oooops. a thousand apologies!

Guys. As I have confessed in this space earlier, I am techno challenged. If Dev D has made it to the post 5 or 12 or 104 times, it is because of some dumb error on my part. Tried deleting the extras. But ..... maaf karo.

Dare to be Dev D

Dear Blogdosts. I am NOT being lazy. I wanted to share this with you, because it has generated a lot of comment - good and bad. Dev D is an important film in terms of what it is saying.... the rules it has broken. This column appeared last week in 'The Week'.
Ever since Aham initiated the Sita Sena, my inbox has been full and I am finding it hard to repond to each mail individually. Something good must come out of this. Something good has to start somewhere. Because we live in Mumbai, it is happening here. But the concern is not restricted to geography. It is a universal threat that has to be met. Pepper sprays and karate kicks are not the answer. I hate the idea of women being compelled to defend themselves. We have the right to live and act freely. The constitution guarantees as much. Whether or not Aham succeeds in getting the numbers at Gateway on the 8th of March, at least there is some awareness his actions will generate through the peaceful protest against what is going on in our society under the guise of 'teaching women a lesson.'

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag. Attn: Renjith, Stan, Lukosem The Sexes 16th Feb 2009

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag.
Attn: Renjith, Stan, Lukosem The Sexes 16th Feb 2009

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag.
Attn: Renjith, Stan, Lukosem The Sexes 16th Feb 2009

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag.
Attn: Renjith, Stan, Lukosem The Sexes 16th Feb 2009

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag.
Attn: Renjith, Stan, Lukosem The Sexes 16th Feb 2009

Dare to be Dev D

Now here’s a film that slipped into movie halls without too much of a band baaja, and has the urban, multiplex moviegoer gasping for breath. Most cinemabuffs cannot believe they are being ‘allowed’ to watch such a bold film in the first place, and without the lunatic fringe threatening to vandalise theatres screening it – oops, I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Since the debate du jour revolves around these self-appointed moral scouts looking for evidence that nails culprits who defy their notions of ‘Bharatiya Sanskriti’, this film should be made compulsory viewing for the likes of them. Their arteries may pop, but with any luck their eyes will openas well as to what’s really going on in our metros, and how nobody is blinking! Here’s a 21st century version of Sarat Chandra’s classic, ‘Devdas’, which was first published in 1917. Anurag Kashyap’s interpretation is so wild and original, it takes a second viewing to register. Bollywood is finally waking up, coming of age and experimenting with terrain that is risqué, out there and outrageous. We all know the basic Devdas story. It revolves around an obsessive hero, who doesn’t have the guts to marry his true love, and chooses to drown his sorrow in a bottle…. till he meets the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold, who loves him unconditionally, and puts up with his petulant crap. I have never understood people’s fascination for Devdas – I think of him as the ultimate loser. A self-pitying, weak and morose guy, who has only himself to blame. But Anurag’s version of this loser is far more layered and therefore more compelling. Abhay Deol has been given the credit for inspiring Kashyap to remake the classic in this dark and sinister mould. Deol stars as the protagonist, and delivers a competent performance. But the really riveting acts come from the two newcomers who play Paro (Mahie) and Chandramukhi ( Kalki ) respectively. There is nothing long- suffering about this spirited Paro, and as for Kalki, she gives phone sex in multiple languages in one key scene, with such ease, it’s disturbing. The film explores and exposes the grittiest aspect of Delhi’s seedy Paharganj district in cinema verite style. But it is when the camera closes in on the faces of the two women, that the film maker delivers that devastating punch in the gut. It is a ferocious portrayal of twisted lives gone horribly wrong. Dev descends into living hell as he abuses his body , subjecting it to a combination of drugs, booze and demeaning sex. Chanda (Kalki) as a garishly made up child prostitute, catering to kinky , game- playing, sado-masochistic clients, doesn’t flinch even once as she goes through the motions and mouths dialogues where she describes herself as a ‘randi’ and wonders aloud why society hesitates to use that word and prefers the euphemism of ‘commercial sex worker’ to its cruder, more direct version. Paro is sexually aggressive, an unabashed predator, who thinks nothing of emailing her bare breasted images to Dev while he’s in London, or strapping a mattress to the seat of her bicycle and setting up a tryst with her lover in the middle of a sugarcane field. Both the women are entirely upfront about their sexuality and have no inhibitions expressing their voracious desires, or using their bodies commercially (Paro who opts for an arranged marriage and dutifully sleeps with a husband she does not love, Kalki who cold- bloodedly trades her physical assets in order to continue her college education). This marks a first for Hindi commercial cinema, which for all its synthetic attempts at depicting today’s free thinking women still does not have the guts to show the heroine as anything but a vestal virgin. But here are these two actresses breaking hypocritical boundaries with boundless gusto and yet doing so with enormous grace and dignity. When Chanda calls Dev a ‘slut’, it is meant as a compliment. The language used throughout the film is raw, contemporary and lethal. But you don’t squirm, because you know instinctively it rings true. This is life on the edge, with all its perverse traps and hideous denouements.Dev D socks it to the audience. The women come out on top – sexually, literally, metaphorically. Good on you, Anurag.

Sita Sena. Join now. Speak up!!

This is the beauty and the power of blogs. I read the reports of fresh attacks on women in Bangalore and felt sickened. This has to STOP ! I said to myself . The idea of launching a Sita Sena to counter the Ravanas in our midst came to me in a flash. I communicated it to my dear, dear blogdost Aham, who immediately swung into action and created a site. His plan is to congregate at the Gateway of India on March 8th, International Women's Day, and raise awareness, but even more importantly raise voices against this abominable trend. Harish needs volunteers. As of now, there is no specific agenda but to communicate the idea to as many like- minded people as possible. It has to be peaceful and it has to be strong. Nobody should take law into their own hands or respond via violence\abuse. But a plan of action has to be formulated urgently. Perhaps an SOS line? Women who find themselves in that demeaning situation, outnumbered by men hell bent on humiliating them and ignored by the police, must be in a position to alert others who can rush to the trouble spot and help them. I would greatly appreciate suggestions - practical ones - that are easy to implement in an emergency. Spread the word. Get as many men as possible to join up and extend their solidarity. If we let these assaults go without articulating our anger, the Mangalore\Bangalore model will catch on in other metros. And soon we will have several Kabuls sprouting up all over India. Shame the men. Show your contempt. Speak up!!

Freida on a roll...

Last night, just as I was about to bite into a piece of bajra bhakri soaked in asli ghee with a lump of organic jaggery crushed on its rough surface, my cell phone rang. Annoyed at the interruption (was wolfing down my dinner in anticipation of watching 'MILK' ), I snapped, " Yes?" which translates, " Unfamiliar number. I don't have to take this call. But now that I have taken it, identify yourself quickly, state your purpose, and keep it short. Really short. " The voice was distinctly American. Groan. Yet another phirang journo looking for a 'Slumdog' quote. Mais non. It was our Freida calling from LA. She'd received several messages on the column I'd written, but it was her mom's phone call that had touched her heart. " You brought a smile to my mother's face, " said Freida, " and I wanted to thank you." I mentioned the hate mail I'd been receiving ever since.... reams and reams of stuff from people who clearly didn't get it. Well ... that's life. I'd said my piece. I stand by it. Her relationship with Rohan Antao was a non-starter. We talked about her Red Carpet appearance, and Freida had a fiery retort reserved for those who thought she should have worn a saree. " Must a Japanese actor wear a kimono to the Oscar's? I am an international actor now...." Yup. We get that. A Woody Allen movie is big news, and an incredible break. Freida ain't coming back in a hurry.Who knows what might follow? Take a bet. Dev Patel will become history, too. Meanwhile , her boyfriend\fiance\husband continues to bleat pathetically . What a loser. I might have felt sorry for the dumped guy, had he not tried to get his two minutes of fame from this incident. By dishing out all those interviews, he is merely confirming something everybody suspected - Freida was his ticket to better days, money, popularity. Too bad, Antao. The golden goose took flight. Deal with it.

