Marathon Man ?? My vote goes to Marathi Mulga Milind Soman. He has fine tuned his body as a lean and mean instrument of fitness. There is not an ounce of fat on that taut frame, and if his fans find that less than attractive, the guy doesn't really give a damn. He has become an obsessisive running machine, and that's how he likes it. He bettered his own record, by slicing a whole half hour off his respectable timing from last year, at the Mumbai Marathon this morning. That is some feat. I get the impression Milind will be spending considerable time on the run this year, and loving every moment of the blood , sweat and tears such discipline requires.
I 'ran' too... well, sort of. As a 'Dream Run' participant, my aim was to raise awareness and funds for CHILDLINE 1098, and we exceeded our targets on both scores. It was a super exhilerating feeling to be a part of something this big - but am glad to report Mumbai pulled it off with aplomb. Hats off to the cops and all the other civic bodies involved in ensuring it was a huge success. The Bandra Sea Link got its due and will henceforth become an integral part of Mumbai's architectural history - an iconic symbol that will be recognised globally. It was a brillaint move to shift one segment of the marathon to the Sealink - a sea of people running across the sea. What a photo op! As for me, I loved every minute of the Marathon... and am gearing myself for the one I hope to run next year.
******************
Milind Soman in the morning... Salman Khan in the afternoon, with John Abraham thrown in between. Sigh!!! It's such a tough life for some women.... hard work.... but someone's got to do it, right? John A is the brand ambassador for the Marathon, so he was right there cheering the runners. I caught up with him in the marquee and since we were meeting after a longish gap ( I remember presenting the 'Model of the Year' to him years ago!) there was much to discuss.He remains the same bloke - a pretty simple and relaxed chap minus those awful starry airs. Today he is in a different league from the rest of his male model contemporaries ( Dino, Arjun, Milind) and has received good reviews for 'New York' - good enough for the likes of Vishal Bhardwaj to notice his potential. " Let's talk," is the current status between these two guys. Which in movie parlance is a pretty positive signal. We discussed the 'objectification' of John in 'Dostana' and he laughed, " I was cool with it. My attitude after hearing the brief was, ' Okay... you want a body... I'll give you a body!" Today Johnnie Boy is in a good space career-wise and otherwise. Since he is a good guy, I'd say he deserves all this and more.
Salman Khan always looks like he has just stepped out of some extraordinary spa after enjoying some amazing pampering! How the hell does he manage to look fresh as a daisy, with his kind of life and schedule?? He was at the Hello! Million race at the race course, and was promoting his film 'Veer' in Salman style. While other heroes shave their heads, distribute dolls\gold, dance in malls, display their resculpted bods, this guy creates mini- history by turning into a jockey and racing with the best. That takes guts. Sure he is a good horseman... but that's for the movies. On the racecourse, he was riding with professionals in front of the public ( no stuntmen around to save his butt if he fell off that mare!). Let's hand it to the guy. I introduced him to the sponsers of the race, David Morris and his wife ( top end Bond Street jewellers who are checking the waters in India ) by saying, " He is much bigger than Brad Pitt." Replied Mrs. Morris, " And far better looking , too!" Salman simpered, pouted and gave her the Salman look, while Jacqueline Fernandes ( just lovely in a pale green Cavalli), tried discreetly to grab his attention. Hmmm .... isn't that how Katrina did it, too??
All in all, it was a pretty hectic day... my muscles are sore, but my brain is in overdrive. More masala tomorrow... it's been a looooooong De!
8
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Parlez Vous Desi??
I wrote this for Sunday Times and it elicited some interesting reactions. Right now, I have the Mumbai Marathon on my mind. I'll be attempting the Dream Run, on behalf of Childline 1098. We are hoping it will soon be converted into a Category1 line, like the police or ambulance services, so that kids in distress can reach out easily without going in search of a PCO.
