Grousefull-2 - 3 - 4

Inviting applications from any young person who has lost an immediate family member in a terrorist attack.Project Common Bond in the U.S. is looking for you to participate in an 8-day camp in July 2012 ( between the 12th and 20th). Tuesday's Children will be held just outside Boston and is an opportunity for victims to share in collective healing. If you are reading this and are eligible, PLEASE send in your contact details immediately in the Comments space.
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This appeared in Bombay Times today....
Money down the tube….?

When one watches seriously awful movies that go all over the place without going anywhere, it hurts! I watched ‘Housefull-2’ at a reasonably packed multiplex, and was both bewildered and astonished. Why bewildered? Because I actually heard a few people laughing! That too at some of the most ludicrous scenes, like a particularly nasty one in which Mithun Chakraborthy is shown running around a tree with an English maid. Nothing wrong with it…. except that the maid is played by a dwarf. And the offensive ‘joke’ revolves around her physical stature. Surely, as senior an actor as Mithun, could have refused to enact such an insensitive scene? There are enough obligatory messages that assure audiences no animals have been harmed during the shoot, and that cigarette smoking is injurious to health. What about somebody objecting to the cruel projection of people with physical problems. There were several distasteful jibes which are blatantly racist /sexist. Like referring to a dark complexioned man as a negro and implying his wife had slept with a fair complexioned chap to produce their son( Shreyas Talpade).Most of the humour is off-colour and far-from-funny. It’s the vulgar cracks in our movies that need better monitoring. Cracks, that display our deep rooted prejudices so brazenly. Of course, the four over age and over grown ‘boys’ in the film have done their best with the lousy material and put in spirited performances despite the complete absence of any logic or even basic decency. Take the ‘painfully’ long drawn out sequence involving an alligator biting Riteish’s bottom and a python going for Shreyas’s crotch .The absurd movie hurtles along on nothing more than koila gags. In all probability, it will be declared a huge hit. Which will provide the green signal to make Housefull-3. Aaaaargh!
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Finally managed to catch up with Agent Vinod three weeks after its launch. And once again, I was bewildered and amused, but for entirely different reasons.Why had this slick and stylish film been savaged and dismissed? There wasn’t a single dull or clumsy moment and the pace was breathless. Saif retained his positioning as one of the most sophisticated stars in Bollywood, with a witty, tongue-in-cheek performance in the best traditions of international spy thrillers. Who looks for a linear, credible storyline in projects like this? How plausible was Mission Impossible? Apart from Kareena’s saucy nautch girl number, with its overt lesbian moves, everything else in this ambitious film worked brilliantly. Particularly, Saif’s perfectly pitched gay scene with Freddy Khambatta, the prancing airline purser. Most importantly,one can actually see where the big bucks went in ‘Agent Vinod’.The extravagantly shot Karachi wedding sequence was pure eye candy. Still puzzled why the movie has been banned in Pakistan – are our neighbours on an over-active guilt trip??
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But the movie to watch out for is a modest, high concept, small budget quickie titled, ‘Vicky Donor’. I can’t wait to see a film about a professional sperm donor which has the tagline, “Every drop counts…”

What makes 'Oh-Man' special...?

This appeared in the Asian Age yesterday...

What makes ‘Oh- Man’ special?

