Kinng is actually a joker

It's a con job. Or... a corny job. Clumsy, clunky,pointless and boring.This is what happens when people like Bamzee get a bit too big for their boots and try to fool the public. Rubbish is rubbish. The Sikh angle is dishonest and manipulative. These guys are a bunch of losers wearing stiched, satin turbans - the kind worn by streetside magicians. Completely ridiculous and an insult to the community.Red Hot Akshay at size zero is a shadow of his former hunky self. No wonder his performance lacks oomph and energy. As for the anaemic Katrina Kaif with her butter -won't- melt in -her -mouth, put -on sweetness, she is as lifeless as the Sphinx.Between the two of them, the heat they generate wouldn't light a bulb (if you are looking for a furnace, check out Mallika Sherawat in 'Pagli or Ugli' ). 'Singh is Kinng' is a total dud, and I am amazed some critics gave it a 3-star rating. It makes me wonder if there is a herd mentality at work somewhere ( press show ke baad, opinions milaao, joint decisions lo, aur chamcha review likho). It is such a nonsensical effort - what Bamzee was thinking (money!)?Akshay looked yummy only during the Punjab sequences, dressed in colourful mulmul kurtas. Since this is a full on Punjabi film, with a few scattered hindi dialogues, subtitles would have helped. Even though there is nothing to understand or follow - no plot, no story.Kirron Kher looked sooooo awful, one had to shut ones eyes and hope she'd go away. Sonu Sood didn't get Lucky , even if his name was Lucky in the film.Australia's Gold Coast looked gorgeous and far sexier than Kaif and Dhupia put together. Akki can't dance, saala! What and who does that leave? Ranvir Sheorey??? Snoop Dogg?? Oh.... how could I forget the chicken in the opening scene delivering what is by far the most energetic and convincing performance in this turkey of a film. Bilkul bekaar.Save money. Save time. Save the chicken.

China scores a perfect 10. India 0.

China's 'Wow' moment stunned and surprised the world. Yes. We expected a Big Bang. But THIS big? The only thing that ruined our viewing pleasure was a Bore called Boria, whose annoying 'commentary' drove me up a wall. "See, see, see...." he kept repeating. Heck, man. That's exactly what we were doing. What else do people do in front of television screens? Shut their eyes?Agreed, the man is knowledgeable. He knew his stuff. But were we dying to know which star athlete he had run into 10 years ago? The spectacle unfolding in Beijing was breathtaking enough... we didn't need to be constantly told how stupendous the'Olympian' moment was... how history was being made, how 'the entire world' was holding its breath at that critical moment. Hyperbole? Man... this guy was hysterical as he ranted on and on, providing zero value addition to the visuals we could all see for ourselves without his juvenile prompting (" See, see, see those smiles.... see, see, see those happy faces").
Our pathetic contingent sauntered in like the athletes were taking a post-dinner stroll at India Gate. Lacklustre, unimpressive - and imagine such a dismal debut in our 'enemy's ' backyard?? How the Chinese must have gloated! Sania and Sunita were the worst offenders, clad in shabby attire. Did they think they were at a warm up session in Chennai? The excuse was they needed an 'assistant' to help them drape a saree!I felt ashamed and angry at the sight of this motley bunch. India is light years away from pulling off anything even remotely close to this feat. Thank God for the presence of Sonia Gandhi (why doesn't the otherwise elegant lady use an anti-perspirant to rid herself of those unsightly underarm sweat patches?)waving enthusiastically - nobody else bothered to give us a second glance. Compare the coup pulled off by the canny Swedes, whose athletes wore versions of the Chinese cheongsam and fanned themselves with traditional Chinese fans - but bearing Swedish colours! What a charming tribute to the host nation - and what a clever marketing trick!
I could go on and on. But let me save my wrath for the next post, which I shall devote to a disaster called Singh is King! Do they think the audience is a joker??
as

One billion Indians. Zero medals??

