writer-in-exile

I succumbed to straps

2006-06-13T21:38:00.000+06:00

I finally succumbed to noodle straps. No, not the Mandira Bedi variety, but the ones that clothe our windows. The strap curtains, the kind you just buy off the shelf and hang up in a jiffy. No curtain rings, no visits to the tailor, no fuss. I always hated them, or maybe hated is too strong a word, I just didn't like them. I think one of the reasons was that they suddenly sprouted all over the place, in every shop and in every suburban flat. Reds, yellos, purples, India suddenly seemed to be in the grip of a colour riot. Plains, checks, textured finish, matching with bedspreads, cushions. Single people, bachelors, newly marrieds, they were all buying them en masse on Saturdays at malls and voila, their house, bought on a home loan, the EMIs paid by their salaries, was suddenly a home.
To me it meant no exclusivity. It was like a mass production line, and everyone had the same. Like tomato sauce or Maggi or sugar. Except, a home wasn't meant to be that, it was meant to be a reflection of your personality, a statement of your individuality, and each room and window was a chance to express your mood.
To me they spelt convenience, and a short cut. Somehow, I was always used to the regular, stitched curtains. You go to the shop, select the upholstery, measure your windows and then have the curtains stitched. Call it some sort of snobbery if you will but I think it has more to do with being house proud. With wanting to make that extra effort for your home, go that extra mile.
That was Delhi.
This is Mumbai. Here, when you have to shift homes in less than a month and you need curtains asap, and you're working, there is really hardly any time to go scouting for curtains, not to mention the patience required for it. And honestly, at some point you just give up. There are so many other, more important jobs to be done, and something's gotta give. And stitched curtains are far more expensive as well. In a rented home, do you really want to spend that kind of money, especially if you are moving every year?
So in my case, the curtains bore the brunt of the compromise. Off we went to Fabindia and after a first, unsuccessful trip -- both of us don't like the strap curtains -- we finally came to terms with them. So we picked a typical strappy curtain, in a textured beige, for the TV room, and a non strappy - Fabindia has a new variety which slides into the road but look Ma, no straps -- red, half sheer for our room. I like the colour, it makes the room look really cheerful, but hey I miss my regular, stitched curtains.

a quick one

2006-05-25T16:17:00.000+06:00

Too much going on so this is just a quick blog.
> JWT, sorry the Appy Fizz adds don't do anything for me. I know the adfilmmakers have tried to position it as this cool drink to hang out with, since drinks -- alcoholic or otherwise -- are an integral part of any hangin' out, but a ginat sized plastic inflatable balloon as cool? Sorry. It just reminds me of those punching toys that kids play with. The kind you box and they just bob right back. If you must know, my 11-year-old nephew asked me about the ad this morning, which is why I remembered that you'd asked my opinion on this ad. Well, he likes the ad. So if that's the target audience Appy Fizz was looking for, then I guess they're fine!
> The ad that did catch my attention the other day was the new Reebok DMX ad, posters of which were plastered all across the wall opposite Juhu beach. It just has the picture of a road, shot in this orange twilight kind of effect, and it says 'The road is free. Run'. The next one says 'The road is open 24/7. Run'. Loved both ads. of course in Mumbai the road is not free, because it's potholed. But yeah I know what they mean. What does it really take to exercise? You don't need a gym, you don't need to pay fancy fees at Gold's or Ozone or whatever, you just need to put on those shoes and get out there. I even thought of the marathon. But despite Mumbai not being a very run-able city, cool ads all the same. I wanted to get out of the car and run!
> Not seen any exciting ads on TV recently, because I've hardly been watching any TV. Will do so soon and be back with more observations.

Aamir Coke ad

2006-05-01T15:19:00.000+06:00

Put your hands up everyone, who liked the Aamir Khan Coke ad. I didn't. It was just about OK. I think the ad had the potential to be done much better. It wasn't even funny. His earlier ads like the Hyderabadi tapori act, even the Yaaran da Tashan and the Chhota Coke ads have been far more entertaining, with a strong message. This ad seems to have got lost in the Japanese look. Agreed we are a country notorious for fleecing our foreign tourists. read any visitor's blog on India and they willt ell you what an assault it is on their sensibilities to land and be accosted by 'taxi madam', 'You want room madam' etc but this time Prasoon Joshi hasn't managed to weave that in plus drive home the thanda + pakoda equation. Maybe they were trying to achieve too much in one ad, by going along with the different look for each ad plus drivign home the message.
Of all the soft drink ads, I like the Mallika Sherawat one the best minus her irritating Fydo, instead of Fido. But she manages to make the ad fun and her voice has the right expression and tone. I thought it was a cool concept and well executed. So my vote goes to 7Up.
It's another matter that I don't drink any of these soft drinks and the one I really liked didn't take off in India, Canada Dry.
PS: I really liked the Aamir and Zohra Sehgal Titan ad. The lady is just so lively with a glint in her eye even at this age, you can't help but smile at the ad with Aamir trying to force her to get married. For those fo you who haven't seen it, Aamir is reading from the matrimonial section and selecting a groom for his dadi, played by Sehgal. She is of course declining all offers, in a playful manner, and even allows herself a minute of sentimentality until her grandson drops the bomb: if she won't agree he won't give her the wedding present he's brought for her. At once the old lady's eyes spark up and she sees it is a Titan and immediately agrees to the wedding. The ad ends with Aamir landing a kiss atop her head. Very cute.

A long break

2006-04-24T14:04:00.000+06:00

I've been gone a while, nearly three months. My last post was Jan 30, as I just noticed looking into my blog. Before logging into mine, I decided to peek into some other blogs I used to read and unfortunately, none of them have really changed. They're just the same old boring crap, OK not all but some. You read one post, you've read them all. It's like a Hindi movie. Walk out and come back after two hours and you'll still know what's happened.
So though it seems that nothing much has changed in these three months, a lot in my life has changed actually, precisely why I've been sort of away. I'm pregnant so I guess that would be the biggest change and reason. Some days you're like all bright, with energy oozing from everywhere, and then some days you're just sloppy and dull and you don't want to do anything. Combine that with having to look for another flat and move out in one month flat -- the landlord was moving back into town and his wife was 9 months pregnant -- and you get the picture. Plus, house guests, yes in a Mumbai 2BHK, for a month straight, and in the middle of that, a three-day tiring trip to Bangkok.
So blog, I am sorry for neglecting you but hey there's been too much on my mind.
Now that I have shifted and am sort of OK, barring the lovely fall I had in the loo the other day and the tetanus injection that I am dreading next week (the two not being connected) I will get back to blogging. Thanks to those of you who've been commenting on my blogs in this absence, though.
> Evenstar: I am back
> The crazy business analyst who loves Mumbai: I'm not there yet
> The one who wants to quit to spend time with her son: Do it. This time will never, ever come back.
> J, I don't particularly like any of the cola ads. The Ash one leaves me thanda simply because she leaves me thanda anyway and the SRK with Kareena and Priyanka ads are so stupid. Neither are they insightful nor fun nor funny. This whole concept of Pepsi TV is so stupid. Just because SRK claims to wake up every morning and drink Pepsi instead of water, are we going to have Pepsi breakfasts and Pepsi mornings etc?
The ad I like is the Times of India Prakash Mirajkar selected. I think it's a fab ad because they have got the cast right, especially the old man. Everything, from his reflexes, to his saving up the newspaper cuttings to his breaking out into a slow dance, to his own tune, it is really insightful because that's exactly how old people behave. I think they've just got it right.
As for other ads, the Fevicol rural ad with the truant kid who keeps running off till the mother finally perches him on an empty Fevicol plastic can is funny the first time round. The background score is what makes the ad good, but I think Fevicol has really stretched the basic premise and needs to do something different.
Honestly, haven't really seen anything on TV for a while that's really made me sit up. Abhishek Bachchan for LG is also nothing great, neither was Ford. Considering they roped in the guy who was suddenly so hot and was making his debut into ads, Ford could have really done something better. Even Chevrolet Aveo with Saif and Rani is so ho-hum.
TV is also pathetic. Am I cribby, maybe, but it's not because I'm pregnant I swear. Indian Idol 2 was nowhere near the first one and everyone knew Sandeep Acharya who is far worse than Karunya would win, even though there was really no competition, Karunya being far, far more talented. I think Karunya is in fact even better than Abhijeet (who has really beefed up by the way) but at least last year there was some competition. This year was pathetic. The judges can cry themselves hoarse about how we should pick talent but voters never seem to agree. Don't Sony, Farah and Anu follow elections?
Even Star Plus doesn't have anything exciting on air. Star One's Laughter Challenge 2 is exactly the same format as earlier, let's see if their new show Heartbeat surprises. The last really good show they had was Nach Baliye. As for Zee, I followed their Challenge 2005 very closely but I haven't followed their Ek Main Aur Ek Tu at all. Their Business Baazigar was a show I had been eagerly awaiting but again I haven't followed it very seriously. I still feel a Vijay Mallya as Donald Trump would be far more exciting. He's the only guy who can do it in India, who has the flamboyance and the money. And I know Zee's show is not about the job but about getting money to fund their business, but it is similar in every other way (the tasks etc) and frankly, Zee's Subhash Chandra is just not in the Trump mould.
Enough random musings I guess. On an end note I'd like to say that I really feel for Sabrina Lal. Her entire life has been turned around forever because of that one fateful evening in Tamarind Court. First she lost her sister Jessica, then her mother May and now her father Ajit. If she ever decides to write a book, I'd be one of the first in line to read it.

Another ad/life blog

2006-01-30T23:46:00.000+06:00

Thanks everyone who shared their comments on the previous blog about big cities and small towns. I notice that the feeling is catching on. I saw an ad for Wagon R today (an MUV from Maruti, India's largest car maker) and it was about a young guy, ex-investment banker, who gives up his job to start an adventure sports company. 'My office is now 10 X 4', goes the vocie over, and has him sitting on a fold up chair in the white silver sands of Rishikesh, catching trout for supper and relaxing with a girl by his side. The tagline is something about the next generation.
This actually takes the Tata Dicor, 'Make your own road' ad a step further in terms of thought. That had the guy in an underground tunnel with the now-famous 'I always wanted to quit on a Monday morning' and urged people to make their own path in life. This Wagon R ad (and both are vehicles) actually shows a guy who has done that -- quit a plush city job to set up base in the mountains and the river, and enjoying himself to the hilt, no regret in sight.
This is obviously a reflection of how we are feeling and heading. Every other day I come across someone who has either quit or wants to quit their job to do something else. Maybe even just social work, without money (a blog on that later). In fact, there is a blogger who is with a top notch consultancy and is quitting his job to pursue full-time writing. I know a colleague who is quitting to do some social work with kids, and I know a high profile executive who nurtures dreams to work with an NGO soon. This generation has not seen a real war, alienation, separation, partition. Not up close at least. I know that my only brush with the partition is through stories, and even those are not peppered with gore anymore as grandparents find themselves having forgotten or chosen to forget the horrors and settled into a somewhat comfortable environment. This generation has been born into homes with cars and computers, OK not iPods, but micros, fridges, ovens yes and the basic comforts of life were a given. Which is why they have the balls to actually think of doing this. Can you imagine our dad and mums quitting their jobs to set up adventure camps or a shaadi.com or some such? It's interesting, the freedom that a booming economy brings. You can actually afford to unleash yourself from the 'let's make pots of money race' which is precisely what the country is doing, and do something different, because it's only when the going's good that people have the money to spend on your 'different' service. If it wasn't you'd too be behind that 9-9 desk looking at that ad which goes 'I always wanted to quit on a Monday morning' and thinking, 'Yeah man, I so want that'.

Mumbaikar? What does it mean?

2006-01-20T15:13:00.000+06:00

Bombay, Mumbai, Mumbaiyya, Mumbaikar... what is the cut off point? When do you stop being an outsider and become a Mumbaikar? When does Delhi, Kanpur, Nagpur, Kolkata stop mattering? Is it five years or 10? Or is it one year for some? Or are some people Mumbaikars before they even come here? In their state of mind, in their thinking... Are they just perfectly fitted to come here and gel with the masses that throb and throng this bustling metropolis? When do these people stop saying 'I live in Mumbai but I originally belong to ...' Are there some people who never have to say that at all?
I don't know. I don't think I totally fit in yet. If fitting in means becoming tolerant and insensitive to the muck and the traffic snarls and the huge health menace the open drains and the gutters pose, then I never want to fit in. Not in Mumbai, not anywhere else. If becoming immune to deaths by building collapses and immune to open spaces being sold to the highest bidder which choke the city's lungs means fitting in, then I never want to fit in. But yes if it means crusading for the city we live in, to make it a better more breathable place, then I would like to fit in. Unfortunately that isn't happening. Suhel Seth had written a huge piece in HT the other day while he was in Mumbai attending the Luxury Conference and I'm afraid, for once I have to agree with the man. I can't imagine anyone from Delhi coming here and not wanting to head right back in two days, if for nothing else but to just breathe in peace. To see green. Real green, not in a new fashion creation by Surily Goel, but in trees, in leaves, in the grass.
Yes I was miserable initially and I did miss Delhi and I did realise that how much ever I never prided myself on being a Delhiite (I still don't fully consider myself one, since I wasn't born there and didn't spend my formative years there) I think I definitely connect more to Delhi. For one, it's predominantly Punjabi so I understand the language, the culture, the habits, the people. unlike Mumbai where I don't understand Marathi and Gujarati but that won't stop people from speaking in the language when they spot a fellow being. Plus, Delhi has green spaces. On my drive to work I used to pass through the ridge and it was green. The areas around Connaught Place like Prithviraj Road are beautiful in the winter with all the trees in blossom. So is Chandigarh. The main sector 17 and 18 road, down from Sector 8 is just gorgeous. I think I would seriously be a happier person if I was closer to nature, because that's how I grew up. I am so missing having a dog these days that I think about it every day. This is the first time in my life that I don't have a pet. But a pet in Mumbai is like torture for the animal, and if you've ever loved animals, then you'll know that you don't just get a pet to make yourself happy.
Sometimes I really want to shift to a smaller town, like a Pune, which incidentally I've never even been to. So one won't have to travel two hours to meet a friend. Like Shobhaa De says. The other day she wrote in her Bombay Times column that she's stopped accepting invitations beyond Kemp's Corner (she lives in Cuffe Parade) and much as that sounds horribly snooty I can't help but agree with her. Because most people would accept and then just not show up; she has the courtesy to refuse it upfront. What is the point, I ask you, in getting ready and be stuck in traffic for over two hours? Surely you have to be a saint to arrive at a party in a good mood, knowing the return trip is going to take as long. But in Mumbai, that's a done thing. They all understand it, live with it and it's cool. But it's not cool for me, and that's not what I consider fun. Or a life.
Is this metro life? Opportunity yes, freedom yes, money yes, but also zero infrastructure, pathetic roads, jammed airports, traffic snarls, and absolutely no green. Quality of life isn't even worth a thought here.
It's already happening other parts of the world. I read in the paper the other day that a very rich group of urban elites in China have given up their jobs and their companies and moved to a faraway area which they have bought. They constructed houses, they grow their own fruits and vegetables and they live a self sufficient life. Sooner or later, more and more Indians are going to adopt this approach too. I can guarantee that urban elites are going to burn out sooner, seek a spiritual quest, and seek a better and healthier, less stressful life and opt to shift out of this sardines-packed life to a better place. If you have the money, buy yourself a plot of land in a smaller town or near it. It will not go waste.

One year in Bombay

2006-01-17T16:37:00.000+06:00

It's been a year sicne I shifted to Bombay. A year in my new job. This city, for all its problems, has given me a lot of firsts; there are things I've been able to do here that I haven't been able to do anywhere else. Which is exciting.
A blog on my one year in this city, soon.

Movies I've liked and hated this year

2005-12-29T16:43:00.000+06:00

LIKED
> Black: for its compositions, its starkness and because it was different from average Bollywood fare
> Page 3: for its realism, and because we could all identify with it to a great extent. Wish the production quality was a bit better though and it could have done without the cameos from Dolly Thakore etc
> Bunty Aur Babli: For not being judgemental and putting cons at the forefront; presenting them as real people with feelings. For the honest ending (Babli to Bunty: "If I make any more achar here with your mom I'll die of boredom"), for the fun and the music and the outrageous cons. For UP.
> Main Meri Patni Aur Woh: Again, for UP and for the way Lucknow and small-town India in general has been captured. For the way Chandan Arora shows small-town mentality with all its flaws, its nuances and for giving Rajpal a platform to showcase his limitless talent. For the simply, sweet story and how it's held together and how one man's complexes almost cause him to ruin his picture perfect marriage and life.
> Iqbal: For the acting, for the story, for the music. In its unpretentious way, it probably said more about the 'triumph of human spirit' than Black. For Shreyas Talpade, a real find.
> My Brother Nikhil: Again, for the acting (Victor, Lilette, Juhi, Sanjay, Purab), the story, the narrative and the sensitivity. Took Phir Milenge a step further. Brought tears to my eyes. Debutant director Onir did a great job.
> Sarrkar: More than the chemistry between dad and son, I liked the taut narrative, the pace, and Big B's expressions. He's done a role like this after a long time and he's damn good at it. Abhishek finally came into his own but Kay kay was absolutely brilliant as the errant son.
> Parzania (not released yet): You have to watch this film. Based on the Gujarat riots, it is about a Parsi family which loses their son. Starring Naseer and Sarika, it is really touching and makes you hate the fact that we call this a civilised world. Raj Zutshi and TV actress Sheeba Chadha were also good as was the boy, Parzaan Dastoor. Directed by Rahul Dholakia.
> Parineeta: Transported me to a different world and a world that I am rather familiar with. Saif and Vidya were both very good and their acting kept the story together. Wasn't a completely brand new story but presented very well. Somehow I didn't find the 'wall' scene as jarring as most people; I thought it was meant to be symbolic and of course physical at the same time.
> Raincoat: Because Aishwarya was actually tolerable and did a good job. Because Ajay was good and because I love the story and how it was literally just a one-room, one-set story and said so much. I thought the narrative was captivating. I also liked the back and forth from present to past.
> Kaalpurush (Bengali): Because it was about how in today's day and age women no longer need to measure themselves according to ideals set by men but how men are increasingly finding themselves measuring up or not measuring up to how the women in their life want to see them. It was a story of a failed father and a failed son (in the eyes of the two wives) and how the father can never comes to terms with his failure and therefore keeps his distance from his son, but how the son comes to terms with and tells his wife that he's not a failure just because he doens't get a promotion or because he tolerates her knowing she's having an affair and that he's not the father of their two kids. Because she thinks this makes him a failure doesn't actually make him one. Mithun, Rahul Bose and Sameera Reddy were all good. Directed by Budhadeb Dasgupta. Loved the portrayal of Kolkata and of the West Bengal countryside.

HATED
Garam Masala
Shaadi No. 1
Paheli

DIDN'T MIND
Bluffmaster
No Entry
Kaal
Dus
Yahaan
Kya Kool Hain Hum - (ho-hum)
Salaam Namaste - (ho-hum)
Musafir - only because of Sanjay, otherwise it was pretty much below average.

I'm sure I've forgotten many, so please feel free to add.

Men and small fridges...

2005-12-19T12:18:00.000+06:00

What is it with men and small fridges? Someone please explain this connection to me. I write this blog in earnest and I really would like to understand why men insist on buying a smaller fridge than their wives want? However, the same logic never applies to a TV purchase. I have seen my dad, my husband and a friend's husband do exactly the same thing in the past year - insist on buying a smaller size model.
Now they behave as if we women want to buy a bigger size to sit in it or to store our personal belongings in it. Why in heaven's name don't they understand that a larger sized fridge means you can do your shopping for fish, meats etc and then not have to run to the store every three days especially when there is no time with all of us in hectic jobs. It also means that you don't have to throw or give away perfectly OK food just because after a party there is no room in the fridge. And it also means that you can store chocolates and pickles and mayo and salad dressings in peace without having to constantly juggle the space. Plus of course all men conveniently forget that one shelf will be completely occupied by beers and breezers making it completely inaccessible for us.
All your marketers out there, I'm sure there is some research to explain this behaviour. Why can't men think long-term in fridges? Tomorrow if you decide to have a family and will therefore need more space will you go about buying a larger fridge or then take up more space by buying another smaller fridge? Why not just buy one large one? Please someone, come up with a logial explanation.

Another one of my ads blogs

2005-11-30T20:03:00.000+06:00

 The SBI campaign. Everyone’s going ga-ga about the Chimanlal Charlie ad and the papad belna ads. I agree that the ads have been executed well (slick, and quite funny, especially the name Chimanlal Charlie) but their entire campaign revolves around hedging bets on what SBI does and doesn’t do. This sounds like the entire country right now has nothing better to but place bets on what SBI offers – be it around the locker room, or across a pub sharing a beer… Their original campaign (the hoarding one) revolved around ‘Surprisingly, SBI,’which acknowledges that most people don’t know how broad their network is and how many accounts they have and what they offer. So suddenly in the second stage they assume that there are so many knowledgable people out there who are actually placing and winning bets on what SBI does… Weird. Plus, I think ‘SBI. Surprised?’ works better than ‘Surprisingly SBI’. That said, the ad for SBI Insurance where the two elderly sisters undertake a long train journey to go meet their brother Chhotu on his birthday is very sweet. It celebrates the fact that you may get older but that doesn't mean you have to give up on your dreams. You can still do the things you did when you were younger. I had said on this blog some time ago when I saw an ad for diamonds, about an elderly man gifting his wife a diamond. When she resists, saying she is too old for it, the man says, 'how does the diamond know your age?'

 I like the tea ad (I think Wagh Bakri) where a girl and boy are locked in a room (arranged marriage scenario) and the girl announces that she’s not interested in an arranged match. So in a sweet little twist, it’s the boy who serves her tea and seduces her senses (smell, taste, look) and the two engage in a sweet tease play (of course to the eavesdroppers it sounds like something else). Nice. Makes the Tina Munim-Rajesh Khanna number (‘shaayad meri shaadi…. Chai pe bulaya hai’) quite redundant. Soon the boy will be inviting just the girl over and in the metros he’ll be this living alone type who will be well-versed with the kitchen and will serve her tea. What fun! I personally love guys who can cook. I think it’s fantastic. Can’t imagine that there are still guys out there who can’t turn on the stove, just like I can’t imagine women who don’t know how to drive. Hate to be that dependent.

 Where is my favourite Fastrack ‘orgasm’ ad disappeared to? Hey you guys, put it back on or come out with something better. That reminds me I think the Aamir Titan ad (buying a gift for his mom which the girl in the shop thinks is for her) is again quite cool. Why do celebs have to be pillars of virtue and goodness in real life? They don’t. They can be normal.

 Can’t decide if I like Aamir’s Innova ad. I like the soundtrack and it’s nice to see all the different Aamirs interacting with each other. It also drives home the point that this guy takes so much care to build a distinctive look for each movie (and this is pre-DCH days) that you can actually look at him and know in an anstant which movie the character is from. Can you do the same for SRK or Salman? I don’t think so.

 Totally hate that pen ad ‘I’ve got the power’ where Amar Talwar is chairing a board meeting and temporarily loses contorl over his limbs the minute the pen is placed in his hands. He then proceeds to do a stupid jig in the table. These ads should be banned. Pathetic. Just shows how idiotic the ad is; it has overshadowed the brand so heavily that I can’t even remember it.

 There’s something about the Mastercard ad (natkhat saiyan, dushman duniya), the one where the naughty young couple is trying to steal some moments together… I can’t put my finger on it but it makes me smile. Maybe it just endorses the silly stereotype of the madly-in-love couple who can’t get their hands off each other post-marriage… Of course now pre-marital sex isn’t that big an issue (Shhh… shouldn’t say this after what happened to Khushboo).

 The colas haven’t come up with anything brilliant in a long time. Coke’s ‘sar utha ke’ is OK. Doesn’t do anything for me, because I haven’t thrown my head up like that and had a cola from a bottle in years. There are glasses and cans. Plus Mumbai anyway doesn’t have that heat where you just have to have that Coke. On top of which I’ve never been good at glugging Coke without taking a breather. It’ll probably come out of my nose or something. Yuck!

 Tell me if you’ve seen any new, good ads lately. I’d love to dscuss them.

