This was my Mother's Day treat. After an exceptional lunch at Busaba ( sizzling Vietnamese fish with tamarind sauce!!!!), it was time to head to Inox and catch 'BADMASH COMPANY' with the girls. They loved it... I loved it.... but found the ending totally illogical in an otherwise well scripted film. I mean... come on.... this was about a guy who wakes up to the 'goodness and truth' within himself, after being a successful conman. Great! So what does he do to establish his credibility and woo back the pregnant girl friend, make up with his men friends, regain his estranged father's respect, console his long suffering mother and impress a distressed Maamuji? Does he virtuously stick to the straight and narrow? Does he demonstrate a genuine change of heart? Does the sinner become a saint? Naaaah. Naughty, naughty Karan indulges in some pretty obvious, pretty devious insider trading ( in America, at that), and everybody cheers!!!
If one can possibly overlook this major plot flaw , the rest of the film is pretty watchable and all the performances are above average. My favourite was the guy who plays a Sikkimese constantly mistaken for a Chinese, with such ease , plus oodles of charm . I also lked Vir Das playing a lecherous, oily Sindhi bijnessman forever chasing blondes. Shahid is Shahid ( more than competent). He puts in a convincing performance.... but here's a request from his young female fans - please visit a dentist asap and get those lower jaw, hopelessly discoloured front teeth fixed, they look truly awful in close ups. As for Anoushka Sharma pairing up with Shahid, this is one jodi Rab definitely didn't make. Though their on screen chemistry works just fine ( forget the clumsy kissing-wissing), she towers over Shahid and looks Amazonian in most scenes.
Will the film crack the 'Housefull' record? Unlikely. It is almost intelligent.
Oh.... I possessed several Bleeding Madras shirts and skirts as a teenager, so that was a great touch!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Do Indians have a death wish....?
Kasab…. and thereby hangs a tale!
“ Kasab ko latka do…” Done. Kasab has been sentenced. He is to hang. Will he? That’s a million dollar question. Even if Kasab leapfrogs over fifty other prisoners on death row, whose mercy pleas are on hold with the President of India, he could be left cooling his heels in the clink for the next ten years. This 22- year- old ‘menace to society’, will then be a decade older – that is , if no one gets to him before that. The general feeling , at least in Mumbai, is that ‘latkana hai to jaldi latka do.’ Forget the monumental expense of keeping this guy alive and well- fed in our midst, the trickier part is to keep him – period. It is not his safety alone that is at grave risk, it is the safety of the city, and more importantly of the country . Kasab by himself is a complete nobody. His minders would have preferred him to die during the 26\11 terror attacks. It is his misfortune and ours that he survived. Despite the stupendous job done by the Mumbai cops ( in particular, by Rakesh Maria who headed the investigation ), the Kasab story remains incomplete and on many levels, entirely unconvincing. This was exactly what the master minds in Pakistan had hoped for – unleash violence, create an atmosphere of insecurity, mislead the people of India…. and then watch the fun.