Ok. I confess. I am a pessimist. But only when it comes to cometitive sports and our radd-thobda athletes.A couple of hours from now, millions of viewers the world over will be glued to their tv sets waiting for the Opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics. Me? I'll be eyeing a different sort of athlete doing his thing - Akshay Kumar.We need more Akshays in our national squad - fit, ambitious, focused and raring to go people,with Akshay's killer instinct.Instead, we have rounded up the usual suspects and packed them off in ghastly, ill- fitting, shiney blue suits that make even the sexy Sania Mirza resemble a Punjab Highway restaurant hostess - just this side of dhaba chic. Medals? Don't make me laugh. Apart from our sharp shooters and weight lifters, the others are there for time pass. Nobody expects them to win - and they aren't about to surprise anybody either!India is anything but a country of losers. So what happens to our sportspeople when they go overseas?Howcome such a huge nation can't produce even a single real champion?Ethiopia, for Chrissake, routinely throws up medal winning marathoners. ETHIOPIA!!
Well... at the annual Satyanarain Puja at our home last night, I sent up a small prayer for our great and good Olympic hopes.As the green -eyed (I swear!) pandit rattled off sanskrit shlokas mechanically and at break neck speed, I put on my best pious expression and kept a beady eye on the pure ghee prasad (saffron sheera ). Didn't want our Irish Setter to stick her nose into the handi and defile God's own food. Kiara (the setter)is a real foodie (wonder where she gets that trait from???). She loves Italian coffee, freshly brewed. And the divine honey -and -cracked wheat bread (from Moshe's)- well toasted, of course . Last night she discovered Nalini's cupcakes. Hold on. That sounds more obscene than it actually is - my daughter Arundhati received the said cupcakes, baked and packaged by a certain Nalini, as a birthday gift from her friend Anoushka. Clear enough??They were sinful -looking,but being a good saraswat brahmin woman observing the holy month of Shravan, I skipped the treat. And took Kiara's appreciative bow -wow ,as approval. Would love to take Kiara to the movies with me. But then, I'm not Paris Hilton... and Kiara's not a Chihuawa.
If Singh is King, is Katrina the Queen? Watch this space...

Bank-vank. Credit-vedit

I love my friendly neighbourhood bank. It is far from fancy and has plastic flowers as decor. There's nothing hi tech about the set up. The atm facility is a joke. And I don't receive computer statements. Mercifully, there is no relationship manager to deal with either.The guys and ladies who work there speak marathi and marathi-hindi. No english. In other words, it is devoid of 'suits' and sharp bankers in even sharper designer ties. But when it comes to delivering the goods, these chaps score over their hip counterparts many times over. I have had the most awful experiences with big brands like Citibank and American Express. Their billing is wrong so often one wonders whether it is a genuine mistake or a con. Card statements are invariably loaded to favour them. Even after cancellation. I keep receiving annoying phone calls with veiled threats from some bloody call centre, demanding 9,000 bucks, which i don't owe, since I'd closed the account years ago. Perhaps the 'sophisticated' computers have forgotten to talk to each other and communicate this basic info. There is no way of clarifying since one never gets to speak to a human. After the twentieth recorded message and thirty minutes later, the process begins all over again.
Compare that nightmare to making a single call to a Sonawane or a Chaphekar, and hearing a familiar voice saying,"No problem, madam...ho jayega." You can keep your phoren bankers. I am cool with my local Maharashtrians. Jai Shivaji.