Pillow Talk

2005-11-25T21:53:00.000+06:00

Does your pillow talk to you? I know this sounds crazy but I have this relationship with my pillow that's unique. And I've been wanting to write this blog for a few days but after the night I've had yesterday I decided to write this now.
I just can't sleep right without my pillow. Now I have no idea when I adopted this particular pillow but when I got married and moved to another town, I didn't sleep well for a while and somehow I connected this to not having my own pillow. SO the next time I went home I took it with me. Since then the pillow has travelled with me from Delhi to Chandigarh, then back to Delhi and now to Bombay (it's been some six years at least). I keep thinking of having a smaller size copy made, with the same texture and stuffing but I never do it. I wish I had. Last night my pillow was fat and stuffy and I hate those. Mine is thin and hard and as good as not having one. Yet it's there, that's the beauty. Not in your face (pardon the pathetic innuendo) but just close enough to make you feel secure. So you can dream into it, cry into it and just hug it and sleep. It has a nice striped cloth cover and is now even torn in places, but I love it.
Sometimes I wonder what it is. Habit I know. But does it talk to me? Does it absorb some thoughts and ideas and dreams and then play them back to me on another day? Maybe an unfinished dream? Which is why sometimes a dream starts on one day and ends on another? And usually I dream when I sleep at home, on that pillow. The only time I'm able to avoid missing my pillow is when I'm really tired and sleepy and I just lie on the bed and crash.
But really I wonder why it is that my pillow has this hold over me which is what leads me to believe that there's more to my pillow than meet the eye!! It talks to me at night, or maybe I talk to it. And it just stores the info for later use. I've cried into it several times. Because I'm the kind of person who would be crying behind closed doors (in the loo or into my pillow at night, when I do, and that's not too often, thankfully). Is that what makes it special? That's it's only my shoulder to cry on and no one else's? Am I making any sense?

PS: Saw an Argentinian film Beunos Aires 100 kilometres. Average fare.

Go Goa

2005-11-25T11:38:00.000+06:00

Remind me next time never ever to think that things can go smoothly when the Government is in charge. Total chaos reigned at IFFi yesterday and at 3 p.m. when we entered we were told that we could not collect our media accreditation passes as the counter had shut at 2! wow, and no one informs us. I even attended the press on in Mumbai and there too this was not mentioned. And if you didn't have your media card you couldn't collect an invite! God alone knows what ingenuity I had to use to get an invite and how the photographer entered is another story. Anyhow, that confusion done, we settled down to two and a half hours of speeches (festival director, Jaipal Reddy, CM of Goa, Dev Anand, Chiranjeevi and then the performances: Amisha Patel, urmila Matondkar, Blaze, Meera, Prachi Shah, Dino More and his leading lady from Holiday and the three girls from Garam Masala plus Himesh Reshamiyya and Hema Sardesai. But the best part of the evening was the two-hour Brazilian film Olga. It left me speechless with a lump in my throat. What fantastic acting. It's based on the true story of a a natural-born German woman Olga BenÃ¡rio Prestes, who falls in love with a Brazilian communist leader LuÃs Carlos Prestes. In the dictatorship of Vargas (1930-1945) she was arrested and sent to Nazist Germany, where came to death in a concentration camp. The scene where they take her baby away from her because she can no longer breast feed is gut wrenching. Here is a link to the film. More from Goa later! Cheerio

Finally, airborne

2005-11-23T14:00:00.000+06:00

In more ways than one. I've been out of the blogosphere for ages. And there is a reason for it. This is not where I just scribble some random thought. Those can stay in my head. When I put something here I like to be able to have thought out what I want to say and to say it with a coherent flow. I know I haven't found time to do that in months, but I have now. And the blogs have just been bursting in my head.
The first one is this:

Last Monday night I took my first-ever no-frills flight. It was a Spicejet flight from Mumbai to Delhi and I'd paid a measly 5200 bucks for it (return). The take off time was 20.10 and I left Nariman Point at 17.35 in the evening by train to rush back home to Santa Cruz to pick up my suitcase (18.45) and to then battle the peak Mumbai traffic in a cab. Bless the Indica driver, even though he ensured my heart almost came out of my rib cage several times. I have however, learnt to handle the rides in Mumbai with some cabs and autos defying gravity, traffic rules and everything else. Anyway I made it to the airport in good time (19.20) and checked in, only to be told that winter timings applied from that day (Nov 14) and now the flight would go straight to Delhi and not via Ahmedabad. Hence, it would leave at 21.10. Why wasn't I informed or smsed I asked, when Spicejet had actively been smsing me other inane details once I'd registered for this flight a month ago? He smiled sheepishly.
The excitement of a holiday loomed large so I didn't pay it much attention and wandered to the brand new lobby of the Mumbai domestic airport. It looks good with marbo granite flooring and bamboo plants glowing in the skylighting. There is a snazzy cafe from where I grabbed a coffee and a roll before browsing at The Bombay Store and at the bookstores. Finally, we boarded at 20.30 and the flight left on time.
The crowd is a real mix. Without wanting to sound snobbish, I almost feel I am at Nagpur railway station. I don't know why but the elite seems to place a premium on silence and talking in low tones but we, the middle-class, just doesn't care who's listening. So I see families around me, literally shouting out to each other; I hear conversations I'm not interested in, and I basically see the people I haven't seen on a Jet or an Air Sahara, all the while trying to read Outlook's cover on the Volcker report. Once in the flight, I forget I have prebooked a 2F seat for myself, front window seat and sit down in the seat behind, next to an old couple. When I realise my mistake I am loath to disturb them and hence give up my premium seat. The next thing I know, some young girl is shouting out to the couple next to me, 'Mummy, tum Papa ke saah yeh samosa share kar lo'. It's really like a bus ride! I forgot that food is allowed on board. Because when you pay peanuts you get peanuts. So all the airline gives is is peanuts and water. But I'm not complaining. Rather pay less and eat your own food or not eat instead of eating the greasy fare dished out by most airlines. (Air India's flight to London had food far worse than a domestic Air Sahara flight, seriously). I also notice that the instructions are in far greater detail because I think the airline fears it may be a first flight for several people.
The earth looks really pretty at night. Obviously I haven't taken such a late flight in a long, long time. I was wondering if this is what star gazing is to the people who live up in the sky? Because we look up at the stars but when you look down from that height, the lights (yellow and white) from houses and hotels etc look just the same. Like twinkling stars, and I'm thinking 'so this is what reverse star gazing means'.
Anyway it's now 22.30 and the captain announces that we are ready for descent. The flight looks like it's bang on time but soon it's 23.15 and still no sign of landing. The lady in front of me, to whom I graciously and stupidly gave my seat, informs her neighbour when asked, that we are taxying and have left the runway behind (incorrectly of course). Finally we land at 23.30, and a gentleman's mobile rings to everyone's horror. He has to immediately be told to switch it off and an announcement made on the perils of using a cellphone on the flight. I notice an Air Canada flight standing on the runway and wonder what's happening. Then I see large hangars with 'Customs' and 'Import Gate 1' and Export Gate 3' written on them. We have landed at the customs gate in the Indira Gandhi International Airport. I kid you not!
While I know Delhi very well and made out instantly where we were, imagine the plight of the rest! We boarded the bus and started meandering to the domestic airport. Now this ride as you can imagine took nearly 25 minutes and after the first 10 minutes of dignified silence, most people who were quite shocked started giggling and cracking jokes on how we had landed in Jaipur and were being driven back to Delhi. Nobody had ever taken such a long bus ride within an airport terminal.
We finally reached the terminal and the luggage took another 15 minutes to arrive. I reached home at quarter to 1, and the airport is not more than 25 minutes from my house.
The return was via Ahmedabad. At the Delhi airport I felt like a complete outcast because at the entry gate I was shunted to another gate which was only for Air Deccan and Spicejet. I could almost feel this distinction between the haves and the have-nots, made clear in an instant because the haves flashed their tickets to enter whereas the have-nots flashed only white sheets of paper (print outs) instead of tickets. Even the security gate is separate. I walked across to the other side of the airport to use the washroom since the one this side was locked, and the guard immediately stopped me and informed me that the security gate was different. Sheesh!
Anyhow, we boarded. The seats this time were rexine, not even cushioned. So when the hostess held up a cushioned seat to be used for floatation and I noticed our seats weren't even cushioned I seriously began to wonder what would happen in a crash. How high on safety are the no-frill airlines? I don't know. I hope I never have to find out in an adverse way. I was so tired, I nearly slept through the entire flight. We arrived at the correct terminal but again our luggage took ages to come whereas Jet and Sahara flights which landed after us had their luggage delivered faster.
My verdict: If you are not on a hurried business trip and a few minutes delay here and there don't bother you, go ahead and try a no-frills airline. But if you're one of those fidgety, short-tempered people who want premium sevice in everything, please stick to your regular airline because now with check fares the difference isn't that much. Me? I'm quite OK with it, because the price is really good but tomorrow I board a flight for Goa (for work; I know it's a juxtaposition, Goa and work) and I'm kind of happy it's Jet. Looking forward to it actually!!

Look what I stumbled upon

2005-10-27T16:25:00.000+06:00

A blog, apparently Bipasha Basu's. It's on rediff, and it announces at the outset that it is going to be used to promote Apharan, a film by Prakash Jha, in which Bips plays a deglamourised role. No doubt the handiwork of some smart PR person, who realised that blogs have a way of spreading the word and a film like Apharan will probably need the word of mouth. There are just two posts and can you guess the number of comments? 196. Some, as expected, obscene, some just the usual fan rantings and of course all these people actually believe that it is Bips writing and editing and maintaining that blog. Got the link from here, by the way.

And oh yeah, another birthday...

2005-10-22T01:53:00.000+06:00

This year all the birthdays in my life (my own and my blog's) have been non-events. There are some people who believe that a birthday is just another day. You should enjoy each day. Maybe I'm turning into one of those people. Of course one of my blog loyalists pointed out that my blog had turned a year (it actually hadn't occurred to me) and I still didn't react, until today, because I have the time, and more importantly, a free head. A big story that I was on has been published, and it's amazing to see how life changes in 365 days.
I just went back to my very first blog, called Hiya, posted on Oct 12. I was living in Delhi, had just quit journalism after 7 years and joined British Council as a corporate communications manager. Oh, my God! The entire blog was about why I'd quit the line and why I called my blog what I did, and why I'd be a writer nonetheless.. blah blah. But one thing I have to say. I worked in British Council for just three months, but those three months gave me some very important things. Firstly, the freedom in every way, to start this blog, because I felt the need to keep writing, one way or another. The second, it made me go back to reading books. Something I had totally stopped doing. Here I had the time and the access and I haven't stopped since.
And how my life has changed. I went back to being a full fledged journalist who is now living the 11 to 11 life (not 9 to 9 or 9 to 5), and today I'm sitting with my first really big story out and I'm elated and I'm remembering what my boss said to me when I was quitting, about how she failed to understand that I couldn't see how much of a news person I was. She actually wrote in my resignation 'bad decision' but 'good luck'. Plus, I changed cities, from Delhi to Mumbai. A new life, a new place, from the comfort of your own car to a train. From some level of snobbishness to absolute humility in the floods... plus a big (and my first) trip outside the country. I don't know... It's just been a year and how my life has changed.
And the most important, my chanting, and my SGI. Which I think has had greater impact in my life than I realise and which I could never do in Delhi, though I tried. Delhi, as someone told me once, gives you physical space, but Mumbai gives you mental space. And as much as I bitch about this city, I must say, for this I salute it. I have never felt so free, and so safe and so mentally unfettered... in spite of the trains and the muck and the jams... there I go again.
Every physical space, every location has a vibe and it imparts a feeling, and you cannot remain unaffected by it even if you try. So a lot of who you are I think depends on where you are. How relaxed or upset or controlled or enraged... it does depend on where you live. So am I softening to Mumbai or is Mumbai softening to me? I don't know. But if it were a person, I'd give it a bear hug right now.

crazy

2005-10-22T01:41:00.000+06:00

This is crazy, this is absolutely crazy. The entire point of a blog is to be able to write what you feel like, in an unhibited manner. But if, like Gaurav Sabnis and Rashmi Bansal, one is going to be villified and sued then one will really have to think about what one writes. The idea of a blog is to be able to put down the stuff you can't put down in mainstream media or mainstream public domain, but if companies are going to be pressurised and people are going to have to lose their jobs, then it's really pathetic. We'll all have to start using codes -- now I know what that ridiculous thing called the 'P' language was invented -- to get over their heads. Hmm....

Here is where Gaurav has posted the mail IIPM sent him.

Yes, I'm here, come on in

2005-09-24T16:21:00.000+06:00

Yes, I am here. I'm just watching, listening, reading and assimilating my thoughts. It's something I like to do every now and then. I will be back, soon, can't promise when though. Maybe tomorrow, maybe day after, maybe next week...
So byte, does this answer your question?

The mood in England

2005-09-13T11:33:00.000+06:00

England is scared. England is very, very scared right now. Did you read the paper this morning? Now any UK citizen can't be smiling in his or her visa photograph. Yes you read it right. It's to improve security and so potential travellers must produce "a neutral expression with your mouth closed," to quote The Asian Age. The piece continues, 'The UK home office spokesperson says, "It's about having a closed mouth. An open-mouthed smile will throw the scanner off.' A restrained grin is acceptable, officials confirmed, but even the slightest flash of teeth could pose a problem for the equipment".'

When I landed in London, precisely a month ago, to the day, my cousin and I stopped off at Chelsea for a cup of coffee. We parked in one of the residential lanes behind the market, one of the very posh areas I'm told, and I was surprised to see that the road was absolutely empty. At 6.30 p.m. Not one person in sight. She explained to me that it was holiday season so a lot of people who lived there had taken off to their homes in the country etc. Also, she said, there aren't many tourists this time because of the blasts. The streets, I kept noticing, were practically empty. At one time, I said something to the effect of 'so and so costs a bomb' and I was immediately hushed up by my aunt, because even the mention of the 'b' word was scary.

Can you imagine that? We live in that world. Day in and day out. I have a friend in Srinagar who says that it has happened that he's gone to the market with his wife and there's been a blast and they've dusted themselves and got into the car and driven back. They live with that. England doesn't. It never has. Which is why Blair did so much straight talk in India this time. In fact in London, there was a desperate attempt to lift spirits and forge a spirit of unity. Every street light, every bus shelter had this slogan.

7 million Lononders
1 London

It was of course cleverly done with the letters from the two lines merging (will photo blog it). The problem is my London pix are by a regular camera so I need to scan them and post them, unlike Canada which is all on digital.

Anyway, back to London. Every paper only talked of the killing of the innocent Brazilian with demands and probes and resignations etc. Even as you walk into the Heathrow arrival lounge three-four (very good looking) cops strut by, but believe me, they are so heavily armed, you don't even want to try and make eye contact with them. And on my return, just as we were at the boarding gate (No. 42, the last possible gate, and a 20-minute walk from the main lounge where the duty free shops are), the British Airports Authority announced that they weren't satisfied with the security arrangements and hence all of us had to go right back to security. Now I had just gotten off an eight-hour flight and was dehydrated and dead tired and I felt quite bad because there were many old people too, but everyone had to do the drill. A 20-minute walk back to security and then a 20-minute walk back to boarding gate no 42 which means an hour of just walking up and down. That's how scared they are. Nothing is good enough. If there is any lapse in security, however small, they ain't taking chances. But living in this part of the world we all know that they are not going to be attacked again, not in the near future. The chill has been sent and the message has been received loud and clear. So they can do all the security arrangements in the world, but the deed is already done. All they can do is learn from India. Chin up. Go about your daily life and do not let them think they have managed to disrupt your life, your thought process, the way you travel, the way you work.

> The buzz
The only think to make me believe that Londoners were going about their normal life was an article that shopping continued to be on the rise with most Londoners out buying stuff and frequenting markets. In fact, this is where I really felt the 'buzz'. At Oxford Street, on High Street Kensington and in Knightsbridge. I read an article the other day in Time Out Mumbai by columnist Girish Shahane who was writing from Geneva and talking about how some cities had the buzz but others didn't. He also spoke of how some foreigner had told him that Mumbai has the same buzz. In fact, London, New York, Mumbai and Shanghai are the cities normally supposed to have it. Like Lycra. Either you have it or you don't! I don't know about Mumbai (where would you go to feel this buzz, Phoenix Mills?) but London definitely does. It's in the air. The fashion sense. The way women will continue to wear short skirts and stilletos even while shopping and in extreme cold, because they must be well turned out at all times. The way they will wrap a pashmina over a pair of linen pants and make it seem the hippest thing to do. The way four women will effortlessly be sharing lives over a bottle of wine and cigarettes at 5 p.m. But more than anything else I think the buzz is a reflection of how happy people are to be in that city, how much they love it. How much they smile. Do they wish each other while walking by, are manners and courtesy in full display, do they nod to each other like iPod users who know they are part of a unique club, do they smile while chatting on the cellphone? Do they hold hands and hug and kiss in the street? Or are they aggressive, abusive, angry, frustrated, scowling faces. That really is what the buzz in a city is. Talk to most Londoners and they will tell you that there's no other place in the world they'd rather live. Same for most Mumbaikars. That's what the buzz is.

2005-09-08T19:20:00.000+06:00

Hmmm... what is it about living abroad. Could I do it? I don't know. Do I want to do it? Probably yes, for a while. Just back and completely disoriented and without wanting to sound like a 'phoren-return' I am silently acknowledging how absolutely dirty, noisy and polluted our city is. How commuting is so tough, how I love this country but it makes me seethe in anger to see how little we show about how much we care. How we don't give a flying eff about our tax money and how we don't demand that it be put to better use. How the Air India terminal is the worst possible entry point into India, with old, discarded trolleys, the ones where the wheels have minds of their own, which even the domestic terminal has discarded, in use. Where any one from an official to a class IV servant who so much as helps you with lifting a bag demands kharcha paani. (If any of you ad guys are reading this, Air India needs a serious face change and an image change. Please pitch for it. The air-hostesses and flight stewards can't even communicate properly, forget how they look, since that I think isn't a fair way to judge. But yes this is a business where image matters). So, yes I do want to live abroad for a stint. For the experience. For the exposure. For the access to other countries that it affords you, and within your salary. Not like India where till now you had to save for months or maybe years for a half-decent trip to a half-decent country. My friend could go to Oslo and back or Amsterdam and back from London and the same money wouldn't even take me to the backwaters of Kerala and back. (That said, I think Indians abroad who've grown up there need to travel to India too. My cousin, who is born and brought up in England and has visted India several times, but met me after a hitaus of a decade, was somewhat disappointed to see that I wasn't either enamoured of the shopping or the country or anything and that I pretty much dressed like her or someone there, had the same taste in movies and music and as much exposure and knowledge of world matters. She said she also has a friend from South Africa who was also pretty much the same. It was a realisation I think that 'abroad' to Indians is no more 'unique' and no more a place where you come to buy stuff you don't get. "So now you get everything everywhere so no one is unique anymore," she lamented. I asked her what was made in England anyway since all tags are either 'Made in India' or Made in China or Cambodia or whatever is the latest flavour of the manufacturing world.
Anyhow, yes I do want to live abroad and the only thing that worries the lazy part of me is the housework. Oh My God. Doing everything yourself right from the hoover to dishes (even with a dishwasher) to groceries to mowing the lawn to kids... yikes. It's such hard work. First at office then at home, then at relationships. It probably takes great grit to live there... I think we're quite spoilt in India with our bais and our cooks and our emotional support structure and of course, the confidence of being in your own country... that must be a lot to give up. Or is it?

So this is what it looks like from up there where She sits!!!!!

2005-08-29T07:09:00.000+06:00

Oh My God! Went on top of the CN Tower today, the world's tallest tower and what a breathtaking sight. Just can't describe it, especially stepping on the glass floor and seeing the world below. My first thoughts: oh God what if it breaks!!!!

in canada now

2005-08-22T08:10:00.000+06:00

hey all
in Canada now. Wherever I go, there are storms and thunderstorms... what is this? I shift to Mumbai and it has the worst rain in a hudnred years and the day I was flying in, one of the worst ever tornados hits toronto and i have to land in montral etc and land five hours late as a result of which my 8 hour flight became 13.5 hours long!!!!!!!!!!! grrr.
anyway, visited wal-mart today. just a larger big bazaar really.
off to montreal, quebec and ottawa day after
cheerio
in love with england. photo blog when I return

a brush with God

2005-08-18T02:12:00.000+06:00

I had a brush with God today. I am so sure of it. We were at this old and beautiful catehdral at Lichfield in England, and we arrived at 6.30 because we lost our way a bit and the doors had shut at 6.So we admired the architecture and sat down on the grass for a bit, and there she was. Just there. Right in my face. A little girl, with peaches and cream skin, short hair, a fringe, brown eyes, and for a second my heart stopped beating. She didn't say a word, she just stared at me, and smiled. Iasked her her name, she said Wila, I didn't quite get it. Her brother then came up and introduced hismelf as her step brother and said he's shocked because she never goes up to anyone had hardly talks, she's three years old. By now Willow, that's her name, is lying down on the grass in exactly the same way as I am, in an effort to imitate me. Her brotehr says it's really uncanny and then talks about how children recognise good people instantly. We give her chocolate, my aunt gives her a rupee for her money box and she won't leave. Her brother Steven tells us he's here from Birmingham and asks if I'm Indian and here on holiday. Meanwhile Willow's got chocolate all over her face so I help her wipe it off. The connection is just unmissable and everyone remarks that she and I must go back somewhere. I tell them she's God. Since we came to the cathedral but the doors were shut and we couldn't meet God, He decided to come out and meet us, or at least send one of his angels. Willow is then taken away and she keeps looking back and waving. I'm still a bit spooked, a bit happy and I'm sure there has to be an explanation for why a quiet and shy child who never talks to people she knows, let alone strangers, would come running up to me and just look me in the eye and stare at tme and not want to leave me in two minutes of knowing me.
it's just really weird.

2005-08-18T01:51:00.000+06:00

As I sit down right now, a huge wheat-cutting machine works away, humming to its own pace, in the English countryside. It really is beautiful, 10 to 9 at night, and not a drop of moonlight. The little towns, Solihull, Lichfield, Stratford, Aston, they look right out of a picture book. The hedges are all even, the cars are all droolworthy, the rubbish is out in the cans, the posies smile at you obediently, gosh it's another world. So, so quiet. None of the madness of Bombay, of India. The noise, the dabbawalas, the fisherwomen, the vendors, the animals, the autos, the cabs, the radio from someone's car, it's mind boggling that we manage to find our solace and our quiet in the middle of all that din. Even London, the big bustling London is far, far quieter and some parts, the posh ones like Chelsea, look like no one actually lives in the houses. It is holiday time yes, and it's quiet because of the blasts yet it's just amazingly decibely low (I know that's not a word). I've taken the tube, the coach (just the bus from London to Birmingham), the train (from Birmingham to Stratford), the red bus, the black metro cabs (Kingfisher is doing some fantastic advertising on the cabs; isn't it 'lovely') and nowhere have I seen such quiet. I know it's odd, you don't see quiet. Do you listen to quiet then? No one speaks to each other. They just sit there and read or look out of the window or sip their coffee....
it's really another world.
That said, I am also amazed at how well they keep their monuments, restore their buldings, preserve their history, and manage to turn all of this into tourism revenue. Stratford on Avon, Shakespeare's birthplace is bustling with people, Chinese, Indians, Arabs, all nationalities, happily paying the £6.75 entry fee. And there are shops and cafes and boat rides, the entire place is just thriving on tourism revenue. It's the same for Westminster Abbey (£8 entry plus £3 for an audio guide or £4 for a human guide) or Buckingham Palace, some 20 quid. But it's fascinating. To see Shakespeare's house or the grave of Geoffrey Chaucer or even the epitaphs, though the graves are not there, for DH Lawrence, and Samuel Johnson and TS Eliot and George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans). Why can't we do the same? I am sure enough people would want to see the tombs and graves of our kings and leaders and samadhis etc. or our palaces, and our history and our customs? It's really a pity...
Lastly, I can't live abroad. For all its fashion sense and good looking and well turned out people (London really has a vibe) they have a dog's life. No help at home, everything from cooking to cleaning to clothes to kids to dusting to dishes. I get tired just looking at them work. So all those picture perfect houses and manicured lawns don't necessarily have picture perfect lives.

Ta ta (pronounced tuh-ta)

2005-08-12T17:55:00.000+06:00

There are so many things I've been wanting to write, a review of Dus, a review of Kaal, a review of Bunty aur Babli, a review of Paheli, a review of Sarkar, a review of Yahaan... Gosh I've seen a lot of films lately, haven't I?
I've been wanting to write about the books I've read, about a lot of stuff, but of all that later.
I am once again dropping off the map for a bit, on a trip, hoping to travel and see and indulge and learn and hopefully blog. So wait for my blog and I promise I'll try to write while I'm away. Carrying a notepad nevertheless. Actually my wrist needs the break; suffering from a pain in my right wrist and hand for a few weeks. Probably the over use of computers and of course the sms. Wonder how it will be to have no cell for three weeks. Haven't had that feeling in years...
Anyway all you people -- how can I not say this -- keep rocking! Ta ta

Another birthday...