There is not a single destination left on the planet that is ‘terrorist proof .’ The world was witness to what happened last week in the heart of New York. And to think, that audacious attempt was engineered pretty effortlessly in a country that prides itself on all the deterrents that kicked in post 9\11. Once again,the watching world looked on in disbelief and horror, as a crude bomb nearly went off in Times Square,engineered by
Faisal Shahzad , who was on the verge of nonchalantly escaping to Dubai from JFK terminal before being picked up. There may be hundreds where he came from. Just as there may be half a dozen homegrown Kasabs waiting in the wings to strike at the first opportunity. Opportunity? Ha…. There is one in India every second minute. Somehow, our mindset is against the sort of security measures that prevail across the globe. We resent the very people whose job it is to ensure our safety. Since I travel constantly, I can tell you, our airports remain our weakest links. Why? Because security efforts are a bit of a joke, and we ourselves treat them lightly. Last week, while returning from a short trip to Goa, I was silly enough to carry a doggy bag with my favourite fish curry in my hand luggage. There is no way one can pack curry into a suitcase, right? Yup. Absolutely right. But…. think about it…here’s a person ( me!), who knows the rules, is perfectly aware that liquids cannot be taken on board ( if over a 100mls). Did that simple thought even cross my mind as I happily set forth with 500mls of curry to enjoy back home? Nope. So… what happened at the security check? A lady cop giggled, shrugged and pointed to her senior ( a burly guy), who came up to ask what it was that I had in a plastic container. I brightly said, “ Fish curry.” He licked his chops before mildly scolding me, “ But madam… you cannot take it on the plane.” My disappointment must have been obvious, because his face softened as he came up with a solution. “Madam, you can eat it here …no problem.” That would have been a first for me. An unappetizing first. Seeing my tepid response, he made another suggestion, “ Why not empty out half the curry and take the rest?” Oh heavens … I admit I was desperate, but not that desperate! By then five more cops had gathered around the plastic container to offer assorted advice. Some had abandoned their posts to participate in the curry debate. Other passengers were being waved through casually, their belongings checked in a cursory way. One of them could have been the new Kasab\ Faisal . Ten minutes later, the burly senior cop strolled away with a smirk on his face. That was clearly the signal the juniors were waiting for. The lady cop all but winked at me before stamping the security tag on my handbag and whispering, “ Theek hai , theek hai madam….drama kar raha tha.” I mean…. Seriously. Come on! Rules ought to be rules, no matter who or what ! That blessed curry was giving me indigestion… a severe belly ache by now. And I said to myself, “ This is so dumb.” Equally, it was so dangerous. Technically speaking, I could have held up the plane with that fish curry. I could have temporarily blinded the unsuspecting crew, forced myself into the cockpit and flung some more of the chilly heavy gravy into the captain’s face. It would have rated as the first plane hijack in the world accomplished by a woman wielding nothing more lethal than delicious Goan fish curry.
I cite this comical, farcical almost surrealistic incident only to highlight the sorry state of our basic security measures at airports… and our own ludicrous attitude to them. We regard checks as somehow being of high nuisance value. The same desis who wordlessly and passively strip down to their underwear at American airports, look deeply insulted and act seriously affronted when much milder procedures are enforced back home. I have witnessed countless “ How dare you?” moments, and wondered at the miracle that has so far saved us from a gigantic calamity. Five star hotels , malls and multiplexes generally employ desperate youth, incapable of holding down any other job. Their ‘training’ is a joke as is evident when you watch them go through the motions in a robotic fashion. What happened at the German Bakery in Pune, is but one example of our own absurd attitude to safety.
Do Indians have a death wish? Sometimes, I feel hapless enough to believe we do!
.
“ Kasab ko latka do…” Done. Kasab has been sentenced. He is to hang. Will he? That’s a million dollar question. Even if Kasab leapfrogs over fifty other prisoners on death row, whose mercy pleas are on hold with the President of India, he could be left cooling his heels in the clink for the next ten years. This 22- year- old ‘menace to society’, will then be a decade older – that is , if no one gets to him before that. The general feeling , at least in Mumbai, is that ‘latkana hai to jaldi latka do.’ Forget the monumental expense of keeping this guy alive and well- fed in our midst, the trickier part is to keep him – period. It is not his safety alone that is at grave risk, it is the safety of the city, and more importantly of the country . Kasab by himself is a complete nobody. His minders would have preferred him to die during the 26\11 terror attacks. It is his misfortune and ours that he survived. Despite the stupendous job done by the Mumbai cops ( in particular, by Rakesh Maria who headed the investigation ), the Kasab story remains incomplete and on many levels, entirely unconvincing. This was exactly what the master minds in Pakistan had hoped for – unleash violence, create an atmosphere of insecurity, mislead the people of India…. and then watch the fun.
