Lovely! The holy month of Shraavan (and fasting) coincided with Ramzaan.Two of my close girlfriends, Raeesa Husain and Naazneen Karmali will give me 'upaas' company, though Naazneen did say she wasn't sure about keeping rozaas this year. I love the month of Shraavan - my only regret is that all the best gourmet outings seem to fall during this month, along with three key celebrations - my wedding anniversary,and the birthdays of two children. I love vegetarian food, and consider myself more vegetarian than a meat eater, but after the first few days of feeling virtuous nibbling on beans and carrots, I start missing fish. Mondays are the true tests since I observe a kadak fast. This year two of my daughters have decided to join me, so the three of us are suffering in style. Given that here are weddings galore this month, we feel most deprived, but tell ourselves this annual detox routine is good for the body if not the soul.
Imagine trekking to the Novotel ( Juhu) on Arundhati's birthday , settling down to a sumptuous Chinese banquet ( went straight into heavy duty nostalgia - the Novotel was once Holiday Inn), and watching the others enjoy the creative chef's outstanding preparations. 'Sampan' retains its original charm and menu. The long grain pot rice with shitake mushrooms is an absolute winner. Tonight we'll be at 'KOH' tasting New York based chef Kittychai's new menu. But I am not feeling at all deprived - the chef has been warned there are three vegetarians at the table. And Thai cuisine is versatile enough to circumvent that 'problem'. Fish sauce? Hmmmm. Shall warn him!
Remind me to share my thoughts about Owais Husain's current show, aptly titled 3 WORLDS.
Owais is M.F.Husain's youngest son. I'll try and share some of the images. Failing which, I'll definitely share his poetry. Ciao for now....
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Skimpy Dimpy ki ajeeb kahani...
And to make matters worse, Dimpy's pictures have surfaced on some random porn site. Such is life in the shallow end of a dirty swimming pool.
This appeared in The Week....
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Beating the retreat….Rahul Mahajan style!
Nothing is more telling ( or damaging) in cyber space than instant messaging that mocks a celebrity through clever limericks, as it happened in the aftermath of the ludicrous Rahul Mahajan tamasha. The SMS doing the rounds went like this: “What is Rahul Mahajan’s Facebook status? It reads : ‘Give me sunshine…. Give me rain… give me another wife… to beat up again’.” This was right after wife number 2. Skimpy Dimpy went public with her bruises and bumps which she claimed had been inflicted on her by an enraged Rahul who couldn’t access the locked keypad of her mobile phone. 21- year- old Dimpy from Kolkata managed to escape ( with her phone, of course) in the dead of the night. And what was the first thing she did? She called a tabloid reporter and posed for pictures. She didn’t call the cops and she didn’t file charges. Instead, she invested her time wisely by appearing on countless television channels talking about Rahul’s brutality and wowing publicly that she was done with him and their farcical marriage (solemnized on tv as the finale of a reality show). That was the cue for wife number 1. to join the fray and revisit her own tabloid past in which she too had gone to town flashing her wounds ( no guesses – same man, same tactic). Next to pop up on the small screen was a former girlfriend who spoke languidly about being battered by this brute. All three women took the tabloid route to air their tales of woe. Just as the media campaign was gathering force to go after the villainous man and pack him off to jail (again!), Skimpy Dimpy did an about turn and went back into his arms after damning the ex and hurling accusations at her about phone stalking her wonderful husband. All this would pass for amusing gossip if the issues were less serious. Rahul Mahajan sounds like a serial wife beater. A man whose record for domestic violence ought to be taken note of and addressed. As of now, we seem to be watching a carefully orchestrated audition for yet another mega bucks reality show starring the abusive Rahul and his docile wives, plus sexy ex-es.
If we allow as important a subject as domestic violence to be thus reduced to a perverse form of entertainment, we will be committing nothing short of a crime.A crime against millions of disempowered women in our society who are at the receiving end of the most abominable abuse and remain powerless till the bitter end. Not being dubious celebrities, the media ignores their plight, and families watch helplessly from the sidelines, unable to come to their aid due to social\financial pressure. What is alarming is that the number of abuse cases seems to be climbing, not declining. Women appear to be far more vulnerable today than they were even ten years ago. How come? Take a look at the headlines – stories of stabbing, burning, hitting, battering defenceless wives and girlfriends are on the rise. This nasty phenomenon cuts across class and the easiest targets seem to be young working girls, who are perhaps the prime victims in our cities. Social historians examining the data may have a different point of view, but I believe our society – men , in particular – are simply not ready to accept independent women. When the frustration levels of such insecure men rise, they resort to the one weapon they know most women cannot shield themselves from – physical violence. Urban society expects men to respect the pressures on career women and make the required adjustments, given the financial contribution these ladies make to the family kitty. This doesn’t happen. Unable to deal with a woman who has a mind and money of her own, some men vent their rage by hitting out… secure in the knowledge that most times women will lump it ( women are such suckers!!!).