**********************
I had yet another frenzied day today, but am not complaining. The two interviews I did were both interesting, starting with the one conducted by Krishnan Guru-Murthy, the popular Channel 4 news anchor. The ITN team has been in India doing a series of interviews covering a wide range of subjects. And yes, they did get to meet India's Twitter King, Shashi Tharoor.
The second interview was with Jason Orgdof, who is a free lance writer based in Delhi. He was doing a profile for a British magazine called 'Monocle' - very niche and comparitively new. It's for a slot called 'National Icon'. Well.... I'm flattered to be featuring in it. Whether I deserve to be there or not ???? Hell.... that's not my call!!
*********************
The Bangladeshi fruit seller right outside the Segur Metro station in Paris offered me pineapples at a discount. He was the sole human being on the street, apart from my daughter Arundhati and me. Was it the beastly weather( -8 degrees?), a Sunday syndrome … or both? “ It’s just Paris,” Arundhati explained. The Parisiennes take their Sundays seriously. They also take their breaks ( X’Mas, for example), equally seriously. Nobody works. The city comes to a standstill. And God help you if you need something desperately – something as basic as milk , veggies, bottled water. Nothing stays open, not even your friendly , neighbourhood grocer – unless that person is Korean\Desi. I looked at the scrawny Bangladeshi dressed like an abominable snowman, shivering in his inadequate , thin winter coat, with a tattered muffler around his neck, the icy wind cutting easily into his threadbare gear, and wondered what could have driven him so far away from home? If it was poverty and hunger, well, he looked undernourished and poor standing forlornly on that pavement, waiting for a stray commuter to pick up a pineapple or two. He was a regular there, my daughter told me ( she lives in Paris), and she often bought fruit from him, more out of a feeling of kinship than even the competitive pricing ( how much can one save on a pineapple, anyway?). Strangely enough, they spoke French with one another. I heard the exchange and was most amused. The man knew Bangla, but no English. His French, as it turned out, was pretty good. I was curious about his immigrant status and wanted to ask him whether he had his paper work in place, but my daughter’s fingers were beginning to turn purple in the cold. “It is none of your business”, she hissed, and we swiftly moved on with a pineapple we weren’t going to eat.
A couple of blocks away, I had frequently spotted two homeless drunks who had taken over a small corner of the pavement and made it their personal space. Whenever we passed them, they’d be swigging from a bottle of wine, smoking cigarettes and chatting happily. They looked like they had not a care in the world – perhaps they didn’t! The state paid for the booze and ciggies ( indirectly), and if they needed medical attention, the state paid for that as well. There are thousands of such people living on the streets of Paris at government expense. The tax payers hate them, but there’s little anybody can do with the growing numbers of these shelterless people. Beggars don’t fall into this category – and there are many of those, as well. At least, the Bangladeshi was trying to earn a living.
‘Le Crise’ (The Crisis) as the recession is referred to, is talked about constantly, but going by the hordes flocking into Galleries Lafayette and buying, buying, buying, there was no evidence of this ‘crise’. “ Tourists,” sniffed a BoBo ( an amazing category representing a subculture known as the ‘bohemian bourgeoisie’). “ Tourists,” in French, is almost an insult. They bring in the bucks, but locals shun them and the places they frequent. Most of the old -fashioned traditional French restaurants cater exclusively to these despised creatures, since the French themselves cannot afford these pricey places ( remember, le crise?) any more. This leads to much resentment, even at small bakeries which serve the best breads ( bread, is a religion in France), which are steeply priced ( Marie Antoinette was right – cakes are cheaper!). For the same reason, nobody takes taxis. “Too expensive….” the locals shrug, while freezing their butts off waiting for the metro. Pennies, sorry, centimes, are diligently counted before buying even a single macaroon. Oh…forget about owning a car. Especially an expensive car. “ People here are too jealous,” explained a beautiful tv anchor over a New Year’s day dinner, adding, “ They see a fancy car, and something happens inside them – they’ll go to any extent to damage its sides with keys, or even slash the tyres.” She rolled her eyes skywards before concluding, “ The French love to suffer and like feeling guilty about wealth.” Other guests at the table nodded in agreement and looked exceedingly morose. What an admission!