There is not a single destination left on the planet that is ‘terrorist proof .’ The world was witness to what happened last week in the heart of New York. And to think, that audacious attempt was engineered pretty effortlessly in a country that prides itself on all the deterrents that kicked in post 9\11. Once again,the watching world looked on in disbelief and horror, as a crude bomb nearly went off in Times Square,engineered by
Faisal Shahzad , who was on the verge of nonchalantly escaping to Dubai from JFK terminal before being picked up. There may be hundreds where he came from. Just as there may be half a dozen homegrown Kasabs waiting in the wings to strike at the first opportunity. Opportunity? Ha…. There is one in India every second minute. Somehow, our mindset is against the sort of security measures that prevail across the globe. We resent the very people whose job it is to ensure our safety. Since I travel constantly, I can tell you, our airports remain our weakest links. Why? Because security efforts are a bit of a joke, and we ourselves treat them lightly. Last week, while returning from a short trip to Goa, I was silly enough to carry a doggy bag with my favourite fish curry in my hand luggage. There is no way one can pack curry into a suitcase, right? Yup. Absolutely right. But…. think about it…here’s a person ( me!), who knows the rules, is perfectly aware that liquids cannot be taken on board ( if over a 100mls). Did that simple thought even cross my mind as I happily set forth with 500mls of curry to enjoy back home? Nope. So… what happened at the security check? A lady cop giggled, shrugged and pointed to her senior ( a burly guy), who came up to ask what it was that I had in a plastic container. I brightly said, “ Fish curry.” He licked his chops before mildly scolding me, “ But madam… you cannot take it on the plane.” My disappointment must have been obvious, because his face softened as he came up with a solution. “Madam, you can eat it here …no problem.” That would have been a first for me. An unappetizing first. Seeing my tepid response, he made another suggestion, “ Why not empty out half the curry and take the rest?” Oh heavens … I admit I was desperate, but not that desperate! By then five more cops had gathered around the plastic container to offer assorted advice. Some had abandoned their posts to participate in the curry debate. Other passengers were being waved through casually, their belongings checked in a cursory way. One of them could have been the new Kasab\ Faisal . Ten minutes later, the burly senior cop strolled away with a smirk on his face. That was clearly the signal the juniors were waiting for. The lady cop all but winked at me before stamping the security tag on my handbag and whispering, “ Theek hai , theek hai madam….drama kar raha tha.” I mean…. Seriously. Come on! Rules ought to be rules, no matter who or what ! That blessed curry was giving me indigestion… a severe belly ache by now. And I said to myself, “ This is so dumb.” Equally, it was so dangerous. Technically speaking, I could have held up the plane with that fish curry. I could have temporarily blinded the unsuspecting crew, forced myself into the cockpit and flung some more of the chilly heavy gravy into the captain’s face. It would have rated as the first plane hijack in the world accomplished by a woman wielding nothing more lethal than delicious Goan fish curry.
I cite this comical, farcical almost surrealistic incident only to highlight the sorry state of our basic security measures at airports… and our own ludicrous attitude to them. We regard checks as somehow being of high nuisance value. The same desis who wordlessly and passively strip down to their underwear at American airports, look deeply insulted and act seriously affronted when much milder procedures are enforced back home. I have witnessed countless “ How dare you?” moments, and wondered at the miracle that has so far saved us from a gigantic calamity. Five star hotels , malls and multiplexes generally employ desperate youth, incapable of holding down any other job. Their ‘training’ is a joke as is evident when you watch them go through the motions in a robotic fashion. What happened at the German Bakery in Pune, is but one example of our own absurd attitude to safety.
Do Indians have a death wish? Sometimes, I feel hapless enough to believe we do!
.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Jaipur ki garam hawa...
To say Jaipur was hot would be a gross misrepresentation of the weather in India's Pink City (the old part of Jaipur near Hawa Mahal gets a fresh coat of pink once every five years ). The heat was murderous and scarily still - as dry,unforgiving and hard as a hangman's breath. I had Kasab on my mind ( judgement day) and therefore the hangman reference. Very few people in Jaipur were aware of this momentous trial in Mumbai that was finally hurtling towards closure and a verdict after months of intense scrutiny. It was as if 26\11 had taken place in a distant galaxy or at any rate, some other planet. For me, it was hard to think of anything else, even as I greeted my hosts at the brand new airport ( glittering but essentially non-functional on a practical level) and tried to distract myself. I had several errands to accomplish and very little time. As always, I hit the road running and pretended not to notice the several stray cows which looked like they had passed out under the shadow of the gigantic neem trees that line Jaipur's main avenues. I was tempted to join the animals and grab a quick siesta myself.