Perhaps we should revisit some of the more in-your- face reality shows that are raking it in by manipulating our pathetic, vicarious thrills seeking selves. Skimpy Dimpy , Payal Rahtogi or even Monica Bedi were nobodies till they attracted attention on these grotesque shows. More fools us for getting conned. ‘Aal eez welll,’ declared a smug Rahul hugging his estranged-for-a-day wife.Oh yeah? Tell that to the marines – better still, announce ‘Rahul Ka Samjhauta’. We deserve nothing better.
This appeared in The Week....
*************
Beating the retreat….Rahul Mahajan style!
Nothing is more telling ( or damaging) in cyber space than instant messaging that mocks a celebrity through clever limericks, as it happened in the aftermath of the ludicrous Rahul Mahajan tamasha. The SMS doing the rounds went like this: “What is Rahul Mahajan’s Facebook status? It reads : ‘Give me sunshine…. Give me rain… give me another wife… to beat up again’.” This was right after wife number 2. Skimpy Dimpy went public with her bruises and bumps which she claimed had been inflicted on her by an enraged Rahul who couldn’t access the locked keypad of her mobile phone. 21- year- old Dimpy from Kolkata managed to escape ( with her phone, of course) in the dead of the night. And what was the first thing she did? She called a tabloid reporter and posed for pictures. She didn’t call the cops and she didn’t file charges. Instead, she invested her time wisely by appearing on countless television channels talking about Rahul’s brutality and wowing publicly that she was done with him and their farcical marriage (solemnized on tv as the finale of a reality show). That was the cue for wife number 1. to join the fray and revisit her own tabloid past in which she too had gone to town flashing her wounds ( no guesses – same man, same tactic). Next to pop up on the small screen was a former girlfriend who spoke languidly about being battered by this brute. All three women took the tabloid route to air their tales of woe. Just as the media campaign was gathering force to go after the villainous man and pack him off to jail (again!), Skimpy Dimpy did an about turn and went back into his arms after damning the ex and hurling accusations at her about phone stalking her wonderful husband. All this would pass for amusing gossip if the issues were less serious. Rahul Mahajan sounds like a serial wife beater. A man whose record for domestic violence ought to be taken note of and addressed. As of now, we seem to be watching a carefully orchestrated audition for yet another mega bucks reality show starring the abusive Rahul and his docile wives, plus sexy ex-es.
If we allow as important a subject as domestic violence to be thus reduced to a perverse form of entertainment, we will be committing nothing short of a crime.A crime against millions of disempowered women in our society who are at the receiving end of the most abominable abuse and remain powerless till the bitter end. Not being dubious celebrities, the media ignores their plight, and families watch helplessly from the sidelines, unable to come to their aid due to social\financial pressure. What is alarming is that the number of abuse cases seems to be climbing, not declining. Women appear to be far more vulnerable today than they were even ten years ago. How come? Take a look at the headlines – stories of stabbing, burning, hitting, battering defenceless wives and girlfriends are on the rise. This nasty phenomenon cuts across class and the easiest targets seem to be young working girls, who are perhaps the prime victims in our cities. Social historians examining the data may have a different point of view, but I believe our society – men , in particular – are simply not ready to accept independent women. When the frustration levels of such insecure men rise, they resort to the one weapon they know most women cannot shield themselves from – physical violence. Urban society expects men to respect the pressures on career women and make the required adjustments, given the financial contribution these ladies make to the family kitty. This doesn’t happen. Unable to deal with a woman who has a mind and money of her own, some men vent their rage by hitting out… secure in the knowledge that most times women will lump it ( women are such suckers!!!).