Must read. Must help!!

hey mam..
in my furious..angry mood..i have forwarded u a mail from the Blank Noise Bangalore page..(The NGO against Sexual harassment..and i am involved with) ..please read it and you will be startled with aimless exploitation of human worth...
regards..(but still furious)ABHI

Blogdosts, I just had to share this with you. I met young Abhishek Choudhary in Bangalore a few months ago when I'd gone there to address students at his college. I found him sincere, impassioned and courageous. We have been friends since then... De




A few of my friends and I were just paying our bills and coming out of our regular Friday night watering hole and dinner place in Rest House Road, just off Brigade Road, and most of the women in the company were already standing outside. Some of us outside were smoking, people were happy, there was laughter and jokes, as there were many other people in the street, all coming out, satiated, in the closing hour of the various pubs and restaurants around.
Suddenly from up the street a massive SUV comes revving and speeding, hurtling down, and stops in a scream of brakes and swirling dust, millimeters away from this group of 4 women, barely missing one of their legs. A white Audi, imported, still under transfer, with the registration plate of KA-51 TR-2767. Some millionaire's toy thing, that in the wrong hands can kill.
Naturally the women are in shock. And quickly following the shock comes indignation. These are self made women running their own businesses, managing state responsibilities for global NGO firms, successful doctors. They are not used to being bullied. So they turn around, instead of shrinking back in fear. They protest.
And as soon as they turn around in protest, the car doors are flung open, and a stream of 4-5 rabid men run out towards these women, screaming obscenities in Hindi and Kannada against women in general, fists flailing. Some of us who came in running at the sound of the screaming brakes now stand in the middle in defense of our women, and then blows start raining down. One of the goons make a couple of calls over the cellphone, and in seconds a stream of other equally rabid goondas land up. They gun straight for the women, and everyone – a few well-meaning bystanders, acquaintances who know us from the restaurant, basically everyone who tries to help the women – starts getting thoroughly beaten up.
Women are kicked in the groin, punched in the stomach, slapped across the face, grabbed everywhere, abused constantly. Men are smashed up professionally, blows aimed at livers, groins, kidneys and nose. A friend is hit repeatedly on the head by a stone until he passes out in a flood of blood.
A plain-clothes policeman (Vittal Kumar) who saunters in late stands by watching and urging people to stop, but doing absolutely nothing else. A 'cheetah' biker cop comes in, with our women pleading him to stop this madness, but he refuses action, saying a police van will come in soon and he cannot do anything. Everyone keeps getting hammered. Relentlessly.
The carnage continues for over 20 minutes.
Finally when the police van does come in it is this vandals who are raging and ranting, claiming to be true "sons of the Kannadiga soil", and we are positioned to be the villainous outsiders, bleeding, outraged. How do the cops believe them, especially seeing the bloody faces of our men and the violated rage of our women, while they carry nary a scratch on their bodies? Don't ask me! Yet, it is us who these goondas urge the newly arrived law-keepers to arrest, and the police promptly comply, and we are bundled into the van, some still being beaten as we are pushed in. Some blessed relief from pain inside the police van at least, even if we are inside and the real goons outside, driving alongside in their spanking white Audi. The guy who was hit by the stone is taken separately by the women to Mallya hospital.
Inside the police station at Cubbon Park it becomes clear that these goons and the police know each other by their first names. The policeman in charge (Thimmappa) initially refuses to even register any complaint from me, on the purported grounds that I am not fluent in Kannada and I have taken a few drinks (3 Kingfisher pints, to be precise) over the evening. No, it doesn't matter that I didn't have my car and was not driving, and no, it doesn't mater that the complaint will be written in English. We watch them and the goons exchange smiles and nods with our our bloodied and swelling eyes and realize in our pain-clouded still-in-shock brains the extent of truth in the claim of one of the main goons when he claimed earlier in the evening in virulent aggression: we own this town, this car belongs to an MLA, we will see how you return to this street!!
This was the turning point of the saga, I guess. For we refused to lie down quietly and be victims.
One of our girls, a vintage and proud Bangalorean who is running one of the town's most successful organic farming initiatives, took upon herself to write the complaint, when I was not allowed to write the same. Another Bangalore girl, a state director of a global NGO firm, wrote the other molestation complaint separately on behalf of all the girls. Some of us called our friends in the media and corporate world. Everyone stepped up. And even when the odds were down and we were out, we did not give up, and as a singular body of violated citizens we spoke in one voice of courage and indomitable spirit. That voice had no limitation of language, not Kannada, nor English, or Hindi. It was the voice of human spirit that cannot be broken.
And in the face of that spirit, for the first time, we saw the ugly visage of vandalism, hiding behind the thin and inadequate veil of political corrupt power, narrow-vision regionalism and self-serving morality, start to wilt.
We spent 6 hours next day in the police station. The sub-inspector of police who filed our FIR, Ajay R M, seemed a breath of fresh air inasmuch that he did not appear a-priori biased like others, even though the hand of corruption and politico-criminal power backing these goons was still manifest in many ways: a starched, white-linen power-broker walked in handing over his card to the sub-inspector in support of the goons; the goons got an audience with the Inspector because of this intervention, while we had to interact one level lower down in the hierarchy; the plains cloth policeman of last night, even though he had arrived far too late in the crime scene, gave a warped statement, passing it off as a "neutral" point of view, repeatedly stressing that we came out of a pub and hence were drinking, positioning this as a 'drunken brawl', while completely forgetting to mention the unprovoked attack against the women and the one-sided vandalism and violence that ensued. I guess one cannot blame the low ranked police officer – the criminal connections of these goons must be pervasive enough for him to be careful.
Thanks however to the impartial handling of the situation by Ajay, soon the goons were all identified. The lead actor was one Ravi Mallaya (38), a real estate honcho and owner of a small property off Brigade Road which he has converted into a "gaming" (you know what that means, don't you?) adda. The others identified are Mohan Basava (22) of Chamarajapet 12th Cross, R. Vijay Kumar Ramalingaraju (25) and Shivu Rajashekar (20). All are residents of 12th & 13th Cross in Vyalikaval. Their bravado and machismo were by that time evaporated. It was good to see their faces then.
Of course nothing much happened to them, nor did we expect it. They were supposed to be in lock up for at least the weekend till they were produced in court, but we understand that they were quickly released on (anticipatory?) bail. The car, purportedly belonging to an MLA, also does not figure in the FIR, apparently for reasons of "irrelevance to the case".The media also have given us fantastic coverage and support so far, strengthening the cause.
The goons meanwhile, as an after thought, also filed the customary reverse complaint on the morning after we filed our own complaint: the women have apparently scratched the car! (Why did they not file the complaint the same night, considering they came to the Police Station in the same car? Why was the car allowed to be taken off police custody? Why is the car still irrelevant to the case and not in the FIR? Questions.. questions..).
Is this the end of this saga? Probably not. Are these women, more precious to us as friends and wives than most things in our lives, safe to walk or drive down Brigade Road from now on or are the goonda elements, slighted by this arrest and disgrace, are lying in ambush, waiting, biding their time to cause some of us more grievous harm? We don't know. Is there reason for us to remain apprehensive of future attacks and victimization? Perhaps.
But here is the point.
We stood up.
We believed in the power of individual citizens even in the face of hooliganism, intolerance, corruption and power mongering. Even though many of us have the option of leveraging political or government connections, we deliberately chose to fight this battle as individuals. Sure, these connections have been activated and they have been kept informed, should the worst case scenario unfold tomorrow. But we have chosen to not leverage them. And in every small win we register as a group of individual outraged citizens of Bangalore and India, however insignificant these milestones may be in the larger scheme of things, there is one small notch adding up in favor of what is right, one small notch against what is wrong. And we believe that every such small notch counts, each such mark is absolutely invaluable.
It is the people who make this city, this country, this world. It is you and I, as much as the terrorists inside and outside. And in our small insignificant little ways, it is my responsibility and yours to not shirk from investing effort – not just lip service or any token attempt, but real effort – in backing up what we ourselves believe in. It is so easy to logically argue that everything is corrupt, nothing is worth it, there are so many risks involved. We must not fall trap to this ... Reply Forward
shobhaa de to Abhishek :Bravo!! Proud of you. Am putting it up on my blog asap. thanks !! De1:53 PM (5 minutes ago)

Freida O Freida

Guys, this appeared in Bombay Times this morning.