The serpentine expressways in Oman are something else. I commented on them as the swanky Chrysler pulled out from the airport and headed towards the magnificent Al-Bustan Palace Hotel. Our local Indian minder, a successful desi professional working in the oil trade, spoke with genuine pride about the special asphalt used to ensure the roads in Oman stayed ribbon smooth and were able to withstand white hot summer temperatures of 50 degrees Celsius without melting. Impressive.Miles and miles of silky smooth roads snaking through demonic-looking volcanic mountain ranges are nothing short of an engineering feat. I sighed with love and longing…. preparing myself to endure the agony of bumping along on Mumbai’s notorious pot holed rastas, which turn into dangerous traps during the ferocious monsoon, swallowing the unwary and leading to countless accidents. Hours earlier, while rushing to the airport to catch my flight to Muscat, I had taken the wondrous Worli Sea Link to save time, and driven into the heart of darkness, literally. Mumbai’s glittering showpiece looked ominous, like a sea monster waiting to gulp foolish motorists paying a bomb to use a bridge that was largely unlit. Given the crazy speeds favoured by car enthusiasts racing one another on the Sea Link, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the international airport in one piece… or at all!
But hello! There was a surprise waiting for me at the long immigration line. In fact, there were four adorable surprises. I noticed two baby bassinets placed on the floor just ahead of me. A young man was busy looking for passports and forms while the twin infants slept on blissfully. No woman in sight. Naturally, my daughter and I couldn’t resist a peek… we were dying to coo and gush and make those silly sounds women make when they spot cute bachchas. That’s when we spotted the partner. It was another young man. Okayyyyy. “ Beautiful babies!” we commented. He beamed, “ Beautiful parents!” and pointed to the other man. Got it. Just then, another chap came up to me and asked whether he could jump the queue. “Do you mind…?” He gestured to something he was carrying, and I was flabbergasted to see another pair of gorgeous twins in similar bassinets! He too was with a male partner! This was one hell of a coincidence. Four foreign men, four babies.Newborns, at that.And happily leaving Mumbai with their little bundles of joy. Later, we spotted them in the lounge, hard at work, bottle feeding their little ones expertly. I remain baffled. And can’t help but wonder what these guys and their babies were doing in Mumbai. I’d say, they were here to pick up their freshly delivered parcels …. delivered by surrogate mums. But what of the complicated legal processes that govern surrogacy? India is fast acquiring the reputation of spawning baby-making farms, most of which are pretty dodgy. Perhaps these men had all their paperwork in place. And all four babies looked Caucasian, not Indian. Since they’d sailed through the tight scrutiny of our vigilant cops who man immigration counters, it must have been a kosher arrangement. Well… welcome to the world, babies.
The immigration guys at the other end in Muscat weren’t half as friendly or obliging. In fact, they were predictably rude as they went through every leaf of my passport and asked searching questions. The one that took the cake and left me fairly cross was when the cop with the deadly eyes demanded proof I had indeed traveled business class! “Show me where it says ‘Business Class’,” he said testily, examining my boarding card. I pointed to the word ‘Premiere’, and said it meant ‘Business’. He looked unconvinced, but let me go. Phew! I was flying Jet Airways. Must tell Naresh Goel to reprint his cards!
Since this wasn’t my first trip to Muscat, I wasn’t surprised by the nasty attitude. All Indians there are disparagingly referred to as ‘Hindis’. They look at us as nothing more than slave labour. But the fact remains it is Indians who have built Muscat. Indians and Pakistanis. While our labourers sweating it out on desolate building sites in the barren stretches of Oman are treated slightly better here than in Dubai, it is still annoying to have to deal with sneers and rudeness from locals. The Omani chauffeur of the fancy Chrysler tells us airily he isn’t really a chauffeur. He is a wealthy businessman filling in for a friend. Right! Another cabbie comes up with a similar story and says he owns the latest Merc, his brother drives a Ferrari, and his dad loves the Lamborghini he possesses. So, what’s he doing behind the wheel of a lowly cab? He scratches his head and says vaguely, “Oh…. this is just for fun.” We refuse to tip him… naturally. How much can a ‘Hindi’ tip a millionaire cabbie?
Oman remains a spectacular and attractive tourist destination, regardless. It is well worth a visit. It is entirely safe, extremely clean, and not as expensive as its glittering counterparts in the region. Women are treated with respect and there are enough job opportunities for them in Oman to attract middle level professionals from India. The Sultan remains a well loved ruler, known for his progressive policies, especially in the field of education. Girls are encouraged to qualify in diverse fields and there is a fairly good representation of women in responsible government jobs. Anybody who tries to whip up religious passions is immediately picked up and deported. The mood is pretty relaxed and foreigners are left alone so long as they don’t offend local sentiments. Alcohol is served discreetly at private parties and in bars located inside luxury hotels. But the friendliest creatures around are the countless dolphins cavorting in the warm waters of the bay. Fortunately, they don’t discriminate between ‘Hindis’ and the rest!

Sleaze: Cricket's only hope....?