What about the celebrated ‘Joie de Vivre?”. What about the Great French Lover? What about excess and hedonism, for god’s sake?? That question led to much shrugging and sighing. I prepared myself for another round of ‘Le Crise’ conversation. I almost refused the next glass of champagne. But just as suddenly, everybody cheered up – a basket of freshly baked bread had arrived. We cooed over the loaves and chorused our approval. The lights show at the Eiffel Tower was on right outside the French ( what else?) windows of the apartment . Even though our hosts felt the hourly illumination was a colossal waste of tax payers’ money, it was agreed the wretched tourists (me!!) loved it.
As we trudged home ( didn’t dare take a cab, in case the hosts were watching!), I thought of the shivering Bangladeshi fruit seller once again. I sincerely hope Le Crise treats him better in 2010.C’est la vie…
**********************
I had yet another frenzied day today, but am not complaining. The two interviews I did were both interesting, starting with the one conducted by Krishnan Guru-Murthy, the popular Channel 4 news anchor. The ITN team has been in India doing a series of interviews covering a wide range of subjects. And yes, they did get to meet India's Twitter King, Shashi Tharoor.
The second interview was with Jason Orgdof, who is a free lance writer based in Delhi. He was doing a profile for a British magazine called 'Monocle' - very niche and comparitively new. It's for a slot called 'National Icon'. Well.... I'm flattered to be featuring in it. Whether I deserve to be there or not ???? Hell.... that's not my call!!
*********************
The Bangladeshi fruit seller right outside the Segur Metro station in Paris offered me pineapples at a discount. He was the sole human being on the street, apart from my daughter Arundhati and me. Was it the beastly weather( -8 degrees?), a Sunday syndrome … or both? “ It’s just Paris,” Arundhati explained. The Parisiennes take their Sundays seriously. They also take their breaks ( X’Mas, for example), equally seriously. Nobody works. The city comes to a standstill. And God help you if you need something desperately – something as basic as milk , veggies, bottled water. Nothing stays open, not even your friendly , neighbourhood grocer – unless that person is Korean\Desi. I looked at the scrawny Bangladeshi dressed like an abominable snowman, shivering in his inadequate , thin winter coat, with a tattered muffler around his neck, the icy wind cutting easily into his threadbare gear, and wondered what could have driven him so far away from home? If it was poverty and hunger, well, he looked undernourished and poor standing forlornly on that pavement, waiting for a stray commuter to pick up a pineapple or two. He was a regular there, my daughter told me ( she lives in Paris), and she often bought fruit from him, more out of a feeling of kinship than even the competitive pricing ( how much can one save on a pineapple, anyway?). Strangely enough, they spoke French with one another. I heard the exchange and was most amused. The man knew Bangla, but no English. His French, as it turned out, was pretty good. I was curious about his immigrant status and wanted to ask him whether he had his paper work in place, but my daughter’s fingers were beginning to turn purple in the cold. “It is none of your business”, she hissed, and we swiftly moved on with a pineapple we weren’t going to eat.
A couple of blocks away, I had frequently spotted two homeless drunks who had taken over a small corner of the pavement and made it their personal space. Whenever we passed them, they’d be swigging from a bottle of wine, smoking cigarettes and chatting happily. They looked like they had not a care in the world – perhaps they didn’t! The state paid for the booze and ciggies ( indirectly), and if they needed medical attention, the state paid for that as well. There are thousands of such people living on the streets of Paris at government expense. The tax payers hate them, but there’s little anybody can do with the growing numbers of these shelterless people. Beggars don’t fall into this category – and there are many of those, as well. At least, the Bangladeshi was trying to earn a living.