Shobhaa’s World
Freida O Freida…
What a week it has been! I’m writing this before the Oscars announcements, and my fingers are crossed. With 200 crores riding on it, ‘Slumdog…’ had better win all the big ones, or else the punters will be seriously unhappy. With Pranab’s dismal Interim Budget, the tanking Sensex, and general feeling of gloom and doom, we need something to cheer us up. If a story of hope – romantic and poetic in its own unique way - makes us believe, even briefly that life is beautiful, then Boyle would have done us a favour. Personally speaking, it is Freida Pinto I am most interested in. As Latika, she didn’t do very much for me, but as Freida, I am fascinated by her story. Ever since Mumbai Mirror carried the scoop on Freida’s secret wedding to Rohan Antao in 2007, I am even more intrigued by the young girl’s real life script. It’s the stuff movies are made of. Someone should pen her biography. Better still, she should doher own book. A quickie. At a dinner party last week, two men were slamming Freida for dumping Rohan. I found myself defending her fiercely. It is easy to say, ‘Oh, she used the guy when she was a nobody and then ditched him once she’d made it.’ But look at it from her perspective. When she was just a plain looking , average Jane from the back of the beyond, trying to get ahead as a model like thousands of other hopefuls, she could never have envisaged what was awaiting her just a few short months from then. Freida was frightfully young, immature and a struggler. She didn’t have it easy. She only had Rohan from Goa to fall back on. Rohan must have been an understanding, helpful boyfriend. I’m sure he is a nice guy. The mistake both of them made was to rush into marriage. Going by press reports, it was one of those hasty decisions which Freida at any rate, apparently regretted soon after. It was too late by that time, as her wedding pictures suggest. She could not have dreamt that ‘Slumdog..’ would happen to her… and because of that one film, her entire life would change so dramatically, practically overnight.
So what does a girl in her position do? Stick by her man? The very man who she may have outgrown? Is that possible? Desirable? No way! Remember, she is no longer the same girl. She is a star! Not an ordinary star, but a big international star. She has been catapulted into an entirely different world. Met extraordinary people, received an inordinate amount of attention. She is no longer the Freida who loved a kind but uninspiring boy called Rohan. As things stand today, chances are Freida will make it big on the global scene.If that does happen, she will be courted by the mightiest names in Hollywood. Where would sweet, little Rohan have fitted into this picture?? It is an old, old story. A familiar one. Bollywood is full of similar tales as well. Most times, girls like Freida get slammed for being ruthless, ambitious ‘users’ who discard loyal boyfriends\husbands once they achieve fame and fortune. Yes , they do. So what? Better that than letting the poor chap hang around, ignored and snubbed by one and all. Rohan would have been a liability in Freida’s glamourous, glitzy new life. She was smart enough to distance herself before the whole thing went any further. Of course, there will be an enormous amount of sympathy for the guy. Understandable. He’ll be swamped with interview offers…. especially if ‘Slumdog..’ sweeps the Oscars. If he’s sensible, he’ll spurn all of this and get a life for himself.It is only in commercial Hindi movies like ‘Rangila’ that the heroine realizes who her true love is and promptly turns her back on the seductive world of showbiz. She also spurns the dashing hero who is panting at her pretty feet…. while violins play in the background and the Gods smile down on the lovers. Pity it doesn’t work like that in real life.Freida’s fairytale has just begun.As has Rohan’s nightmare. C’est la vie!

Mumbai wins an Oscar....!

Mumbai was by far the shiniest star at the Oscar's! My heart was in my mouth just once - when the biggest of the biggest was announced - Best Film. I prayed to an entire pantheon of Gods as Spielberg read out the winner's name... and Boyle sprung into action. Anil K was first off the mark - veteran that he is. He knew his only chance of getting into the tight camera frame while Danny made his acceptance speech ( let down !), was to stick as close to him as possible - after all, the stage was pretty crowded at that point. So there was Anil, grinning away and giving the camera 'those ones'. He also managed to grab the Oscar, wave it around, and generally attract maximum attention right after the speech. Why not? Boyle called himself a 'bloody idiot' for forgetting a choreographer's name in the credits. Well, the choreographer must be thanking his stars about the lapse, since he was mentioned twice or thrice during the key speech!
Mumbai was also thanked over and over again - even Mumbaikars who opposed the film, were acknowledged by Danny! Smart! Should our real slumdogs be celebrating tonight??Will Mumbai's tourist potential go up? Has Mumbai suddenly become a sexy destination for goras in search of shitholes to crawl out of?? Ah well.... whichever way one looks at it, the movie obviously touched thousands of hearts. My own reading of its stupendous success in America is that watching Mumbai's wretchedness and abject poverty, must have made the average American feel less depressed about the recession and potential squalor that confronts the original Land of Milk and Honey.
Oh.... did you guys notice Angelina Jolie's eye -popping emeralds? If real and borrowed, that's another story. If they are her own ... she could flog them and adopt twenty more kids for the same price. I loved Sophia Loren's OTT appearance. Sean Penn's acceptance speech, and Anne Hathaway's EVERYTHING!
**********************************************************************************
Strange how underplayed the LTTE aerial attack on targets in Colombo was here in India. There must be a bloody good political explanation for that. But believe me when I stress this - it was horrific and extreme. When I recreate the sequence of events now, it seems even more chilling in that it was daring, audacious and perfectly executed strike by well -trained suicide bombers who meant business. Kamikaze operations are undertaken by professionals, not amateurs. This was one such. One of the bombs had been dropped less than 500 metres from our hotel. Several models backstage who were standing by a large window had seen the plane swooping past the hotel and heard the explosion that followed when it crashed into the building (Internal Revenue Office) right behind. After enduring the horror and chaos at the venuel, we decided to spend the night at a dear friend's safe home - but what is safe? Who is safe? Nobody could sleep.... there were reports of a rogue rebel sub in the waters just a few yards away from the Taj Samudra. Naval patrol boats maintaining a constant vigil provided some relief. But that was not enough. When we staggered back to the hotel at 11a.m. the next morning, we were told everybody who stayed behind that terrifying night, had chosen to party on till 6 am! The club rocked! Cocktails and food were served through the long , dark hours. Colombo lives with terror.... people are 'used to it.' And yes, continuing in that same spirit, the fashion week finale was resceduled!! Eleven back-to-back designers strutting their stuff. Can you imagine the state backstage? The show had to go on...it did.
A few hours later, there we were in the same packed ballroom, with the same invitees.It was a demonstration of the undying spirit of the undaunted (or the foolish!). I opened the show with a small homage to the people of Colombo... who refuse to allow these frequent assaults to crush them. It was a very special moment. My last model, dressed in all black, walked the ramp making the universal peace sign. Minutes later, we headed for the airport and home. People asked whether we wanted to switch flights... or airline (we were booked on Sri Lankan). No way. By doing that, we would have surrendered. When civil society panics or gives up - the enemy wins. We lose.

Survived the Colombo attacks.... still there!

Was I scared? Numb? Resigned to my fate? Ready to die?? A few hours after the aerial attack on Colombo, I am still reeling and confused. There we were in the rooftop ballroom of the Taj Samudra to attend The Colombo Fashion Week where my new line of relaxed clothing - Spiritual By Shobhaa De - was to debut. We were approvimately three minutes away from the first entry of the lovely model, wearing a garland of Sri Lanka's national flower, the blue water lilly ( nil mahanil), that I had picked as it is a symbol of peace, when the power was switched off, and we were told there was an imminent aerial attack expected and Colombo was instantly enveloped in an eerie black out. Seconds later, we heard the bombs drop and the night sky lit up with flares as the anti aircraft guns went into action!
Rushing down from the ballroom was not going to be easy, considering there were at least 500 people crowding the space. I was seated next to the American Ambassador, Robert Blake, and he moved very quickly as soon as he received a message on his Blackberry. He asked me to follow him through the kitchen - but I was not about to do that and leave my two children behind. I lost him. And started looking around frantically for Aditya and Avantikka. Some of the models were screaming and a few had fainted. People were scrambling to get out, as the terrifying sound of gunfire continued outside. The Taj Samudra is next to the army base, and about a kilometre away from the President's Palace. The air force base ( target) is right next door Initial reports said 4 or 5 Czech made planes flying really low, so as to escape radar detection, had flown in from the sea. Two were shot down - the others were likely to fly back!!
I am still in shock. This is the best I can do right now. Not sure when we can get home. We were to fly out at midnight tonight on an Air Sri Lanka flight. Not the best plan. More when I can...

I'll make this quick...

