oooops. a thousand apologies!

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Dare to be Dev D

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

Sita Sena. Join now. Speak up!!

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

Freida on a roll...

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

Must read. Must help!!

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

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




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

Freida O Freida

Guys, this appeared in Bombay Times this morning.

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

Mumbai wins an Oscar....!

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