Isn't that the most innocent expression of eternal love? I found this lock ( along with dozens of other locks) at a popular Lover's Point along the Amalfi coast. Our dishy chauffeur told us the locks are brought there by courting couples to demonstrate their commitment to each other. It was so Romeo and Juliet, it took care of my cynicism ( for fifteen whole minutes!) and brought a smile to my face... sweeeeeet.
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The column below appeared in 'The Week' some weeks ago. Before the 'phoos' IPL started. Earlier today, the Mumbai Indians lost to the Pune team. Sure, it was a packed Wankhede stadium. But what everybody was talking about was Pune Captain Saurav Ganguly's kinky pic - he was caught with his pants down - literally. A rather perplexing photograph was published by the racy Mumbai Mirror, that showed Cricket's Dada exposing his bottom ( white undies), with his tracks pulled down to his knees. Agreed, it's beastly hot in Mumbai right now. But the other blokes in the picture had kept their pants on. What was Ganguly thinking? We've seen his bare chest ( unimpressive ), and now his semi-bared bum. Is Saurav a closet errrrr... exhibitionist? BTW, Harbhajan will be going flat out to prove what a terrific Captain he is...the guy has what it takes, so don't be surprised if he leads his team to victory ( never mind today's loss.... game abhi baaki hai).He's looking fit and able. It's called the Basra effect. Well, whatever she's doing, let's hope she does more of it and Mumbai Indians walk away with the trophy.
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Sleaze:Cricket’s only hope??
“ Media rocks in this country!” declared a heavily made up young woman wearing frightening cat eyed coloured lenses. It was clear from her body language, get up and well rehearsed script that she was going flat out to squeeze her five seconds in the limelight for all its worth. She chose to play ‘victim’ and talked about her ‘clean’ image. She added she was ‘really hurt’ to be dragged into such an unsavoury controversy. Of course, we lapped it all up. Cameramen zoomed in on her pumped up pout as she talked about taking ‘legal action’ against the wicked newspaper that had dared to sully her squeaky clean reputation by linking her to match fixing. Not a muscle moved on her face, her expression was frozen. She was the perfect ad for Botox. That is, if one wants to resemble a mask. By the end of her impromptu press conference, her name was in the public domain. Pretty much the entire country now knows who Nupur Mehta is – she was the oomphy starlet referred to by a bookie ( Vicky Seth) during yet another sting operation hoping to nail naughty cricketers throwing matches for money. Big money. Nupur was promptly dubbed a ‘honey trap’ by scoop-seeking tabloids and television channels. I doubt that Nupur Mehta is complaining!
Strange how sleaze throws up new headline grabbers who then go on to become dodgy celebrities by default. Nupur Mehta is the latest starlet to hit a sixer in her very first media match! Nupur’s hitherto non-existent career is made! Just like Veena Malik’s fortune went up by several lakhs after she ‘exposed’ her ex-boy friend, Pakistani cricketer Mohammed Asif, a few months ago. While nobody remembers her ex-, Veena Malik, a struggler from across the border, has gone on to bag several lucrative assignments in India. But what separates Veena from Nupur is that the Pakistani girl showed guts when she decided to expose her former boyfriend and in the process, took on the powerful Pakistani cricket board. Later, she also challenged the mullahs in her country after she was severely criticized for allegedly posing nude for an Indian magazine. ‘Badnaam’ though she is back home, she has found employment and professional respect in India, for which she is grateful. It remains to be seen what happens to Nupur. My guess is she will be invited to participate in the next season of the Bigg Boss, just as Veena Malik was. Once she becomes a familiar, household name in India, she will be flooded with offers to dance at NRI weddings and perform item numbers in movies. She may get to host her own show, and who knows, she may also get someone like Ram Gopal Varma to sign her up for a movie based on the match fixing scandal. These days, anything is possible, if the money is right. Frankly, I wouldn’t be at all shocked or surprised if the entire episode was staged by the bookie and Nupur. What had either of them to lose?
Notoriety used to be a desperate woman’s last resort in the old days. Today, our attitude has changed dramatically. Look at Monica Bedi. She was just the pretty girl friend of Abu Salem - one of India’s most dreaded gangsters. She did time in jail, got out, and resumed her interrupted showbiz career without missing a beat. Ekta Kapoor has just announced a movie based on the life of Mandakini, who was also known as a gangster’s moll. Some say she married Dawood and is the mother of his babies. Today, she lives a life of anonymity in suburban Mumbai. But for the right price, she may be persuaded to go public with her life with the D-Man.Will anybody be shocked? Naah. Brazening it out and capitalizing on ones misfortunes ( if they can be called that, in the first place!), has become a perfectly acceptable career option. The worse the story, the better.
As has been pointed out by sports’ journos, top ranking players the world over are extremely vulnerable. Attractive young girls have easy access to their hotel rooms.This has been happening for decades. Besides, when it comes to cricket, even a remote connection to Bollywood , raises the stakes substantially. Nobody had heard of Nupur till her sultry image cropped up in connection with yet another betting scandal. She was smart enough to grab the moment and milk it dry. There wasn’t a hair out of place when she gave those sound bytes with such aplomb. She’d probably figured this was her only shot at grabbing media attention…. and some juicy deals. She sweetly claimed she was a ‘lover of sports’. Well, now there’s a whole lot of action coming up for Nupur, the sports’ lover.And nobody thinks her life is sordid. Nupur is viewed as an entrepreneur, not an opportunist. And Nupur’s time starts now!
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P.S. I am indeed a masochist. I sat through Housefull -2. Yup. All two and a half dreadful hours of it. Spoilt my dinner and my mood in the bargain. I must be a sucker for self-inflicted pain.