Perhaps we should revisit some of the more in-your- face reality shows that are raking it in by manipulating our pathetic, vicarious thrills seeking selves. Skimpy Dimpy , Payal Rahtogi or even Monica Bedi were nobodies till they attracted attention on these grotesque shows. More fools us for getting conned. ‘Aal eez welll,’ declared a smug Rahul hugging his estranged-for-a-day wife.Oh yeah? Tell that to the marines – better still, announce ‘Rahul Ka Samjhauta’. We deserve nothing better.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Reality check for Dev Patel
I read Dev Patel's comments regarding racism in Hollywood with great interest. What our Bachchoo Patel has failed to understand is that Hollywood is almost completely controlled by Jews and their white associates. There really are no roles for Asians and that's it! How many roles would Bollywood offer Tom Cruise ( if they could afford him in the first place?). The poor Patel boy must have got really carried away after the world wide success of 'Slumdog Millionaire' and expected Hollywood agents to line up with hot scripts for him to pick. Someone should have told him gently... very gently... that Boyle cast him in the movie because it was a great fit - that's it. Patel is not a matinee idol and no matter how talented he is, his choice of roles will remain restricted to ( as he has accurately figured), terrorist, cab driver, smart geek. It really doesn't get much better than that. He is naively hoping that casting directors will be less focused on colour - dream on, darling. Even the great Omar Sharif had to look for a regular day job once Hollywood was done with him.
Which is why we must respect our top stars for not crawling all the way to Hollywood, begging for breaks. If Hollywood has nothing substantial to offer SRK, Bachchan, Salman and Aamir - it is Hollywood's loss. These guys are superstars in Bollywood with a fan base of millions across the world. Why should they settle for stereotypical roles designed to project Asians in a certain light ( I am not using the word 'negative'). Poor Patel. He is really stuck - like the proverbial dhobi ka kutta - neither here nor there. I mean, Bollywood isn't queuing up to sign him, either. If you ask me, the smartest 'import' around is 'Omi' - the Chatur from 3 Idiots. He figured out fast enough his future is here. Today the guy anchors tv shows, has bagged several desi roles, lost weight, is losing his accent.... SMART! Perhaps Patel's new film, 'The Last Airbender', will do the trick. But hey - it doesn't help the cause if Patel keeps up the racist charge against Hollywood honchos. The doors will slam on his face real hard. Then what? Taiwanese cinema , maybe?
Which is why we must respect our top stars for not crawling all the way to Hollywood, begging for breaks. If Hollywood has nothing substantial to offer SRK, Bachchan, Salman and Aamir - it is Hollywood's loss. These guys are superstars in Bollywood with a fan base of millions across the world. Why should they settle for stereotypical roles designed to project Asians in a certain light ( I am not using the word 'negative'). Poor Patel. He is really stuck - like the proverbial dhobi ka kutta - neither here nor there. I mean, Bollywood isn't queuing up to sign him, either. If you ask me, the smartest 'import' around is 'Omi' - the Chatur from 3 Idiots. He figured out fast enough his future is here. Today the guy anchors tv shows, has bagged several desi roles, lost weight, is losing his accent.... SMART! Perhaps Patel's new film, 'The Last Airbender', will do the trick. But hey - it doesn't help the cause if Patel keeps up the racist charge against Hollywood honchos. The doors will slam on his face real hard. Then what? Taiwanese cinema , maybe?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
CWG : Bottoms Up!!!
GUYS. i HAVE HAD AN INSANE WEEK.THE WEEKEND IS LOOKING EQUALLY NUTS.MORE TONIGHT .... BUT DEFINITELY TOMORROW.
