked , “ Why don’t you sing along with us? “. Replied Mr.Dole , “ It’s because we sing only to the clings and tings of our our own ad jingles… We won’t sing to your tunes.” Maal stood to his guns. Dolemiaow roared , “ Score off this tune or we won’t sing”.

Maal thundered , “ Why ? This tune fetched me a fortune ( And averred that the song was paid for through the nose and all that jazz ). “ We won’t change the melody.” ICC waved its stick ready to strike the offender. It was then that Dolemiaow put its wind up. He said , “ All right then , we will send you a team of howlers, who would ruin your singing instead of our regular catchpennies.” Maal now quailed and mellowed, “ May be you are right. After all its better that our voices don’t jarr with each other and we remain friends ”. So saying he gave Dolemiaow a bearhug ( and as a good measure to their concomitance ) , both sang the following song.

“ Cricket is mah soul,
for it fills the coffers with money,
how can I deceive you honey?

Cricket is mah love,
And I am no phoney,
Then how can I deceive you honey? ”

Pooja Nair