2005-08-05T14:05:00.000+06:00

I just had another birthday a few days ago. Not a particularly good one with with all the flooding and us having to be stuck at home again... I've had all sorts of birthdays, as I'm sure have you. Some good ones with parties and hype and excitement. Last year, I was in Bombay, visiting, and it was a fantastic birthday, a really good one. So I guess things balance out. And somehow when I'm living in a new city, the first one is always a little uh-oh. Of course all my zillion friends and family called and messaged and all that but back in Delhi I would actually meet so many of them. The other problem I have is that birthdays tend to depress me a little. There's the burden of expectations and no, I don't particularly care about turning a year older and inching towards 30 -- though no one who knows me well will believe this since I've been going on and on about it -- it's just that on birthdays I feel like it's New Year's Eve. Anything new brings on reflection on the old. Doesn't it? But tell me, why is it that every birthday introspection accosts you like a nosey neighbour? Wanting to make polite conversation, expecting you to reply and generally making you uncomfortable because you'd rather not be there, rather not be having that conversation. Similarly, I feel confronted, with feelings and issues that I'd rather not deal with the rest of the year or rather not talk about. It just makes me look back, tally the scorecard and I can't treat it like any other day. My mind, though, grew out of that magical feeling, the 'it's my birthday yipee' feeling I think when I turned 21. I swear every birthday before that I would wake up early, with a gleeful smile, be hugged and kissed by mom and dad, surrounded by presents and feel like a fairy, but somehow somewhere, I think it was 21, it vanished, and it became any other day. From then on the more normal I try to keep the day, the more I try to go with the flow, the better it is. Because by virtue of it being your birthday and all the calls etc, it does end up becoming a little special anyway... but the depression bouts continue. Wonder when they'll go away...

More rock

2005-08-05T13:39:00.000+06:00

Want to let you all know that the Chiragh Din Rocks (read blog below called rock on) has reached TV. It's imprinted on some Chiragh Din commercial now, exactly the way it appears on the hoarding. It says CD and then rocks is written in a charcoal-like hand scribble....

And apart from the hazaar use of it's rocking, he's rocking, I'm rocking, everyone's rocking in innumerable newspaper and magazine articles, I saw a very innovative use of rock this morning. A pack of Wills Classic Milds had a small little insert (never seen this in my life before), which had an eletronic guitar talking about rock and roll and the association of the electronic guitar. So did they finally figure out that smokers and rock and roll are sort of connected (did they read Gladwell?) and did they also think that a smoker needs rock and roll trivia? I don't know.

I have also realised (by stumbling upon a rerun of Koffee With Karan on StarOne) that the word rocking was rampantly used throughout the show so KJ does have some hand in popularising it...

2005-08-03T17:01:00.000+06:00

A blog that's been on my mind for ages (as most of my blogs are). It's about the recent ads I've seen on screen. One of them is the Fastrack ad. Where, during the roll call in what looks like a college classroom, when Siddharth's name is announced, all the girls start moaning and saying 'yes sir' and it leads up to a mock orgasm, a la the famous restaurant scene in When Harry Met Sally when Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal are having an argument about how women can fake it. Ultimately, it's obvious Sid is quite a stud because he's like covering his face in embarrassment (so studs also get embarrassed? wow). Anyway, the ad ends with the line 'How many you have'? trying to pretend that it's about 'multiple' uhmmm watches! I'm quite impressed because either the ad has been subtle enough to go above the heads of many, which is why no moral police groups have talked about how it encourages promiscuity in college etc. Also pre marital sex is so obviously at the centre of this ad, I'm again surprised no one has asked for a disclaimer being put in 'sex before marriage is injurious to health'.
But hey, good ad, well executed.

> Since we're on the topic, there's this condom ad that I quite like because it takes the suggestion story forward. A condom usually means safe sex. KS tried to take that forward to pleasure. Now, it's friendship. Basically this ad has a couple on their wedding night on the decked poster bed and the guy chances upon a condom strategically placed under his pillow. But, since this is obviously an arranged match and he has a nervous bride before him, he decides to put it away and almost seems to say to it 'not tonight darling, I have a conversation to make'. Cut to the couple chatting and the ad suggests that use a condom yes, but sex is about getting to know the person (in an arranged marriage) and about a level of comfort. It's the 'Yehi Hai Sahi' ad. Again a good ad.

When the streets had no name... Mumbai on July 26

2005-07-30T00:13:00.000+06:00

It started like regular Tuesday mornings do. The Monday depression is past, the week looks promising and all's well with the world. I was supposed to do lunch with a contact/friend in Juhu and it had been getting endlessly postponed. I called to say I'd meet him at his office instead and carry on to work since Nariman Point is pretty far. But he didn't take the call and just messaged to fix the time and place. I sent a long-winded sms in return to cancel, and then on seeing no reply, proceeded to send an equally long-winded message to say I'd come. There was nothing urgent in office anyway and journalists get their leads from precisely such meetings. So, I made use of the husband's car and driver since he'd left for an off-site conference just out of Mumbai, and off I went to Juhu, stopping to shop if you please, on the way, for something for my sister. I met him for lunch at The Club, a nice quiet lunch, and we even discussed Budhism and why I was chanting, and I was explaining to him why it works for me, and just when we were leaving, it started to rain. Really rain. This was about 2 p.m.

2.15 p.m.
He suggested I skip the day and go home and sleep. Are you out of your mind, it's just Tuesday I said. But as the rain got worse, and my driver took nearly 20 minutes to come to the porch, something in me - hey Gladwell, I've just started to read your second book Blink, and yes, some snap decisions are fantastic - said 'don't go to work'. So I called work, told them I'd do suburb-related research instead, and asked the driver to take it to Bandra. When we neared home, almost 45 minutes later, I decided the rain was really bad so I told him to take it home and we'd step out later once the rain subsided.

3.00
The road outside my house (Santa Cruz West) was already a swimming pool. Just like that. In a matter of minutes tar disappeared and a brown muddy river it became. I couldn't think of anything else except my childhood in Assam and how the water resembled an angry Brahmputra. Cars were stuck, all shapes and sizes. We managed to barely get into the building by which time the car was literally swimming, but no water inside the car. The lobby was flooded, calf-high water, so I folded my pants and walked up the five floors.

3.15
Water was coming into my drawing room through the windows. I moved the furniture, did some quick pocha and put all the bathroom mats I could find on the floor under the windows, but it kept coming and coming. Kind of trying to stop blood from a wound with a hanky that's stained in seconds. I put the fans on full speed, and sent the driver home. Then I requested the caretaker to get in a tall stool to remove my silk curtains which were already a bit wet. When I was on the stool, I heard a loud noise, and realised I had hit my hand on the fan. It was on full speed. I could have lost a finger, the fan was wildly swaying. What happended? Nothing. Just a bruise under a nail and the volts resonating in my hand for a few minutes. And just then she was gone. No electricity.

4
Been trying desperately to call my husband and friends. Can't get through. I've had so many sms bounces, I'm practically used to that sound 'message sending failed'. He mentioned he may try to come home Tuesday evening if he's through. I want to tell him to stay put. I pull out all the old India Todays, and the Bollywood Special I haven't been able to read, and make myself a strong cup of coffee. It would almost be an ideal day if only... I peep out, by the way, and the water on the road is now waist high... A big yellow bus is stuck bang in the middle of the crossing below but cars continue to make their way.

6
Still haven't spoken to a soul and the restless fidgeting in my heart is increasing to a thump. The water is increasing alarmingly. I am without a torch but bless my candle collection. I don't have a portable radio (must get one) or a land line (must get one too), and I don't dare listen to the radio on my cell for fear of using the battery. Finally a friend, R, gets through to tell me it's bad everywhere and he's still at work in town.

8
I'm really alone now. The candles have been lit; I try all the permutations and combinations, keep the tallest ones burning first, leave the ornamental ones for last, and I've almost finished 96 pages of straight reading of the Bollywood Special. I still keep trying to call and sms people and manage to get through once in a while to R, and to his wife, who is at her place in Bandra, again with no light, and is practising her guitar. We manage to exchange some sms. More pocha, might I add.

9
The husband finally gets through to tell me he isn't coming in because all the entry points are jammed. I heave a sigh of relief and suddenly realise I really am alone. No light, and soon no phone. Not a word, complete silence, and just candles and the ravaging rain for company. I try to look out and the water is now neck-high. In the dead of the night, like ships passing by, I hear the distressed sounds of women trying to wade across the river and calling out to each other by name. I also hear whistles periodically. I begin to imagine how life must have been pre electricity, pre Tv, pre cell phones. And almost on cue, I am hungry and decide to be done with dinner. Unfortunately it's already cooked so I don't get a chance to kill time cooking it. My thoughts turn to my fridge and all the stocks which may have to be thrown. I detest wastage, it does something to me, and is probably a legacy from always being hungry in boarding. I also wonder for a second how I will heat dinner minus the micro when I remember there was the gas before the days of the micro.

random thoughts at this time:
> in the olden days, food must have been more a means to structure the day than to cater to the rumblings of the stomach. I don't always eat when I am hungry, but when it's meal time. Somehow, when the night falls, and there is nothing else to do, you begin to feel hungry, because it's night, it must be dinner time, and after all what else is there to do but eat and sleep?

> candle light means you can really extend your field of vision till as far as you want. A tube and a bulb are fixed to certain spots in the wall and can only reflect light thus far, but if I move the candle closer to the window, my world view expands, my room is larger, my world is larger. If I get the candle closer to me, sure I can try to read better, but the room looks and feels smaller. It's closing in on me. Also, in the dark, even small things assume large proportions. So a book cover flapping in the breeze reflcted against candle light looks menacing and scary on the wall.
Is this what solitary confinement feels like? Am I losing it?

10
I get through to colleagues, four of whom are together in a cab. They left Nariman at 5.30 and are now somewhere near Prabhadevi. (They ultimately reached Bandra at 2.30 in the morning). But at that point they were the ones who looked like they were having a party, eating brownies, braving the rain, stuck on the roads with a million others, and I was going nuts alone. But that's life. I start to now listen to the voices in my head in an attempt to have conversation and I don't like what I hear. R tells me he's started from Colaba about an hour ago and is hopeful of being home by 12. He's listening to floyd (he ust happened to take his car to work that day), is enjoying the light rain and the cool air, and again I feel miserably alone. (He finally got home at 3.30 a.m.) Anyway, I've managed to talk to parents and in laws and assured them I am safe, physically, that is. And now I decide to make no more calls and conserve whatever little battery the phone has left, if the 'no network coverage' sign ever leaves the monitor, that is.

11
I've been staring at the remains of the candle for over 45 minutes. It's an old habit. In camps, from school, it used to be the embers of the fire. Now I wait for it to die on me, because I don't have the heart to snuff out my only companion. But hey, after 45 minutes, I lose it and snuff it out in a huff. It's muggy but I toss and turn and finally roll off to sleep.

Wednesday, July 27
I'm awake at 8 a.m but there's still no light and now the phone is completely dead, and like an abandoned elderly person, with no mission for the day, I spend the next two hours falling in and out of sleep.

11
Loud banging on the door and it's R and his wife, who've actually come to rescue me. They've waded through waist-high water and parked their car three lanes away knowing I am alone at home, stuck. I am almost delirious and panicky and quickly throw my things in a bag, pull out some food from the fridge and leave with them. I hate the feeling, like I'm abandoning my house, but I can't possibly stay. This situation could go on for days...
We reach the lobby and I almost gag. It's puky, and smelly and filthy. And I have no choice but to step into it.
I close my eyes, take her hand and descend into the water. It almost feels like I'm attempting to absolve my sins by descending into the Ganga or something, but no romanticising the situation here. This is the kind of water I'd stared at yesterday from my window and thought 'thank God I don't have to get into that'. The car in the car park has water inside. The leather seats are submerged, the dashboard will soon be wet. I walk by, there is nothing I can do. We walk and walk and walk, about 10-15 minutes. The water seeps into my clothes and higher and higher and I am disgusted. We make it to the car and stock up on food and reach their house. They have light, the roads are dry and it's hard to imagine that 5 kms away, there is just hell. I have a shower, connect my phone and start to hear of the horrors others have gone through. I realise I am truly protected, for not going in to work that day, for coming back home at 3 and saving my house from a possible flood. I chant in gratitude and pray for all those who have lost everything. I manage to call and sms and re assure everyone that I am Ok. By morning everyone was in a panic since I was incommunicado. I also wonder if I would have done that for someone, get into that muck to go and pull them out. I don't know... I hope I would have. Thank you R and thank you N. You fear you wouldn't be able to stand up to the situation and be there to help someone when the situation demands. Well, you did. You stood up when you had to...

I watch TV the entire day, have more coffee, try to read The Motorcycle Diaries and play Uno. All across the city someone is either getting home or still at work, or wading somewhere and I keep getting to hear frightening tales.

Then the ONGC fire happens. It really is too much.
I don't even switch on the TV. A friend to whom I've narrated the tale says she's missing the action and that she would have have recounted it with far more masala had she been in my place. I tell her that when you see what's going on around, there is no scope for masala.
I try to call both my maids up in their cell phone, knowing they must be going through hell, and I wonder if they have houses left. Can't get through to either...

My husband is again very lucky. He manages to come to our friends' house by 11 p.m. in two hours flat. He and I have not even seen a tenth of what others have gone through. I don't know what it is, but it saved us all right. Yes the car is wet and refuses to start and the car papers are wet and now blow dried but we're ok.

It's really hit me what the word exile can mean. Especially when it ain't a smart pet name and it ain't self-imposed. You know what I mean?

2005-07-28T02:22:00.000+06:00

water water everywhere and not a drop to drink... devastation, destruction, it's not been a nice 24 hours.
more tomorrow... when i can collect my thoughts...

Boxes and cages. Cages and boxes.

2005-07-25T16:52:00.000+06:00

Why do we need to define all relationships? To box them up. To place them in squares, triangles, circles. To cage them. To give them parameters and boundaries and limits. And then to want to think out of the box, to want to flee the very cage we set up, to want to escape the boundaries we create.
It’s easy to say go with the flow. A flow can be dangerous, damming it even more dangerous. Dams burst…
But vague, undefined, loose relationships… How many of us can deal with those in our lives? Should we? Should we learn to unlearn maps and routes and let relationships meander and walk and run and jog the way they want to? To not put landmarks and milestones and ‘show’ them the way? To not expect them to steer the ‘right’ course, but instead let them go as the wind takes them? And as a result bear the consequences of landing up lost? In a mirage, in a sand dune, in the ocean or simply at sea?
And then to stand back and think ‘let me retrace my steps and go back, back to where I came from, to the boxes and the cages’, or to think ‘let me go further where this takes me. If I’m in the sea, let me go scuba diving, if I’m in the dunes, let me get my feet wet with sand, and if I’m in a mirage, let me wait till it clears’.
Let me create a new map.
Or let me live my life based on maps already designed, already printed. Boxes and cages. Cages and boxes.

Pathetic Poetry

2005-07-22T12:28:00.000+06:00

I determine today
That I will blog every day

Even if it's just a thought
Better to say something that naught

That way the journey will continue
Even if it's venom you want to spew

How painful it must be every day
To come to a site that literally says 'go away'

Everyone may not come back another day
After all why wait for tomorrow when you can say it today

Sheesh! If this is what I have to say
Better not determine to blog every day!

Another rock

2005-07-22T12:26:00.000+06:00

This morning as I was leaning out of the train I saw a hoarding for Chiragh Din shirts and it said CD rocks. And the rocks was almost like a hand written scribble. Oh God, an overnight job!! Unlikely, but hey watch; this thing, it's rocking.

Rock on

2005-07-21T15:21:00.000+06:00

OK, so I am getting some of my groove back. This is a blog I've been wanting to write for a while. Actually, ever since I finished reading Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point. I loved the book, it really did expand my thought process, so much so that I've been quoting it to friends and trying to analyse a lot of everyday things based on the few simple principles laid out in the book. And one of the core things the book tries to analyse is how small trends, small habits in one remote part of the world mushroom into epidemics, how they reach a tipping point and then suddenly everyone is using it or sporting it or saying it etc.
And today I'm going to write about one such phenomenon and it is rock. Yes, everything and anything and everyone is rocking. I don't quite know how it started but it's everywhere. I just went on to an Illinois-based blog and a comment on the show Cheaters was 'the show rocks'. I read an interview of Samir Nair, COO of Star TV on KBC2 and he was talking about how Amitabh Bachchan rocks and how he is the ultimate rock star. I turn on Star World and I see the show Rockstar (choosing a new band member for INXS) . I watch Dus and when Sanjay Dutt has to motivate his team he doesn't just say, 'C'mon boys let's do it'. That would be too staid. He says 'C'mon boys let's rock'. Bu they don't pull out their guitars and drums, more like AKs and grenades. Ask anyone how they're doing and no one says, 'I'm good'. It's always 'I'm rocking' or 'you rock'. Now all any marketer needs to do is to realise how fast this word and what it conveys has caught on, and they need to launch something which either has the word or the import in it. It could be an ad campaign or it could be a product, like Reebok could launch a pair of sneakers and call them Rockstars and I'm sure they would fly off shelves. Or it could be more subtle, like a hoarding using the power of suggestion. This is how epidemics happen.
Sorry Mr Bachchan, your favourite phrase, mind blowing, just didn't spread this fast.

Spontaneity... killed?

2005-07-21T14:52:00.000+06:00

I hate this. I hate the fact that I can't blog the way I did when I started out. I used to write freely, spontaneously, without re-reading, rewriting, mulling and readers, especially friends, had pointed out that it was this free-wheeling style that made the blog interesting. Except now, something has changed. I have enough thoughts mulling in my head, enough things I want to say, but I just don't. I mull and I mull and I mull and I want to add stuff to it and make it bigger and more comprehensive and conclusive and then write it, and ultimately I never do.
Why?
Because I don't want to sound like a confessor, because I don't want to sound like a raver and ranter (are those even words?) because I don't want to sound like a cute girl rambling.... but then does it matter? The blog I thought was created because of me, of what I wanted to say, not what I sounded like. Why is it that when there is an audience, however small, the way we speak, write, and maybe even think, changes?

a random stat...

2005-07-05T18:23:00.000+06:00

Found this in Time Out... pretty interesting

> Rank of Mumbai and Bangalore as the sexiest cities according to all Indians (1, 2)
> Rank of Mumbai and Bangalore as the sexiest cities according to all Indians in the age group 16-20 (2, 1)
Online 2004 Durex Global Sex Survey that interviewed more than 3,50,000 people in 41 countries including India.

Responses

2005-07-05T12:41:00.000+06:00

I wrote this yesterday as a comment, in response to the responses I got for the last post, but don't think they've been seen, so here they are:

OK, for starters, I don't usually respond to comments because comments are meant to be just that, comments, and I don't think they warrant full-fledged conversations. Secondly most are just points of view and rhetorical really, not requiring answers. But this time is different, and since I did ask for thoughts and have received some rather interesting ones, I do want to take this post a step further.
So, to Anonymous: your 'off-beat take' is not far-fetched but is I think a bit simplistic. What you are saying could be one of the reasons but not the only reason. Having lived in both cities, I do agree that daily life in Mumbai is a bit of a struggle even for the well-heeled but let me tell you they don't think of it that way one bit. If they did, they would not swear by the city and continue to live here and love it. Tiredness, at one level, is a state of mind. And I think outsiders like me face it more. They go through the same grind and yet they are out partying, eating out much more than any other city. In Delhi, the roads are cleaner but public transport is a pain. So unless you have your own car it's quite a struggle there too. Cabs are out to rook you, touts are omnipresent, setting up home, calling to set up a gas connection, getting a phone line, these are all nightmarish experiences in Delhi, but living in Mumbai is far easier and it is a relatively less corrupt city as well. And safer. Which is why I feel it draws many more single people to it, and people who have higher demands from life, higher aspirations and people who are not ready to compromise. They will brave the rain, the roads, but they will not compromise when it comes to their life. They guard their weekends zealously; Mumbaikars are more loathe to work on weekends that Delhiites. They don't even want to show you their house for renting on a weekend! The lines between colleagues and friends blur in Delhi much faster; in Mumbai people would rather mix with friends and let colleagues stay just that; plus they'd rather not take the pain of entertaining at home which allows someone a peek into your life and is therefore a warmer experience, instead they'll meet at a common place. So in some sense, yes all of this contributes to the radar, the scanner being on. In Delhi it's just not a nice vibe, it's a very 'I want to get into your pants vibe' (maybe the jaat heartlands surrounding Delhi lend their mentality to the capital as well), here it's more like 'let's get to know each other' vibe. Of course the ulterior motive in both cases may or may not be the same.
And hey Conman: Nice comment, well put. May your search yield results soon!

Looking for company?

2005-07-01T17:38:00.000+06:00

I’m a very weird person. I’ve figured. Most people go to a pub or a nightclub or a disco to let their hair down, to destress, to drink, to smoke, to listen to good music, to dance, and to catch up with friends. I do too, but sometimes I observe. Last night I was at Hawaiian Shack, this little cozy shack-like pub in Bandra, where rock and soft rock rule. It’s packed most days of the week -- never go on a Saturday though, the joke is it’s worse than a Virar local -- with office going youngsters (yes it’s quite reasonable) downing beer and screaming their lungs singing Just another brick in the wall or Pour some sugar on me. So anyway I’m there with friends and I look around me and immediately I sense the same vibe. The same vibe that had come as a bit of a surprise, culture shock if you may, when I visited Mumbai last August (after a gap of nearly 20 years). After just a few minutes in the same pub, seated on one of the high stools, I mentioned to my husband that Mumbai is a pretty lonely city. I had no idea then that I’d be living her so soon after that trip and would have enough time to socially observe people at length and leisure. He wanted to know how and why I’d made that assumption sipping on beer at Hawaiian Shack. So I told him that everywhere I looked I could see people looking around, scanning, no not leching, not mentally undressing you (that is one of the differences between Delhi and Mumbai yes) but just scanning. Waiting to make eye contact. Some eyes were shifty, some were steadfast but a lot of eyes had a purpose, a mission, and loneliness. Looking for company, for a friend, probably more than a friend.
So last night I felt the same vibe, the same ‘checking out’ scanning vibe. So I gave my little gyan to my friend and of course he promptly asked me why I was scanning the room then. “By your analogy, you’re lonely,”. I told him I wasn’t, I was being scanned. That was a joke of course. But honestly I was really looking to see if my assumption was true. Was it? Is it? Any thoughts? Anyone?

what is it about..