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Let the real Games begin…ha ha ha
Let’s call it the best bum deal in the world! Going by reports CWG athletes will be completing their daily ablutions in right royal style ( though, most of today’s kadka royals cannot afford such absurdities ). Toilet paper rolls at 4,000 bucks a pop, are what will define the stink created by the corruption corroding the prestigious Commonwealth Games. People may eventually forget the treadmills , taxis and poorly finished surfaces. But who can ever get over Kalmadi and Co placing orders for the priciest butt cleaning paper in the world? Scraping the bottom of the barrel….? Eventually it was the infamous ‘Let them eat cakes…” quote that got Maria Antoinette into big trouble. She, poor lady, had her head chopped off.But here in India, heads never roll… the only thing that ever does, is currency. So why are we feigning surprise at what’s going on? Is it the monumental scale that’s getting to us? As if to say, ‘Thoda thoda corruption is fine. Chalta hai. But this is too much, yaar!” It is this staggering and brazen flouting of all rules that has finally made us sit up and demand explanations. Frankly, it’s a bit too late in the day to do anything about the gargantuan mess. Let’s face it - what are the options? Scrap the bloody Games and book the culprits? That’s not going to happen. Sorry to bring in a sidetrack ( as they say in Bollywood), but has anything of consequence happened to the top bracket star cast of the IPL saga? Similarly, in this sordid drama too, a lot of noise will be made across news channels. Heavy duty panelists will hold forth. A couple of sting operations may get the sluggish TRPs going into overdrive, there will be a few more exposes …. finito. All of this is seen as entertainment of a nasty kind - a night cap that helps viewers sleep better. We go to bed thinking, “Oh good! Something is being done, after all. Let’s see how those rascals get out of this mess.” By the next morning, once reality kicks in, we know it was a particularly grim midsummer night’s dream. And even with more and more dirty details emerging from those clogged toilets err, CWG offices, Kalmadi and Co will still be around crowing about their myriad achievements. Besides, what’s the point in sacking him at this stage? That’s hardly going to salvage the doomed Games. Or get back our money.
I have a better suggestion for all those fat cats who have traipsed around the world at tax payers’ expense looking for the softest toilet paper : Why don’t we push them onto those high end 10 lakhs a grunt treadmills and get them to sweat away their culpability? It would be in the fitness of things, surely. Let them be the ones to twist their ankles on poorly surfaced tracks. Why not use them as guinea pigs to check out the various facilities and risk their lives under crumbling roofs? Let the officials supervising synchronized swimming with just three participants training in America, get into the deep end of the pool themselves to make up the numbers. Why not televise Darbari’s open darbar as he explains all the wheels within wheels and deals within deals – as a reality show, it would give Salman Khan’s latest gig a run for its money.As for those flower pots bought for a staggering 30crores ( money plants , suddenly got a new meaning), since they have been dubbed a security risk, perhaps our weight lifters can put them to some use, unless of course, an 80 crores order for dumb bells ( diamond studded and made out of pure gold ) is already in place . Now what do we do with the substandard 14 synthetic surfaces at the R.K.Khanna Tennis Complex? Why not chop them up and sell them at Mumbai’s Chor Bazar as imported from Australia carpets? That way, we’ll be able to recover a part of the monumental cost. In fact, we in India excel at recycling any damn thing and this is our opportunity to do so – nearly everything we have paid the top buck for has the potential for reuse ( except the toilet paper). Maybe that was the whole idea. Maybe the shopping list has already gone out to interested parties to submit tenders. Because that’s us – geniuses when it comes to making money several times over from the same product.
The real fault lies with the name of the games. Who told the organizers to call them ‘Common Wealth Games’ in the first place?Why blame our officials for taking that literally? It is not their fault if they thought the ‘wealth’ was indeed ‘common’ – and decided to share it generously with family and friends. Now look at all the misunderstanding that has caused! Hardly any time left, and there is still some wealth that remains to be shared. Indian tax payers are most understanding. They realize it is a matter of national prestige. They won’t mind if some more funds are allocated at this stage. They also won’t say a word if the Games do get cancelled and the insurance companies refuse to pay up. Our citizens are asli patriots , “ My country first…” they vow,even as ficticious Swiss and British companies pop out of the woodwork and nimble officers pole vault over damaging evidence. One thing has been established clearly during these Games – Kalmadi and his cronies can create new world records for Hurdles, Long Jump and High Jump. They have excelled in all three and are getting ready for the decathlon. But it is the stamina required of a determined long distance runner that will eventually provide a few key answers to investigators. That is, if anyone is at all serious about getting to the bottom ( Oooooops! Wrong word) of this scandal.
One question ; Now that India has discovered toilet paper, what happens to the lowly lota???