But I had to check out the block printed shirts at Rashid's, enjoy the famous, creamy lassi with my friends at Tholia House, look for gifts at Ratan's, buy a hand stiched mulmul shirt ( made out of 500 count organic cotton grown in their own fields by the owners) for my son from Satayam's, grab a Thai salad at the Anokhi Cafe, and of course swoon over the exquisite jadau jewellery that is sold like vegetables or chana all over the city.
The surprise package this time included the dynamic ladies of Jaipur - yes - the same ones who not so long ago were expected to pull a ghungat over their faces and remain in purdah ( more or less) especially outside the protective environment of their havelis. Today, they are out there, running successful businesses, travelling all over the world, organising seminars and conferences, participating enthusiastically in community service, encouraging their daughters to study abroad and generally leading a full, action packed existence. All this transformation has taken place in a decade, and the wonderful part is that their men seem to approve! And so do their in- laws. I met a delightful, bubbly chiffon saree clad bahu, mother of three teenagers, who proudly showed off her piercings ( over her right eyebrow , under her lips )and distinct tattoos. This was some change...
Our flight back was delayed and further delayed. There was no water in the airport, nor any snacks ( or so my daughter complained ). But Vineet, the airport manager, more than made up for the lapses by his wit and charm. Plus, we had a royal co-passenger to keep us company in the lounge. Maharaja Gaj Singh from neighbouring Jodhpur pointed out the short sightedness of creating this huge airport but not allowing too many direct international flights into Jaipur ( visitors have to come via Delhi). There are no flights between Jodhpur and Jaipur either and one has to drive 5 hours to get from one city to the other. This is our premier tourist hub - but just look at the poor infrastructure and connectivity! Gaj Singh has successfully placed Jodhpur on the tourist map of the world almost single handedly - he has reason to be concerned. When we finally boarded our Jet Connect flight at some hideous hour ( there are zero flight options in the evening - it is this one to Mumbai, or the highway!), Gaj Singh had to travel cattle class like the rest ( no biz section in Connect), and buy his can of Pepsi , plus a chicken sandwich, again like the aam janata. It was good to note his comfort level and the fact that he made no effort to draw attention to himself even as some of his 'subjects' fell at his feet, bowed, scraped and grovelled to show their respect! A normal 'working class maharaja' - how refreshing is that!
But I had to check out the block printed shirts at Rashid's, enjoy the famous, creamy lassi with my friends at Tholia House, look for gifts at Ratan's, buy a hand stiched mulmul shirt ( made out of 500 count organic cotton grown in their own fields by the owners) for my son from Satayam's, grab a Thai salad at the Anokhi Cafe, and of course swoon over the exquisite jadau jewellery that is sold like vegetables or chana all over the city.
The surprise package this time included the dynamic ladies of Jaipur - yes - the same ones who not so long ago were expected to pull a ghungat over their faces and remain in purdah ( more or less) especially outside the protective environment of their havelis. Today, they are out there, running successful businesses, travelling all over the world, organising seminars and conferences, participating enthusiastically in community service, encouraging their daughters to study abroad and generally leading a full, action packed existence. All this transformation has taken place in a decade, and the wonderful part is that their men seem to approve! And so do their in- laws. I met a delightful, bubbly chiffon saree clad bahu, mother of three teenagers, who proudly showed off her piercings ( over her right eyebrow , under her lips )and distinct tattoos. This was some change...