2005-06-24T00:00:00.000+06:00

Was just reading one of Jabberwock's stories on rediff on what blogging really is, and one of the things he said struck home. Once you are a blogger then anything and everything and sometimes nothing can inspire you to want to run back to the office or home to write. Look at me, it's 11.30 at night, I'm dying to sleep and I actually switched on the computer with all good intentions of writing a story but instead, and I had this sneaky feeling in my head that I would, I'm blogging. It's actually something that's been in my head all day, and then a friend sent me a text about the same thing, and I thought 'this is it, I have to write it'.
As you all know, the Mumbai rains are here, and I'm done with my grumbling, or so I hope. I know it's going to get worse and commuting will be a pain, and trains will get jammed and roads will be a mess, and I've seen more rain in Mumbai in three days than I see the entire year in Delhi, but paying heed to the advice of an RJ -- yeah, can you imagine that -- I decide to look at the cheerful side of things. So as I'm in the cab from Churchgate to Nariman Point, I approach Marine Drive, which manages to actually look pretty whatever the time of day or night and whatever the season, and I see the waves actually come right up to the road. The palm trees are swaying, it isn't raining, just a light drizzle and the urchins have never looked happier. They stand at Marine Drive and get splashed and they have that expression of amazement as if they didn't know the waves were coming. As we drive on, I see scores of people literally stand up on the parapet to experience the same feeling, the water on their faces. It really is a beautiful feeling. For a minute I forget I'm in India's concrete jungle, and think I'm in Cherrapunjee, where the waterfalls are so breathtaking, you can feel your pulse race and stop at the same time. It reminds me of the most gigantic and popular waterfall -- there are tons of them and after a point I stopped counting -- which apparently cascades like the body of a woman, and in front of which I was standing but which I could not see. Can you imagine standing bang in front of a gigantic waterfall hearing the gushing water but not being able to see it? No I was not temporarily blinded, or you could say I was, by such a strong mist that was impenetrable.
But no, I'm in Mumbai. And the first thought that comes to me is: what is it about nature that is so uplifting to our spirits?
What is it about the small things, just a breeze, a light shower, a strong ray on a cold, wintry morning, that influences the way we smile, think, see and react. Many moons ago, nature was deified and magical powers attributed to all of nature's manifestations. Mythology abounds with references to nature and its powers, both powerful and dangerous. Shakespeare talks at length about thunderous showers and cloudy skies and storms when all is not going well in the world, when patricide is being contemplated and executed. Enid Blyton has given children worlds of imagination and poetry and stories and fairy tales constructed around the magic of the forest, the faraway tree, movies are still made about what goes on in the jungle, the forests, the animals, the worlds we are allowed to see and the hidden worlds within.
When we break the fast at karva chauth it's the moon we see, when the women in Mumbai tie the string around a banyan tree to pray for their husband's long life, it's a tree they choose.
What is it about nature, about a small bud that's about to flower, each petal a different shade of the same hue, what is it about the verdant green of a leaf that makes so many people want to talk to it, what is it about a new leaf sprouting that makes you want to jump with joy. What is it about the effort of a small centipede or caterpillar, dragging all its feet to move to the next inch of mud in your flower pot.
Is it the largeness, the vastness, the power, the fact that it' so out of your control yet it controls your life? Is it that nature has the power to elevate your mood with just a small gesture, like a bud, and the tenacity to ruin your life, your home, your shelter, even take your life. Is this what makes it so awesome, so inspiring that odes and ditties are written galore and paens sung to its majestic beauty. is it a unifier, and equalizer, that the rich and the poor the caste and the casteless all burn under the same sun and cool down under the same rain.
I don't have the answers, but for once, I'm enjoying the questions.

Just....

2005-06-20T17:15:00.000+06:00

In the past few days, I've seen several pieces of completely unrelated, but fascinating bits of news in the paper, and I've been wanting to blog on all of them.
> Indians are declared the most avid readers in the world. Wish Oprah's research team would get her hands on items like this before doing a tete-a-tete with Ash. And instead of asking ' do Indians have sex a lot' she could ask 'do Indian read a lot'... which would also explain why we're brighter and sharper. But then I guess the inevitable question would be 'why is the country the mess it is'. Of course I'm still pissed that Ash didn't bother to highlight any of our achievements. Forget Kalpana Chawla, we have 13-year-old kids like Anurag Kashyap who win spelling competitions, we have other kids after whom celestial bodies are named...

> Breast feeding in public. There was a recent PIL in some European country filed by a woman who says she feels uncomfortable at the thought that people are uncomfortable looking at ehr breast feeding in public places, and that she is contantly asked to shift to a family section in stores etc. 'I can't help it if they can't differentiate form from fiction'. She also says she finds it bizarre that women are baring their breasts on Tv, in live shows, but it's not Ok when it comes to breastfeeding. As a result, many women are now opting to not breast feed and switching to bottled milk much earlier.
Personally, and I'm not talking from experience, I think I would be extremely uncomfortable at breast feeding in a public place or having someone breast feed sitting next to me at a restaurant or a bus. Maybe it's because we belong to a more conservative society, and women almost give up having a life for a while, at least till they're breast feeding, and I know that a lot of countries don't have the concept of help at home so women who want to venture out have to take their babies along, and well breast feed, but it's a bit odd to look at someone and then keep looking at them without being embarrassed or conscious. When you see a woman in a music video or a live dance, you 'expect' them to be clad in a certain way and you expect them to be baring some part of thir breasts or whatever, but when you just come across someone breastfeeding, it's a sight you are not expecting, which is why it results in shock or embarrassment. That is the basic difference so I don't think it's ok to expect people to differentiate form from function and accept that seeing breasts in both situations (in a live show and breastfeeding) is one and the same thing. That said, embarrassment will only go away if it becomes a common sight and hence, acceptable' as say holding hands or kissing in public almost is. And that will result in a more mature society, but India is definitely not ready for it. The women on the streets, the beggars, you will argue, they breastfeed in the open, but then they almost do not exist for most us, we half look through them, and in a recent study in Mumbai by an NGO, it was found that many of the city's poor are forced to use public space for private activities, which means there is a thin line dividing public and private space for them, but not for the rest of us. This debate on space, is any case, in a realm of its own. Interestingly, someone put it very succintly the other day; Delhi affords physical space; Mumbai affords mental space. Why the two are mutually exclusive, I don't know; why do we have to compromise one for the other?

Pain...

2005-05-31T18:01:00.000+06:00

What is your earliest memory of pain? This is a blog I've been wanting to write for ages, but somehow the right moment didn't chance upon me. Today, somehow, I felt the inclination to write it. I don't know about most people, but I can't remember my earliest 'pleasure'. My moment of pure fun, unadulterated pleasure. Was it playing with my dog, or running around after my pets, or watching a movie, or going for long drives, since in the tea gardens everywhere to everywhere was a long drive.
But through all the highs and lows, through all the nearly 28 years of my march towards death (what is life but a journey that leads to a destination marked DEATH), the one memory that has stayed with me is my worst and first memory of pain. I remember it clearly, and painfully. I was about seven, and in the hostel in DPS, RK Puram, one of India's premier schools. Yes it is cruel to be in boarding that early in life but sometimes you don't have a choice. So I was here, in a boarding which had no matrons but only ayahs to take care of you, where rats constantly dug into your Chyawanprash, where red gel toothpaste was squeezed and found plastered all over, literally painting the walls red, where you were greeted in the loo by a pot that was clean but a floor which had turd all over it.... of all that, another blog.
One particular day, in this premier school in the capital of India, I remember screaming with the worst pain of my life. It was in my ear. I cried for over an hour, and no this wasn't the silent crying, it was mad wailing and shrieking, it was pure pain, unadulterated pain. And the fact that it has transcended all these years, all these pains, all the accidents, the bruises, the scratches, the stitches, indicates to me that it was a pain I will never forget. It was, so to speak, etched in my ear. I remember thinking that this must be death. This deafening, numbing pain that seemed to contract and shrink every muscle in your body, that made you want to curl up in a foetal position with your hand pressed against your ear as if even the passing of air would bring a fresh spasm. That pain, to get rid of which you would agree to do anything, amputate your ear even. When not a soothing word, nor a calm touch helps, when it's just you against the pain. No one else matters, because it's such a personal fight, such an intense dialogue that nobody can be included. Childbirth must be like that. How much ever you try, the father of the child can be included only so much. The doctor can empathise only so much. I don't know...
My pain that day was caused by some stupid fool who had put a bob pin (remember those ridiculous, thin hair holders) into my ear, I can't remember for what. Maybe they were trying to substitute an ear bud. But they or he or she had managed to touch my ear drum and scratch it inside.
Years later, when I was 20 and just out of college, I met with a serious accident. We were in a Maruti van and we hit a tree. The car caved in, into my knee. My knee cap was smashed. My mother, who was driving, was hsyterical. I have never been so patient in my life. There wasn't a tear. I was in control of the situation. I did cry, much later, when the antibiotic injections were being administered through the intra venous into my veins, every six hours. It was those silent tears. They would just come, slowly but steadily. But it wasn't crazy, hysterical crying. Right up to the time of the operation on the first day there were no tears. I think I made peace with my pain very early on. Pain can affect you only how much you let it. I know I probably sound 88 and dying, having lived an entire life in pain, but no, I am serious. Just try it. The physical is very easy to control, be it pleasure or pain. It's the mind that you have to have the dialogue with. And once you've done that, neither pain nor hunger nor cold can touch you.

RGV

2005-05-25T22:34:00.000+06:00

I feel vindicated. I met Ram Gopal Varma. And I had decided that I would discuss my blog on his film Naach and share what I thought about the film with him. I especially carried a print out of the blog, and then, at the last minute changed notepads, leaving the print out at home. Taking it to be an omen, I ditched the idea, but somehow the thought nagged me. It's not like I'm one of those journalists who uses the access to constantly criticise and offer feedback to filmmakers and TV directors and producers, knowing they have to politely listen to it, though I know of people who do, but this time was different. Maybe because my point of view was just so different from what I'd read in any of the reviews or maybe because no one else seemed to think in that direction and maybe because in some of RGV's interviews I got the feeling that he was hinting towards something which I had understood in his film. Almost everyone hated the film. It was a miserable flop and Antara Mali's contorted body positions inspired several spoofs on TV. There were a few who liked it but I could never figure if they said that only because they felt it would differentiate them from the collective opinion and make the person listening to them cock an eyebrow and think 'ok, how could s/he like the film? They must be thinking something else'. I even told RGV this, that his film had somehow become one of those benchmarks to separate the smarties or pretending smarties from the rest. I have had two people ask me 'what movies have you seen recently?'. Fairly innocuous question. And then, 'Did you like Naach?'
So while we were talking and I found him to be pretty intelligent and open to discussion, I brought it up. And guess, what? He said I was bang on. Except I thought he was Antara Mali, as in, she represented his struggles, his turmoils and his passions. But RGV told me that if he had remained like Mali, stubborn, he wouldn't have reached where he has today. So he is actually Abhishek Bachchan's character and trying to be Mali's. He said Mali was his take on the central character in The Fountainhead, Howard Rock. Someone who doesn't want to change anything about himself and is not apologetic about him. The day he starts to feel bad, he's a hero no more.
It was really exciting and gratifying. He even told me how he shouldn't have added a few elements and how he would like to remake it at some point and where he possibly went wrong. He then asked me what I thought of Kaal, and I could have kicked myself for not having seen it. The reason he asked me, I thought, was because he obviously felt I had understood something of his work (I have seen almost all his films) and also he asked about Kaal because Soham, who has directed the film, was once his assistant. And because the film is supposed to ba tribute to RGV's style of filmmaking by both Soham and the produer of the film, Karan Johar.
I walked out of there with a smile so broad, my dentists would have been proud.

bombay & I

2005-05-25T22:14:00.000+06:00

i know i know, i've died on you. it's been strange. the transition. and i'm giving up on the caps on purpose, just too tired. sitting in office waiting for the final, edited version of my story. I haven't been in office this late for months, i haven't stayed up till 3.30 a.m. writing a story but you know what? it feels great. sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when i decided to quit journalism. feel stupid for not realising that i wouldn't manage to live without it for too long anyway. But just as well...
anyway back to this city. I came, I looked around, I decided I'm going to hate. but hate degenerates, it makes good tissues rotten, it makes your body shrink with pettiness, it makes you screw your nose up at people, it makes you look at someone's livelihood, someone's daily ride, someone's life and get all snobbish about your own. instead, reverse the hate. i did. I looked instead at what i had and how thankful i was. someone told me the other day that 56 per cent of this city lives in the slums, so i realised that i should be thankful for not being one of those statistics. I have now ventured out more. you cannot live in the south mumbai to bandra closeted world and feel the real bombay. actually several bombays live in mumbai. the fun is to enjoy them all, not to roll your jeans up and start living each of them but to effortlessly meander into them and out of them. so instead of prefering to do a telephonic interview and squirming at the thought of going to chakala or mulund or jogeshwari i've bothered to get up and get out. take cabs, take trains, take autos. i've been to jogeshwari to kamalistan studio, opposite matoshri, to andheri east to saki naka, to all those dirty, dusty places which make bombay, where life carries on with or without your prejudices. i've extended my train pass till andheri because i've realised that i will no longer be just a random visitor once in a while to 'those' parts and i can buy an extension ticket. i have realised that i will regularly go and meet people in their part of the world.
and now i realise, i quite like bombay. no, i still hate the dust and the traffic but i don't face it much since the train is also another bombay in itself. and i love the bindaas attitude. go anywhere wearing anything, even a dirty ol' pair of jeans will do. no one's watching no one's commenting no one's looking. just be.

Wire free? an ode to my cell, obit rather

2005-05-05T13:42:00.000+06:00

I lost my cellphone two weeks ago. Left it in a cab. It was depressing. I was joking about selling it, in a friend's drawing room, when I realised I hadn't heard its reassuring ringtone in a while. Neither had it beeped a message. Tried calling, it rang initially, then became unavailable, I wonder what the kidnapper did to the poor thing, it was just four months old.
I went into a state of mourning. Why is mourning only expressed for humans? Everyone urged me to buy a new phone, immediately. I couldn't. I honestly couldn't. Can you break up, that too abruptly, and jump into a new relationship in a day? Especially when it's something that's so close to you? It's practically the only thing that remains with you 24x7, you change your clothes your shoes your bag mayb even your watch but you don't change your phone every other day.
It means so much. It's the repository of relationships in today's wolrd. After Prasoon Joshi articulated in his Nokia radio ad years ago that the cellphone is the means to keep in touch with those you love, the cell has really become the only way to say you care. People propose, dispose and do evwrything over it. It is a mental diary. I don't even bother to register numbers in my head anymore. It's actually cleared space in my head by taking care of remembering what I don't need to clutter my brain with. It's also privy to almost everything important or significant in my life. From a simple 'I love you' to negotiating a job offer to counselling someone on a bad relationship, no one apart from me and my cell are in on it. So how can I replace it in half a day, especially when I haven't had closure in the relationship? I just left it in a cab, it's gnawing at me, the guilt, how could I forget my precious phone?
Am I losing it, you're wondering? I wondered too, so I went out and bought myself a new one.
But honestly, it's amazing and ironical, that technology, which was really a means to get poeple closer is now very successful in doing just the opposite. I'm sitting alone in the drawing room, at 1 am writing on the laptop. Shouldn't I be tucked away in bed, maybe holding his hand, having real conversation, or sleeping? The cellphone, the precise instrument that is supposed to erase geograpohical boundaries and rid you of the bondage of wires has become precisely that. A bondage. It won't let you enjoy a dinner in peace, it can't let you lose yoursef without being traced. And when you're in a crowded room and the insecurity of saying hi to a stranger eats away, it lets you stare into its lit screen and pretend you've got a life, a life that's more interesting than the place you're in. It lets you cut off from the real world.
Wired, that's what we are, not wi-fi. And never wireless.

Bombay - Instant city

2005-05-05T01:32:00.000+06:00

Maximum city. That's what Suketu Mehta called Bombay. Instant city is what I'd like to call it. Instant city. That's what Bombay is. Instant karma, instant gratification, instant sex, instant coffee. Time and tide (and the metaphor fits really well I must say) wait for no man. It's a new morning. I'm on my way to work. Every day, each and every day, I see the two cows, tied to the tree. Not just plain grazing cows. These are instant karma cows. There's a woman too. She sits with them, hell, she's their caretaker. Next to her, as she sits on a low-lying stool, her Maharashtrian sari tucked between her legs, is a basket of grass. Yes grass. I see a middle-gaed man give her some money and buy the grass she's flogging. His scooter is parked as he attempts to erase his karma, bad karma, and turn it into good karma. Some effing pandit somewhere -- in turn trying to change his own karma -- must have told him go feed the cows, grass, change your karma. So he's here. Scooter and all. On his way to work, he innocently parks by the side, pays some money and changes his karma. The f***** will still go back home, drink, abuse his wife, or maybe not even abuse her, but just be his regular boorish self, while she cleans and sweeps and swabs and plays mother and father to the children, he'll just go on wearing his chauvinism on his sleeve. But he'll feed the cows. Every Monday or Tuesday, he'll change his karma.
Instant gratification. Whichever way you want it. They're sitting in the fifth floor of her new flat. The containers haven't even been opened. The heat of the summer afternoon is filtering in through the windows, and the palm wilts in the sun. They feel like a Marlboro. Instant gratification. She picks up the mobile and presses the button. Home delivery. Five minutes later, he's there at the doorstep with their nicotine fix. Instant gratification. Better than a prolonged... well, never mind.
Instant everything, that's Bombay. Whatever your class, whatever your drug, this city has it. Just dial, or just call, or just look, or just ask, or just pay. And it's there. No one asks why, no one wants to know how and no one cares. As long as their salvation is instant.

love, lust...

2005-04-19T13:49:00.000+06:00

OK everyone. This is a very very immature and childish representation of something I wrote in school. I was this agony aunt back then, still am I think, and this was a parcha I wrote.
Someone asked me to share it today and I quickly rewrote the gist. so it's not written properly, but it's fun. Please feel free to disagree, add etc

It's the definition of infatuation, crush, love and lust and the difference in the four states...

> infatuation is the first stage - it's more like mild lust. you are attracted to the person, in awe of them, more fantasy. you know like in a trance, you are just infatuated by them but don't really think of following it up with action. like with a celeb
> crush is when the person is more in year league, in your vicinity. not so much lust but mild stirrings of love. you find them cute, like their actions, they are not fairy tale and totally out of your world. they exist in your world, you can see them, talk to them. you want to talk more see more, and maybe think of like holding hands kind of thing
> a crush often develops into a relationship
> but infatuation taken too seriously can become an obsession
> also both are temporary states of being, they cause exhilaration and raise the spirits and the blood pressure. but none last too long
> but then the serious ones. lust
complete and absolutely carnal. you don't even want to or need to go into what they do, where they live, do you think you can meet, go on a date, none of that. it is completely unreasonable and is extreme attraction. and when you are 'in love' with a person it is love cum lust. but when you just love a person it can be without lust
> love. not the pehli baar dekha. love at first sight is only lust at first sight. love has to take time to grow because you love a person in their entirety, and in fact forget loving them for their physical attributes plus others, sometimes you don't even notice the physical attributes. they come into play, or into your notice only later. you are actually almost blind to their faults, their physical shortcomings, and many times the physical aspect or the sexuality is a manifestation of the love, the emotional quotient.
> lust can't survive without lust and the minute the physical attraction weakens the relationship is over. but love can survive without all of these. that's why you can survive on love and fresh air but not lust and fresh air

The Dance Bar debate

2005-04-13T12:40:00.000+06:00

It's the biggest controversy in Mumbai and all of Maharashtra (may even spill over to Hyderabad and Bangalore) right now. Dance bars have been banned across the state. For the past few days, newspapers, magazines, TV channels, radio stations have devoted footage, cc and air time to discuss the issue. Here's my take.
Should dance bars be closed:
NO. Here's why:
> It's a step to repress. Most girls in Mumbai are worried that all these men with their repressed sexuality will now spill over to other nightspots and to the roads and Mumbai's safety will be under threat. It will become like Delhi, they lament. They have a point.
> It's not exploitation. These women are there on their own accord. We may think they don't want to be there but the truth is they have families to feed and responsibilities to shoulder. Many of them say they started as domestic workers (maids, cleaners etc) but the money in dance bars is better. They get to dress up, be in an AC atmosphere, with music, with a lot of bouncers, and can dance earn good money and go home. Plus no one can touch them if they don't want to be touched.
> The men. It's their choice. Like smoking. Have you banned cigarettes? That spoils not the moral fibre but the physical fibre. But you let people take that call. Similarly if someone chooses to go to a dance bar and spend his money who is anyone to pass judgement. It's another form of entertainment. Aren't strip bars, the Lido in Paris all very-watched shows? A guy on the radio this morning suggested that dance bars be spruced up, made into a chorepgraphed show and turned into a tourism money-spinner.
> Honestly, it really isn't affecting the youth because most bar owners say the youth hardly have the means (money) to be there. Because if you're not spending you ain't getting any attention, from either the dancers or the waiters. It's mostly middle-aged and above men who go there. Plus a young guy may or may not have access to a dance bar but he has free access to TV and the kind of music videos that are shown are far worse than the kind of 'dance' in the dance bar. But yes you can't touch them on TV. At dance bars most women are in lehengas and saris (yes it's almost like a 'ladies sangeet') and they only imitate moves from Hindi movies. So will you ban Sheesha, Julie, Hawas, Zeher etc. The youth again can access that Hindi movie much more freely and without any stigma than a dance bar.
> A regular nightclub is not much different. If prostitution goes on in dance bars then let's not kid ourselves. How many nightclubs don't have girls being picked up or guys being picked up? For money and for kicks. So if this is concensual then why isn't sex solicited in a dance bar concensual? And the clothes we wear and the gyrations we see, isn't that morally damaging to the youth, who frequent these places? Bullshit. So will all discos and nightclubs be shut next? Then private parties? So people can just start raping the first person they come across. Why don't we replace democracy for dictatorship?

Responses

2005-04-06T18:10:00.000+06:00

OK. I am not dead; just resting. Resting my thoughts. First, replied to some comments on the blog. Whoever wanted to know about Abhishek Bachchan...ummm I don't know if he's the 'helping type' star, but yes he was polite, well mannered, and gave stacatto boring answers just like his dad used to (in the TV interview he was giving). He spoke about how he was almost happy being in his father's shadow and how he knew he could never get out of it so might as well enjoy it and revel in it. But hey, I wanted to tell him, that's professionally, please don't remain in his personal shadow as well, speaking like him, giving the same answers, coming across as this propah guy. You're young man, you're just about tasting success after some 19 flops (his words), you've lost weight, you carry yourself well, you've got a high drool factor, so loosen up. Chill out a bit, have fun.
As for Anurag Kashyap; demonizer! Why would you think that? Is that his reputation? To me whatever little I know him and have interacted with him, he's a guy with a lot of passion for his work. It's not really the best of times for him, but he can't see himself doing anything else so he will stay, and write, and film, and create... and in his case, fight. Till his film sees the light of day. Correction: till his films see the light of day. Both Paanch and Black Friday are currently in the cans, waiting to tell their story. It's been 6 years. Some patience, huh.

2005-03-31T13:12:00.000+06:00

This is what happens when you go back to being a full time writer rather than a writer in exile. when you're in exile your blog is the only thing you write and you feed it like a hungry wolf, with all your observations and comments etc. But when you have another medium of expression and you write for a living then you tend to not go back and write some more. But I know I want to and I've been napping so I'm back. First up, a short backgrounder of what I've been upto:

> people met: Donatella Versace, Pierce Brosnan (only seen not met), Abhishek Bachchan, Tushar Kapoor, Rabbi Shergill, Anand Mahindra, Anurag Kashyap, Indian Idols that's all I can remember.
> people spoken to: Mahesh and Mukesh Bhatt, Rakhi Sawant, Anu Malik, Sandhya Mridul, Neetu Singh (kept visualising Khel and her other films though she's far slimmer now), Farhan Akhtar (hot voice), Shabana Azmi, Konkona Sensharma, Mallika Sherawat's secy, Salman Khan's secy, Sanjay Dutt's secy, Hrithik Roshan's secy, Ajay Devgan's secy... need more?
> lesson learnt: it pays to be with a big brand because it opens up doors of access but with the proliferation of media, especially TV channels, visibility is just not an issue anymore. So stars have become choosy and that's made life more difficult. So throwing a big name may not be enough all the time.
> lesson number 2: some filmstars are very very painful, others are so sweet and nice they help you deal with the painful ones. but is this one warped, twisted industry... more on Bollywood later

History for breakfast

2005-03-11T16:29:00.000+06:00

This morning I was treated to a healthy dose of history. Or civics, or geography. Some of which I didn't know, some of which I didn't care to know. Four girls were in the train cramming for a paper. Because they kept going on and on about the Press Council of India I gathered it was a journalism or media studies paper. They were learning, by rote, when Article so and so was imposed when it was abolished during the Emergency. When the xyz report said that the Press Council does not have the power to censor any article. 'If they do the newspaper tells them to fuck off'. These were the precise words I think. The one girl told the others to stop cramming and she was asked to shut up. She was also asked if she knew the name of the President. 'Kalam something, balls I don't care'. Again, the precise words.
What a difference there is bewteen our education system and what is happening in the real world. How I wanted to tell those girls that none of what they were learning will impact their life in any way when they become journalists (if they do). That , in reality, when they are sent off one fine morning to interview a woman who has just discovered the night before that her husband is leading a dual life and is also married to someone else, none of the words in that textbook will come to mind. Or aid. That when they talk to a father whose daughter has committed suicide by consuming cellphose, which Article allows a news report to be censored will hardly be top of mind. That as a journalist it is far more important to take your head ouf of that textbook, out of your immediate surroundings, to be able to look over, into other's lives, to be able to sympathise, empathise, be aggressive, prodding, embarrassingly so, to ask the difficult questions, to genuinely care, are far more important. To love to talk, to love people, to keep your eyes and ears open, to believe that in any situation there may be a story.... and to find it and develop it and publish it. To go to all lengths to find and publish what you believe is the truth... not what the book says.
But of course I didn't tell them that, I let them cram and turn pages and go on about the Press Council until the entire coach knew what it was, and I smiled, and I smiled...

a short story

2005-02-28T16:37:00.000+06:00

Their eyes met. She looked away. Pretended she didn't notice. The connection, the gaze. It happened again, and then and there a idea took birth in her head. It was a like a voice that spoke to her, a conversation in voice-over. A short story, she thought. Why don't I write a short story with this dramatic Bombay High Court in the backdrop? Of a lawyer (the ones whose eyes met) and a girl, just a simple girl, who comes to the Court every other day fighting for justice, looking for a divorce. Why don't I make their eyes meet, then a simple hello, a conversation, a samosa in the cafe, a walk down the historic but dilapidated stairs of this Courthouse. Why don't I make them fall in love with each other, and then why don't I introduce life. You know the thing that usually fucks up these idealistic, romantic ideas that take birth in your head and are put to their grave in your head? Why don't I make him the lawyer who's fighting for her husband, without realising it? Why don't I make him suffer, why don't I make his life hell, as he chooses between his case and his love, and why don't I make him win the case? And lose the love. And why then don't I, the writer, enter the scene and make the lines blur, and go back to the first scene.
Why don't I write a short story?