**************
Let the real Games begin…ha ha ha
Let’s call it the best bum deal in the world! Going by reports CWG athletes will be completing their daily ablutions in right royal style ( though, most of today’s kadka royals cannot afford such absurdities ). Toilet paper rolls at 4,000 bucks a pop, are what will define the stink created by the corruption corroding the prestigious Commonwealth Games. People may eventually forget the treadmills , taxis and poorly finished surfaces. But who can ever get over Kalmadi and Co placing orders for the priciest butt cleaning paper in the world? Scraping the bottom of the barrel….? Eventually it was the infamous ‘Let them eat cakes…” quote that got Maria Antoinette into big trouble. She, poor lady, had her head chopped off.But here in India, heads never roll… the only thing that ever does, is currency. So why are we feigning surprise at what’s going on? Is it the monumental scale that’s getting to us? As if to say, ‘Thoda thoda corruption is fine. Chalta hai. But this is too much, yaar!” It is this staggering and brazen flouting of all rules that has finally made us sit up and demand explanations. Frankly, it’s a bit too late in the day to do anything about the gargantuan mess. Let’s face it - what are the options? Scrap the bloody Games and book the culprits? That’s not going to happen. Sorry to bring in a sidetrack ( as they say in Bollywood), but has anything of consequence happened to the top bracket star cast of the IPL saga? Similarly, in this sordid drama too, a lot of noise will be made across news channels. Heavy duty panelists will hold forth. A couple of sting operations may get the sluggish TRPs going into overdrive, there will be a few more exposes …. finito. All of this is seen as entertainment of a nasty kind - a night cap that helps viewers sleep better. We go to bed thinking, “Oh good! Something is being done, after all. Let’s see how those rascals get out of this mess.” By the next morning, once reality kicks in, we know it was a particularly grim midsummer night’s dream. And even with more and more dirty details emerging from those clogged toilets err, CWG offices, Kalmadi and Co will still be around crowing about their myriad achievements. Besides, what’s the point in sacking him at this stage? That’s hardly going to salvage the doomed Games. Or get back our money.
I have a better suggestion for all those fat cats who have traipsed around the world at tax payers’ expense looking for the softest toilet paper : Why don’t we push them onto those high end 10 lakhs a grunt treadmills and get them to sweat away their culpability? It would be in the fitness of things, surely. Let them be the ones to twist their ankles on poorly surfaced tracks. Why not use them as guinea pigs to check out the various facilities and risk their lives under crumbling roofs? Let the officials supervising synchronized swimming with just three participants training in America, get into the deep end of the pool themselves to make up the numbers. Why not televise Darbari’s open darbar as he explains all the wheels within wheels and deals within deals – as a reality show, it would give Salman Khan’s latest gig a run for its money.As for those flower pots bought for a staggering 30crores ( money plants , suddenly got a new meaning), since they have been dubbed a security risk, perhaps our weight lifters can put them to some use, unless of course, an 80 crores order for dumb bells ( diamond studded and made out of pure gold ) is already in place . Now what do we do with the substandard 14 synthetic surfaces at the R.K.Khanna Tennis Complex? Why not chop them up and sell them at Mumbai’s Chor Bazar as imported from Australia carpets? That way, we’ll be able to recover a part of the monumental cost. In fact, we in India excel at recycling any damn thing and this is our opportunity to do so – nearly everything we have paid the top buck for has the potential for reuse ( except the toilet paper). Maybe that was the whole idea. Maybe the shopping list has already gone out to interested parties to submit tenders. Because that’s us – geniuses when it comes to making money several times over from the same product.
The real fault lies with the name of the games. Who told the organizers to call them ‘Common Wealth Games’ in the first place?Why blame our officials for taking that literally? It is not their fault if they thought the ‘wealth’ was indeed ‘common’ – and decided to share it generously with family and friends. Now look at all the misunderstanding that has caused! Hardly any time left, and there is still some wealth that remains to be shared. Indian tax payers are most understanding. They realize it is a matter of national prestige. They won’t mind if some more funds are allocated at this stage. They also won’t say a word if the Games do get cancelled and the insurance companies refuse to pay up. Our citizens are asli patriots , “ My country first…” they vow,even as ficticious Swiss and British companies pop out of the woodwork and nimble officers pole vault over damaging evidence. One thing has been established clearly during these Games – Kalmadi and his cronies can create new world records for Hurdles, Long Jump and High Jump. They have excelled in all three and are getting ready for the decathlon. But it is the stamina required of a determined long distance runner that will eventually provide a few key answers to investigators. That is, if anyone is at all serious about getting to the bottom ( Oooooops! Wrong word) of this scandal.
One question ; Now that India has discovered toilet paper, what happens to the lowly lota???
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Getting into bed with Britain....