Our flight back was delayed and further delayed. There was no water in the airport, nor any snacks ( or so my daughter complained ). But Vineet, the airport manager, more than made up for the lapses by his wit and charm. Plus, we had a royal co-passenger to keep us company in the lounge. Maharaja Gaj Singh from neighbouring Jodhpur pointed out the short sightedness of creating this huge airport but not allowing too many direct international flights into Jaipur ( visitors have to come via Delhi). There are no flights between Jodhpur and Jaipur either and one has to drive 5 hours to get from one city to the other. This is our premier tourist hub - but just look at the poor infrastructure and connectivity! Gaj Singh has successfully placed Jodhpur on the tourist map of the world almost single handedly - he has reason to be concerned. When we finally boarded our Jet Connect flight at some hideous hour ( there are zero flight options in the evening - it is this one to Mumbai, or the highway!), Gaj Singh had to travel cattle class like the rest ( no biz section in Connect), and buy his can of Pepsi , plus a chicken sandwich, again like the aam janata. It was good to note his comfort level and the fact that he made no effort to draw attention to himself even as some of his 'subjects' fell at his feet, bowed, scraped and grovelled to show their respect! A normal 'working class maharaja' - how refreshing is that!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
'House-fool'....and hobby horses of netas...
First day , second show. I am a total sucker for garbagy hindi films. I looovvvvve watching them on the big screen, mainly to check how low they can get, and how high our tolerance level is. In the case of 'Housefull', I was slightly disappointed that the gags and humour didn't descend to the bottom of the pit nor create as much of a stink as I had hoped for. Of course, there were abominably gauche comments ( the reference to a Black or British African baby as a 'daamar ka tukda' - a piece of tar), and other similar horrors. There were also super tacky sequences about 'Homos' ( how crude and offensive Bollywood can get - surprising given that the film industry is dominated by gays). There was Riteish D once again camping it up ( it does come so naturally to him - why does he bother to play straight roles??). And then there was the saving grace of this dumb script - Akshay Kumar, whose timing is faultless and whose presence lifts the dumbest scene from self -destructing. Arjun Rampal is beyond eye candy yumminess as an entirely unconvincing 'Anna', but who cares? He looks and talks great. That leaves the pin up girls - their super hot bikini bods make up for any and every lapse. Jiah and Jacqueline age the other two lovelies - Lara and Deepika. But when all the male and female hotties burn it up in an item song - does anything else really count?
The lampooning of the Queen of England was hysterical, especially her declaring, 'Jai Maharashtra!"
And since we are on the subject of Maharashtra, here's my column from BT on monday....
**************
When I saw Uddhav Thackeray’s trendy photograph on the cover of BT on Maharashtra Day, I blinked and blinked again. I took in the international look – cool leather jacket, the famous checked shirt, hip shades that Dhoni might lust after…. in fact, Uddhav was sporting all the accoutrements required for a man on the go - a today’s guy, a dude! Could this broadly grinning gentleman with a naughty twinkle in his eyes truly be Uddhav? ‘The’ Uddhav? Feared and disliked, dismissed and scorned by the city’s elite? Gone was the prominent vermillion tikka on the forehead, gone, too the orange kurta, and even the studiedly solemn expression on his face, which once conveyed a single message – ‘Don’t mess with me or my party.” Was Mumbai seeing a ‘new’, ‘improved’ Thackeray?Oh well… after all this was Uddhav’s virgin front page debut in the glam press, and I guess he didn’t want to send out the wrong message to the Page 3 crowd.Which is smart thinking, considering the ‘cover boy’s’ outing was strictly non-political, and the interview ably conducted by the BT editor, Mark Manuel, focused on Uddhav the aerial photographer, rather than Uddhav the Shiv Sena neta.
That’s what set me thinking… if more politicians decided to highlight their ‘other’ selves, perhaps their critics would be slightly more forgiving. This is not to say creative pursuits and unusual hobbies make up for various sins of omissions and commissions ( Hitler was a talented water colourist, remember?). But just imagine the good it might do in terms of positive positioning, especially if the person has battled with ‘image issues’ all along. Let’s face it, all the Thackerays have had major problems with the English press, especially in Mumbai. So deeply entrenched is the mutual antagonism, there is virtually no meeting ground left for a meaningful dialogue. Which makes this interview significant. Take a controversial politician…throw in a passion that humanizes the person and see the difference it makes. Atal Bihari Vajpayee had several enemies, but everyone loved his poetry. More recently, Kapil Sibal’s admirers love him for better or ‘verse’ - his poetic adventures have found several takers. I for one, am all for politicos presenting their soft side and letting the audience decide on the merits of their work. Aerial photography is a highly specialized field - what Uddhav has attempted is not for the faint hearted – I would call it seriously hazardous. Think about hanging precariously from the door of a helicopter that’s hovering over the edge of a precipice, or circling the mouth of a dormant volcano. It ain’t easy! But the guy’s done it. And the results are there for all to see between the covers of a glossy, well designed coffee table book (a cheaper janata edition is available as well).Worth checking out for some spectacular vistas of Mumbai and the rest of Maharashtra.