Why am I not blogging?

2005-02-23T16:22:00.000+06:00

Why am I not blogging? Why are all my blogs of late starting with a question? Why am I going from one question to another? Why is the answer to most questions 'I don't know'. Why can't I rave and rant like I really want to? Why have I made the blog public? Why didn't I just keep it to myself so I could write what I really wanted? Why am I not able to write a confessional like others can?
I don't know.

Sometimes...
You have nothing to say
Winter changes to spring
The calendar moves a month

You have nothing to say

you stay rooted, fixed to the spot
why can't i move the spot, travel the hemisphere
why is why the most indefinite word ever

you have nothing to say

you try to write
express, string letters into a cohesive sentence
but the mind travels, darts back and forth, compels you to stop thinking

you have nothing to say

why do you need to say
words, speech, why are these important
the dialogue continues
in your head
where it should

sometimes, you should have nothing to say

Me

2005-02-08T17:01:00.000+06:00

Does a polythene have free will? I'm wondering. (Those of you who haven't figured, this is going to be a really weird blog so take it at your own peril). Anyway, so. Does a polythene have free will? I was sitting in an auto, early morningish, and I was looking out and I saw this black polythene flitting along the pavement. Just like that. No breeze, no one pushing at along, it was just sailing away. So I thought, who decides for this polythene where it goes this morning? Does it have free will? Is it a master of its destiny...Is free will only assigned to living things, to human beings?
I don't know... these days there are a lot of things I don't know... I have this hollow, empty feeling. It's like being lovesick minus the tears. And I can't believe it's for a city. I always hate Delhi when I'm there but I think it now symbolises and sort of signifies an important part of my life. It is the city where I have spent 10 years minus two in Chandigarh, so 8. More importanly I think it's the city where my friends, former colleagues are... my freedom, my independence, my mobility. I've been whining to people... you can't imagine what familiarity means, even if it's roads, trees, knowing when a certain row of trees in DLF will blossom into a huge yellow bloom. Knowing the ways, not feeling lost. Where is my adventurous spirit? Why can't I discover? Why won't I go for a movie alone... I don't know. On top of which listening to songs such as Amanda, Hotel California, Free Falling are not helping (it's a random selection; download the new yahoo messenger and go to newscast launch radio. Then choose My Station and you don't have to choose, they just keep playing one song after another...)
The train. I watch people. Two girls will be sitting next to me and one will be telling the other her entire life's problems. They just don't care if anyone can hear it or not. I am more reserved. I look twice around me before launching into a conversation like that in a public space. Some sleep. Someone is apologising profusely to someone at the other end of the line. I put msyelf in their shoes and imagine what their life must be like back home. Three young girls are going on about how some boy called Rahul eats like a pig. I stifle a giggle....
You know it reminds me of my days as a child, heading eastwards in a train. Maybe taking the Rajdhani from Delhi to Calcutta as part of the Howrah party (as the east-bound lot was called when we were heading home for holidays from boarding). The train would start at some 3.30 p.m. and you could see the small towns bordering Delhi turn to small villages and by evening when the sun was setting they would become hamlets... A lot of the route is very green because rice cultivation is big in the east. It is just beautiful, like reading a book in your head, like a mobile painting, and then the people. Someone getting home from work, after his day at the fields, children playing in the courtyard, scruffy, dirty, not a care in the world, some woman sitting at the chulha in her house. What is their life? what does entertainment mean? When they hav sex, in their one-room house, what happens to the children?
I have forever wanted to live another life, be in someone else's life, go through what they go through, compare notes with myself, because only I can experience that life and react the same way to situations and people... my other life is living in New York... but of that, another blog, sometime.
As of now, I am existing. You exist and you live. Sometimes you do both, sometimes you don't.

Run, run, run

2005-01-28T12:39:00.000+06:00

I have been given express instructions to blog... so am doing it right away. Have been meaning to...

Why are Mumbaikars so thin/fit etc?
> The city is bustling with actors, models, and those connected with the glam world and they're paid to look thin; it's their job to look fit, so they do. And this sort of percolates down to everyone.
> Everyone is running. All the time. To catch the train, to catch a bus, to catch an auto, to catch a cab. To catch, to catch, to catch... See people getting on to the train and you'll think a marathon is in progress. And that's why so many people ran the marathon. For them it was just an extended daily run.
> The heart gets good exercise so you're healthy. Take an auto and the bumpy roads and the driver's speed will ensure your heart has a nice bumpity bumpity ride, and your BP will go up and down and your heart will get good exercise.
> No domestic help, only part time help so you do everything yourself. Keeps you fitter.
> You eat dinner and then go drinking. Proven to be much healthier than drinking on an empty stomach and then eating tandoori or worse, butter chicken at 2 a.m. at Pandara Road.
> Of course, you go shopping and everything is not a plus but a minus minus size, so if you want to fit into anything 'cool' you got to stay fit. Half the clothes have no beginning and no end so your body must be as fluid!!!!
Having said that I'm going to catch some lunch. Remember the keyword is catch.

Mumbai local

2005-01-20T13:21:00.000+06:00

Hmmm...there is just so much I can write about the Mumbai trains, this in spite of the fact that I've hardly used it for two weeks. But unlike my initial apprehensions, it is not a ting to be feared or hated; it is indeed a wonderful experience, because it allows you at one go, to observe so many different people, from varied walks of life, ages and serves as a fantastic platform (pun intended) to absorb habits, peculiarities, quirks, and the like. Of course, it's also damn convenient. You can read, catch up on the papers, listen to music (most listen to the radio on their cellphones), sleep, chat with yr train friends or finish your week's shopping (fish, veges etc). But hawkers aren't allowed in the Ist class and to be honest even in IInd class I haven't seen any fish and vege sellers, only people seling newspapers, mags and sundry bindis and clips.
Anyway, one of my first reactions was that the world shown by Balaji in all its K serials (the managalsutra, sindhoor, sari world) is not alien to this part of the world at all. In Delhi you do not come across married women displaying any such visible signs. I can't remember any one in my last office, or the office before that, wearing a mangalsutra and sindhoor to work every day. Which is why it was so much easier to criticise the serials as ridiculous and unreal. But here in Mumbai, the majority wears it; it is definitely more predominant in Maharashtrians; and they wear their mangalsutras proud -- and long -- just the way they do in the serials. So the immediate environment is obviously influencing what's shown. And a lot of women wear gajra too. Every day. One of the first days I was in the train, I looked around me and I swear I thought I was in a Balaji set. Just interchange the train compartment for a gaudy studio set of course.
Abbreviations: to travel in the train there are some basics you must immediately understand. When you enter a station and see a massive board (similar to the one at the airport letting you know if a flight has arrived, is delayed etc), you have to learn to read it. This board tells you which train is coming to which platform and heading where.
If C is highlighted, it's going to Churchgate. If A is highlighted, Andheri. Bo is Borivili, and V (never take the V, my guides tell me), it's for Virar. The there's ST (I thought it was Santa Cruz) but it was short for CST (Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, or VT), but since the board has space for only two alphabets and they cldn't write CS for fear of confusing it with C, they wrote ST.
Then there's the question of where you stand at the platform. First sign: head for the bunch of women. Next, notice the pillars. If the pillar is painted red and yellow stripes, it is the women's second class; if it is painted green and yellow stripes, it's first class (corresponding with the stripes on the compartments). Only the women's compartments and the two first class (men; women) are striped on the outside to aid recognition. Then, if it's a 12 coach train the first class women's is about 8 or 9 so head towards the end of the train; if it's a 9 coach (they announce this at the platform), then yr compartment will be 4 or 5 so stay towards the centre. It is all very calculating, mathematical and ingenious. And very interesting. Also remember, the women's compartments (Ist and IInd) are together but there is also a women's IInd class at the end of the train. I have on occasions bought Ist class and entered IInd. The stripes are confusing when it flies at that speed. There are trains literally every two-three minutes.
Then there are Slow and Fast trains, obviously the former don't stop at all stations and the latter do.
OK class over. Now here's a quiz. What does this mean?

C 11.04 F 03

he he
heading to Churchgate, leaves at 11.04, is a Fast and is expected in 3 minutes. (I know I didn't tell you the last bit earlier; had to leave some suspense.)
Cheerio

Seeing SRK

2005-01-17T18:46:00.000+06:00

I saw Shah Rukh Khan last night. And it was really exciting. Not because I am a fan (I am and I'm not) but because it happened oh-so-suddenly and unexpectedly.
We were driving to Carter Road for coffee but found the Cafe Coffee Day outlet shut so decided to head to Bandstand (Bandra seaface), and I just joked that let's go to Mannat (SRK's house) and maango mannat. And lo and behold we near his house (it happens to be on the way to Bandstand) and there his gates are open, two-three men are signalling a car to come out, and we're sure it won't be him because the last time I saw his gate open one measly Santro came out. And it's amazing because every evening there are people waiting outside, some with digicams to get a shot of the star. We of course did no such thing, but just happened to be passing and out comes a silver S class BMW with SRK at the wheel. My friend and I were squealing like teenagers I think. He was wearing black, puffing away a this cigarette and had his hair falling sloppily across his forehead like it did in the Darr and Baazigar days. He's also much thinner (could tell but just looking at his face) than he appears on screen.
What was exciting was to see him drive out at 1.30 a.m., doing his own thing, leading his own life. As a journalist I am sure I will see/meet him at some point, in fact I have had opportunities earlier but never ended up going. But there it's always a persona, gelled hair, cultivated tone, typical answers, a star. Nothing like the thrill of seeing one of the country's biggest stars in their own turf, being themselves and just doing their own thing. No one bothered about coffee after that!

Review of Naach

2005-01-12T16:43:00.000+06:00

OK correct me if I'm wrong. Now I didn't see Naach just when it released so I have no recollection of what the critics said. All I know is that when I saw it last week (intended as a post-prandial laugh riot, thanks largely to Antara Mali's contorted positions and Aby baby's cute as hell smile and everything else (relax I still love the deadly Dutt), Naach turned out to be not so much a laugh riot, but an interesting study into Ram Gopal Varma's mind. I saw it with Gaurav and Ayesha (who has told me I must mention her name) and I couldn't help but thinking that to the discerning eye (and no I am not trying to say I am a discerning viewer; oh hell, whatever), it seemed to me that RGV was making a case for himself in the film. For his art, for his passion, for the way he leads his life. Critics who thought this was an Abhimaan remade have got it so wrong (at least, according to me). I don't think the movie was about Abhishek and Antara and ego clashes or their love stopry (of course on the surface it was), but about an artist trying to tread the thin line between commercialisation and sticking to his/her brand of art. Struggling to pay mounting rent bills but hoping to walk with her/his head held high by not stopping to do any work that comes his/her way, simply because it pays. And, it was about an artist trying to solve that inner turmoil: whether to pander to audience needs or to give the industry something original, fresh, creative.
Antara Mali is RGV. The man who has chosen to walk a path that's quite different from Bollywood. Who's stuck to doing songless films, which may not sell, but not betrayed his style. To whom technique and passion go hand in hand, and who has not let audience tastes dictate his films, but who has always strived to expand thought processes by doing avant garde films.
Naach to me is RGV telling the whole world: buzz off. I did it my way, and I struggled, and I went through my turmoil, and I lost friends, and I lost relationshps, and I didn't make money, but I stuck to my guns. And here I am, successful and doing work my way (even if that means slapping interns and not paying them, as alleged by a recent article). So follow your dreams, stick to your passion, and the money, the fame, the world, they'll all come around. As will Bollywood, and the audience...
And in the end it's all a naach... but while you and your neighbour may want to do the salsa, the ramba or whatever Shaimak Davar and Ashley Lobo teach these days, RGV will just keep inventing his own little naach to make the world dance at his fingertips...

Hello

2005-01-12T16:29:00.000+06:00

Hello blog. And hello blog friends. It's only been 11 moons since I last sat on the net but it seems like a hundred. I am in Mumbai now, and needless to say it's been one helluva little-less-than-two-weeks.
For starters, here are some initial observations on the city, jotted down neatly (not quite) by yours truly on Day One, standing by my huge windows (which do not overlook the sea). I wrote them in my planner precisely for the blog, lest I forget. Here they are verbatim:

At the airport: cab guy refusing to take a guy out of line because a lady was waiting ahead of him. IMPRESSED

Gypped by cab guy (250 bucks from Santa Cruz airport to Santa Cruz) - NOT IMPRESSED

Building looking airy and better than expected. IMPRESSED

Pan stained neighbour (sorry make that pan stained mouth neighbour). NOT IMPRESSED

Pan stained neighbour friendly and helps with suitcases. IMPRESSED

Other side neighbour stops, says hello. IMPRESSED

Tough talking building lady secretary who allows small cartons to be brought up in the lift and then later shouts at packers not to stall lift: hmmm... NO COMMENTS

I think my blog shall be filled with lots of these entries. So read on. In the meantime, my review of Naach in another blog.

Dropping off the map

2004-12-31T17:22:00.000+06:00

I'm dropping off the map. For a bit. See you soon.

Another deadly poem

2004-12-30T13:27:00.000+06:00

Jabberwock wrote these two stanzas as a response to my first poem on this blog, and I completed it. Here it is.

Through countless ruptures,
Flows an unholy gush.
His blood colours the pavement,
It’s the Devil’s paintbrush.

What’s the colour of gore?
I’m not sure any more
What’s that smeared on my car door??
Now he’s spattered across the divider,
His brains a yellow-brown goo
I had one for the road
(But then I might’ve had two.)

‘Tis the argument that did it
It’s become a routine affair
I’m sick of the squabbling
Can’t take it; I just don’t care.

I used to try once
When it mattered what I said
But none of it counts anymore
I think, as he lies there, dead.

Sense of doom

2004-12-30T13:13:00.000+06:00

I'm sitting here in office, a warm sweater on, with shoes and socks, a computer, a cup of coffee, my cell phone and all is quiet. But there is a sense of doom, a sense of uncertainty because fresh warnings have been issued of frsh Tsunamis hitting the Andamans and Chennai. I know nothing is happening here in Delhi but it feels so ominous, like suddenly there will be water everywhere and we'll all sink. Just thinking about the poeple sitting in Chennai and Andamans makes me tremble. Imagine having to go through what they've gone through and then, when you're just trying to differentiate one limb from another, hoping you'll find some signs of loved ones, a bracelet to make out a loved wrist, a bangle... you hear of the possibilities of a fresh Tsunami wave. How does that mke them feel I wonder? I think instead of fear, most would have just given up, consigned themselves to fate and nature's fury. As we've seen in this situation, you can run but you can't hide. People have clutched on to pillars, posts and still been swept away. Someone proud of his beach house mansion must be ruing the day he decided to live so close to the sea....
It seems like you can't be safe anymore. Terrorist attacks (you could be sitting in your office and a plane could come through it), natural calamities, earthquakes, Tsunamis... which is why Art of Living is becoming so popular. I think everyone is realising that in one way, the world is shrinking, and you just don't know how long you'll be on it. One second and it could be over. So live it up. Live for the moment.
Meanwhile, read these reporter logs on BBC and get a feel of reality. It bites.

Bombay or Slumbay

2004-12-27T16:30:00.000+06:00

Adman Prahlad Kakkar thinks if something is not done about the slum dwellers Bombay will soon be Slumbay. And it really is one big massive slum. Why can't a city which claims to have so much heart, such active and involved citizens, keep their environment clean? While I was visiting Mumbai recently and walking with a friend at the beautiful promenade at Bandstand, we were ticked off by a regular for walking on the wrong side of the road. 'Could you please walk on the left? Because that's how it's done' he told us. Wanted to shout back Bridget Jones style and tell him 'Oh, educate us please we're from Delhi, and there they don't teach you how to walk'. Also wanted to add that we have Lodhi Gardens and plenty more prettier walking spaces. Anyway... So coming back to the point, a city that's throbbing with creative people, creative jucies, should surely be cleaner. I can't imagine active fresh minds working hard in the midst of such dirt. I mean, what does it take to sweep common areas in a building? Whoever I've said this to thinks I'm nuts, and I'm contantly told 'but what do you you have to do with the common areas?' Now isn't this just so stupid? I have to walk in and out of those common areas every day; those common areas lead up to the space I will eventually call home. I understand that the outside of the bulding gets dirty because of the monsoon and 'saline content in the air' and also that since most of the owners don't live in those flats they don't really give a damn if a white building has turned grey or black or whatever. And that they won't spend a buck to either make the exterior butch stone or red stone which doesn't require painting... I can also see all of Mumbai telling me 'if you have such a problem, why are you coming here'. Then, on the other hand, I also see people in Delhi looking at me and thinking 'wow how lucky, you're going to freedom. From unsafe roads, from the fear of rapes (over 500 this year) from the need to be back home by 10, from tons of relatives and people knowing you at every other nook and corner, from autowallahas that are rude, dont agree to go, and overcharge, from public transport that sucks, from an attitude of 'where do you live, oh! Rohini, how LS! And what car do you drive?', from a city where summer sucks, saps you of energy and from a city that really has no better entertainment than a trip to a mall, a multiplex or simply to your couch. And from a city that hardly inspires any creative thinking. Think about the amount of fiction that has been written in recent times with Bombay as the city in the background; think of the number of films made with Mumbai as a major setting (and not only because of the location)... then think Delhi. Not coffee table books but books on the city. Maximum City, Love and Longing in Mumbai, Once Was Bombay, The Beauty of These Present Things.... the list is long. OK, I am not a traitor yet. This blog started with the good things about Delhi. The big, open roads, the big, open, clean, green houses, the warm hospitality, the 'i know your uncle and I am the neice of your aunt', the moving traffic, the twenty routes to one place etc...
So that's a start to my 'moving blog' and it will move with me through this phase of transition from one metro to another.

Moving

2004-12-27T15:50:00.000+06:00

Yippee! Ain't I excited? According to a survey published in one of the leading dailies, I am moving from the rudest city in the country (or at least the rudest metro) to the dirtiest one. Isn't that exciting? I think I will write a huge blog on Delhi-Mumbai, the difference between the two, behaviours, ideologies... wait for it.
As of now, too consumed by the process of moving and the nitty gritty that goes with it. Later...

Impact of billboards

2004-12-23T10:34:00.000+06:00

I've been meanign to blog about this for a while now, but this prompted me to write about it this morning. Seen the Bush-monkey billboard? A young artists has created a billboard which has Bush's face formed with the heads of monkeys. Now what I want to write about tis the impact of billboards on us. Doubtless, the US administration wants it removed, but private donors are ensuring it stays in public space. Why? Because billboards impact our lives more than we relaise. It's like this: if you're asked to remember a quantum physics theory you learnt in Class XI, chances are you'll ahve to click google before you can even remember a word. Yet, whn an old classic plays ont he radio, you can instantly sing along. Some of you who have brillaint memories, like my friend Prachi Bhasin, can even remember what colour shirt she and you were wearing on your first day at work. Also, I am sure if you think about your favourite film, you will be able to recall dialogues, clothes the actor/actress were wearing and possibly even the monument in the background. Why? Because some of this stays in your subconscious and you can pull it out like a rabbit from a hat whenever you like (OK not all of us can do that, bet you get what I mean). Now with billboards, if you pass through the same route every day, chances are, the billboard you are staring at is also sending hidden messages which are getting embedded in your mind, whether you are actually making an effort to remember it or not. There was an interesting artcile to this effect in The Strategist or Brand Equity recently, and I regret not having kept a cutting. Anyway, back to the point, if the Bush billboard stays in public space, it will impact far more people than if it were to be published in print, electronically, or even telecast on TV. So the next time you look out of the window when you're driving, remember what you see is what will stay in your head, maybe for years and years to come.

Telly Tamasha

2004-12-22T10:10:00.000+06:00

It's been ages since I wrote a Telly Tamasha, so here's a long overdue installment.

> Spent the weekend surfing endlessly. Caught Koffee With Karan with brothers-in-arms Fardeen and Zayed Khan, who were both honest, suave, cool and amazingly sexy. Fardeen, especially, speaks very well and has this cultivated sexiness about him. He also understands where he's coming from "if you put me in the role of a village ina film I'd look like Jadoo" he said! Zayed rested rumours that he and Esha Deol were seeing each other and insisted his only love is girlfriend Mallika (which he pronounces as Malaika).

> Saw Main Hoon Na on Star Plus and have to agree with TOI film critic Nikhat Kazmi that Sushmita Sen is one of India's most underrated actresses. Not because she's sexy in a sari or any such thing; she's spontaneous, acts from the heart and looks good. Potent combination.

> MTV Immies this year (telecast on MTV on Sunday at 8 p.m.) was a let-down. For one, it lacked the stars who attended last year's IMMIES in large numbers. Most of the winners were not there to collect their prizes; the only visible stars were the performers and those who were giving out the awards. The secret was let out by Sonali Bendre who was on stage with Darius to give out an award for Best Music Film Album (Main Hoon Na). 'Farah is not here, it's her wedding reception tonight'. bendre might have added ' and that's why the rest of Bollywood is not here either'. Surprisingly Zayed (and Fardeen) were there. Zayed, having worked with farah in Main... should have been at her reception instead, I think. The saving grace of the show (the spooky theme was quite wasted, Fardeen's face was painted in such a way you could barely recognise him; they may as well have had any dancer and called him Fardeen) was the performance by Alanis Morissette. She was simply brilliant, especially since she sat on a high stooll, MTV Unplugged style and eschewed the high-voltage atmosphere for some simple heart-rending msuic. She even sang some of her numbers set to a slower tempo, accompanied by a sole guitarist.

> The show clashed with the Ayur Mrs World (there are two now; one is the Gladrags one and this is the other one) and sicne a very close friend was part of the backstage crew (makeup) she had been giving me dope on the contestants, who looks how without makeup, during my recent trip to Mumbai, so I curiously watched the show. Oh God, what a lsoer I felt like. Not because these women were on the ramp and I was on the couch. But because they were all mothers, had fantastic bodies, and most were professionals, balancing carrers, kids, home and still had the zeal to participate in such a contest. Three or four of around 21 were doctors, one was a four-degree black belt in unarmed combat (I can't forget it) and some had written books too! My God!

> Watched a BBC documentary yesterday at the Council called Harry Potter and Me; it's JK Rowling's first-ever proper interview where she clears the air, rests some myths, tells us how terrified she was, a penniless, single mom believing in herself and her book and her created world of Harry Potter. She visited on camera the houses and cafes where she wrote, the school she went to.... very inspiring and engrossing. Watch it on BBC on Christmas Day.

emotion in motion (to borrow a song title)

2004-12-20T15:35:00.000+06:00

I think it was the last vodka that did it,
Could feel my head spinning as I reached for the keys
Why didn't I just say no?
Why didn't I walk out to catch the breeze?

It's all well in hindsight, she says
Talking to herself in the dark
Forgotten all the blood on the street?
As you hit the woman near the park?

She got into the car, she remembers
Turning on the ignition
Inhaling the night air as the car revs into acceleration
Is she all there? Can she manage? Of course, what's the consternation?

Stupid, stupid girl
What were you thinking?
Would it have hurt you if you'd asked for help?
Said you'd been too much drinking?

She thought she was cruising
But her eyes grew heavy
She doesn't know when it happened
But she heard her bang against the Chevy

Why didn't I see her
Walking along the kerb?
I could have slowed down
I could have stopped her getting hurt

There was blood all over the car
She lay senseless on the road
And in a flash of a second she saw, her face
Splashed all over the place

Why did I run, she thinks
Instead of stopping to see
If I've killed the woman lying there
Or if there's some hope for me

She slowed, then panicked, then revved
Running the hell out of there
Rushing home to get into bed
Under the covers, there's no fear

What was the point of it all, she thinks
Sitting now in her prison cell
I killed one life, but lost two
And gained a conscience which will never forgive, or forget.