‘Le Crise’ (The Crisis) as the recession is referred to, is talked about constantly, but going by the hordes flocking into Galleries Lafayette and buying, buying, buying, there was no evidence of this ‘crise’. “ Tourists,” sniffed a BoBo ( an amazing category representing a subculture known as the ‘bohemian bourgeoisie’). “ Tourists,” in French, is almost an insult. They bring in the bucks, but locals shun them and the places they frequent. Most of the old -fashioned traditional French restaurants cater exclusively to these despised creatures, since the French themselves cannot afford these pricey places ( remember, le crise?) any more. This leads to much resentment, even at small bakeries which serve the best breads ( bread, is a religion in France), which are steeply priced ( Marie Antoinette was right – cakes are cheaper!). For the same reason, nobody takes taxis. “Too expensive….” the locals shrug, while freezing their butts off waiting for the metro. Pennies, sorry, centimes, are diligently counted before buying even a single macaroon. Oh…forget about owning a car. Especially an expensive car. “ People here are too jealous,” explained a beautiful tv anchor over a New Year’s day dinner, adding, “ They see a fancy car, and something happens inside them – they’ll go to any extent to damage its sides with keys, or even slash the tyres.” She rolled her eyes skywards before concluding, “ The French love to suffer and like feeling guilty about wealth.” Other guests at the table nodded in agreement and looked exceedingly morose. What an admission!
What about the celebrated ‘Joie de Vivre?”. What about the Great French Lover? What about excess and hedonism, for god’s sake?? That question led to much shrugging and sighing. I prepared myself for another round of ‘Le Crise’ conversation. I almost refused the next glass of champagne. But just as suddenly, everybody cheered up – a basket of freshly baked bread had arrived. We cooed over the loaves and chorused our approval. The lights show at the Eiffel Tower was on right outside the French ( what else?) windows of the apartment . Even though our hosts felt the hourly illumination was a colossal waste of tax payers’ money, it was agreed the wretched tourists (me!!) loved it.
As we trudged home ( didn’t dare take a cab, in case the hosts were watching!), I thought of the shivering Bangladeshi fruit seller once again. I sincerely hope Le Crise treats him better in 2010.C’est la vie…
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Sushmita Sen - Supermom!!
Blogdosts, I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, and just this morning I saw lovely pics of Ms. Sen leaving the Mumbai High Court, with her new baby. Sushmita looked jubilant and was quoted as saying she hoped to adopt more kids down the line. Little Alisah's eyes were wide open as Mom met the media outside the court. Welcome to the world .... and the spotlight, Baby Alisah!!
**********************
It is customary for columnists to write a year- ender that reviews the months gone by (notice how EVERYONE exclaims, “How time flies! This year just whizzed past my ears.”) and come up with a report card based on supposedly dramatic milestones that define the rapidly fading annus horribilus ( thank you, Queen Elizabeth!). Frankly, what’s gone is gone and nobody really remembers or cares once the countdown to the next year begins at midnight, come 31st December. That’s my experience.So, forget journalistic conventions and read on… I want the last column of 2009 to be upbeat and peppy. Cheerful and jaunty. Like Sushmita Sen. My kind of woman! No. Why be sexist? My kind of person. I mean… look at what she pulled off recently – two beautiful, bouncy babies in one go! One, a human – Alisah, a three- month- old infant she adopted this month. The other, an important beauty pageant franchise that she bid for and now owns – the Miss Universe (
I distinctly recall Sushmita’s triumphant ‘Welcome Home’ party at the Taj Mahal Hotel,to which she’d arrived like a warrior- empress in a horse drawn carriage, grandly greeting the crowds and acknowledging their adulation with a royal wave. She was on top of the world , and there she has remained ever since, through all the turbulence in her personal and private life. Sushmita has the mindset of a born winner, regardless of the circumstances that would daunt the faint-hearted. Formidable and imposing , Sushmita has worn her successes and failures with the same degree of equanimity. This is the quality which makes her special. Which is also why when I was looking for a chief guest to launch my tween book, ‘S’s Secret’ recently, I didn’t think beyond Ms. Sen.Unlike a lot of Bollywood super novas with idiotic attitude, Sushmita has unfailingly engaged with people at all levels with the same degree of warmth and graciousness. Let’s put that down to her sensible, middle class upbringing. Today, she plays the unchallenged Bollywood Diva with aplomb ( her old rival, Aishwarya, has settled a bit too comfortably into the domestic Bachchan Bahurani groove) but continues to remain appealingly grounded and accessible at all times. This level of ‘good behaviour’ is indeed unusual in eccentric\erratic\arrogant showbiz. Her refreshing openness has set new standards in an industry that thrives on subterfuge and fibs. As someone who has survived in showbiz without letting her flops affect her standing, Sushmita represents the new breed of power women in Bollywood – there aren’t too many of them around, no, not even in
2010 is likely to be a pretty sizzling year on all fronts and in all spheres. Who better to represent the mood than our Sush?