With Uddhav in the limelight, can cousin Raj be left behind? Raj Thackeray’s cartooning skills are as good as his uncle Balasaheb’s. Raj is a superb caricaturist and satirist, but I wonder if he has the time these days to pursue his art with as much zeal as it deserves. All the Thackeray men have a great sense of humour and can keep you in splits with their clever puns and smart repartees. Imagine if guys like these three were to reserve a generous chunk of their time following their hearts (and de-stressing while they were at it), their politics would be different. Qualitatively so. Perhaps less buses would be torched!!! Music and art are capable of taming the beast in all of us. More cartoons and more photographs, gentlemen. We are desperately looking for a kinder, gentler Maharashtra .
***************
I’ll be out of town when the Qasab judgement is read out later today.
It is impossible to second guess what it’s likely to be.
But if there is one thing his trial has proved to the world – and to Pakistan in particular, it is that here in India, at least a few key democratic principles still count. Qasab was given a fair trial. Our investigating officers, and all those associated with this unique case ( where a terrorist is caught and tried) deserve our support and gratitude for a difficult job, competently and smoothly seen to its logical conclusion. Well done!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Gulmohurs in Goa...
Blame it on the heat, but I am in no mood to discuss the Kasab judgement. In fact, I was almost relieved not to have been in Mumbai and on all those talk shows yesterday. What is there to say? Let the courts say it all, now...
I was in Goa.... Glorious Goa for some, and Gritty Goa for others. This time we were staying in Panaji - the heart of Goa - at a new Taj property called Vivanta ( it's the biz hotel brand - smart and unfussy). Panaji has been spruced up and all the heritage buildings along the beautiful Mandovi river had a fresh coat of paint and were looking just lovely. The swimming pool on the roof of the hotel provided a panoramic view of the urban sprawl across the river, but at least a few brave gulmohurs in hesitant bloom, had managed to raise their orange heads above the buildings and catch my eye. Mumbai gulmohurs have still to catch up. I also spotted the most dazzling laburnums and jacarandas in full bloom en route. And as for the frangipani - every single tree was heavy with fragrant blossoms. My daughter Arundhati also managed to grab the last string of jasmines at the newly renovated Mangeshi temple. I was back to meet my beloved deity after a shortish break, and was enchanted to see the entire complex has been redone in the most aesthetic way. It is neatly paved, scrupulously clean and at that hour ( 8 p.m.) mercifully free of tourists who come there for picnics. I got the most wonderful darshan of my 'Kuldevata' and prayed uninterruptedly without the usual dhakka-bukki. The new lighting is also supremely well designed to highlight the architectural details of this ancient temple, where my ancestors have prayed for generations.
While on architecture, we loved the latest resort called Alila ( a Singapore brand), which has created a fabulous property in South Goa, close to Sacin Tendulkar's favourite eating place - Martin's Corner. Alila ,designed by the talented Kerala based architect Tony Joseph is a stunning addition to Goa's many luxury resorts, with hints of Bali.... and Kerala , of course. We were treated to finger licking good Goan fish curry by Chef Amit Bhardwaj, who also insisted on thrusting what he described as a 'debauched' dessert on us. Frankly, his chocolate fondant is truly wicked and obscene - go for it!