Musafir film review

2004-12-14T11:10:00.000+06:00

OK, before I start this review, anyone who remotely knows me knows that I am a Sanjay Dutt fan, but after seeing Musafir, I want to slap him. OK, extreme yes, but not because he was bad but because (sorry went out for lunch and just got back, so will try and regain the train of thought). What I was saying is that I'm feeling terribly let-down by resident hearth-throb Sanjay because I saw so little of him in the movie. Thank God I didn't pay for the movie (hell hath no fury like a woman scorned). Why was Sanjay just wildly shaking the knife in his hand and showing us how nimble his wrist is and singing Tez Dhar while puffing on his Cohiba? Agreed he's having a ball, with his outlandish costumes which are self-designed, his studded jeans, overcoats, the hooded trenchcoat, his own Harley that he's riding into the Goa sunset but even though I know there are enough people who argue that substance need not override (pardon the pun) style, and Jabberwock is one of them, a movie needs a story. I mean Sanjay Gupta has done a fantastic job of stringing together -- that's what the women are wearing anyway -- several music videos. So while it has some hot numbers, well stylized shots with even a simple highway and a petrol pump acquiring a sexy sepia and blue tone hue, the film just doesn't have a gripping narrative, a given when one sets out to make a thriller. It isn't racy and loses steam... in fact you're just waiting for the action to hot up and Namrata Joshi is right when she says in her review in this week's Outlook that Sanjay Dutt says towards the end (picture khatam aane ko aayee audience ko action mangta) or some such, and this pretty much sums up the film. Dutt has enjoyed singing again (you can see him experimenting with the vocals in Tez Dhar) and he slips into the mafioso role with ease, but you're just waiting to see more of him. I even forget he's in the film. Anil Kapoor could have shaved at least once (we're not used to so much consistency Mr Gupta), and Koena Mitra got a big 'Introducing' in the credits, but her dialogue delivery is so poor, she ought to perfect the item girl routine and stay there. Sameera Reddy has potential -- but if this is the toned Sameera, I shudder to think what the flabby Sameera was) and Mahesh Manjrekar should reconcile to the fact that he's a brilliant actor. I say reconcile because he's said he won't act again and wants to return to directing etc, but he was great as Bali in Kaante and is even better as Luca, a Goan who has lusted after and married his sister in law after his wife catches him trying to rape the sis and dies (commits suicide?) in an accident. This story with its different versions of reality told to Anil could have been exploited and handled much better, but what initially seems like an episode in the overall plot ends up cannibalising the film. You feel this is just incident in Anil's chaotic race against time but realise that this is the entire film. Shakti Kapoor and Aditya Panscholi (yes he seems to have added an s) are completely wasted in their roles. Aditya's looking good and can make a comeback even as his wife Zarina Wahab does her role well in Zee's Tumhari Disha. And in case you even remember, this is the film that conducted that massive Item Bomb hunt across the country. The winner Tatsiana, a Russian, was supposed to do a number with Dutt, but you just see a few seconds of her, dancing alone -- I swear she is not even with Dutt in one frame -- at the end when the credits are rolling. The song? A repeat of Tez Dhar. So while Aditya and Skakti had a good time checking out T&A across the country as judges for the contest, and the entire hunt got the film enough publicity, the poor winner has definitely been given a raw deal.
Other good songs: O Saki... and Ishq Kabhi Kariyo Na

poor preity

2004-12-10T13:05:00.000+06:00

have you heard this? Jaipal reddy, Minister for Information and Broadcasting called preity Zinta, Preetha Jindha......... this is so sad it's not even funny. And that too onstage at the closing ceremoney for the IIFIs. And he apologised saying he's not a movie buff, but surely Mr Minister, when are Minister for Information and Broadcasting you should at least know the name of the celeb you have invited to give out prizes at the IIFIs.

Haven't felt like writing

2004-12-10T11:38:00.000+06:00

I'm beginning to understand why journalists and other professional writers do not manage to spend time writing freely what they actually feel. When you're in the rut of writing for a living and you're mentally caught up, you can't write, which is why authors are reclusive, and tend to isolate themselves to write. When I switched jobs, and had free time to write and write and write, I wrote and wrote and wrote. And now that I'm more involved with work and have some other pressing matters in my head, I am barely writing... Really admire people who are able to carry on a dual life (write at work and then blog). Two such people are Jabberwock and Kamakaze...
But I'm going to put all that out of my mind now and write about something that's left a lasting impression on my mind.
The other day I was driving to work and at two traffic lights before office, I looked to my right, stuck as I was at the light, and noticed a family of what looked like ragpickers or beggars. They had obviously made the pavement their home, and had chosen a tree as anchor. Possibly, it served as a landmark for friends. Where do you stay? By the tree at the traffic light on xy road. Why am I saying 'to friends' you wonder? Do these people have friends? I suspect they do. Do these people actually go visiting? I suspect they do. They do have a life beyond the bare neccessities, a life that doesn't just revolve around food, clothing and shelter. And why do I say this? Because that morning as I looked outside, I saw the man lovingly painting the fingernails of the woman, while she shyly tried to withdraw her hand. She withdrew, he persisted. I watched, fascinated. She then opened up a small plastic box which was full of nail paints, lipsticks and other such cosmetic accessories. I had never imagined that someone who looked like they hadn't bathed or changed clothes in years would have some amount of vanity, and would actually collect cosmetics. I know I have a huge amount of cosmetics that I never have used and never will use, but it shames me to say that I have never dreamt of going up to a beggar on the road and handing out a Clinique or a L'Oreal lipstick. Even as I think of it now, I can imagine it being flung back on my face. I would have always thought of donating sweaters and food and clothes and blankets (essentials) to these people while the cosmetics would go to a maid (someone obviously in a better position than a beggar, and thereby in my mind, 'allowed' her share of vanity). Or of course to a niece or cousin to play with, to spoil, to paint their faces and feel 'grown up'.
What utter rubbish. Who am I or you or anyone to decide what amount of vanity is fair? And what strata of society is allowed vanity? I know I learnt my lesson on this fairly early in life, and it was a harsh lesson. But I don't know if I can talk about it. Maybe when I am not ashamed of it anymore, I will.

poetry

2004-12-10T11:32:00.000+06:00

Didn't know people still write poetry... publicly (Read this). Apart from established poets of course. Me? If you ask me to show you my poetry or early writings, I think I'd just squirm and die. Feels like opening up a raw wound. No, it's not like I used poetry as a tool to escape from some dark, abusive past or any such thing, but I'm just embarrassed. Of what? I don't know. Maybe the way it was written, maybe the thoughts, I really don't know. Haven't confronted that thought yet. Amazingly, when I go back to those scribbled pieces of writing and the notebook, I am unable to read all of it myself. Do others have these thoughts too? On poetry, would love to attend a performance poetry session we are having this evening with Patrick Neate. But go to rush for a reception, so will miss what should be a "mesmerising" session (as said by someone who has heard him when he visited India earlier in the year).

Film reviews

2004-12-07T11:51:00.000+06:00

Wrote this as a comment to Jabberwock's blog on a particular site, and then realised it's a blog in itself. So here's what I wrote as a response to why film critics started going online and reading other critics' work before writing their own reviews. This has ultimately created a culture of plagiarism and now almost whole chunks of reviews from Chicago Sun Times etc are being lifted by big critics and represented in national dailies here.

My comment:
I can't really say for sure how this culture developed, not having been around that long (10-15 years as you put it), but I think many critics started going on to the Internet not merely to check cast, crew and other such details as you have suggested, but to also to read what established critics 'abroad' have said so that they could reaffirm their stand. Check if they were thinking along the same lines, because as much as we like to think that a critic can watch a movie and say exactly what s/he thinks, there is always an underlying, let's say apprehension, that you may get it all wrong. I know this opens up another debate (no review is right or wrong), but if you go to town bitching about a movie and it's a blockbuster, and this happens more than once, your credibility is corroded. So before you write you do want to 'check' if you are on the right path, because then that can always work as an alibi. 'Look he/she said so too'.Plus, if you're with a national daily, and not a niche product, then your reviews are for the masses and you must have a pulse or feel of what the audience will like and judge it somewhat by those standards. Now if you are unsure of what the audience likes because you are sitting in your high-brow chair then you need corroboration. Plus, remember, going to a first-day, first-show or just to the hall, whenever, is an excellent indicator because you are now getting first-hand audience reaction, but now most critics sit with other critics in Mahadev Road halls and are therefore almost cut off from the real world when watching and reviewing. Which is why they need to reassure themselves of their own opinion.

This and that...

2004-12-06T11:37:00.000+06:00

Link
> Scary story on Guardian on how most of England's prisons house several mentally unfit people and how the numbers are spiralling. Also, how most of the prison staff is not skilled at handling such inmates...

Zee's scored two points
> Managed to catch the grand finale of the Zee TV India's Best Cinestars Ki Khoj, and while I have not, several people have been following the 44-episode show, including Brij Mohan Munjal, the head of the Hero Honda empire, whichw as one of the pirnciple sponsors of the show. On stage, standing alongside Hrithik Roshan (he endorses Hero Honda's Karizma bike) Munjal specifically cited examples of how the winners Sarvar Ahuja and Aditi Sharma were nervous, raw amateurs when they started out and how he has seen them, as a viewer, grow with each episode. He then went on to say that prior to shows like this only people like Hrithik whose parents are in this line could aspire to become actors (Hrithik smiled and hung his head in shame while the crowd booed and hooted) but now anyone can try. He aslo quoted from Zee's new ad for its show Business Baazigar where Subhash Chandra strolls along the beach and says he started out Rs 17 in his pocket from Hissar, and applauded Chandra for giving back to the nation. Quite surprising to see an industry stalwart following a show so closely... On the Chandra ad, it's quite nice. I can only wonder why Zee has not tried to promote its channel using Chandra's 'dare to dream' mantra earlier. In a simple kurta pyjama while kids make a sand castle, he talks about how he went from rs 17 to Rs 17000 to 17 lakh to 17 crore to 1700 crore and so on (the sand castle is washed and he helps them reconstruct it, in the meantime). It's about the power of dreams and if you have one, Zee will now finance it. This show sounds promising; after all India is the land of dreams. And, on another note, Sahara, it seems, was just waiting for Zee to complete its run; it has now started advertising its own talent show for filmstars called Mr & Miss Bollywood; however it has already made 9 short films with the finalists and viewers will be asked to judge them on the basis of that.

Koffee with Karan
> Finally caught one full episode of Koffee with Karan. Upbeat music, straight out of a nightclub, posh settings and of course A-list celebs. Plus, Karan has this agony aunt streak; everyone seems to confide in him and talks to him about everything. I think it comes from the confidence that he has control over his life. And while the chat with Saif revealed that karan will be able to handle people he's not so close to, still Saif has been in his movie. How he will warm up to complete strangers is going to be the acid test. This week should be interesting on that account: director Sanjay Leela Bhansali and his muse Aishwarya Rai will be on.

> Ads
Remember the blog about the buzzwords. One case of a buzzword used wrongly or incorrectly is IOC petrol pumps promising to give you a jaddoo ki jhappi. The image this conjured up in my mind was a petrol pump executive (if I can call them that) giving me a jhappi, and this totally creeped me out. What IOC meant by JKJ (jadoo ki...) was that they were giving out prizes to customers; now why convolute something simple to make it confusing and perhaps, negative?

> Have I seen a great ad in a long time, an ad that I can't turn off? Not that I can remember... have you? But what I have ntoiced is that while designer are cryign themselves hoarse that boot cut jeans and trousers are out, Levi's (always a step ahead) has already gone ahead and launched 'slim' jeans. They have Bipasha (I think it's her) sprawled out sporting slim jeans and a pink T-shirt slashed across the front like Esha Deol's in Dhoom. Now some time ago (September) this acquaintance was shifting to the UK and she was hopping mad searhcing for straight cut jeans (having been a fashion correspondent she told me boot cuts were so out), but apparently no store was stcoking anything but boot cuts. Levi's has of course, reacted quick and early, and withing two months they've moved to slim, and I can guarantee their stores now hardly have any boot cuts (but knowing India, boot cuts will continue to be popular for a long, long time).

an interview with tatsiana

2004-12-02T17:17:00.000+06:00

read it here

Links

2004-12-02T11:46:00.000+06:00

OK so I wasn't the only who thought of it. Mid-Day even went and morphed it. Ambanis and Deewar. Take a look. Only I thought Anil should be Shahshi and Mukesh Amitabh. Anyway it's quite funny. See it here.

Blog has become 'the' term for 2004. Read this.

2004-12-01T16:13:00.000+06:00

Farooque and family
> Did everyone miss it or did it happen earlier and did I miss it? I'm talking about the photographs of Farooque Abdullah sitting with his daughter Sara and son-in-law Sachin, for fashion designer Ayesha Depala's show. When did they kiss and makeup? Did I miss it? As far as I remember, Farooque and his family did not attend their wedding. As far as I know, it was all a political sham; everyone knew they were OK with it, considering the Abdullahs are not new to having non-Muslim spouses in the house. But no one seems to have commented on it, even in a caption... That's how poor public memory is. And with the other public squabble hogging the limelight... where's the space mentally or in newsprint?

Item girls
> Mumait Khan. heard of her? She's the flavour of the Item season; forget Shefali Zariwala, forget Deepal Shaw. It's Mumait. She starred in Dekh Le (Munnabhai) and is coming in some other videos, including one with Enrique Iglesias. She was recently featured in Sunday Express' Booty Call and was also on We The People, where Barkha Dutt was talking about censorship. And Mumait proudly stood up, displaying her mini skirt, and said 'look at me. This is how girls my age dress. Tomorrow if your daughter wnats tow ear this skirt and go out, what will you say. Plus, if I am OK with it, who is anyone else to decide'. Thundering applause. And then Barkha asked her to what she would go and she said any lengths. 'So pornography, nudity is it OK with you?', asks Barkha. And Mumait says: 'ya, as long as I feel it's OK, I will do it.' And when Barkha told the audience that she was going to star in an Enrique video, Pooja Bhat came to the girl's rescue and said 'it is unfair to haul up this lady here and put her under scrutiny because pornography is a $10 billion industry. And just becase she's doing a video with Enrique it's OK, but if she was doing the same thing in a video with some poor hero here, it's not Ok?'
The girl's got her dad's motormouth genes alright!

> The latest one
Byt the way, mark my words, the next item girl scorcher will be Belarus-born stunner Tatsiana Bokhan. She is the winner of the Musafir Item Bomb hunt. And not only does she very closely resemble Yana, her name too (Tatsiana, which was spelt Tatsiyana by the way, during the contest) is very similar to the Russian model cum item girl. Tatsiana will do her jig with Sanjay Dutt, but goign by her stunning looks and dancing skills she will definitely be an Item Girl to reckon with. Helen must be quite surprsied to see what a big deal is being made of a genre that she once monopolised and while it was then called the vamp, now it's the Item Girl. Also, Item Girls, once they make their mark, are unwilling to do Item numbers. Koena Mitra, for once, wants to do 'meaningful cinema'.

Diana Hayden & Kaizad Gustad

2004-11-30T15:47:00.000+06:00

What is wrong with Diana Hayden? After staying away from mainstream Bolylwood, pursuing an acting course at RADA, she comes back home, tests the waters in Tehzeeb, and then goes on to act in Ab Bas. I haven't seen the film but according to the reviews I haven't missed anything. On top of that, she makes comments about how she's not happy with the publicity and that an emotional film has been depicted as a skin show. To make matters worse and to possibly alleviate her insecurity, she hopes to hog the limelight by saying that 50 per cent of men in India are characterless. Now that statement has of course landed her in a soup because a Delhi-based lawyer has sued her in court. Somehow, I didn't expect a Miss World like Hayden to get involved in something like this...
Reminds me, her one-time boyfriend Kaizad Gustad has resurfaced... documenting the ASEAN rally. He says the media made him a scapegoat in the Nadia Khan case. Why does everybody love to hate the media? Because the media points a mirror up at them? Anyway, he says the matter is subjudice and hence, his lips are sealed, but one day he will speak, and then there will be a lot to write about. He even hinted at a book. One autobiography that should be interesting to read. So if he continues on his roller-coaster adventure trip through life in the name of literary pursuit., I don't mind. As long as no one gets killed.

Writer's block

2004-11-29T15:41:00.000+06:00

it's not coming to me these days... writing. Don't know why...

artists all

2004-11-29T13:37:00.000+06:00

We are all artists. In our own right. I stumbled upon this realisation while sitting atop a rickety stool at Janpath watching a florist prepare a thousand rupee bouquet for me (don't ask for whom; official work). He measured each stem, shoved it into the sponge, then cocked his head to one side, saw the larger perspective (was the bouquet in balance, did the shape look right, was it tilting dangerously to one side) , trimmed the stem a litttle more, then gave it a slight nudge to get the angle right, and then moved on to the next stem. He repeated this exercise until he had placed all 60 odd stems in place, then proceeded to spray the flowers with water, added the extra greens and cellophaned the bouquet. He could have been an artist with a canvas and an easel. There was nothing about his style of working that suggested he was a florist instead of a celebrated painter at work. And then I thought; we are all artists. The gym instructor to whom you give charge of your body, which is a big, fat unstructured lump of fat, and which he/she literally sculpts like a sculpture until your'e looking like one of his/her creations; the actual sculptor who pretty much does the same, labouring over the mass of clay until it reaches a desired shape... The hairstylist who lifts and drops each strand, cutting, measuring and fashioning a style out of a mop. The makeup artist... there is some truth then, that each job can be as boring as you make it or as creative as you make it.

Telly and Movie Tamasha Nov 24

2004-11-26T03:22:00.000+06:00

I have so many things to comment on today but the funniest thing I've read has been Gurinder Chadha telling Subhash K. Jha (in an interview posted on timesofindia.com) that critics in India have called the music in Bride and Prejudice cheesy. Just read what she says: "I think the Americans would get the point much more readily. In India some critics seem to be looking at a different picture. They think the music is cheesy. But that's how it was meant to be! I could've got Elton John to do the music. But I wanted Anu Malik."
Oh God! Now Anu Malik, the presiding head of the three-memeber jury for India Idol, is not going to be too pleased about this. Imagine you've shouted it out loud that you've done a cross-over film, and you even had a part in it which sadly was edited out, and then you hear that you were hired not for your outstanding work in films like Border, but alas, because your cheesy quotient is high!!
Secondly, Chadha is convinced her film will do better in the US where film-watching is a habit. However, she only needs to look at the play Bollywood Dreams which did far better in the UK than in the US. In the UK a lot of the jokes and digs, pretty much Bolly centric, were understood because the audiences have a fair appreciation of the Indian culture, however, in the US, not only did Meera Syal have to rework the script, the play itself got pretty bad reviews, so why in the world does Ms Chadha think her movie will fare better in the US? I don't know. Also, I haven't seen it yet, which is why I'm only commenting on her comments and not on the movie per se.

> Missed Koffee with Karan. Has anyone figured out when the rerun is? Going by Poonam Saxena's column in HT and the fact that the show made it to our lunchroom table (and I did not initiate the conversation), I'd say the show should do well. A great way to figure out how a show is going is to gauge the buzz around it. Forget TAM; if people ain't talking about it, it ain't happening. Which is why I think Zoom needs a rethink about its content. What it needs to do more of is the stuff others don't have access to. The Bombay Times 10th anniversary party for example; yeah sure, no one else can cover it in such detail (not even NDTV's Night Out) so why not capitalise on that kind of content. They also had a party in Page 3 where TV stars boogeyed the night away. nandu of Jassi fame was grroving on the dance floor with Pari; now sure that kind of stuff would make the channel stand out. I'm still watching Star One and continue to like Sarabhai vs Sarabhai, Instant Kichadi etc, The Great Indian Comedy Tamasha etc.

> We really are spoiled for choice these days. While I missed Koffee with Karan (fri evening 10 pm star world) and Style Mantra (Malaika interviews Kareena on Sahara One Sat or Sun afternoon sometime), I did see Powerr Trip (not a spelling mistake; that's how it's spelt) with Shobhaa De on Sahara One on Sunday afternoon. The guest was Kumarmangalam Birla and the episode was very interesting, particularly in the light of recent developments in the Ambani's personal domain. De managed to get Birla to talk about his upbringing in one of India's biggest industrial houses, his relationship with GD Birla, his granddad (who named him) and that he wouldn't like to send his kids to the family-owned school because they would get preferential treatment. He also said he doesn't subscribe to the open-door policy at work because it completely derails his agenda for the day and it has not hign to do with him being unapproachable etc. Good watch.

> Which reminds me, why have filmmakers become so scared of controversy. There's a fantastic subject for a movie just waiting to be explored. The Ambani family saga. It has everyhting. A patriarch who has literally risen from the ashes, attained unbelievavble heights; two sons, one marries a 'power-hungry' woman who knows her midn and the other a rich, pretty filmstar. And finally the brothers are warring. and if I'm not wrong Anil could well pull a Shashi kapoor and say 'mere paas maa hain'. Ok maybe this is an exaggeration but I see a movie script waiting to be written. Same for the Sahara pariwar saga. A potential blockbuster but filmmakers would not dare to take such chances. Sad, when we've had movies like Aandhi (apparently based on Indira Gandhi's life) and Silsila (AB, Rekha and Jaya) so many years ago.

Telly Tamasha some more

2004-11-24T15:51:00.000+06:00

Die hard me found some highlights of the Koffee with Karan interview. Read this.

Also have you heard the big, big news of the day? Sujal (Rajeev Khandelwal) apparently has walked out of Kahiin To Hoga (not stormed out; he will wait till his character is brought to its logical end). Now what does that mean???

Oh and by the way I really like the graphics and packaging for Star One, the orange, yellow and red colours and the logo. Very young, very energy, very vibrant. Appealing.

Whatever

2004-11-20T07:04:00.000+06:00

Wanted to add to the Dhoom blog. Another buzzword that's being tried by Indiatimes is 'Whatever'. The campaign just doesn't cut it. I mean, 'things you care about, things you don't...' like I just don't get it. Adding that 'whatever' at the end is NOT going to suddenly open the floodgates and get all the 18 to 25-year-olds hooked to the site or portal, 'whatever' it is. But you know why 'whatever' has become such a popular term? It's a politer way of saying 'shut up' or 'I don't agree with you' or just leave me alone' or 'can we change the topic'. But whereas those are 'closed' statements, 'whatever' is an open-ended statement -- credit all this new learning on open-ended and closed questions and statements to a telephone training workshop I attended --leaving the listener to interpret it in their own way. So someone asks you to dinner and you don't want to go. Answer: whatever. So someone asks you a question that's uncomfortable and you don't like how the conversation's going. Just say 'whatever'. Next questions. Repeat answer. Wham! the topic will change. Guaranteed. The other 'whatever' connection is Channel [V]. If I'm not wrong, Channel [V] had or has a show called Whatever Things. Anyone remember it?
Also coming up: Channel [V]'s Super Singer, if I'm not wrong. It's been running these teasers with 'gates open December 3', 'only 2 days to go' etc and of course the buzzword Kal Ho Naa Ho in the background.

Telly Tamasha - Nov 19, 04

2004-11-19T17:51:00.000+06:00

Saw Indian Idol last night. The stage rounds have started. Quite interesting. The first 10 of the shortlisted 30 came on stage. Transformed with the help of a stylist, vocie trained and modulated with the help of musician Raju Singh among others (he has done some 1000 jingles I'm sure apart from tunes for shows including Jassi) and confident courtesy the shortlisting. And the Bongs ruled. Someone explain to me: why are Bengalis so talented when it comes to the arts. Whether it's singing, dancing, creative arts, media, they're just there in huge numbers. Mastermind India: winner two years in a row, Bengalis. India's Child Genius: winner, East India (OK, he's not Bengali but Bihari). And yesterday Indian Idol, full of Bengalis, but the guy who took the cake was Devajit. He stammers while speaking but sings beautifully, but the reason he will stand out in my head is because he dared to challenge Farah Khan, one of the judges. She pointed out that when he sings a low not,e he goes so low you can't hear the word but Devajit, convinced that Farah knew nothing about music, not having had any training in it, told her off. I sing this low note at msuic functions, at college festivals, it's in D-Minor etc etc. Finally Farah gave up but the guy had made his point: perhaps the point that several have been pondering since the show got off the ground. What is a choreographer and one-film-old director doing as the judge for a music talent show?
PS: Sonu Nigam with hair straightened looks like Sanjay Dutt in Rudraksh. Read: atrocious.
PSS: Mini's got a sense of style and a certain charm but Aman Verma needs a stylist pretty bad. yesterday he wore black pin-stripe trousers with a brown crinkled shirt. maybe he wnated to match Mini's yellow crinkled skirt that she carried off rather well with a corset.