In a few hours from now, I'll be heading to the airport to catch my flight to Colombo. I love the Emerald Isle, especially at dawn, when the plane circles the airport and begins its descent. Surprises start on landing at this unexpectedly spiffy airport, where everything runs smoothly and the staff is ever smiling - yes, even at that hour! It's only when one hits down town that reality kicks in - all those boy soldiers with toy guns!! Well... Mumbai is fast catching up with its menacing bunkers and armed cops.
My good friend Anthony Spaeth, the editor of 'Power' magazine in Hong Kong, has recommended a place called Palmyrah in Renukha Hotel on Galle Road. I shall check it out for sure. But not before I revisit old favourites like Paradise Road, and the magnificently restored Colonial mansion, Tintangel, which was the former residence of the Bandaranaike family. Shaanth, the undisputed God of Sri Lankan aesthetic sensibilities, is a monarch of all he surveys, with his impeccable taste and fine eye for beauty. He is the man behind both these stunning properties.
As always, this too shall be a frenzied trip, with press conferences and other promotional gigs that make up the circus. I am not complaining. I'd fly many miles for those stringhoppers. Plus, I have been promised a blue whale watching expedition off the coast of Galle. Wish me luck. I am in competent hands with Shyamalee Tudawe, the fetching editor of Sri Lanka's top end society magazine.
Till then adieu. I'll be back in this space next week. Why?? The lap top stays home!!

MISS - HELP

Dear Blogdosts. I found

this worthwhile. Hope you do, too.

HELP - the Health Education Library for People, India's first Consumer Health Education Resource Center , and one of the world's largest consumer health libraries ( as determined by the Medical Library Association , USA ) was established in 1997 to empower people by providing them with the information they need to promote their health , and prevent and treat medical problems in the family in partnership with their doctor. We are a registered charitable trust and a non-profit organisation.
We offer the following facilities:

1. Airconditioned reading rooms, with a seating capacity for 20-25 people;
2. An upto date collection of over 5000 consumer health books, 10000 pamphlets, and many magazines and newsletters
3. Audiovisual educational media, including over 600 videotapes. Videos can be viewed in privacy in the library
4. Computer software , including over 30 CD-ROMs on all health and medical topics
5. Photocopying facilities, at Re 1 a page
6. A lecture hall ( seating capacity of over 70 people) with a big-screen projector which we give free to NGOs for health talks.

We have access to information on every health and medical topic under the sun - explained in terms which the layperson can understand.
HELP has become a prototype of the modern digital library. Our website at http://www.healthlibrary.com is India's leading health portal, and receives over half a million hits a month !
We are a public library - everyone is welcome ! Entry to HELP is free !
We are open Monday through Saturday, from 10 am to 6.30 pm. For those unable to come personally to the library, we also answer questions by post or e-mail. This is an innovative service called MISS-HELP ( Medical Information Search Services from HELP ) which allows us to provide medical information to users from all over India .

We feel patients are the largest untapped healthcare resource and that Information Therapy is Powerful Medicine !

We help patients save money on medical care by
1. Promoting SelfCare and helping them to do as much for themselves as they can
2. Helping them with Evidence-Based Guidelines , so that they can ask for the right medical treatment that they need - no more and no less
3. Helping them with Veto Power, so they can say No to medical care they don’t need, thus preventing overtesting and unnecessary surgery .

Please do come and visit HELP !

Our focus areas now are:
1. encouraging health insurance companies to invest in patient education
2. advocating information therapy
3. setting up a national network of patient education centers
4. developing patient educational materials in Indian languages for the web

Dr Aniruddha Malpani, MD
Medical Director
HELP - Health Education Library for People
Excelsior Business Center,
National Insurance Building,
Ground Floor, Near Excelsior Cinema,
206, Dr.D.N Road, Mumbai 400001
Tel. No.:65952393/65952394
helplib@vsnl.com
www.healthlibrary.com

Three men and a glass of Moet...

Three interesting men. One beautiful night. It doesn't happen often that I find three fascinating people to keep my mind engaged in a single evening. I lucked out at a very glam, very classy dinner at Juhu at a friend's palatial villa on the edge of the sea. This is a venue I have been coming to for over 20 years. I have been to several incredible homes all over the world and admired them whole heartedly. But the Godrej House remains my numero uno - very , very special. There is magic in the air, and nobody remains unaffected by it, no matter how often you've been wined and dined there. The moment you step onto those shampooed pebbles, glistening in the moonlight, and walk past the waterfall towards the glass dance floor , next to the pool, you know you have entered wonderland, where anything is possible. Not a single detail is ever out of place or forgotten. And each person is made to feel welcome . This is a major feat, given that the invitee list runs into 300 or more. Does it matter? Hey, come on, not when there is so much eye candy around.

Back to the men. It started with the host, Adi - a real, old -fashioned gentleman - and how fortunate is Parmesh ! Adi and I always end up talking philosophy. 'Are you an agnostic?" he asked last night. I need more than a glass of Moet Rose to answer that. We discussed belief and faith in the broadest sense, till we were joined by Karan Johar ( black sequins on his lapel - so rock star!), and Anil Kapoor. The topic switched to movies - what else? 'Slumdog', the Oscars and the two current 'talking point' films Dev D and Luck by Chance. Anil announced gleefully that all 9 kids from Slumdog were to attend the Oscar's . But of course. I told him to go ahead and hug Tom Cruise or any other movie star in his path - that's us. We are expressive, exhuberant and noisy. When happy, we give pyaar ki jhappies to strangers, foes, whoever. Why not? Anil is a straight forward, unpretentious guy. I like his spontaniety. Go for it, Anil. He mentioned Jemima Khan had sent him feelers to introduce her to Freida Pinto, as Jemima was keen to dress her for the Oscar's. Hmmm. Who isn't? Anil will be wearing a suit, possibly Armani. He isn't comfortable in Sherwanis and Bandgalas." I am Indian - I don't have to dress Indian to prove it, " he laughed. No argument! Karan and I can talk movies for hours and generally have a similar take on them. His reservations vis-a-vis 'Luck...' were the same as my own - whose film was it? Who is the narrator - Konkana or Farhan? Whose story do we follow?? Got back at an indecent hour.... but what the hell. What are sundays for if not to sleep it off??

Happy Valentine's Day

Shobhaa’s Take 14th Feb 2009 Column published in Asian Age\Deccan Chronicle

Will you be my Valentine, Pramod Muthalik??


Come on, Pramodji. Be a sport. I can’t think of a better candidate to send a Valentine to.I love you. So do all the women of India. Sach- much. We find you seriously cute. A real hottie. The thinking woman’s sex symbol.Aapke saamne Farhan Akhtar kuch nahi.You should be flattered. Are you going to arrest me for declaring my feelings in public?No problem. Pyar kiya to darna kya?You are cho chweet. So cute. Today being Valentine’s Day, and you being my Chosen One, I’m going to the nearest pub to drink a pint or two of beer in your honour. Theek hai?
I suspect Pramod Muthalik will drown in a pink panties deluge today, and his inbox will overflow with lovey dovey messages sent by the women from across the country. He may even receive pyaar ki jhappies if he ventures out, and who knows, if he runs into Renuka Choudhary somewhere, she may clasp him to her ample bosom and plant a kiss. Isko kehtey hain, Luck by Chance. Pramod, you are one sexy dude – single and ready to mingle.And whether you like it or not, women are going to chase you… invite you for a drink at the nearest pub, maybe get you to shake a leg. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Confess : when was the last time you went on a date? Held hands? Romanced a lady?? Never? Toba. You don’t know what you are missing. I think Nisha Susan is the right person to have as your special date on this very special day. Check out a few bars and pubs with her and see for yourself what exactly goes on there. It may surprise you.
‘ The Pink Chaddi’ Campaign kicked off by Susan has snow- balled into something major. It started as a personal protest, a strong reaction to the abominable conduct of Muthalik’s Sri Ram Sene activists. But it rapidly gained momentum as women across the board decided to display their utter contempt for these men by mocking them like never before. What better weapon than women’s underwear to register a lack of respect for men like Muthalik who are fixated on precisely that garment – even if they’ll never admit as much? These are the sickos of our society. Men arrogant enough to believe they are the guardians of our chastity. Go to hell, you guys. Handle your own hang ups, your frustrations, your insecurities and leave us alone to figure out what we want to do with our time and leisure. Those days are gone, when the Gehlots and Muthaliks of the world could dictate the agenda for women. Or issue diktats. Our enlightened Home Minister ( God Bless Chid’s kind heart), has stated in clear and precise language that he considers Muthalik’s SRS a ‘threat’ to the country. By articulating that the SRS has ‘crossed limits’,P. Chidambaram has earned an extra Valentine from me – and thousands like me – women who were waiting for ‘real men’ to put these borderline, iffy fellows into their rightful place – the nearest dustbin.