From Mangeshi and Alila to 'Fiesta' - my all time favourite restaurant in India, was but an hour's drive away. There was Yellow, the co-owner ( along with her husband Maneck Contractor) of this divine place, waiting to greet and feed us. We were a smallish group, and the entire evening under the stars was spent in the mellow glow of a waning moon. As we sipped chilled Pinot, and waited for our red snapper, followed by a trio of the most slurpy sorbets, it was possible to briefly forget the ugliness of the world beyond 'Fiesta's' fence.
For a change, it did seem like the best option...
I was in Goa.... Glorious Goa for some, and Gritty Goa for others. This time we were staying in Panaji - the heart of Goa - at a new Taj property called Vivanta ( it's the biz hotel brand - smart and unfussy). Panaji has been spruced up and all the heritage buildings along the beautiful Mandovi river had a fresh coat of paint and were looking just lovely. The swimming pool on the roof of the hotel provided a panoramic view of the urban sprawl across the river, but at least a few brave gulmohurs in hesitant bloom, had managed to raise their orange heads above the buildings and catch my eye. Mumbai gulmohurs have still to catch up. I also spotted the most dazzling laburnums and jacarandas in full bloom en route. And as for the frangipani - every single tree was heavy with fragrant blossoms. My daughter Arundhati also managed to grab the last string of jasmines at the newly renovated Mangeshi temple. I was back to meet my beloved deity after a shortish break, and was enchanted to see the entire complex has been redone in the most aesthetic way. It is neatly paved, scrupulously clean and at that hour ( 8 p.m.) mercifully free of tourists who come there for picnics. I got the most wonderful darshan of my 'Kuldevata' and prayed uninterruptedly without the usual dhakka-bukki. The new lighting is also supremely well designed to highlight the architectural details of this ancient temple, where my ancestors have prayed for generations.
While on architecture, we loved the latest resort called Alila ( a Singapore brand), which has created a fabulous property in South Goa, close to Sacin Tendulkar's favourite eating place - Martin's Corner. Alila ,designed by the talented Kerala based architect Tony Joseph is a stunning addition to Goa's many luxury resorts, with hints of Bali.... and Kerala , of course. We were treated to finger licking good Goan fish curry by Chef Amit Bhardwaj, who also insisted on thrusting what he described as a 'debauched' dessert on us. Frankly, his chocolate fondant is truly wicked and obscene - go for it!
From Mangeshi and Alila to 'Fiesta' - my all time favourite restaurant in India, was but an hour's drive away. There was Yellow, the co-owner ( along with her husband Maneck Contractor) of this divine place, waiting to greet and feed us. We were a smallish group, and the entire evening under the stars was spent in the mellow glow of a waning moon. As we sipped chilled Pinot, and waited for our red snapper, followed by a trio of the most slurpy sorbets, it was possible to briefly forget the ugliness of the world beyond 'Fiesta's' fence.
For a change, it did seem like the best option...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
How I love Ghaplas......
I am off to Goa.... beastly weather, gorgeous people.
This appeared in the Sunday Times today.......
Let the ‘Ghaplas’ roll… while Lallu rocks!
He who tweets, lasts? No chance. He scoots! ‘I tweet, therefore I am’ , no longer holds true. ‘Ghaplas’ galore have replaced tweets and bores.I have been a diehard Lallu fan ever since I watched him playing Holi on television. What a guy, I said to myself. No six pack, not even a four pack, but an enormous, hard- as- rock pot belly. Yet,there he was rocking and grooving away like Akshay Kumar or Shahid Kapoor. Wah! That’s confidence. Ever since that defining moment, I have faithfully tracked Lallu’s countless antics and frequently dreamt about bonding with him while companionably milking cows on his farm. Last week, when he talked about the IPL ghaplas, I wanted to hug him ( I am sure Rabri wouldn’t have minded). ‘Ghaplas’ is such a delicious description for what has been going on… is going on. ‘Ghaplas’ cannot and must not be translated. Scandals, scams, fraud, corruption – does anybody react to those overused words? But the minute Lallu gives gyaan on the IPL ‘ghaplas’ we start paying attention. Why? Because who knows ‘ghapla territory’ better than the Governor General of Ghaplas – Lallu himself!