Because we will always love her....

I loved this lemon seller's hoodie. He was such a cheerful chap, assisting his dad in a tiny roadside stall just outside Positano on the Amalfi Coast ( by far the most picturesque drive in the world). I wanted to upload several more images from Italy. But my over-worked laptop is protesting! It's Good Friday tomorrow. I'd like to be baaaaad.Will be watching Housefull-2. I really don't care how terrible it is.... I gotta see it! Am I a masochist?????
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This appeared in The Week....


“ Because we will always love her….”

It was with much sadness that fans of ‘The Voice’, Whitney Houston, read the coroner’s report that confirmed the worst. Whitney had drowned in her bathtub after consuming lethal doses of cocaine, marijuana, alcohol and a cocktail of pills to deal with anxiety, allergies and tense muscles. Add to that a heart condition (atherosclerotic heart disease), and it was a tragedy waiting to happen.And to think Whitney appeared to have it all – beauty, talent, fame and wealth. She was God’s blessed child, a woman who was adored by millions across the world. And yet! While watching the award-winning ‘My Week with Marilyn,” the same thoughts and concerns flashed through my mind. At one point in the movie, Marilyn is addressed as ‘The most famous woman in the world’, by a star struck British journalist. The camera cuts to a close up of Marilyn (brilliantly played by Michelle Phillips). She looks a little bewildered and scared, almost as if she’s asking, “Is he talking about me?” Most of the movie is devoted to capturing her off-camera anxieties in the most delicate way. It’s a marvelously nuanced script that remains consistently sympathetic to the subject and never strays into cruel terrain as ‘The Iron Lady’ so blatantly did. When biopics attempt to explore (but more often, exploit), the vulnerabilities of their subjects, audiences are forced to turn the searchlight inwards. As it happened with ‘The Dirty Picture’ and the depiction of Silk Smitha, which I found one- dimensional and forced. Even so, it propelled countless viewers, women in particular, to examine their own lives and relationships, even if they were not a part of show business.
What is it about fame and women? Recent pictures of the ravishingly beautiful and immensely gifted Manisha Koirala tell their own sad story. Anu Aga is valiantly making public appearances these days after a long hiatus. Both women look ravaged by more than just time. If there is a link of some kind, it is to the undeniable fact that the movie and music industries across continents are controlled by men. These are hard nosed business guys paid to deliver hits and make serious money.There is far too much at stake and when it comes to female performing artists, the temptation is to take the easy route and focus on their sexuality. Talent comes a distant second. This sort of brazen commodification takes a huge toll on some, but works for others . There are women like obscure starlet Poonam Pandey who are more than willing to strip and play ball, so long as they stay in the news and can cash in on their three minutes of notoriety. But it is the others, often trapped in a web of their own creation, who fail to get away. Whitney and Marilyn blazed blinding trails across the firmament with their beauty and grace. And yet, nothing could compensate for the emptiness in their lives. Strangely, both were attracted to men who humiliated and brutalized them, emotionally and physically. Marilyn is shown crying and cowering on a staircase, clutching her then husband playwright Arthur Miller’s detailed and harsh notes on his fragile wife. Notes, he wanted her to find and read. Notes intended to wound. Despite these acts of mental cruelty, Marilyn refused to let go and reclaim her life. She admits as much to the sweet, adoring young lover who offers her an out. It’s the fame, she whispers , in a voice slurring with all the tablets she has consumed. For Whitney, too, it must have been the fame. But unlike Marilyn, Whitney had a young daughter to think of, to be concerned about. A daughter who is already displaying all the signs of an unhinged existence. She too is experimenting wildly with drugs, booze and boyfriends (one rumour involved an aborted engagement with her foster brother, Whitney’s adopted son). She also reportedly fled from her mother’s funeral and had to be checked into rehab soon after. Bobbi Kristina is a ticking time bomb. At 19, she has joined the ranks of the world’s poor little rich girls. Her mother left her little girl her entire and pretty vast wealth… but all the money in the world may not save Whitney’s daughter from her famous mother’s terrible legacy.