I am not a pub- goer, nor do I drink beer. That hardly matters. Whether or not I subscribe to the ‘pub culture’ is also irrelevant. Who the hell is Muthalik to sit in judgement over ladies who enjoy such activities? It is entirely their prerogative, their money, their desire, their decision. Mangalore is not Kabul. And unlike Afghanistan, women in India cannot be so easily browbeaten by such bully boys. If these men were sincere about ‘protecting’ women, they would be addressing far more serious issues, like domestic violence, rape, female foeticide. Why waste time harassing a miniscule number of urban women who form a .000-something of our population?Why accost carefree teenagers with bangles and sindhoor and force them to marry?Why not intervene and help underprivileged women in distress over dowry issues?What’s more important – bride- burning or hand- holding? What skewered priorities are these? Ever since ‘The Consortium of Pubgoing, Loose and Forward Women,’ was formed a few days ago, the site caught fire , as men and women signed up to express their solidarity and cock a snook at the SRS. I responded instantly to the email and shared it with several girlfriends across the world. Now I can proudly declare myself a card-holding (or should that be ‘panties-holding’?) member of the association. The response has been overwhelming. It is like a cultural marathon being launched, with the best runners taking the lead against tyranny. Dr. V.S.Acharaya, the Home Minister of Karnataka,has also become the absolute darling of the pink panties donors – he’d better have an explanation ready for his family before the courier chap arrives bearing a bulky carton stuffed with frilly, lacey, risqué lingerie. This unique form of protest has found several takers for an obvious reason. It is a simple, inexpensive yet potent way of making a point. Some may dub it childish and attention-seeking. But in my view, it is the ultimate insult. Men who get their perverse kicks by humiliating women sexually, deserve nothing more ‘serious’ than this gift.Molestors are perverts who obviously do not possess a legitimate avenue to satisfy their sexual needs. The only way they can touch a female, get anywhere close to forbidden fruit, is by attacking her under the guise of guarding her morality. Ha!
The NCP in Maharashtra is taking a twisted lead by distributing Valentine’s Day cards in Thane, a Shiv Sena stronghold. Politicising this harmless day, reserved for Cupid and his arrow, is another way to attract youth votes. Since all is fair in love and war, no issues with the strategy. Perhaps Shiv Sainiks themselves have had a change of heart and won’t vandalize gift shops and restaurants celebrating Valentine’s Day. Bharatiya sanskriti faces zero danger from an exchange of dil-shaped greetings and other romantic expressions of love. Think of Krishna and his Gopis. How chilled out were they??Our Great Indian Culture is alive and well. No worries. The real threat to it does not come from mini- skirted women knocking back a couple of beers, nor from young lovers walking hand in hand through malls. It comes from goons who assault defenceless females, demand marriage certificates from amourous couples, and threaten to marry off those found ‘guilty’ of a crime called romance.What shall we call this? How about “Emoshanal Atyachar?”

Passing the buck...

Our President, the dour faced Pratibha Patil has never been a personal favourite. The last time she was in Mumbai, there were no less than 47 cars in her convoy. Yup. 47. I counted. We pay for them. But that apart, the convoy created the worst traffic snarls ever, and people were not amused. The next time, her minders advised her to take a chopper to the airport - and look what happened! A near miss with a commercial flight.... and a whole lot of buck passing since then. The most startling factoid to emerge from this episode is that there's no helipad at Mumbai airport! Can you believe this? India's busiest commercial hub does not boast of a simple facility like a helipad.... and the President's chopper lands unexpectedly on the airstrip reserved for passenger carrying jets. With an enquiry on in full swing, authorities are busy doing what they do best - covering their own derrieres and blaming everyone else. The Air Chief thundered that his IAF choppers were not at fault. Air traffic controllers insist they had no prior information about those choppers, while unnamed officials are busy creating ridiculous alibis. The point is, if this can happen to VVIPs, toh hamara kya hoga Kaliya?
Next week I am off to Colombo. The last time I was there, a few months ago, there was curfew every night, and bombs exploding every few metres. My daughter who was with me, got so spooked, she refused to leave the hotel . This time, I have another daughter accompanying me, and she is spooked before landing. Colombo happens to be one of my favourite destinations. And nothing will deter me from going there. Who says Mumbai is any safer? But it is the nightmare at Mumbai airport that scares me far more than rebel bombs going off in Sri Lanka. Each time I jump on a flight, it is with a small prayer on my lips. The security measures here are a joke. I met a Swiss lady who'd boarded the flight with her daughter with the wrong boarding cards that nobody had detected ! Yeh hai Mumbai, meri jaan.
Talking of cards, someone called me from Mantralaya yesterday to say, " Madam, last time your name was missing from the voter regstration system. Well, this time your name is there - but husband's is missing!" Wow!! Was I supposed to applaud? Call that progress?

Obama ''screwed up...!"

Obama: “ I screwed up!”

This column appeared in Bombay Times on 9th Feb
Last week Barack Obama stunned the world by declaring, “ I screwed up,” on national television. What an admission! That too coming from the President of the United States of America . Look at his choice of words – ‘screwed up’ is as colloquial as it gets. It is the kind of teen-slang students use when caught by the authorities for drunken driving or some other misdemeanor. It is also a politer version of , “ I f#@*#d up!” Imagine a man in Obama’s position officially using street-speak to tell the nation he had made a mistake. Well, Obama is such a ‘today’ person, this phrase may just be the one that sets the tone for the rest of his term, and his informal style of functioning. He has already broken a couple of golden rules, such as appearing in the Oval office dressed in shirt sleeves and not a formal day suit. He also shows up for work at a respectable hour (9 a.m.), unlike his predecessor, who has been described as an early to bed and early to rise President. The new, relaxed atmosphere seems to be working just fine. But it is the ‘I screwed up’ phrase that his supporters are praying, doesn’t become the anthem that defines his years in the White House.
Closer to home, one wonders what will happen if all our netas start apologizing and confessing! Hey bhagwan, there will be no end to the screw ups…. imagine the long list of those blunders, starting at the top. Which of our chaps hasn’t screwed up at one point or the other? From politicians to corporate honchos, screwing up is a national sport. Maharashtra’s record in this area is spectacular – how many c.m.’s are we going to haul over the coals for screwing up big time? Ramalingam can also borrow Obama’s phrase to defend himself. So can Narendra Modi, and a whole host of others. But will they ever admit they made a single mistake? Naah.We prefer cover ups to acknowledging screw ups. That way, everyone is protected. Perhaps, we need to learn a few valuable lessons from Obama. Conversely, can you imagine the irony of the same confession had Bill Clinton made it??
There’s something awfully tacky about high profile ladies who insist on revealing what their companions\boyfriends\partners\lovers have gifted them on their respective birthdays\anniversaries\Valentine’s Day. The two from Bollywood who issue weekly bulletins via their respective p.r. agents are Ameesha Patel and Shilpa Shetty. By now, we know that Shilpa’s ‘partner’ gifted her 75 crores to buy a stake in a cricket team. She described it as a pricey Valentine’s Day present. Wokayyy! Next came the clarification that it was actually a business deal more than a gift. So much for that. Earlier, we were treated to details of this guy’s other acts of generosity, be it a sprawling flat, a spiffy car, surprise weekends in Dubai,a yoga video,a perfume or a lavish musical featuring his lady love.
Ameesha’s gift list is pretty impressive (and comprehensively catalogued by her). It includes Victorian style diamond jewellery and other limited edition goodies – handbags, watches, haute couture gowns etc etc. I’m sure these high maintainence ladies deserve all this and more from their besotted suitors. But really, girls, it is most déclassé to catalogue every bauble that falls into your kitty. But dearies, do remember, well brought up ladies never but never go public with such intimate revelations. For one, it is considered vulgar and crass to do so, for another, the tax man is monitoring every claim.
There are wedding cards…. and there are wedding cards. These days, it is all about how one packages the big day. Last week I received three impressive invitations for shaadis that are going to be celebrated over the same weekend ( end- February). One was a classic, simple announcement ( Nina and Rajan Kilachand) of their son’s wedding in Dubai. The other was an elaborate effort, put together by the bride herself ( Veranica Reddy), with a Shakespearean sonnet to round it off ( the wedding is in Hyderabad). While the third was an inspired culinary triumph featuring melt-in-the-mouth macaroons perfected in a Mumbai kitchen after painstaking research conducted in Paris. This unique ‘card’ was sent by Swati and Ajay Piramal,for their daughter Nandini’s wedding to Peter in Jaipur ( elephant polo will round off this celebration!). Phew!! Would love to split myself into three and attend all!! Par, kaisey??