Dhoom

2004-11-18T13:38:00.000+06:00

Dhoom. That's the new buzzword this year. A lot of our buzzwords trickle down from Hindi cinema and many of them are already in use, but not popular use. So while Bole To and Kal Ho Naa Ho courtesy Munnabhai MBBS and Kal Ho Naa Ho became the buzzwords last year, Dhoom is definitely the new catchphrase. LG has been running a Dhoom campaign, almost every radio station had a Diwali Dhoom macha de package and several other ads are talking about dhoom. ICICI has, in fact, gone a step ahead and adopted Hum Hain Na (from Main Hoon Na) as its new tagline. Keep a look out; it's very interesting to see how our vocabulary keeps changing and assimmilating new words and phrases, which are then later dropped like hot potatoes. In fcat, Reader's Digest I think had a list of all the famous words which became buzzwords in which year; last year it was sex up (courtesy the WMD dossier).

Telly Tamasha Nov 17, 04

2004-11-17T15:33:00.000+06:00

Star One sorry Starone sorry *ne (someone asked me if it was Star nee)
> The Sahara group has literally taken the Pepsi-Cola war to TV. First it 'stole' Star One's name and rechristened itself Sahara One from Sahara Manoranjan, then it won the court case when it was sued by Star, and of late I have noticed it even uses a very similar tagline as Starone (that's the way they are supposed to write it), so Sahara has 'Minute Ki Tuning Jamegi' while Star has 'Apni Tuning Jamegi'. Now, of course, it's the battle of content. While Sahara is looking slicker, I don't think too many more people are watching than were earlier. As for Star One, compared to Sahara and Zoom , it does have some watchable programmes. Family Business (a young guy realises, as his dad lies on the deathbed), that he is the scion of an empire that is spread across the underworld (Hades, wasn't it?). Then, there are short stories, a genre Zee, Star and Sony have experiemnted with in various avtars (the name Rishtey comes to mind). This allows the producers to hire good, talented actors for short periods of time, and to -- within a small cast, say three -- tell a good story. So Ek Black Coffee was about two good friends and an extra marital affair between one friend and the other's wife (sounds cheesy but wasn't told so). Instant Khich'a'di (notice the additional a) remains watchable, especially since the family is now raees (rich) and must learn the etiquette and mannerisms of the rich! Remix isn't half bad either though I don't know anyone who says 'D-uhh' as an actual response to a question. Now it isn't one of those channels you should especially tune into, but given your choices among other Hindi shows, it's one of those channels that you don't mind staying tuned into, for a while. I am still interested in seeing what they come up with. Another show I enjoyed was Sarabhai VS Sarabhai. Ratna Pathak Shah plays the sophisticated Mumbai socialite housewife and Satish Shah plays her henpecked husband. The battle lines are drawn between Mrs Sarabhai Senior and Mrs Sarabhai Junior (the younger one's name I forget, she she played Rahul's wife Simran in Sanjivani), with the daughter-in-law always accused of living by her middle class values. This episode was about a cricket match in Mumbai to which the dad-in-law and daughter-in-law wanted tickets but ma-in-law decided she can't bear the thought of middle-class daughter-in-law running like an excited fan into the stadium, and so, refused to organise tickets for her. In response, daughter-in-law organises golgappa eating competition and makes sure dad-in-law falls sick. The sets are also, for a change, very real, unlike the Balaji Rs 2.5 crore charades. They look like someone could actually live there. And the music too is very upmarket. Some shows are like He-Man are playing Britnmey Spears' Toxic in the background while others are playing Madonna! As for Sarabhai... guess sho directs it? Deven Bhojani, the very talented TV actor (played the servant in Dekh Bhai Dekh, and actor in many many shows after that). Two other shows I saw were The Great Indian Comedy Show (mixture of Movers & Shakers, but with different hosts, howevere the scriotwriters seem to be the same as Shekhar Suman's and also Kahaani Poori Filmi Hai, so it's a movie spoof sometimes and a a situation spoof sometimes. Yesterday they had Manini De (Pari in Jassi...) with wires attached to her body. An Abhishek Bachchan lookalike administered an electric shock every few seconds and she moved her limbs in a weird and contorted way. Didn't make sense first, then they told us it was Naach, and suddenly Manini looked just like Antara Mali and she was hilarious.

> Zoom, on the other hand, does not pique my interest at all. Mirchi Top 20 with Yana doing a Helen, a Parveen, a Zeenat is not very exciting and Dangerous, the 'sex' show with Kamal and Samir is the pits. Rather have a show like Friends or Sex And The City where 'sex' is a part of the story and the episodes (as it is in daily life) instead of having a talk show on it (much like MTV Loveline with Cyrus and Malaika), especially a talk show that desperately needs to get its content right. In one section called Sex Files, they bust myths. What was the myth last night? If your partner has sex with an ex flame, it is assumed that the flame is the seducer. This is a myth (clap, clap, clap). It is in fact the ex flame who is single and in all likelihood your partner is the one who has done the seducing.
In which world is this a myth and this answer myth busting? I thought this is what a myth busting session should sound like:
Q. Can I get pregnant by kissing?
A. No. This is a myth. You can't get pregnant by kissing someone.

God, will someone explain to the producer of the show that in relationships (such as the one described above, there can be no rules and myths and fixed norms).

> I don't know what it is about radio, but I like men's voices more than women's voices. Maybe our voices are more shrill and shreak-y and we giggle more, I don't know. But I do know that of the prime time slots, only one is done by a woman. Mirchi has Nitin in the morning and Pallavi in the evening (she's the one); Radio City had Kritika in the morning; she's been replaced by Pratap and there's Mantra in the evening, he replaced Sameep but that was a guy so it's status quo, and red FM has Vijay in the morning and Sachin in the evening. Now I would assume that Delhi has more male drivers and they would prefer a female voice on the radio but obviously this doesn't hold true. Men are obviously more popular as RJs. My favourite: Nitin. Second best: Sachin. Vijay is too old and preachy, especially in his tone and style, but guess they need a Yuri type DJ too, for the older lot. But if you're driving between 8-10, tune into 102.6 AIR FM. They have some of the best English DJs, who talk to you like regular people, they way DJs should. In fcat, AIR can easily splash an ad campaign and cash in on its USP of being the only radio station to play English music.

Telly Tamasha Nov 9, 2004

2004-11-09T23:30:00.000+06:00

> Saw a really nice ad the other day but mistook it for an ad for a diamond; instead it was for SBI Insurance. But hey you diamond dudes, listen up for this fantastic tag line you can grab.
An elderly woman is at her sewing machine. Her husband walks up to her and shows her a newspaper ad:
Husband: 'Is this what you keep secretly admiring?'
Wife: (takes a look) "Ya"
Husband takes out a box that looks like a ring box and says 'see, I got it for you. It's a special occasion for people like you and me who love each other. I think they call it Valentine's Day.'
Wife takes a look at the ring and says: 'Are you mad, it must be expensive, why did you buy it, go return it. At this age where am I going to wear jewellery?'
Husband: Why, how does the diamond know how old you are?" (makes her put it on). the rest is about how money should not come between love. So go for insurance.

To me the last line (arrey, heera ko kya pata tumhari umar kya hai) is such a big, huge, potent idea that diamond sellers should immediately latch on to. I know my grandmom has put all her jewellery away in a packet and given it to me for safekeeping. I know a lot of women get on in years and then start putting away their jewellery because they don't feel right in being 'dolled up'. "It's not our age to dress up anymore" is the common refrain. So here's a brilliant chance to reposition mindsets. The diamond doesn't know how old the wearer is, neither does its brightness diminish if the wearer is 20 or 90, and it still achieves the same result whatevere age you may be. Till now, a lot of ads in India have been focused on the 'you don't have to wait for marriage or a husband to get your first diamond, buy it with your own salary etc it's now affordable'. Also, I think it's time to now go for the other end of the spectrum, the post 60 who have also stopped buying diamonds. With precisely this plank.

> During random surfing, I find myself getting horribly confused between Star One, Sahara One and Zoom. I'm not myopic or hypermetropic or whatever it was and I can differentiate their logos thank you; it's just that the content of their programming is so similar. Stupid shows for god knows what age group residing in which city? Or maybe I'm just older and above their target age group. Which means whoever is readint this blog will totally identify with what I'm saying. A friend smsed me the other day to ask what CID was (read his blog on it) and why he thought it was a ridiculous show. Told him it's one of Sony's longest-running successful shows and the idea for Sony's other similar show called Saakshi (something like Alias the Jennifer Garner one on AXN) probably came from this. And now, Star One has launched Special Squad. All of you who got glued to TV way back in the NYPD Blue days should see it, bet it's a lift. That also reminds me, Star One has named so many of its shows in English; it probably thinks that helps in the relatability factor to young Indians. So you have Special Squad, Family Business (The Godfather meets Karishma meets C grade underworld Bollywood flick), Hotel Kingston, Guns and Roses and the worst of the least, He Man (a datign show where women get to hoot and vote for their He Man from a group of seven-eight sad men doing The Full Monty meets the Indian Idol on stage. They sing, they dance, they even do aerobics onstage (some women may want to know, after all, how athletic they are) and the show is hosted by Shekhar Suman and Shwetha Menon both of whom are just horrible. To add to the kewl factor, Suman goes to the female DJ on the console and attempts to gyrate in rhythm a la MTV Grind. I almost threw up. As far as Star One goes, I am placing my bets on Instant Khichdi (a remodelled version of Khichdi with the same cast; a show I would recommend for its superb acting and high quality writing) and on Sarabhai vs Sarabhai (a bit like Tu Tu Main Main). You know whay I think these shows will do well? Both have good seasoned actors. While Khichdi has Supriya pathak and the rest of the cast, Sarabhai has Satish Shah and Ratna Pathak Shah (no, not Satish's wife but Naseer's wife and Supriya's sister) and reminds me a bit of the days of Yeh Jo hai Zindagi and Rajni and so on.

> Zoom has totally zipped, sapped and zoomed itself off my remote. Absolutely no reason tow atch it except for Kamal Sidhu, just to see what she's picked up in her sabbatical.

Secrets

2004-11-09T09:45:00.000+06:00

In my book, there are two kinds of secrets. One is the never-to-be-told secret, the kind that you bury in the recesses of your heart and never ever fish out (a close married friend tells you she got up close and personal with someone other than her husband and is deeply regretting it). That goes into the first category, not even to be shared with your significant other. In fact you should almost forget you ever heard any such thing unless the friend brings it up. But the second variety is the more, interesting, the more fun secret. Primarily because this secret is to ultimately be shared -- with maybe one person, a small group, or the world at large -- and the thrill of waiting to share it is quite exciting. It may be the decision to get married or the news that you've found someone special, or a new job or any such thing. So you're driving someone somewhere and suddenly you break into this smile, and she asks you, 'hey what's with you?' and all you can do is smile some more, as you imagine the shock, surprise, horror, awe with which she will react. In fact, you can walk around in this temporary self-induced state of euphoria for many days; it's like walking on air. Every time you pass someone, say at the office you're soon going to quit, you think, 'and what will he say', and you preempt their reactions and their words of wisdom. And it's a thrill. Like foreplay. Sometimes even more exciting than the real thing. Because many a times the reactions and the responses do not live up to your expectations and it leaves you feeling quite like a deflated balloon. But the phase prior to the act of telling, that's the fun part. So the next time you're pregnant with some news and you're dying to shout it out from the rooftops, hold your horses and savour those moments of famous last words, knowing smiles and peals of secret laughter in your heart.

Comments and observations of the day

2004-11-05T13:51:00.000+06:00

Lots today really, so here I go.

> Designer Ravi Bajaj has for the first time appeared in his own ad. It says 'God makes Men, I make Gentlemen'. Attitude... and it works. Fashion designers like Rohit Bal, Rina Dhaka, Ritu Beri and Manish Arora have distinct personalities, views, comments and would work very well as ambassadors for their own outfits and accessories. Then why have they shied away from appearing in their ads? Don't singers appear in their music videos all the time? A new trend emerging here...

> India Today has done a story on the death of the disco, only I fear, they've woken up about eight months late. Not only was this story discussed at length at my previous office, someone at Gateway even did it a good year ago if I'm not wrong.

> The failure (or success) of Bride & Prejudice notwithstanding, Bollywood has quickly jumped on to the classic bandwagon and now remakes of Jane Eyre, Gone With The Wind and Wuthering Heights are all in the pipeline. As if Lalita Bakshi wasn't bad enough. Listen to the names: hilarious.
Wuthering Heights: Ajay Devgan as Hari (Heathcliff) and Zinta as both the Sanjanas (Catherine).
Jane Eyre: Ajay Devgan as Ravindra (Rochester) and Gracy Singh as Jaya (Jane).
Gone With The Wind: Sushmita Sen as Sheetal (Scarlett O'Hara), John Abraham as Rajiv (Rhett Butler), Tabu as Malini (Melanie) Abhishek Bachchan as Ashish (Ashley).
Classics tend to lenbd themselves tp remaking because of the universality of its appeal in terms of story. It cuts across countries, eras and people. But why does Bollywood wake up and see the light only when someone from anotehr country does something. Next we know, Mira Nair or Deepa Mehta will make a smash hit of a Premchand story and then Bollywood will suddenly take to the libraries to fish out short stories and novellas to remake.

> Yeh Meri Life Hai on Sony is doing something quite clever. On the show yesterday, a cop's phone rang and guess what ringtome it was: the Yeh Meri Life Hai soundtrack! I also saw Indian Idol and yesterday's episode was quite good. Though I feel they really rushed from the phase of wittling down 129 candidates to 76 (we only heard maybe one or two per group sing) the rest was great. In fact we really felt bad for the sweeper, Raju, who said he ahd never slept in an AC room therefore caught a bad throat. I don't know if they selected him for the next round or not!

> The K-serials are going from bad to worse. Nothing else to say.

An obituary

2004-11-05T13:17:00.000+06:00

Have you ever felt numb? Really numb. Like when someone close to you dies. Numb enough to not cry, numb enough to just go about the rituals that follow without batting an eyelid, like its just part of life? Have you tried to justify their passing away with phrases like 'He/she was so old; they were suffering; it was for the better. This is certainly the most dignified way to die. And then when others are making a public display of grief, have you crept away to maybe the kitchen pretending to help yourself to a glass of water, and thought - 'Is this really me? Have I become so heartless, cold, does anything not affect me anymore? Where are my tears? Have I lost sight of my emotions? Who am I becoming?'
I have. I'm sure we all have.
The last time I remember this happened to me was when my dog Goofy died. Non-animal lovers may probably roll their eyes and think: 'Oh my God was she going on about an animal?' but to those who are extremely close to their four-legged pets, the death of an animal is an excruciating phase. And amazingly you go through the same set of emotions, excuses, thought process when you lose someone, a human, but do not dismiss the grief at the passing away of a pet.
Goofy was my 13-year-old apso. Now 13 years multiplied by 7 means he was actually 91 years old, which is old and he was unwell, and he was suffering. But that didn't kill him. He gave up. That killed him. Goofy was always one of those ultra hairy lhasa apsos who attracted ticks like honey attracts bees. It was almost routine. But let me just go back to when he came into our lives.
My dad flew him to Delhi in 1991 - he paid Rs 25 for his air ticket - bundled up in a basket, a little ball of white fur. I was still at boarding by my sister tells me he was adorable. Apparently my dad came up to them and just handed them the basket, no mention of a pup inside, and went back to get his luggage off the conveyor belt. Suddenly something started moving in the basket and to my mom and sister's utter delight, it was Goofy, named by my sister after the Mickey Mouse character. He really was goofy, would sleep all day, bark at family, and graciously lick the feet of carpenters, contractors, plumbers and all other unwanted people. Instead of being a guard dog, my dad would joke, it was he who needed guarding. So if, for example, we were all huddled in the bedroom and then got up to move to the dining room for dinner, the minute Goofy realised he was alone in the room, he would quickly come out looking and then settle down where ever we were seated.
Any attempts to match make failed, as a result of which, Goofy remained a bachelor. Not celibate of course, but he did not sire any children - none that we know of. Then, when he was around two-three he started getting these massive tick attacks, and the poor guy would suffer matted hair, ticks, and then a loss of identity when we would be forced to shave off all his hair in peak summer. He would look around embarrassed as if he were nude, and hide till some hair grew back, before he continued with his evening walks. He was also very prone to getting maggots (I don't want to get into it); suffice to say every summer was pure torture. But every year, I would take him to either the vet hospital at Moti Bagh or to a vet nearby and he would be quite unwell, but somehow, the guy would pull through. [Once my mom and I were at a temple and she told me later that she wanted to pray to make him die, to ease his pain, until of course she heard my praying for his well-being (the only reason I perhaps went to the temple). Anyhow, the prayers probably worked.] Gaping wounds, tick infested, he would still summon up the strength to bounce right back. And my sister and I would spend every morning pulling out his ticks, combing his hair, giving him a bath... Sometimes if we pulled the comb a little hard, he would growl, snap and run away but never bite.
Then I got married and moved away, and saw him less and less. But once I moved back, my parents had to move out, and he came to live with me at my in-laws house, full time. In two weeks, I almost forgot whose dog he was. Always faithful to the hand that feeds it, dogs change loyalties very quickly. So suddenly, my dad-in-law was his best friend; Papa would feed him biscuits, make him sleep in his room and talk to him like he was human. When I entered the house, Goofy couldn't care less. He was happily asleep by my dad's bedside. He also made friends with my husband's apso, Snowy. The two were old, frail and reacted to each other like a brother and sister who have got so used to each other's gout and arthritis... who don't communicate but just need each other there.
Then sometime last year, Snowy died. I thought Goofy looked a little down and out but soon he was back to his Garfield-ish lazy self. But early this year, he too began to venture out less and less. He would just sit in one place, forsake food (an old habit so I didn't worry too much about it), but then when he stopped drinking water, I knew the time had come. Snowy had a tumor and when we had suggested she be put to sleep, my husband reacted very badly. He was waiting for her to die. And she did.
With Goofy too, it was something like that. It sounds horrible but anyone who's been in a similar situation would understand. I was waiting for him to die. Almost wishing and willing for him to die. I think I couldn't deal with the guilt anymoreI . I just didn't have the time and the inclination and the patience to care for him like I did; and I could not see him suffer and debilitate in front of my eyes. And when he died, in his sleep, I was honestly relieved. And as I waited for my husband to come back home so we could go bury him (he's right outside my house wall), I walked into the kitchen, pretending to help myself to a glass of water, and I asked myself those very questions.
I still haven't found the answers.

Telly Tamasha Nov 3, 2004

2004-11-03T18:11:00.000+06:00

What this really means is that I just have a few minutes so though a couple of blogs have made their way into my head, I don't have the time to write them properly, and I will wait till tomorrow or day after when I have the time. As of now, a small Telly Tamasha blog.

Radio
> Red FM has altered its tagline from Asli masti to Asli Radio. Now of course there's no way of knowing but I can hazard a guess, and my guess is Red FM, asli masti was not connecting as a radio brand. Maybe FM wasn't a strong enough indicator that the medium was radio while competitors are much clearer in their communications. Radio Mirchi, it's hot and Radio City. Maybe the India Today group should have stuck to their old name, Radio Today.

Kamal's back
> Kamal Sidhu, yes the curly-haired former VJ, who disappeared (as has Laila Rouass) is back on Zoom, on a show called Dangerous, where they apparently discuss sex. Of course it doens't say so very clearly, but the ads and colourful, sexy hoardings more than communicate that.

TV in the print
> Outlook's recent issue (Nov 8, 2004) has done a story on TV stars coming of age. I haven't read it yet, but an initial glimpse showed that in female popular TV stars Jassi, Tulsi, Nandini, Dr Simran and Prerna find a mention and Sakshi tanwar (parvati), one of the pillars of kahaani, and personally one of Ekta Kapoor's favourite stars, finds mention as a 'Others to look out for.' Are they kidding? She's been on air for some three-four years and is a huge star in her own right. Definitely cannot be clubbed in the same league with Mallika and Pari in Jassi...

Advertising
> Why is Airtel's latest camapign (lost in the jungle... wherever you go our network won't let you down) seem like an imitation of Hutch's pug ads where the core message is 'wherever you go our network follows'. In fact the message is so clearly embedded in my head as Hutch's message that when I saw the Airtel ad, I was just wondering why they need to go after the same message.

Telly Tamasha - 29/10/04

2004-10-29T15:42:00.000+07:00

> Indian Idol
Did any of you see all the new shows that debuted yesterday? I wanted to catch Paris Hilton's A Simple Life, but the Haryana Vidyut Board ensured my curiosity remains piqued and not satiated. Instead, at about 10.30 p.m. I managed to catch a few glimpses of Indian Idol. This is one show that I feel will click. And I have to say, since I've started tracking TV, I haven't been terribly wrong. After watching the first episodes of each of these shows, I wrote that they won't/may not click.
> Kahin Na Kahin Koi Hain - Madhuri Dixit's TV debut on Sony
> Shekhar Suman's avtar of Movers & Shakers on Zee
> Love Story on Zee
> Dekho Magar Pyar Se on Star Plus
> Karishma on Sahara
> Malini Iyer on Sahara

And with Indian Idol, inspite of the overdose of reality and the same staged expressions of joy and sorrow, there's something that I think will make it work. One is the backing of Fremantle which is the original producer of the show, and has ensured the winning formula is replicated with alarming levels of success in in every country, and the second is that India is music obsessed. We love music -- all forms of it -- we communicate through music. The third is that this show unlike Popstars etc is actually cutting across class by giving even a sweeper a chance to try his luck at becoming an Indian Idol. And there is really something in seeing someone genuinely talented able to prove his/her mettle without being subjected to the usual embarrassment, ridicule and rejection that he/she would have to face had they tried their hand at the regular route -- knocking on the doors of music directors/record lables etc.
Plus Sonu Nigam, Anu Malik and Farah Khan make a good team. While Sonu speaks less, praises more, Malik does a muted version of Simon Cowell. yesterday he told a girl she was beautiful, had beautiful eyes and a beautiful voice and had made it to the next level, but, he added: "your voice doesn't move me". Watch the show, it should be an interesting journey. And I think, one thing that reality shows are doing rather well is actually bringing in front of our eyes a live survey of the Indian youth -- how it dreams, aspires, and as was shown in the Musafir itme Bomb hunt -- what lengths it will go to achieve stardom and money; the new currency the younger generation understands and relates to.

K serials
> Saw some of the K serials last night. For one, whoever is designing Kashish's clothes in Kahiin To Hoga, is finally getting it right. You can't show someone from such an affluent family with such pathetic taste in clothes all the time. Now, some of her saris are actually attractive, inviting further scrutiny. I think Ekta Kapoor has taken on board someone else (apart from her masi) to design the clothes for some of her shows. Now the criticism. Why doesn't Balaji realise that it has cross serial viewers (not to be confused with cross dressers please). And that it's quite stupid to see one set as Molly's drawing room in Shimla (in Kahiin To Hoga) and then see the same set just after, as a drawing room in K Street Pali Hill, set in Mumbai..

> Ekta seems to be using Parvati as her mouthpiece
I also think Ekta is increasingly using Parvati in Kahaani Ghar Ghar Kii as her mouthpiece for progressive views. So while they live in a joint family, most of the couples in Kahaani have only one child and do not propagate the more-kids-the-better-for-business. Two. She encourages daughter Shruti to work. Three. She encourages the daughter to also walk out of a bad marriage and is very cut up with her husband for putting indirect pressure on the daughter to resettle with the same man. Four. She is the only one who has tried to explain to others in the family (like Shilpa) that you cannot hope to instill any amount of discipline by following your teenaged daughter to college. If you don't befriend your child, you are working towards a hopeless future. Five. Again the only one in the family to support Krishna when he wants to give up the family business and instead, become a filmmaker. Let the children follow their dreams is her advice.

More TV reviews on A Simple Life and the other new shows on Star World, soon.....