This was written for the Asian Age \ Deccan Chronicle
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Oh I came across this lovely picture with my daughter Avantikka, shot by my darling cousin, ace photographer Gautam Rajadhyaksha
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Dear Mr. Cameron, the natives are restless tonight…
British PM David Cameron is hip, hot and sexy. A little like that other perennial British pin-up – Elizabeth Hurley. What fun! They can be conveniently bracketed in the ‘same same but different’ category given their India connections. Hurley is married to Mr. Bandgala… and it sure looks like Cameron is ready to wear one. What better way to woo those restless natives. All for a good cause , of course! As photo-ops go, his ‘namastey’ in Bangalore made a few front pages. As good p.r.giri goes, his references to national icons and symbols ( SRK, Sachin, curry, lingo) during his Bangalore lecture for 2,000 techies, won him several extra brownie points. Cameron is a smart cookie, and it really was high time the British figured out how the cookie crumbles in India. A steamy Indo-British romance is heavily in the air. So far, we are reasonably pleased with the suitor’s efforts. Cameron is on a mission to woo us – and we aren’t being bashful or coy, either. In these crass and nakedly commercial times, nobody should shy away from discussing lolly. In fact, it should be the number one item on the agenda – money. How much are we going to make after getting into bed with Britain? I’m all for a pre-nup. That’s the bottom line, everything else is secondary. Once those dirty filthy commercial details are taken care of, Manmohan Singh can also praise Lady Gaga, Elton John and their cricket captain. But he must never ever make the mistake of praising British food or else the world will know he is lying.
Courtship rituals vary, but Cameron and his band of merry men ( well, mostly…. there were very few saucy lassies on his team of 90), stayed with a fairly traditional, even predictable script. The mood was ‘Hawk-ish’ – the Rs.5,200 crore deal for advanced jet trainers is in the bag. There were several other ‘farmaishes’ on the British wish list – from UK law firms interested in setting up shop in India,to British banks and supermarket players like Tesco getting down to serious business here. Let’s do a little singalong folks, “ All I want is a deal somewhere…. far away from this cold nightmare…… oh, wouldn’t it be loverly”?? This two-day visit – let’s call it a quickie - spells (and smells of) just one thing – cash. But at least there is no fake attempt at making the whirlwind trip sound like anything other than what it is – a shopping jamboree.
Cameron’s crack team is packed with cuties, too. George Osborne whizzed through Mumbai, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, despite his hysterical schedule. As always, Mumbai’s unchallenged power couple,Parmesh and Adi Godrej pulled out all the stops and showed the visitors what the mega watt Mumbai magic is all about at a marvelously structured dinner party for sixty of their closest and dearest friends – other industrialists, Bollywood stars, fashionistas, socialites, writers, professionals. It was a dazzling line up of the city’s best and brightest, to say nothing of the hottest. Since the dishy under-40 Chancellor of the Exchequer was the star invitee, Mumbai sat up and took notice, giving him the sort of ‘bhav’ generally reserved for Bollywood royalty and nobody else. An invitee who had flown in from Delhi especially for the soiree commented wryly, “ Thank God for Adi and Parmesh. Thank God George’s first impressions of India will be formed at an evening like this, rather than at a stuffy Delhi dinner,where guests often ignore the visiting chief guest and gherao the local politicians present. The Mumbai crowd is so much more blasé and cosmopolitan – the guy can relax and have a great time.” Well, given that gallons of Dom were generously flowing and the dinner table was laden with baked crab and salmon, it must have been very difficult for Georgie Boy to concentrate on biz talk or even believe he was indeed in India. How many times did he pinch himself that night???The enticing stretch of the glittering Queen’s Necklace glittered wickedly beyond the tranquil infinity pool of the Godrej mansion . Ironic! The Queen (Victoria) to whom this ‘necklace’ was dedicated was the Empress of British India at the time! And now every Mumbaikar believes this priceless necklace belongs to him \ her – as it indeed does. Members of Georges’ team were caught ogling the lovely ladies present.The lucky visitors had the chance to feast on enough eye candy to give them a belly ache for weeks. Gorgeous men and women floated around dressed in the most eye popping couture. A mega industrialist’s beautiful wife was sporting a whopper of a diamond ( not less than 40 carats )… and oh-so-casually at that ( over a classic black dress). Everywhere one turned, there was red hot glamour ( starting with the hostess dressed in a figure hugging red Herve Leger). Mercifully, there wasn’t a behenji in sight, as the Dilliwalla observed, while he braced himself for round two of partying in the Capital the following night.