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Incase you guys are interested , do check out http: \\www.youtube.com\watch?v=dJADzrRnzw8

Dev D - Grade B

Anurag K's 'Dev D' is like Maggi Hot 'n' Sweet sauce - it is different. I watched it by myself at an evening show on a sunday, in a multiplex, after buying the ticket from a desperate man who was trying to offload three. The seat I found myself in was between two amorous couples. They billed and cooed through the movie,and nudged each other in that meaningful way lovers do, each time there was a sexual reference on screen. My side show was almost as erotic as Dev and Paro's couplings in sarson fields, ghusaal khanas and tabelas. The movie could so easily have been titled 'Loins of Punjab - Part 2." Khair. I was determined to remain fully focused on what has been dubbed a brilliant, faultless, five star film by top critics. Hello?? 'Dev D' is bold ( the forbidden f-word uttered unapologetically), edgy ( camera on steroids), kinky ( Kalki gives great phone sex in Tamil, French and Hinglish). But brilliant?? Come on, guys. Haven't we seen all this and more with Jodie Foster doing her teenage slut routine decades ago? What about 'Lyon"? and Natalie Portman ?? Besides, how many interpretations of that ghasa peeta story ("evdas'), do we need before saying, " Enough"? I am upto there with the main man, Monsieur Devdas, a real loser of a fellow, a complete jerk, a self -obsessed beast, who in this version progresses from booze to drugs, but otherwise retains all the creepy qualities of the original. Why romanticise such a character, I ask you?? Of course, a classic remains a magnet for creative manipulation. So, one can't argue on that score with the filmmaker. Visually, the movie is an absolute stunner, psychedelic lunacy at its zaniest. Delhi's seedy Paharganj, Daryaganj and other areas favoured by international junkies, have been captured in all their depressing glory. Mahie as Paro, and Kalki as Chandramukhi, completely overshone Abhay Deol. I would have said 'mauled the guy' but he wasn't half bad in some key scenes, though I do wish he had kept his shirt on, and spared us those ugh underwear shots. Dev D was a bit of a disappointment. Much was expected, less delivered. Tau bhi - I would say, 'Isko dekho.' Brutal in bits. But truthful, too. One grouse: in an otherwise original script, why ghusaao the much publicised BMW and MMS scandals??

Every Dog Has His Day...

Politically Incorrect Sunday Times of India 8th Feb 2009

“Show me the evidence…”

My neighbour is a really difficult chap. There are no major problems as such. I am ok. He’s ok. Same soil ke phool etc. But it’s his dogs that drive me crazy. I have nothing against kuttas – provided they are well-trained, well- behaved and don’t crap on my doorstep. Even I have kuttas. But they aren’t anything like my neighbour’s. I have control over mine, and if they ever mess up my neighbour’s space, I take full responsibility… and clean up after them. It’s the right neighbourly thing to do… right? We have had touch and go incidents in the past, and exchanged angry words over this issue. But this time my neighbour’s kuttas have gone a bit too far. They tore into my home and destroyed everything in sight. Worse, they caught my own dogs (and me!) napping. Taking full and total advantage of the situation, they created havoc with our lives and left crucial evidence behind - a huge mass of dog poop. This was just too much. I called up my neighbour to protest, but he hung up on me, the bloody so-and-so! I called again… and again. But he refused to answer. Finally, in sheer frustration, I called a common friend to complain about the outrage. He was good enough to offer immediate intervention. But that’s because he is a Gora…. and often borrows my neighbour’s car when his own conks out. Still… I thought it was pretty sweet of him to take up this ugly matter with that crazy man. Two hours later, the Gora called to say he’d had a word with the kuttawalla, who told him it was not his kuttas that had entered my home in the first place! I was stunned, shocked and enraged. ‘What the hell does he mean?” I demanded angrily. “ Of course, those were his dogs… I know their paw prints… why, even their poop is pretty distinct given the strange diet they’re on.” The Gora promised to get back. I waited … and waited. Finally, he called to say, “Proof. He wants evidence. Can you prove the damage was done by his dogs and not your own?” I nearly fainted. “ Are you nuts? Why would my dogs do this to me in my own home?” The Gora remained impassive. And the neighbour refused to open the door when I knocked.
We were clearly getting nowhere. So I rang yet another neighbour. This one had also been attacked in the elevator by those kuttas. “Why don’t we join forces?” I suggested. And that’s exactly what we did. Being civil with that guy was getting us nowhere. “ Shall we just break down his door and barge into his house to confront the liar?” my co-sufferer asked. “ Forget it…we don’t want this to escalate and involve the entire building,” I said resignedly. Then I got a brain wave – if it’s hard evidence he wants, it’s hard evidence he’ll get. I got down on all fours to collect samples of poop, tufts of doggy hairs …. even a broken tooth that had fallen off during the attack. I made three or four neat packets and sent them off to the secretary of the building society. One lot, I handed over to the scoundrel next door via his driver. “ This poop does not belong to my dogs,” he thundered from the window across my room…. “and the hairs do not match my pets’ either. As for the tooth…. it is clearly a plant to compromise me and my dogs.It is clearly non-state dogs you should be tracking. In fact, this whole thing is a conspiracy because actually you want to grab my flat….my dogs would never do such a thing. Never. I do not accept your evidence because I know it is concocted. My dogs did not leave my home that night… and I can prove it.” I was speechless. I certainly didn’t expect this from a man who always had a smile plastered on his face whenever we met to discuss matters of mutual interest. “Come and see the damage for yourself….get any neutral person of your choice to assess it. It is your dogs and your dogs alone that are responsible and unless you admit it, I am going to unleash mine on your home just to teach you a lesson.” My neighbour laughed. His kuttas were about to crap again. And mine were still sleeping.

Sab kuch... by chance !

The film belongs to Konkana all the way.... she is just so convincing, it is as if she is playing herself... which , of course she is. That's what makes her performance so courageous and heart breaking in Zoya Akhtar's clever film, 'Luck by chance.' Why 'clever'? Hell... look at the premise. It is an' insiders' only' film, made by the coterie, for the coterie. It is terribly chummy, incestuous and cosy, which is precisely why it works - for the coterie. At a pinch, it also works for those movie buffs who are so tuned in to all the gossip and nuances of Bollywood, they can easily decode the 'in' jokes, 'in' digs and 'in' references. For those outside this charmed circle, the movie offers a few great moments, and little else. It worked for me, despite the restless family in the same row, with a bored, tubby little boy, his bespectacled teenage sister , a father who talked non-stop on the cell phone and a mother who kept reassuring the rest not to fret - " It is getting over fast- fast, don't worry... after that , McDonalds' okay??"
Hritik Roshan made up for any and every small lapse and looked scrumptious - a perfect Valentine's Day gift to women kind. His fluid dance moves and witty performance were worth the price of the ticket. He was yummier than all the cameos put together, though Akshay Khanna shone in his two minute appearance ( sardonic , cynical, quizzical). The ravishing Dimple, looking ravaged, but then hers was a case of inspired casting - she is an actress par excellence - from 'Bobby' to 'Luck..' - what an amazing transition. In fact, Zoya scored big time with her assured take on all the characters, with the biggest surprise being Sanjay Kapoor delivering a perfectly pitched performance - all hail the Brothers Kapoor. Unka number aa gaya hai.
Oops... how did I forget Farhan? Referred to as the thinking woman's hottie, this guy is such a natural. His interpretation of the guy who lucks out in the movie was terrifyingly bang on -cunning, devious, manipulative - a loveable rogue. To use his words in the film - was he amazing? 'Totally'. Big sis , take a bow. Films like 'Luck...' aren't for the aam janata in the first place, so no heart burn if the box office collections are average. Zoya knows her world and her craft. She has made an impressive debut, smartly roping in her best buddies from Bollywood (playing themselves), to tickle their fans. But it is the asli tone of the movie that sets it apart. It accurately reflects exactly how it works in show biz - the desperation, heart aches, compromises, disappointments and betrayals. I wouldn't call it a cynical take on the subject - just a searingly honest one that tells it like it is. Oh - Juhi Chawla was marvellous in the movie. But like I said , it is Konkana's film - she deserves an award... no, several awards. Was 'Luck..' better than 'OMO' ( same subject - Bollywood)? Much. Take a bow , Zoya. And here's to your next.