Spare a thought for Sridevi....

And this 'modest' palace on the edge of the lovely bay with clear, emerald green , unpolluted waters is where the much adored Sultan of Oman lives. Locals refer to it as the Buckingham Palace of the Middle East.I'm being naughty. He's single. That makes him the Queen ?????
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This appeared in Bombay Times yesterday...


Spare a thought for Sridevi…..



I didn’t know Mona Kapoor. Even though, as a young girl, she lived in the same South Mumbai complex as I do,and in which her mother, the formidable Sattee Shourie owned a flat. I was away in Muscat when Mona died, and got to hear of it through mutual friends who had attended her funeral. Later, I scanned media coverage of the multiple functions that followed Mona’s passing away, and found one person missing from the images. Sridevi.The other mourners in impeccable designer whites may or may not have been Mona’s close friends. Nearly every celeb covered by the media was present for someone else, not for Mona. They were there as acquaintances of the Kapoor clan. Some were Anil Kapoor’s old associates, others , part of Boney’s ( Mona’s husband) or Sanjay’s circle. Then there was the younger lot, cousins and buddies of Mona and Boney’s two children. There were no pictures of Jahnavi and Khushi, Sridevi and Boney’s daughters. And my heart went out to Sridevi. What a position to be in, after spending so many years of her life living with Boney ( since June ’96), and giving birth to two daughters.Yet, when tragedy struck, there was no place or position for ‘the other woman’ in that very public space in which Boney was featured as a grieving widower.
Clearly, Mona was a much adored and popular person, judging from the outpouring of love for her even from virtual friends who knew her from just from her Twitter handle and frequent tweets, including the rather grim final one in which she bravely confronted her condition and imminent death. Mona must have been an extraordinarily courageous, dignified and strong woman. May her soul find peace. In terms of timing, it’s sad that she didn’t live to see her son’s movie debut. And that his first media exposure happened under tragic circumstances at his beloved mother’s funeral. What now? Sridevi will be seen in her major comeback film fairly soon, an ambitious and risky project that her countless devoted fans are looking forward to. Boney has also landed himself a cushy job with Sahara. And yet,Bollywood watchers are still in a bit of a quandary wondering how to respond to Sridevi once the rituals and mourning period for Mona are over. Should they offer condolences? Make no reference to the unfortunate death in the family? Pretend nothing has happened?
What will Boney do? Make it legal and officially marry Sridevi, the lady he has shared his life with for 16 years?? Will Sridev’s long cherished dream of being recognized by all, family included, as “Mrs. Boney Kapoor” , finally come true? Sure, it’s complicated. But these are just a few realities of modern life, not restricted to Bollywood. There are several similar situations in urban society. It is just that for Boney and Sridevi, being Bollywood personalities, the spotlight and speculation are hard to avoid. There are no road maps in delicate scenarios like this one. What should Sri have done? Stayed away or turned up? What was going through her mind and heart as she and her young daughters followed the coverage ( assuming they watched it?). How will she deal with the public scrutiny and intrusive questions when she does step out with Boney next? Tough. Mona has left for a better place. But Sridevi is very much around. A little sensitivity directed her way, wouldn’t hurt.

Oye! Oman....