Here’s to awesome beginnings, readers. Happy New Year!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Dirty Old Desi Men....
I was not in
Most of the comments are based on the man’s advanced years. A lot of them ( mainly from far younger men) are tinged with envy - “ What does Tiwari eat for breakfast - Viagra?” There is an incredulous, almost jealous tone to those remarks. What that suggests is pretty obvious – howcome he is still getting it up and I am not?” Hardly anybody bothers about the women who have serviced Tiwari – what they feel about their bodies being used by a man old enough to be their Daadu. Sickened ? Or is it just a case of business as usual, and to hell with the fellow’s doddering years? Our revulsion has a lot to do with the fact that at a time of his life when Tiwari ought to be looking towards meeting his maker, he is actually thinking of making out with the neighbourhood wench. Indian society being as rigid as it is, men and women have their life spans cut up neatly into appropriate compartments. Tiwari’s delayed ‘vanvaas’ upsets us. We feel the man has no business to be indulging in carnal affairs when his mind, body and soul should belong to God. Our imposition of these arbitrary ‘laws’ is so peculiarly rigid, that we find it impossible to accommodate an older man’s libido. Come on….let’s be honest, women are revolted at the thought of sleeping with a vintage model. And men are way too jealous of his performance! Everybody hates Tiwari for not conforming to society’s set definitions and standards.Period.
Strange and annoying as it is, we have ourselves to blame. There will always be a neighbourhood Tiwari leching away at nubile girls. And there will always be a set of highly offended auntyjis and unclejis ready to condemn such a person. Rarely will we spare a thought for the man’s unwilling bed partners, or even his wife and family. It is as if they are nothing more than bit players who don’t really count. We choose to obsess over the ‘pervert’s’ sexapades instead and wish him a terrible, painful end for committing all those sins. We assume morally superior positions and debate endlessly on what a terrible example he is setting. We talk about the guy’s depravity and decadence. But the bottom line is slightly different. The unspoken emotion is one defined more by awe than shock. In an almost perverse way, there are those who may be secretly saying, “ That dude rocks…!” Horrible, but true. Deal with it.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Sherlock for cynics??
Simple my dear Watson - it didn't work for me!Downey Jr. looked old and haggard. Like Al Pacino after several nights on the town. As for Jude Law, an impossibly good looking fellow, he was packaged like a total, and I'm sorry to have to say this, wimp. Guy Ritchie has made a guy-film. Perhaps that was his intention. It is such a buddy movie, I felt totally excluded and promptly fell asleep. I swear I did! When I woke up, it was as if I hadn't missed a thing. The dark forces of evil were still doing their bad stuff. The black crow was still cawing ominously, and these two studs were still making eyes at each other and not at the luscious wenches lusting after them. 'Sherlock Holmes' is an unambiguously gay love story and a really whacked out take on the original - from that point of view alone, I found it rather refreshing. The Brit humour and dry, throwaway lines make up for the dumb action and over dramatic sets. As for the background score, come on, it is just so loud and 'seventies!! That too, Bollywood 'seventies ...when the Ramsay Brothers ruled with their horror films. Had it not been Guy Ritchie and those BIG names involved in this super production, I doubt Sherlock Holmes would have been such a huge hit! Frankly, I vastly prefer the ancient version. And I am hoping Downey Jr. will go back to edgy, contemporary roles and save his passion for a worthier love interest than Jude Law!