Brangelina Babies

Hadd hogi!! Somethings in life should be a little sacred? Like babies?? Your own babies, for chrissake?? How can any parent hawk pictures of their bundles of joy to the highest bidder? Crass and commercial are polite terms to describe such transactions. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt earned an indecent amount of lolly in exchange for a picture exclusive of their newly born twins. The justification is that they will donate the money to a charity of their choice. How noble ! But why not dig into their own deep pockets and donate that? The whole issue of innocent (even unborn!) children having rights , is a sensitive one. What if the twins decide to sue Brangelina later in life for intruding into their private space? Anything is possible in America.Several kids of celeb parents feel violated by the constant scrutiny they are subjected to. Some enjoy the spotlight, others deeply resent it.Who protects their interests? Closer to home, if Niketa and Haresh Mehta are compelled to go ahead and have the baby they clearly don't want, what will that baby's future be?If the baby survives and grows up eventually, there will be no escape from archival records that will show an unambiguous rejection from the parents. What a terible realisation to live with! What can be worse for any human being than to know he\she is unwanted by the very people who have created him\her!
As for Hollywood's high profile twins - God help them. As also David and Posh Beckham's gorgeous boys who will soon be up for sale to endorse various products - Armani boy briefs, maybe?? Like father, like sons. It's all in the jeans... err... genes !

Shravan Monday

Driving back from Alibag this morning, listening to Gotan Project, I wished I was in Buenos Aires. I love the tango, and fantasise about the day I shall arrive in Argentina, meet an exceptionally talented dancer... perform in Havana.... and never come back to this ridiculously monotonous life, avoiding potholes and pot bellied cops at hazaar nakabandhis en route. Alibag may be divine, but getting there and back is no fun at all. However the sight of several Ganpati idols being transported from Pen to Mumbai, lifted my spirits a little. As did an enforced stop at a highway hotel incongruously named Marquis Mohur, serving 'pure veg' greasy food to desperate motorists looking for a loo (No lights. No water ). I was fasting (first Shravan monday), and in no mood to watch my children hogging stuffed alloo parathas dripping ghee. They told me I was just jealous(I was!).To make matters worse, I received a call from Sharmila Thackeray (relax. It wasn't a threat from Raj). It was about - food!! Her friend Aditi Limaye, runs an amazing restaurant in Dadar called 'Gypsy' and right now there is a Shravan Food Festival going on. This was torture! I was famished. Irritable. And discussing kothmir wadas with Sharmila.What could be worse? Watching 'Ugly aur Pagli', said Noel, my daughter's piano teacher, as she attempted to play 'Lara's Theme' for the zillionth time. I like Mallika Sherawat almost as much as Laxmi Mittal likes her. But not when I am fasting and thinking spiritually uplifting thoughts.More slaps than kisses in the movie, said Noel sadly. I told him to watch the original. It is Korean. What irony! Someone copied a Korean original!!Just for that I shall watch the bloody thing.Blingggg is Kingggg launches on the same day as the Beijing Olympics. I'll watch Akshay. You watch the opening ceremony. We'll compare notes later.To all my blog dosts, a belated Happy Friendship Day!

'Society' strikes .... again!!

Yup. The super team of Ashwin Varde and Manjari Bhatnagar have done it yet again in the latest issue of 'Society'. They've gone into wild territory and come up with a couple of red hot scoops. While most celeb publications these days focus on pouring honey over their subjects, 'Society' has boldly talked about a couple of high profile marriages breaking up (Queenie and Raja Dhody),A talented actor ( Saeed Jaffrey) flushing a promising career down the tube, Amar Singh sulking about Parmeshwar Godrej ignoring him... and a real biggie - Jyotiraditya Scindia's marriage to Priya Gaekwad collapsing. Now that's what I call spunky society journalism the way the rest of the world knows it. Not the sickening pr puff pieces that pass for the stuff in other glossies. Taking on big names in the social whirl takes guts. No shortage of those in Nari Hira's stable. And welcome to the club, Pronita Hira ( we are also waiting for the third generation of Hiras to carry on the family biz !! Hint. Hint).Poronita's piece on Saeed Jaffrey showed competence and promise. Nari Hira must be really proud of his young daughter-in-law.
What depresses me the most about current society journalism is the lack of critical standards. Anybody and everybody is described as a 'style icon'. Some trashy socialite buys A Birkin, and she is lauded for her great taste. Come on, guys... all it takes is money to acquire a Birkin. How about some originality? Individuality?
Frankly, the only model with both is Bhavna Sharma.The rest look like tarts or clones.Bhavna is the one - love her assorted looks and the red and luscious lipstick. Keep pouting, girl...