Prizes for anybody guessing the identity of the guy in shorts. Yes, the one with the knobby knees. Hint : He was in David Lean's " A Passage to India,". We were off on our dolphin watch and as you can tell, only some of us had the gear for it. That's Nandita Das with her solemn son named Rihaan (?). Though, I thought she'd named him Vivaan, after the famous painter who is also her father, Jatin Das' friend. The lovely young girl in yellow is Saba, Saif Ali Khan's sister.
The rest of the images are of the magnificent Al -Bustan Palace Hotel, which was built by the popular Sultan of Oman for Kings and Heads of State during the GCC summit in Oman. The 9th floor continues to be reserved for royalty.The red Chrysler was our car during the stay, and I really flipped for it. Car fanatics laughed at me and said it is no match for the Mercedes or BMW in terms of price or engineering. So what? It was wide bodied and super comfortable. I hope Chrysler launches in India soon. They have one customer - me! The last image is my favourite. I took it near the famous Muttrah Souk, where we bought colorful caftans and Omani scarves. As must be pretty obvious, we had a relaxed and enjoyable time in Muscat.

India's BYTs : Bright Young Things

This appeared in Sunday Times today....

India’s BYTs…. Bright Young Things

While the War of the Generals rages on and the wall of BRICS reveals countless cracks, somewhere in small town India, wonderful things are happening, quietly and minus fanfare. A young engineering student from Allahabad bagged an unbelievable 1.3 crores a year job with social networking site Facebook, and the country smiled. Tanuj Nandan, in charge of placements at the Motilal Nehru National Institute of Technology, declared triumphantly, “ This is also one of the biggest job offers made to alumnus of any technical institution of the country.” The brilliant student comes from a humble family in Kanpur, and had to pass nine grueling telephonic interviews before receiving the plum offer that will change his life. Soon,the young man will pack his bags and relocate to Menlo Park, California.Yes, such a long journey!But, what a break!
In Muscat last week, I got talking to a Kashmiri salesman in a carpet shop. He’d been in Oman for over twenty years, leaving his family behind in the Valley. He was due for his bi-annual visit when I met him. We got talking and he mentioned his three daughters back home, his eyes shining with undisguised pride. “Doctors! All three girls …” We chatted about their future, marriage prospects, hopes and expectations. He was very candid and clear about their goals, and came across as an enlightened father, completely in tune with the times. Similarly, a few weeks earlier, I met the young daughter of an antique dealer from Mumbai’s Chor Bazaar. She’d qualified as a computer scientist, as had her sister. Both were professors at a prestigious South Mumbai college. As for the father, he continued selling colonial furniture from a tiny shop in the crowded bazaar. And no, he didn’t want his daughters to join the trade. He had worked hard to educate the girls. And he wanted them to make their lives and careers on their own terms. The young girl looked at her father with immense gratitude and said, “I realize how tough it has been for him. I offered to set up a website to help expand his business. But he prefers to do it the old-fashioned way through word of mouth and good will.” Ditto for the carpet seller, who looked a happy man selling exquisite Persian carpets to international celebrities staying at the magnificent hotel in which his shop was located. Of course, he missed India.But this was his life, and he loved it.
Whether it’s the brilliant student from Allahabad, or the doctors from Kashmir and the computer scientists from Mumbai, there is a sense of hope and optimism for today’s ambitious generation that cannot be cynically devalued or diminished. Contrast their stories with the story of a thirty something wine maker I spoke to outside Naples last month. Here was a man born into privilege, educated at the London School of Economics, who went on to become an investment banker with one of the world’s most powerful financial firms.But, he had thrown it all up to come back to the family- owned vineyard in Italy.Why?He took his time to respond. His answer was thought provoking. “I belong to a generation that has woken up to a rather grim reality, which is the fact that our parents enjoyed a far better quality of life than I can afford or hope to match in future. This is so contrary to our history where each new generation upped the game and took it to a higher level.” He was smart enough to recognize the big change sweeping across Europe. It is the youth paying the price for an economic downturn they had nothing to do with. Does he foresee a reversal of the current phenomenon? No, he doesn’t. He knows he’ll have to work much harder, and earn less than his father or grandfather. It’s a tough call. He is married, but has postponed having kids. “We can’t afford them,” he admitted . So, what happens next? He surprised me with his response. “I’m looking at relocating to Singapore.” Why not India? He hesitated before responding, “Safety.”
The War of the Generals has announced the tattered state of India’s security to the world. Despite the dirt flying around, we still have our boy from Allahabad, and others like him, doing India proud. Let’s keep smiling!