Oh, the movie I watched the previous night was 'Pyaar Impossible' and you are going to hate me for saying this, but I enjoyed it a whole lot more than this over hyped blockbuster. For one, I like Priyanka Chopra - she is by far the most versatile and intelligent actress in Bollywood. Compare her role as Alisha in 'Pyaar' to the maharashtrian character she played opposite Shahid Kapoor recently. Is it the same person ?? Well... it doesn't matter a damn to me that 'Pyaar...' is a super flop. Or that 'Sherlock ...' is a super hit. Personal opinions should be separated from box office returns or even other people's reviews. At the end of the day, a movie is about an emotional experience - if that experience is satisfactory, even on an illogical level, well then, who can contradict or challenge it?? The pundits?? And who are these pundits anyway? People like you and me , whose jobs it is to assess and critique movies for a living. Alas, not all pundits are independent thinkers. There are various considerations at play when reviews get written, at least that's how it is in India. 'Pyaar Impossible' had an appealing premise - geeks\losers can win the girl of their dreams after all, in the face of stiff competition ( if Dino Morea can be considered competition!). It was pretty brave of Uday Chopra to write such a role for himself. He is a star son, and the way it works in Bollywood is to prop up a beta even if that beta is a dead horse that can't be flogged any further. Sensibly, Uday came up with a script that didn't require any 'herogiri' of the cliche kind. The songs were well picturised... and as for Priyanka - I thought she looked like a million bucks and delivered her lines with finesse. Yes, the story is ludicrous and completely annoying in parts ( hello! do ladies in Singapore go half -naked to work?). There are holes as gigantic as Mumbai manholes in the story line, and it is obvious nobody in that set- up has ever experienced modern corporate life. It gets from absurd to pathetic... but you know what?? It hardly matters. This is Bollywood, folks! Sab chalta hai..... even something as impossible as this dud.
Oh, the movie I watched the previous night was 'Pyaar Impossible' and you are going to hate me for saying this, but I enjoyed it a whole lot more than this over hyped blockbuster. For one, I like Priyanka Chopra - she is by far the most versatile and intelligent actress in Bollywood. Compare her role as Alisha in 'Pyaar' to the maharashtrian character she played opposite Shahid Kapoor recently. Is it the same person ?? Well... it doesn't matter a damn to me that 'Pyaar...' is a super flop. Or that 'Sherlock ...' is a super hit. Personal opinions should be separated from box office returns or even other people's reviews. At the end of the day, a movie is about an emotional experience - if that experience is satisfactory, even on an illogical level, well then, who can contradict or challenge it?? The pundits?? And who are these pundits anyway? People like you and me , whose jobs it is to assess and critique movies for a living. Alas, not all pundits are independent thinkers. There are various considerations at play when reviews get written, at least that's how it is in India. 'Pyaar Impossible' had an appealing premise - geeks\losers can win the girl of their dreams after all, in the face of stiff competition ( if Dino Morea can be considered competition!). It was pretty brave of Uday Chopra to write such a role for himself. He is a star son, and the way it works in Bollywood is to prop up a beta even if that beta is a dead horse that can't be flogged any further. Sensibly, Uday came up with a script that didn't require any 'herogiri' of the cliche kind. The songs were well picturised... and as for Priyanka - I thought she looked like a million bucks and delivered her lines with finesse. Yes, the story is ludicrous and completely annoying in parts ( hello! do ladies in Singapore go half -naked to work?). There are holes as gigantic as Mumbai manholes in the story line, and it is obvious nobody in that set- up has ever experienced modern corporate life. It gets from absurd to pathetic... but you know what?? It hardly matters. This is Bollywood, folks! Sab chalta hai..... even something as impossible as this dud.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
So who is the idiot, huh???