Well, the Big Boys from Britain have successfully pulled off a charm initiative. As a seasoned legal eagle who attended a cruelly timed (7 a.m) breakfast meeting with Osborne , the morning after the night before, commented, “ He made all the right noises and kept repeating, ‘We are here to learn’… that’s a good place to start.” You bet! Especially when you forget to add, “We are here to sell….” Let us watch how it goes once the London Stock Exchange (LSE) and the National Stock Exchange (NSE), make it official.
It is pay back time, buddies. We know how to drive hard bargains and squeeze the testicles of trading partners when needed. Your time begins now - tick tick tick tock . The mouse ran up the clock. Big Ben and Rajabai Tower are the new BFFs in town.
Oye, Lucky, Oye!!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Monicaaaaaa.... O my darling!!
Monicaaaaaa….O my darling…..
The most interesting thing about the nostalgic gangsta film(OUATIM) running to packed houses this week, is its admirable restraint. Most films that fall into this genre go overboard with bodies flying around in an orgy of violence. The relative economy of blood-and-gore shots, or guts spilling all over the screen action, marks ‘Once Upon a time…’ as a more mature version of an old formula. The director shrewdly focuses on - surprise, surprise – relationships!Not just romantic ones ( those are secondary), but the strange, complex and compelling attraction between the two men – Don Sr. and his protégé Don Jr. It skillfully shows how monsters are created when a powerful man invests trust in a brash, younger version of himself, only to regret that fatal decision in the end. Betrayal rather than an expose of syndicated crime in Mumbai, is at the core of this film, Betrayal that costs one man his life. It hardly matters whether the characters are based on real Dons, even if the parallels do make it pretty obvious. For this generation of movie goers suffering from a serious case of an attention deficit syndrome (ADS), either a movie works and is deemed ‘paisa vasool’ or they walk out giving gaalis.Going by the spectacular success of ‘Udaan’ ( word of mouth and nothing else has done it for this film), chances of ‘Once….’ making it commercially as an off beat ‘Guy Film’ are pretty good. Male bonding is a subject that is rarely explored in our films – especially if that bonding goes beyond the standard buddy film (‘Sholay’) format. The contradictory impulses between Sultan ( coiled serpent) Mirza and Shoaib (hungry cheetah) are cleverly balanced by the director. And after a long time, audiences are treated to two passionate love stories, with all the old fashioned flourishes that have all but disappeared from our latest slick and fast paced hits, that shout ‘all style’ but have no soul.In fact, the defiantly anti- romance, anti-emotion approach to modern day love stories is making audiences wonder where pyar has gone. In this movie, it stages a triumphant return. But for me, the highpoint was the item song picturised on Gauhar Khan, where she almost outdoes Helen as she wriggles, sizzles and slithers her way through the unforgettable original, ‘ Monicaaaaaa…. O my darling…”
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It has taken me months to catch up with a film I have been dying to watch. Well… it finally happened. And I am breathless! ‘Natrang’ is Atul Kulkarni’s tour de force. It is one of the most electrifying performances by any actor in recent memory. And the film itself is brilliant. Like ‘Inception’, it forces you to think. And demands respect. Multi- layered, it draws you as much into your own psyche as into the intimate, closed world of ‘Tamasha’, rural Maharashtra’s dominant folk form. Here, tradition dictates that the role of the ‘Nachya’ ( an exaggeratedly effeminate side kick to the tantalising star dancer ), is played by a campy, painted up male actor referred to as ‘Moushi’. Well, the fascinating twist in ‘Natrang’ is that an alpha male, married father of a teenage son, and a sturdy body builder to boot ,is the chosen one. What follows is a lyrical essay on sexual stereotyping. Mocked as a ‘eunuch’ and chased out by the village ( father, wife and son included), it is a cruel, brutal coming to terms with our own deep rooted prejudices, as the protagonist (Atul Kulkarni) battles several demons to find redemption and love finally. Kulkarni reigns supreme as he deconstructs true ‘manliness’ and tells us the meaning of life itself, when sometimes, following your art and heart can cost you everything you hold most precious. Atul’s transformation is a cinematic miracle. Bravo Atul!!!