Mumbai masala

Oh God!! Just five days out of this crazy metropolis aur kitna kuch hota hai. Can hardly keep up. The first pic I saw in an Indian newspaper on the flight back from Singapore, was of the Bachchan parivar at the premiere of PP-2. And the first thing I noticed was Ma Bachchan's floor length mink coat. Woweeee!! Guddi has grown up and how! That mink (looked like the real thing, not a faux version) would buy a 2BHK in Nalasopara. But If Ma Bachchan can't afford to keep herself warm in style on Bahu's big night - hell - what a waste! Bahu clad in a becoming black gown looked very fetching indeed, with an impressive decolletage ( push up bra, zindabad!). Her stylist must have persuaded her to dye her hair jet black (matching-matching) and wear it off her angelic face. It made her look severe - but stylish. Pity the film has tanked worldwide. But Ash should have no regrets - she tried.
Desi news involved all the usual stories about Kasab and the mysterious leaked picture. How did the press get hold of it? Nobody is telling! I bet it was a smart Pandu havaldar who clicked it while the bosses were enjoying a chai break. Today's khabar is that Kasab is suffering from high acidity - well, at least he isn't dead!
The other big story was about Bharat Shah's son's wedding to a model-type. The details were mind boggling - 120 mithais, 250 dishes representing 30 different cuisines, an elaborate set created out of beaten silver. Estimated cost for the evening?? A few crores. Guest list? Shah was not saying... it really would be interesting to note who does show up for the extravaganza, apart from the usual suspects.
I watched Guy Ritchie's Rocknrolla on the flight and was mesmerised!! What a movie!! Can any of our guys make anything close to this!! Am planning to watch Dev D over the weekend (amazing reviews), and want to compare. Ritchie knows his turf and is spot on when it comes to casting, dialogues, cinematography and music. This is such a sinister film! Violent and gritty all the way. But a compelling watch nevertheless. BTW, Jet Airways does offer unlimited Dom in biz class - but little else. Makes it easier to watch grim faced Russian mafia bosses torture effete Brit gangsters with names like Handsome Bob!
The book worth reading is 'Can Asians Think?" Don't you just love the title? It is written by a Singaporean of Indian origin, Kishore Mahbubani, and comes with a recommendation from Henry Kissinger (".....intellectually engaging") no less. Mahbubani was the person 'In Conversation' with me at my book launch in Singapore , a few months ago. I had enjoyed his combative style and had hoped to catch up with him on this trip. He is the Dean at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy.And quite the agent provacateur his admirers insist he is.
Alas, my chicken-rice moment didn't happen in Singapore. But I did stumble on a new phrase - 'Trying trying before dying." It is what locals advise outsiders when praising a new restaurant\dish or anything worth slurping over. As for me, I am on a carrot juice and broccolli diet after over indulging myself in Singapore. But, am I enjoying my $10 dollar flip flops! You can keep you Choos - yup - even after that 70% off sale.
Shall post my Monday column next, provided I don't delete it by hitting the wrong key, as I did earlier. Ciao ciao! Am off to watch Zoya Akhtar's movie 'Luck by chance' which my older children loved. Watch this space...review coming up. You've been warned!

From Deccan Chronicle. Awards Tamasha

Shobhaa’s Take 28th Jan 2009

Sorry…. The Jury is out on this one…
Kitney aadmi the ??

All awards are essentially bogus. That’s the horrible truth. I should know. I have been on several juries and what do you know, even received the odd award . Most of them fully faltoo . Which is why I can say this authoritatively - I don’t know of a single award that is either fair or free. Genuine and legitimate. Strings attached?? You bet. It’s a toss up between manipulation and money – you need one or the other (both, preferably), to make those lists. When even the lofty Nobel’ s credentials have been questioned ( cherchez the Japanese!), what remains?? Now India’s once- prestigious Padmas ( distributed like channas on Chowpatty beach these days), have come under a cloud and the aam janata is left wondering why so-and-so got it and so-and-so didn’t. From movie stars to cricketers, top cops to biz leaders, there is heart burn and suspicion( “ Woh kiska chamcha hai…?”), as the also- rans accuse the powers that be of favouritism and prejudice. Don’t they know ? It’s all about tel-maalish-champi (Johnny Walker – where are you when we need you the most?)… and fierce lobbying with Dilli ‘contacts’ ( kitney aadmi the?). A senior journo commented with a laugh, “ It actually begins and ends with the boy and girl in Delhi. If they like you and recommend you , that’s it. You have to become their BFFs.” Any guesses as to the identity of the ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ ? Come on… take a crack at it. The First Children, of course! Whether or not this is correct, it is true that this year’s rather strange list of recipients has got the chattering classes talking. We know Singh was Kinggggggg at the box office last year… but since when does an actor receive a Padma only because his movie raked in serious lolly? Does the commercial success of a nonsensical movie demand this recognition? I have nothing against Akshay – he’s pretty cute. But come on guys…. define the criteria. Akshayji ne kiya kya? Kaunsi kamaal ki cheez? Ditto for the lovely Aishwarya. What was her special achievement during the past twelve months?Or is that a stupid question. That leaves just one member of the Bachchan parivar who is still to receive this honour – Abhishek. Koi baat nahi… there’s always next year, bachchu.
As for our Olympicswallas (Vijendra Kumar and Sushil Kumar) who are most upset at being left out, clearly these chaps cannot be silenced . They failed to get the Padma ball rolling, and are peeved as hell. Abhinav Bindra stuck his neck out to question their omission – good of him. If it is any consolation at all,check out similar awards across the world in any category – beauty, movies, business, sports, science, the arts… you name it. Dig a little. Are any of them transparent? Naah! No lobbying, no award. Illey.I guess you can’t please them all - just as you can’t win them all. Jo ho gaya so ho gaya. The whole procedure has been demeaned and politicised to such an extent, that several self respecting worthies have decided to boycott awards altogether. Aamir Khan was the first Bollywood actor to take a position on this issue. A bold stand to take in that incestuous world.
Awards, as anybody in the know will tell you, are directly linked to commerce. Think back to the time our girls were winning each and every beauty pageant in sight. Was it really because India had the sole monopoly over beautiful women? Did no other country in the world produce beauties? The answer , my friend, was blowing in the wind. India’s humungous market was gradually opening up – there were shampoos, creams, lipsticks and blush-ons to be sold. The desi middle class had to be smoothly converted to using a range of useless cosmetics nobody really needed. The vast beauty products’ constituency had reached a saturation point back in America, South America and Europe. ‘Head East, young man’, was the clear message to those sharp marketing fellows peddling global brands. Voila! India became the juiciest destination….. and surprise, surprise ,our lovelies won crown after crown . This was no happy coincidence.Foreign shampoos and eye shadows are still rolling in. Watch – the next international pageant will be won by Miss China.
Business Awards? Strictly by rotation. The Old Boy’s Club makes sure of that. Tie that up to advertising budgets and you get a neat quid pro quo.Meanwhile tv channel partners scramble to interview the big honchos assembled for the honour – never mind that the same person may get picked up down the line for committing a major fraud (yoo hoo Ramalingam)…. but not before he has picked up a major award first. From Businessman of the Year to Conman of the Century is but a small leap! This embarrasses nobody. The chief guest (generally the finance minister, if not the prime minister) pretends to suffer from memory loss after the chest- thumping awardee is declared a persona non grata overnight, plus done time, or died….whatever. It’s back to business as usual the next time round.
Don’t even ask about film awards – those depend on heavy duty ‘setting’ (how I love that word!). These days, with a film award happening on a weekly basis, the matter has been further simplified – the actor who shows up at the function gets the award – baat khatam. A no- show automatically means no award. Got it, bro?? Categories? Not an issue – those can always be created at the nth moment. Nobody cares, so long as there is a star on stage and a statuette to take home. Sometimes, actors are required to sing and dance for their supper, err, award. Actors who perform at these shows are ‘guaranteed’ an award – provided they dance for free, or reduce their killer rates. If they are also sporting enough to keep the organisers’ beds warm, that’s a bonus. No pain, no gain – that’s the Bollywood mantra. Merit, talent and other incidentals - well, such traditional attributes are add-ons.Favour for favour is how it goes in the no nonsense, to- the- point world of movies. It has become so blatant, don’t be surprised if a complete dud walks away with a top award one of these days – check out the ‘setting’ and you’ll get the answer as to how he did it. Showbiz is ‘like that only’ - whether it’s tv or films. Audiences and fans are conned into thinking their opinions count. But each time they sms their choices, they only enrich the service providers and organizers, who laugh all the way to the bank! Oh oh… and don’t get fooled by those sealed envelopes that have been secured by top auditing firms – ha ha ha – isn’t that the biggest laugh? Pricewater House, are you reading this?
Awards R us…! They reflect our rotten world and represent our failings. If we applaud frauds and scamsters, go along with the pantomime, never question the credibility of award givers, accept mediocrity and refuse to challenge the credentials of dodgy recipients … well then, we deserve the dubious achievers thrust on us.Wonder what Symonds thinks of Bhajji’s Padma Shri. Well deserved or a monkey trick??