Effing VIP movements

2004-10-29T15:21:00.000+07:00

I walked into office this morning bristling with anger. Now that I'm calmer, I can write. Left home a bit late and was driving a bigger car than I ususally drive, which means I have to be a bit more careful, and suddenly as the light turns green on the highway at the Trident cross-section, a dilapidated police jeep intercepts the road and confused policemen who don't know what the eff... to do, decide to divert traffic. Of course an explanation would be too much to ask for, so assuming it's VIP movement (Very Irritating & Painful) we are steered left on the Trident Udyog Vihar road to nowhere. I honestly have no clue where the road's going and neither do most people blindly following the bumper in front of them. Let me message a colleague, I think, but when bad becomes worse there's nothing you can do. The battery dies on me, so there I am, late for work, no phone, and aimlessly following a bumper that changes and takes readjusting every time a car overtakes me. Worse, there are just hordes of people walking on the road. And not on the left and the right, but across the breadth -- and it is a broad breadth -- of the road. Probably workers making it to the several factories in Udyog Vihar. I slow down -- I don't want to hit them -- and the pot-holed road isn't inviting to zip on either. A T-junction; instinctively, I take a right -- my sense of direction is pretty good -- and I'm onto the old Jaipur highway. No, you don't want to go there. Meandering through Kapasehra and Samalkha -- by now I'm convinced I'm in Sehwag territory -- I pass another thousand odd people making their way to work. If someone tear gassed this place with a poisonous substance at precisely 10 to 9 am the population would be down by at least 5000 people. Anyhow, now I'm at a red light and something tells me I should turn right, but I decide to go bumper to bumper and follow the cars. I'm now even slower, trying to dodge people and pot-holes at the same time. And the cell, I try to switch it on twice but it just can't keep its eyes open with electronic resuscitation. Why can't the cops have at least planned an alternative route, put up some makeshift signboards so you don't feel like you're driving to Ropar when all you're trying to do is make it to CP, on time, might I add. Finally the road ends up at a cross section we normally access from the other side. And I actually breathe a sigh of relief. Oh! The relief of familiarity! I speed up to 80, throw my head back and drive on to work.

Strangers

2004-10-27T13:26:00.000+07:00

My Marius tour

Day One
Marius W Hanson
I hadn't even heard the name 24 hours ago, and here I was, thrown together with a complete stranger, touring sites (not particularly nice ones; both being hospitals) in Delhi for shoots. Hanson is a UK-based photographer we've brought in to shoot our annual calendar, and he's touring some 11 cities we operate in to shoot key external contacts our departments work with, to feature in the calendar. So, in one city, it could be the head of an NGO who our Governance and Social Justice dept works with, in another it could be a film director or musician or playwright our Arts team works with. You get the drift. I was accompanying him on the North India shoots.
So there I was, making polite conversation with Marius, age 35 (it said so in the Shatabdi ticket). An aside: another thing about me since I've switched sides: I've become friendlier (yes I've been accused of being 'snotty'). Corporate Communciations means no ego. Zero, zilch. Got to go, shake hands, say hi. And now in any small party when someone new walks in and the host or person accompanying them has forgotten to do the introductions, I promptly make eye contact and introduce myself (earlier I would have gone all evening averting eye contact and ensuring I didn't have to be close enough to say hi).
So anyway I found myself talking to Marius, while he just listened. He did talk, but hardly. We walked around the Indian Spinal Injuries Centre to scout for locations to shoot a visually impaired lady who works closely with the hospital and the National Human Rights Commission. What struck me very obviously at the hospital was that patients have no privacy. The person showing us around took us right into the wards and straight to the beds. I wanted to run away and was more embarrassed than the patients. We finally made our way out, even as the over enthusiastic presenter (for whom the hospital was something to show off, the patients its prized possessions, just as the owner of a pirnting press may go around showing off his cutting edge machinery) wanted to take us to the nth unexplored corner...
Next stop: A centre for the blind, housed in a modest Hauz Khas plot. The people here make some really pretty recycled paper handbags, purses, and are booked for orders for a year! The trainer at the computer institute provided us valuable insight (pardon the pun) when he showed us the spekaing software blind people use (each key speaks out) so they know what they are writing by the sound. He then switched off the monitor and told us that when the electricity goes, the UPS' can't run the monitors since they consume a lot of power. "But we blind people don't need the monitor since we can't see it anyway. We only hear it."
Oh My God! Can you ever imagine working without a monitor... I wouldn't be able to see any of this...

Day Two
Picked up Marius at 7 am, took the Shatabdi to Chandigarh. Shot the head of an institute called Regional Institute of English. Then headed for Nek Chand's Rock Garden, which I've seen several times since I have lived in Chandigarh. But never before have I been so hassled. The minute someone would see Marius, 6 feet 2 inches and all white, they would come up say hello, and want to shake hands with us. I, of course, very rudely refused to extend my hand (ignore corp comm bullshit written earlier). They (read young rowdy guys) even wanted to click a photo with us. I once again refused to comply and let Marius bathe in this unexpected popularity. Why are we so white-skin obsessed? I mean what would a guy clicked with a white stranger show the picture and tell his folks/friends? Maybe he'd cook up a nice story that he and Marius in fact became good friends etc. Indians live on dreams. So it would make him happy and popular. Good for him. Anyway, we walked on, and there was this portion of the wall that looked like sandbags but were cemented and Marius happily tapped his knuckles on it much to his chagrin. That helped to crack the ice between us. We then saw the lake, had lunch and then headed to the Modern Gallery of Art. Here, something happened. The details of Marius' background weren't fitting in. He said he had just graduated (but his ticket said his age was 35 I'm thinking) and then he lives alone, eats microwaved stuff and doesn't have a studio.
"Just how old are you" I ask him.
"25" he says.
"What? The ticket said 35."
"Gosh, where did they get that. I hope I don't look 35."
Suddenly he had dropped 10 years.
Whoever said age doesn't matter can take a hike. When you're talking to someone you think is 35 (and therefore older than you) and then you figure they're actually 25 (and therefore, younger) the equation sort of changes. For one, I immediately felt more responsible.
From then on, conversation flowed. The entire train jouney back we were dying to sleep, but were kept awake by what a co-passenger termed an 'Indian nasal explosion'. Yes, someone had the weirdest snore I've ever heard and he snorted for the entire 3 hour 10 minutes. We giggled and laughed like school children pretending to adjust our seats but actually peeping at the snorer for all of 2 hrs and 45 minutes. The stranger was becoming an acquaintance.

Day Three
Shoot in Delhi. The lady in question (visually impaired) walks in to meet us at the ramp (a site we've agreed on since it represents a barrier-free hospital) and immediately takes my arm. Imagine just taking the arm of a stranger? How difficult that must be... Anyway she's weraing a nice, mauve sari and matching accessories and tells me "I was wearing a brown sari and my mom told me 'what is this dull, drab sari you're wearing', so I changed." I mulled over that and later asked Marius how a blind person can talk about mauves and browns and what their perception of colour must be. We figured she must be recognising her clothes by the feel of the fabric, and a colour must be later attached by an external source only as a tag, an adjective. At one point Marius asked her to look away from the camera but the minute she heard the click of the camera she immediately turned towards it. "I'm sorry", she laughed. "It's just instinctive for us to react to the sound of something just as one may (I think she meant you may) be attracted to a visually appealing object."
I asked Marius if he had every shot a blind person before. He said he hadn't. Both of us were richer by the experience.
Day Four follows in a bit...

Telly Tamasha

2004-10-26T11:00:00.000+07:00

I've been having withdrawal symptoms. Eight days and no blog. Last night I almost got desperate to find a computer and write, but I controlled the urge. And now that I'm here I have so much to say, I don't know where to start. So let's make this the TV blog. I haven't written my TV column in about three weeks, and it's high time I restarted it.
So here's Telly Tamasha.

> TV is booming. It's going absolutely overboard. Ever since Sahara Manoranjan stole Star's channel name and rechristened itself Sahara One, the industry has been abuzz. Now, deciding to go with the same name, Star One is all set to hit the airwaves on November 1. And I'm waiting to see how the Indian team at Star interprets a Hindi Star World because that's precisely what they've pegged the new channel as. No, not Star World shows dubbed in Hindi but shows in the same vein, for the metro, non saas-bahu watching professionals. You and me. (Since I don't have to 'watch' the K-stuff anymore, I almost hardly ever watch it. Same for Jassi. Totally switched off it.) Besides, there are a host of news shows everywhere; in fact it's becoming difficult to track them. Hello Dollie debuted on Star Plus yesterday as did something on Zee (can't even remember the name). Also, MTV's first soap Kitni Mast Hai Zindagi, made by Balaji also debuted yesterday. Needless to say, I missed all. Was watching Mute Witness, a thriller I picked up from the British Council Library, which was really quite scary. An American crew is filming a movie in Moscow, and a mute make up artist witnesses a real murder. Chiller, as the TV industry would say (chills + thriller).

> TV may finally get movie style ratings. Read this story. After the Anupam Kher fiasco and all the minutes of footage devoted by channels like NDTV to the 'TV needs censorship' debate, this is something India can definitely start, rightaway. The I&B Minsitry needs to formulate a framework (after it agrees to come under the Censor Board in the first place) to rate shows and serials as U, PG (Parental Guidance) etc. Also the rating should stay on the show throughout as the channel logo does, because a lot of times you may miss the beginning and hence the rating. This way, whenever you switch on, you can figure out the rating.

> A columnist with a leading daily wrote in her TV column almost exactly the same stuff I said about Zoom a week or so before her. So I am happy. In short; Zoom is not available in most places yet. And Zoom needs to zoom up its content big time. The fillers are more fun than the shows. And I have no idea why (maybe the Balaji hangover) I almost always end up tuning in to Simone Singh and Sunita Menon's Cosmic Chat without ever wanting to... pardon me Kosmic Chat. Don't ever undermine the K...

> Interesting... TOP TEN FILM CATCHPHRASES OF A SURVEY I FOUND ON THE NET
1. "You talkin' to me?" - Taxi Driver (1976)
2. "The name's Bond, James Bond" - Dr No (1962)
3. "What's it all about?" - Alfie (1966)
4. "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" - Gone with the Wind (1939)
5. "We're gonna need a bigger boat" - Jaws (1975)
6. "No one puts baby in the corner" - Dirty Dancing (1987)
7. "You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!" - The Italian Job (1969)
8. "May the force be with you" - Star Wars (1977)
9. "Show me the money!" - Jerry Maguire (1996)
10. "Yeah baby, yeah!" - Austin Powers (1997)
Odeon Cinemas

MY TOP TEN HINDI FILM CATCHPHRASES
Tied at first spot.
* Kitney Aadmi Thhey - Sholay
* Mere Paas Maa Hai - Deewar
Both Amitabh Bachchan movies but none of the dialogues have been spoken by him.

Other top phrases...
* Main kabhi pheke hue paise nahin leta - Deewar
*Friendship mein no sorry no thank you - Maine Pyar Kiya
*Yeh haath mujhe de de thakur - Sholay
* Rishtey main to hum tumhare baap lagte hain... naam hai Shahenshah - Shahenshah

> Former bosses at Channel 4 are slamming the overdose of reality TV on the show. Economist also carried a story some editions ago on how Simon Cowell (American Idol) and Simon Fuller (the creator of the show) were in a fight. I think this is the right time for Indian channels to pull the brakes on reality TV and think out-of-the-box new stuff because it is really getting irritating and repetitive. On MTV the other day VJ Sophia Choudhary walked into the homes of the Mumbai finalists and woke them up and pulled them out of their quilts in front of the camera as they gasped in awe and contrived shock. Pathetic. I could see Aishwarya Rai and Sushmita Sen covering their mouths way back in 1994, awe, shock and horror writ large on their faces, on winning their respective crowns.
Till next Monday, bye.

I wnat a new life

2004-10-15T17:06:00.000+07:00

I want a new life. A totally different life, in another country, with another face, another name. I want to run away and start afresh. No, I'm not miserable, I'm not on the cliff; this is just one of those recurring thoughts/dreams I've had for a long, long time. It seems quite incredulous but when I was younger, much younger I was actually fascinated by the life of the poor (yes Naipaul was here). I lived in what can be described as a sprawling tea estate, about 4 acres, on a hillock, which housed a swimming pool, a tennis court, a TT table and of course a vegetable garden that would out DDA flats (and my house now) to shame. My older sister was at boarding and while my parents had their afternoon siesta -- a habit I still can't inculcate -- afternoons were spent cooking mock curry and tea (bhaji-tarkari) and feeding it to the dhobiwala who dutifully sipped the air from the teacup and licked his lips while declaring that it was absolutely yum. And this was my routine, each and every day. Sometimes, I would force my mum to lend me one of her old saris and I would doll up in a sari and pretend to be memsahib.
There's not much you can do as a five-year-old to occupy your freewheeling mind when you're in the heart of Assam, your only friends the pet mynah, rabbits, guinea pigs, cows and of course your dogs. I even had a turtle, but the servants told me it ran away. I was too naive to know that turtle meat was a delicacy.
So anyway, coming back to my days there; if the dhobiwala decided to not show up, the sweeper would have the great honour of taking me to the local pond where I would fancy myself a great fish-baiter; the other game we often played was finding the fruit. I would hide guavas in a haystack and Babul, the sweeper, would spend long minutes finding them. And then, again I'd hide them...
At other times, I would invent a picnic. My maid and I would walk down to the mali-bari (vegetable garden) and I would ask if I could pull the ripe carrots from the earth. Then we'd go down to the swimming pool (it was filled with dirty rain water with lots of frogs) and eat the spoils of the earth: that was my picnic.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but one day I noticed that the chowkidar, whose hut was just below our bungalow, had a daughter who always looked happy. She had siblings, and I never saw her cry. Whenever I would peep down I could see her building sand castles in her front yard and she looked the happiest person in the world. What I would give to change places with her back then. My two biggest bugbears (drinking milk and studying) were obviously tortures she wasn't subjected to. And I wished and wished that God would make me poor so I wouldn't have to drink milk. This was simply because my mom had figured out all my devious ways of disposing off the white evil. I had poured it into the gamlas (flower pots) not realising that unlike water, milk does not immediately dissolve and hence, leaves a white film on the mud making itself all the more visible. I had even tried to pour it into my dog's plate, but hear this: some dogs do not like milk. Mine certainly didn't. Even flushing the milk down the pot worked only sometimes. So, I thought, the only way I'd never have to drink milk was if my family couldn't afford it.
How I'd love to have that life again.
Looking back, it really seems like another life, another country, another name and another face.

Onscreen chemistry and I hate Titanic

2004-10-14T13:12:00.000+07:00

So Sky Movies has commissioned a study to find the formula to create chemistry on screen. And one of my all-time favourite movies When Harry Met Sally (I know, it's on top of most people's list but I think a lot of people just say it because it makes them sound all sensitive and mushy; I consider myself neither of the two) has come out tops of the survey. A balding Billy Crystal (those tufts of hair back in the eighties when the movie was released notwithstanding) as one half of the most romantic pair... Anyhow, though I've attached the link below, I don't really know if I'm convinced that looking at several films and figuring out which couple rocks is an accurate way of measuring couple chemistry, simple because the entire thing is just too subjective to categorise in a random survey. The eyes may do it for some, but holding hands may be it for another. The only thing I agree with is that Leo and Kate had zero chemistry in Titanic -- a movie I loathe -- even though it continues to adorn V-day posters, stickers, caps and other such rubbish year after year.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/3740076.stm

Day 2, Mothers & Daughters, Fathers & Sons.... (Neil Diamond bless you)

2004-10-14T04:04:00.000+07:00

After some pretty encouraging comments and emails, I'm ready to roar (being a Leo, it comes kinda naturally). Have actually been resisting posting a message since the morning, waiting for inspiration to strike, to come across something meaningful, but then I checked myself: this is not a report or an article, or a story, it's a blog. So free-flowing it's gonna be. Like last evening when I was driving back home, I saw a young twentysomething driving a car, a lady who looked like her grandmom in the passenger seat next to her and a lady who liked like her mother in the back seat. Now while the young girl and her grandmom chatted freely the mother was sitting quietly, looking out of the window. This could totally be my own imagination at work (the lady in the back may not even be related to the others, in fact none of them could be related) but you know, I was struck by a thought. How come we bond so well with our grandparents yet feel this uneasy tension with parents? This is more so when you're younger and whoever said teens are the best years got it so wrong. Grandparents on the other hand seem to understand the exuberance of youth -- maybe it's a state they long for or maybe they're nearing it, remember old age is like a second childhood -- and resist the temptation of watering it down. Also, I think their crows-feet creases have seen enough suns and moons to realise that there is no point trying to school your child in your ways: ultimately they will do exactly as they wish, and will learn only from their own mistakes. This, I think, sets them apart from parents, who, in an attempt to avoid doing to their children what wrong they think their parents did to them, end up doing exactly that. Poor parents! Treading that fine line is not easy; to be a better parent than your parents and yet to try and understand and accommodate your child's preferences, however weird and crazy they seem, isn't easy. I know there are many parents who, trying to be over pally with their kids, end up getting it all horribly mixed up, and I've seen young boys and their fathers; there is such an awkward tension in the air. An acknowledgement of each other's presence yes, but an acknowledgement of each other's existence: no.
Wonder if Karan Johar, who tried to make Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham to address this question (why do we stop hugging our fathers or telling them we love them) found the answers?

Bad food memories

2004-10-13T17:35:00.000+07:00

Why is it that bad food memories are so clearly etched in one's memory? I'm sure they go to the permanent and not to the temporal lobe in the brain (that one that was damaged in 50 First Dates so Drew Barrymore would go to sleep and wake up the next day with no memory of the day gone by: she had totally lost her ability to store short-term memory).
> Anyway, we were just talking about samosas, and disgust clearly registered on my face: I don't despise samosas, but I can remember ever so clearly that once I was given one where the potato inside (which serves as the filling) hadn't been peeled, and the masala was obviously too much because the filling lacked the familiar haldi (turmeric) yellow shade we Indians so love to add to everything -- instead of rang de basanti chola it should be rang de basanti chhola) OK that was awful but you get the drift -- and the filling was brown; so I am perpetually wary of unpeeled potatoes inside samosas.
> The second bad food memory I have is of kheer with malai. At boarding school they couldn't be bothered to strain the milk while making kheer and hence I tried, one unsuccessful afternoon, to spread my kheer on my quarter plate and then press my katori down on it, so I would conceal the kheer and avoid eating it (they even tried some horrible versions like orange kheer and brown kheer). As luck would have it, a vigilant teacher saw me and threatened to debadge me (which back then was worse than being court martialled and having your medals stripped from your uniform). And what badge did I have, or what post did I hold? Library official if you please, of the junior school, which meant I had to help the librarian store books, look out for vandalism, maintain ledgers... Anyway...
> The third memory is kadi. Yes, again the bright yellow curry made of besan with the pakodas in it. I distinctly remember the onions in the stuffing being left raw and I hated kadi therefore. My mom desperately tried to undo the damage school had done (as if making me eat was the standard by which I would measure her love) but my hate relationship with kadi took a lot of healing time... Now I can still eat it once in a while.
> Mutton. Hated it for years because of the way it was cooked in school, Don't want to launch into a tirade because even hard-core carnivores may feel sick after the description. Suffice to say, it looked and tasted puke-worthy. So I became a vegetarian for four months in school afer which I'd go home and go back to being a non-veg.
That's all I can remember right now, full as I am after eating a paneer pakoda and a bread pakoda.

Quote Unquote

2004-10-13T17:17:00.000+07:00

I like this quote.

Anu Aga, ex Chairperson, Thermax, to Shekhar Gupta in NDTV's Walk The Talk (and reprinted in The Indian Express today):

"Without breathing you and I can't live, but if you ask me what is the purpose of my life and if I say breathing, it is such a narrow way to define it."

To all my male friends out there

2004-10-13T17:14:00.000+07:00

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2087-1302640,00.html
If Only He Held His Drink Like A Woman....

Hiya

2004-10-12T18:23:00.000+07:00

Everyone out there in cyberspace, hiya. I've finally managed to set up a blog, and I'll save you the details of how long it took me to set it up. No, I'm not techno-shy, but this is not Maggi noodles stuff (it definitely takes more than two minutes). Anyway, to cut the long story short, I'm here. Who am I? Profundity apart, I'm a writer. I used to think this designation is as ambiguous as it can get when I was a journalist (and I was one until three weeks ago or will I always remain one) but when you're not chasing designations any more, it's relaxing and sort of nice to slip back into 'writer' mode. Because at heart that's what you are, whether you're a scribe or a communications manager, which is what I'm now. Here's something I wrote when I just quit journalism (after being in it for 7 years):

Beyond nine-to-five
My decision to give journalism a break and move to corporate communications may have had something to do with the seven-year itch. I do realise that the seven-year itch is most commonly referred to in marriages, but then in journalism you are literally married to the job – minus of course the rituals. It’s one of those commitments that’s hard to break, because it’s so much more than a job. Journalism is a way of life. You have to keep your eyes and ears open all the time; most of your stories come to you at the oddest of places and moments, not when you’re sitting at your desk and writing one e-mail after another, but when you’re two Bacardis down, chatting with an old friend, or when you’re making polite conversation with someone from the neighbourhood who just dropped in and is now going on about a series of thefts that’s taken place. Which is why when people are asked in a job interview why they want to pursue a career in journalism, many are likely to say “I can’t do a nine-to-five.” I have never quite understood what this means; journalism is not a nine to five, yes, it’s a nine to-nine. Twelve hours of sheer madness, chaos, and of course lots of fun. The one principle (and this is advocated in the Fish philosophy) that governed my last job was ‘you can take your work seriously but you don’t have to take yourself seriously’. You can crack a joke, keep the atmosphere light and I can bet the productivity will be higher. There’s really no need to work in a room where the aura is so heavy you almost choke. So why was I, at the helm of a successful career in journalism ready to give up the heady passion of an unending affair for a staid, and maybe boring relationship? Like I said the seven-year itch, not of being in a marriage but of being in a perpetual state of chaos and flux and stress and perhaps, declining creativity (I know this contradicts what I said earlier). But, for example, there’s no way in hell that I would even have the freedom of mind to write what I’m writing right now. And more than that, I’m beginning to realise, it’s best to be a writer in exile. No, I’m not retreating into the Himalayas; what I mean is that being a journalist often open doors for you but almost as often closes doors, closes doors of access to real people. The minute you say you’re a journo, that’s it, the surest way of making people retreat into a shell of clichés. So, I’m beginning to figure out that by being a corp comm executive, I may actually manage insights into people, some famous, some not so famous. How did I stumble upon this realisation? This is how:

The other day, a famous, top league film actress was in the city for one of our events and we had organised some one-on-one interviews with the press. Having interviewed celebs earlier, I realised she'd have her share of starry tantrums, but what I found instead was this: the actress had asked a for a list of who was interviewing her, knew the names of the papers, and was ready when she said she would be -- no tantrums at all. Journalists on the other hand, were the pits. One of them from a leading newspaper, I wouldn’t mention which, asked me in the lift why the actress was here. She had the time to call us before to ask for a car to pick and drop her but didn’t have the time to do any research for the interview. Geez! That's whay we're such a hated community, I though. Correction: not we, they.
You think stars lose their cool for nothing? One journalist asked the star about her childhood and how she entered the line (she had 5 minutes with the star). The actress cut her short. “Please let’s not go into childhood. And as for how I entered this line, you should have done your homework.” Later, she was alsmot fuming. “Gosh,” she said, “asking me about my childhood is like asking me about my past life. You know, yesterday I was asking the curator of the show the details of the event in case the journos asked me about it, and mid-way we stopped and said ‘you know they’re never going to bother asking anything about the festival. They’ll only want to know about my movies etc’.”
Till that point, I was trying to tell people I was a journalist, for seven years, so maybe they’d take me seriously, and not dismiss me as those ‘PR types’, a bracket I would try hard not to fall into. But at that point standing there hear the actress talk about the questions she was asked time after time, I had no intention of hiding behind the ‘I was a journalist’ barricade I had built for myself. I wanted to squirm.
The actress continued, “You know they keep saying I don’t do interviews, I feel like telling them ‘have you seen the demented questionnaire you come with?’ They ask me ‘what do you like to do in your free time?’ I want to tell them 'I want to kick your face in my free time that’s what I want to do’.” I laughed and told her this was explosive material and I wished I could give it to a newspaper.
The actress had me stunned. In all the years that I had interviewed celebrities, and I had interviewed quite a few, I had never ever managed such a candid confession. Never managed to get beyond the façade; maybe my questions were as demented, or maybe the minute a celeb hears you’re a journo they just switch off.
Now you know why my blog's called what it is. I'm going to be a writer in exile. Nine to nine. Ciao.