The most interesting thing about the nostalgic gangsta film(OUATIM) running to packed houses this week, is its admirable restraint. Most films that fall into this genre go overboard with bodies flying around in an orgy of violence. The relative economy of blood-and-gore shots, or guts spilling all over the screen action, marks ‘Once Upon a time…’ as a more mature version of an old formula. The director shrewdly focuses on - surprise, surprise – relationships!Not just romantic ones ( those are secondary), but the strange, complex and compelling attraction between the two men – Don Sr. and his protégé Don Jr. It skillfully shows how monsters are created when a powerful man invests trust in a brash, younger version of himself, only to regret that fatal decision in the end. Betrayal rather than an expose of syndicated crime in Mumbai, is at the core of this film, Betrayal that costs one man his life. It hardly matters whether the characters are based on real Dons, even if the parallels do make it pretty obvious. For this generation of movie goers suffering from a serious case of an attention deficit syndrome (ADS), either a movie works and is deemed ‘paisa vasool’ or they walk out giving gaalis.Going by the spectacular success of ‘Udaan’ ( word of mouth and nothing else has done it for this film), chances of ‘Once….’ making it commercially as an off beat ‘Guy Film’ are pretty good. Male bonding is a subject that is rarely explored in our films – especially if that bonding goes beyond the standard buddy film (‘Sholay’) format. The contradictory impulses between Sultan ( coiled serpent) Mirza and Shoaib (hungry cheetah) are cleverly balanced by the director. And after a long time, audiences are treated to two passionate love stories, with all the old fashioned flourishes that have all but disappeared from our latest slick and fast paced hits, that shout ‘all style’ but have no soul.In fact, the defiantly anti- romance, anti-emotion approach to modern day love stories is making audiences wonder where pyar has gone. In this movie, it stages a triumphant return. But for me, the highpoint was the item song picturised on Gauhar Khan, where she almost outdoes Helen as she wriggles, sizzles and slithers her way through the unforgettable original, ‘ Monicaaaaaa…. O my darling…”
**************
It has taken me months to catch up with a film I have been dying to watch. Well… it finally happened. And I am breathless! ‘Natrang’ is Atul Kulkarni’s tour de force. It is one of the most electrifying performances by any actor in recent memory. And the film itself is brilliant. Like ‘Inception’, it forces you to think. And demands respect. Multi- layered, it draws you as much into your own psyche as into the intimate, closed world of ‘Tamasha’, rural Maharashtra’s dominant folk form. Here, tradition dictates that the role of the ‘Nachya’ ( an exaggeratedly effeminate side kick to the tantalising star dancer ), is played by a campy, painted up male actor referred to as ‘Moushi’. Well, the fascinating twist in ‘Natrang’ is that an alpha male, married father of a teenage son, and a sturdy body builder to boot ,is the chosen one. What follows is a lyrical essay on sexual stereotyping. Mocked as a ‘eunuch’ and chased out by the village ( father, wife and son included), it is a cruel, brutal coming to terms with our own deep rooted prejudices, as the protagonist (Atul Kulkarni) battles several demons to find redemption and love finally. Kulkarni reigns supreme as he deconstructs true ‘manliness’ and tells us the meaning of life itself, when sometimes, following your art and heart can cost you everything you hold most precious. Atul’s transformation is a cinematic miracle. Bravo Atul!!!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Happy Dosti Day!
Promise! These are the final images from Sri Lanka It's a lazy sunday evening. I am postponing what I need to do on a super urgent basis. This is my relaxation hour before I attack my work. The home is unusually quiet. Even Kiara is fast asleep at my feet ( she hates the rains, and we struggle to get her into her doggie raincoat four times a day when she needs to be walked ). Nostalgia has kicked in, and I found myself browsing idly through the Colombo album. This is what I found : The sculpture is of the legendary Architect Bawa. Why the Osama- turban? Dunno. But I like it! The other installation is obvious enough.It was in the lobby of the Hilton, imaginatively put together to mark FIFA. The pelican sculpture is from one of Dobb's gorgeous properties, perhaps The Sun House. It caught Arundhati's fancy and she clicked it - as she has clicked all the other images, too. Like the infinity pool at Kadju House - another boutique hotel I'd mentioned in an earlier post.And there is the final image of the tranquil lagoon at the Hilton, with a swan gliding over the water. Pleasing , soothing stuff to feast ones eyes on and celebrate a special day.Happy Friendship Day, Blogdosts!!!! May our ties become stronger, deeper and more meaningful ! Have a glass of the best and raise a toast to virtual dosti!
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I was going to post my 'Khattaa Meetha' review here, but decided against it. Slightly stale - what do you think????
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