Okay. I saw it. And liked it. Liked. Not loved. Four stars. That too, post-popcorn when my mood is generally good. '3 Idiots' worked brilliantly till the interval. After that it went downhill at a frightening speed - all that rona dhona, melodrama, runaway bride, sacrifice, and the usual formulaic rubbish Bollywood continues to peddle film after film. It isn't in the Munnabhai league, but pretty close. Same combo, after all. Casting is key in such films, and here it is at its most inspiring. Imagine getting actors in their thirties and forties to play college students convincingly. But when those actors are of this calibre, who cares about their biological age?All three were wonderful, with Aamir scoring the top grades, just like his character in the movie. Though frankly, in most scenes where he is pitched against his bete noire from Uganda, the bete noire wins. I don't know the actor's name, but he is a real find. As is Milimetre who grows into Centimetre.
Boman as Virus hams it up to the hilt, but compensates for it all when he dances a spontaneous jig much to Kareena's delight. Enough of all that. Having said all this good stuff, here comes the bummer - the hospital scenes featuring Sharman Joshi in a coma, went on forever. And that ludicrous bachcha delivery scene in which Aamir brings a baby into the world using a vacuum cleaner as a suction pump was the absolute pits! I also hated the sequence of the paralytic father being rushed to the hospital sandwiched between Kareena-Aamir on a scooter. Why so many hospital scenes.... and has Kareena taken a vaada to play a doctor in every film? Does parking a pair of trendy\nerdy spectacles over her pert nose convince audiences?I could have done with less toilet humour too, and all the underpants featured in the movie look like they were bought wholesale from the same supplier.
Now comes the BIG one, since I know some of you want my take on the issue: Did I think Chetan Bhagat's charge of being denied appropriate credit (which he went to town with against the film makers) , justified?? Totally! A big 'Yes'. And no, I haven't read the book. But I refuse to 'shut up' like Chopra wanted that reporter to. Since I was away and have missed the fireworks, let me just say this is no way to treat the author - blink and Bhagat's name was gone! Even Dia Mirza received more prominence, and I could have sworn she wasn't even in the film!! Was she?????
Chetan's name should have been right up there where it rightfully belongs when the credits rolled at the start of the film. The line could have said, " Based on Chetan Bhagat's book 'Five Point Something'." That would have been fair. Instead I noticed the credit for 'story' went to someone else. Story, not screenplay. That's not on. Perhaps Chetan should have got himself a sharper lawyer . For, if I know how Bollywood works, Bhagat will be instantly blacklisted by the Biggies who run the show, and get a bad reputation as a 'troublemaker'. He can go to town declaring his love for Aamir and the rest of the gang now. But the damage is done. Chetan may have to kiss his big Bollywood dream goodbye. Or kiss a** bigtime. Both, lousy options. That would be a real pity. His concept was fresh, original and a winner. Unlike most of the filched, recycled stuff Bollywood banks on. Which leaves me wondering who the real idiot is. Bhagat has been short changed. Period. And no amount of money can make up for what he has suffered as a writer. What could be worse for any creative person than to have somebody else steal the credit for a hugely successful project? Such a bloody shame. But maybe aallll eeeeez well, after all???
Boman as Virus hams it up to the hilt, but compensates for it all when he dances a spontaneous jig much to Kareena's delight. Enough of all that. Having said all this good stuff, here comes the bummer - the hospital scenes featuring Sharman Joshi in a coma, went on forever. And that ludicrous bachcha delivery scene in which Aamir brings a baby into the world using a vacuum cleaner as a suction pump was the absolute pits! I also hated the sequence of the paralytic father being rushed to the hospital sandwiched between Kareena-Aamir on a scooter. Why so many hospital scenes.... and has Kareena taken a vaada to play a doctor in every film? Does parking a pair of trendy\nerdy spectacles over her pert nose convince audiences?I could have done with less toilet humour too, and all the underpants featured in the movie look like they were bought wholesale from the same supplier.
Now comes the BIG one, since I know some of you want my take on the issue: Did I think Chetan Bhagat's charge of being denied appropriate credit (which he went to town with against the film makers) , justified?? Totally! A big 'Yes'. And no, I haven't read the book. But I refuse to 'shut up' like Chopra wanted that reporter to. Since I was away and have missed the fireworks, let me just say this is no way to treat the author - blink and Bhagat's name was gone! Even Dia Mirza received more prominence, and I could have sworn she wasn't even in the film!! Was she?????