Singapore.... sad to leave

Singapore is like a second home. For one, my son lives and works here. He declared somewhat emotionally that Singapore IS home!! He has been here under six months, and is entirely integrated ( calling all cabbies 'uncle', regardless of age). He knows all there is to know about this charming island state, including the best kept secrets - hiking and trekking weekends in the semi rain forests close by. I have to agree with him when he talks about the exceptional quality of life here - starting with the super food. One can eat out every single day for two years, and not repeat a place. Last night he took us to a Belgian Bar serving over 200 premium beers, some of them pricier than champagne. Appropriately called Brussels' Sprout, it is located in Robertson Quay, on the edge of the waterway and serves the best moules and pommes frittes in town. By the time our group was done with the beer (I don't touch the stuff), it was pretty late. We headed to Chinatown looking for a much recommended place simply known as The Chinese Restaurant. It is on New Bridge road, between the Pagoda and the Mosque, right opposite the Majestic theatre. What a feast!! Let me not spoil it for you by going into raptures....but let me add it was Allan Po, the young 24- year- old waiter from mainland China, who made our evening special. Cheerful and efficient, he jumped around guaranteeing each fresh dish in 'exactly 3 minutes.' Allan earns 900 dollars per month, works 14 hours a day, no holidays or time off, and sends most of his salary back home to his family in China. As a room boy at the Mandarin, serving on the VIP floor, he used to make 500 dollars in tips. But the job was monotonous and he quit, after brushing up his english  while chatting with foreign guests there. Hard working , upbeat and efficient, I was tempted to kidnap him.

  I was equally tempted to kidnap Mia, the sultry dancer at Moshe Moshe Bollywood. Mia is French, earns 5000 dollars a month for grooving to Kaajra Re and other item numbers. She's a university graduate, a trained belly dancer, and exquisite enough to be in movies. So, what's a nice girl like her doing in a joint like this? Her parents have recently relocated to Taiwan, where her father is the general manager of Carre Four. Mia obviously loves her job, and has several besotted admirers showering notes on her each time she appears. The other dancers aren't bad.... but Mia is the undisputed star. How global is this story - a French girl, dancing to Indian music at a nightclub in Singapore, with Japanese men ogling her, as waitresses from Malaysia serve drinks to Chinese patrons. Don't you just love it?? 

 Most of the taxi drivers are real characters  - some sing arias from Chinese  opera. Others joke, "Do you know what ERP actually stands for - Everyday Rob People!" ERP is the much hated 1 dollar  road toll. As we passed the gigantic construction site of the Singapore Casino ( of course, it isn't called a casino here - officials refer to it as an Integrated Resort, if you please!), our cabbie commented it this was THE  place to come to if you want to become a beggar overnight. This was before dropping us to the Cricket Club of Singapore - charming and colonial - just like the one in Mumbai. With one big difference - members can buy and sell their membership!! Which means, it is a trading zone, and anybody with lolly can get in. This is just one quirky aspect of Surprising Singapore.The just concluded Chinese New Year has left a few attractive traces behind - like the lucky mandarin orange trees heavy with fruit, and the brilliantly coloured pussy willows in glorious bloom. Shopping at Orchard Road remains a treat - I got the most attractive metallic flip flops for 10 dollars!

 Well.... it's adieu Singapore and hello Mumbai. An avalanche of work awaits. But tomorrow is another De.... 

Singapore Fling.... the saga continues

First the bad news... I watched the promos of  Pink Panther-2, and was disappointed to note our lovely Ash was totally marginalised in the trailer. There was no mention of her , and she was shown in one scene lasting a few micro seconds, as part of a group. Unfair!!

 The film I'd gone to watch DEVOUR was Bride Wars which I loved. I absolutely adore Anne Hathaway and she was just amazing in the 'dance off' scene with Kate Hudson. The movie is unabashedly a chick flick, so I was glad to have watched it by myself. Bitchy, witty, bang on - every detail in place.

This expedition was followed by dinner in the red light area of Singapore - yup - it exists. Gehylang is as seedy as Foras Road in Mumbai, and the sex workers represent the South East Asian melting pot - with girls from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, strutting their stuff cheek by jowl with the local Malay and Chinese. The pimps here look less menacing  as compared to their desi counterparts.Oh - the food  was outstanding, especially the steamed garupa. The place is called 'No Signboard Seafood', and is featured on most travel guides as Singapore's 'best kept secret'! Ha!!! 

The rent- by -the- hour hotels near the restaurant had charming names like 'Fragrance Hotel'. Not exactly the Raffles or The Peninsula , but neon- lit and functional.

 Met Jayapriya and Priya, both of them are literary agents based in Singapore whose agency is called Jacaranda. They are always on the lookout for fresh young authors. So.... if any of you guys think you have it in you - google the ladies. The author I'm rooting for at present is Abha Deweswar. She has just published her second novel called Family Values. Lives half the year in Paris, and is hugely talented. Read her. 

Got to run. Dinner at Jumbo, East Coast Park. Review tomorrow.

Singapore..... gimme more!!

Strange, the very first time I came to Singapore (more than 20 years ago), I went back and wrote a column titled, "Singapore - what a bore!" It really was a pretty dull place in those days - sanitised and anti -septic, with a goody goody vibe and insane rules that drove me nuts. But over the past 10 years, S'Pore has relaxed and changed to such a dramatic extent, it has become one of my all time favourite destinations .... especially for a short break. Culturally, it remains bleak. Censorship codes are strong and very much in place ( though 'Desperate Housewives' is shown - but with cuts, of course).  But in a world where it has become harder and harder to find holiday destinations that are entirely 'safe', S'Pore  promises a stress free time since you know you are in a place where everybody but everybody behaves!

Locals are talking morosely about the economic down turn, business is down by 40% and the only good aspect of the recession is how swiftly the government has stepped in to save the jobs held by Singaporeans. The bail out has come at a good time - Chinese New Year, but the Dragon Dancers have lost their customary energy and bounce. The Year of the Ox is not good for business, and locals have decided to wait it out patiently. Most nightclubs and restaurants are semi empty. Clarke Quay was comparitively thanda on a friday night, with a listless belly dancer trying to chuff up the crowd at a sheesha bar. Villa Bali, and The Red Dot,Brazil...places which used to be jam packed and hard to access without reservations, welcome walk in customers. The New Asia Bar on the 70th floor of Swiss Hotel was sparsely populated, with a couple of bridal showers being hosted in far corners. Most malls, including Vivo City, had thin crowds over the weekend..... and the roadside food stalls looked depressingly deserted.

But the weather has been splendid. As has the company . It was great catching up with my son Ranadip and nephew Amartya. One an advertising professional, the other a management student . They know their Singapore, and thanks to them, I'm getting to know it better, too.

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Thanks for the show of hands , guys. I am most encouraged by the response. As for those flooding this space with their hate mail - it's their problem. They don't have to visit. Ditto for the malice and misinformation which frankly, don't deserve a come back. One responds only to charges that count, or can be taken seriously in the first place. I have no time for abuses - only cowards hiding behind anonymity ,  resort to such tactics..... and earn contempt, not comment. 

To my other, far more civilised blogdosts, I can only say, "Stick around. We have a bond that I truly value. Dhanyavad for the feedback and support." There  are a couple of recent columns I shall post on my return to Mumbai. Am just about getting the hang of  my son's Mac. Bear with me till thursday. Cheers. I am off to Sentosa and Prive for a chilled out sunday afternoon...