Chetan's name should have been right up there where it rightfully belongs when the credits rolled at the start of the film. The line could have said, " Based on Chetan Bhagat's book 'Five Point Something'." That would have been fair. Instead I noticed the credit for 'story' went to someone else. Story, not screenplay. That's not on. Perhaps Chetan should have got himself a sharper lawyer . For, if I know how Bollywood works, Bhagat will be instantly blacklisted by the Biggies who run the show, and get a bad reputation as a 'troublemaker'. He can go to town declaring his love for Aamir and the rest of the gang now. But the damage is done. Chetan may have to kiss his big Bollywood dream goodbye. Or kiss a** bigtime. Both, lousy options. That would be a real pity. His concept was fresh, original and a winner. Unlike most of the filched, recycled stuff Bollywood banks on. Which leaves me wondering who the real idiot is. Bhagat has been short changed. Period. And no amount of money can make up for what he has suffered as a writer. What could be worse for any creative person than to have somebody else steal the credit for a hugely successful project? Such a bloody shame. But maybe aallll eeeeez well, after all???
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Mumbai!!! How I missed you!!
Yup! I am back in Mumbai.... and it feels goooooood! I left my daughter's tiny flat in the 15th arrondisement at 4.30a.m. It was -8 degrees. My brain was frozen. So was my heart - but that had nothing to do with the cold. I was leaving my tiny sparrow alone in her nest, and it was hard. Very hard. My husband sitting in Mumbai was tracking my progress diligently. Did the cab arrive on time? Had I checked in without any problem( Paris check-ins are the WORST!). Was the flight to Zurich delayed or on schedule?? I was flying SWISS after decades. I am happy to report it was a very pleasant experience, barring what is internationally known as the ' Hindu Meal'. Inedible is a polite word for it ( mine was boiled rice with boiled carrots and boiled beans). Why had I ordered it? Huge mistake.
So, this is what I did as soon as I arrived in Aamchi Mumbai - I drove straight to the amazing idli-dosa walla at Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan near Chowpatty, and attacked the hing-heavy sambar. I knew I was home!
Frankly, I had deliberately disconnected from desi news, except for checking headlines sporadically on various sites. I had decided to switch off from my 'Mumbai self ' during those 10 days and give the daily information overload a rest. I wanted some much needed down time and am glad to report I got it. Yes, even in those freezing temperatures with our fingers turning purple each time we took off our gloves.
On my last night in Paris, Arundhati treated me to a fancy evening since she won't be here for my birthday. She'd already gifted me a flacon of 'Joy' by Jean Patou, a fragrance she associates with me and her childhood. So, the two of us set off happily enough, bundled up like eskimos in layers and layers of wool ( no Doodunes for either of us. I don't care how trendy they are this season, nor how warm they keep wearers, they are ungainly and ugly). First stop - 'Costes', second stop 'Cafe de l'Homme', third stop Trocadero. The gigantic, waning moon peeping over the Eiffel Tower looked unreal. But then, that's also the magic of Paris - nearly everything looks unreal - it is just too beautiful to be true.
Back in Mumbai, I looked affectionately at our far-from-perfect metropolis. Its shabbiness made it more endearing! Oh, the comfort of our desi chaos - how I love it!! Slimey baggage handlers sidling up for 'baksheesh' and offering to 'fix' things at customs ( I had nothing to declare but my genius!! Ha ha!! Chill out, it's a joke, and a take- off on the original ). Noisy relatives outside the terminal creating a familiar din - there was the usual over-loud haggling and deal making with crooked taxiwallas in high pitched, raised voices, as impatient maasis and chachas, spat randomely, while nonchalantly chucking plastic water bottles and other rubbish all over the place. Good old India. Nothing ever changes here. That is its charm.... and curse!
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