Mumbai describes such doings as ‘lafdas’ – which is also a great word since it kinda goes with ‘lafangas’ and even if those high flying IPL loafers do wear Gucci loafers, lafangas they remain. The IPL mess has become a ‘class thing’ (or ‘thingy as SRK tweeted when Sue Pushkar said she’d earlier offered her services to KKR). Considering it was Lalit’s tweet that triggered off the avalanche of muck raking that followed, that communication option instantly brought an elitist angle into the drama. For example – Lallu doesn’t tweet. But if he were to, he’d leave all the others way behind ( Salman Khan included). He could call himself ‘Ghaplawalla’ and break a whole lot of bhaandas on an hourly basis. Sharad Pawar isn’t on twitter either – but imagine what a following he’d get if he succumbed! He could adopt an appropriate twitter name – what about ‘Pawarplay’? Not sure whether Praful P is tweeting away yet? ‘Gadbadghotala’ would work great in his case. It is amazing how this crazy, deceptively harmless social networking tool became a game changer in IPL-Gate. Finger-happy fans have been in overdrive ever since LKM fired the first tweet… err…. shot. The twitter option is restricted to tech savvy, urban addicts, which is where the divide begins.
Like this joke doing the rounds…
“ Tweet , tweet…”
“Who’s there?”
“Lalit Modi…”
“Lalit Modi, who?”
“Don’t tell me I’m history already!!”
Given our insatiable appetite for Ghaplas and Lafdas, we are waiting breathlessly for the IPL sequel. If even half the colourful main players back off at this stage, and leave the proceedings to grim faced BCCI officials with zero charisma, the very people who have been taken for a royal ride ( cricket fans) will rapidly lose interest and look for the next big tamasha , quite forgetting that it will be pretty tough to beat this baby. Can it really get any bigger or grittier than it is? Number crunching is a tricky game, but since when has that daunted Lalit? Soon, such a complicated financial maze will be constructed that due diligence will be reduced to an expensive joke. It has happened with virtually every single national level investigation. So for every Ramalingam Raju cooling his heels in the clink, there are a dozen bigger ( and better connected) crooks taking the country for a ride.
One feels sorry for all those naive bachchas who regard cricket as a religion – their faith in the game has been cruelly shattered. They are the ones who need protection and reassurance before we plunge into the next IPL season. As of now, they are bewildered and disillusioned, unable to make the slightest sense of all the legalities and formalities that the ongoing investigation has entangled itself into. All they know is something murky and unpleasant tainted the IPL…. and some of their biggest icons. They are finding it exceedingly hard to come to terms with the dirt flying around. Who can explain to these trusting kids that the very same people who are key beneficiaries in this set up as it exists, have been appointed to look into its irregularities? Possible? Yes. But only in India!
These young, gullible cricket fans are the very ‘People of India’ Lalit Modi had the temerity to address directly via a live telecast during the presentation ceremony. I wonder whether they were convinced by his shrewdly worded oratory, or did they suspect it was nothing more than a veiled threat ? In a way, thank you, Lalit. You did draw your critics’ attention to the obvious fact that you weren’t exactly the swashbuckling Lone Ranger ( minus Tonto),undertaking hairy scarey deals in isolation. As has been asked by several concerned people – where were the blessed auditors for three years? And if they were sleeping on the job, why haven’t they been hauled in so far?
Lalit has obviously been born under an incredibly lucky star. And Teflon is his best friend. As of now, nothing is sticking, even though the wicket itself is beyond sticky.Preity Zinta described Lalit as a ‘magician’. Well, his magic has saved his derriere so far. His partners and good friends may not be as fortunate now that the heat is on them…. while he cools off and relaxes at his favourite spa. One has to hand it to the guy – a more chilled out customer would be hard to find! Talk about chasing a crooked shadow, this ‘who dunnit’ would have baffled Hitchcock himself. You know why? Hitchcock understood psychos…. but was clueless about ‘ghaplas’.
This appeared in the Sunday Times today.......
Let the ‘Ghaplas’ roll… while Lallu rocks!
He who tweets, lasts? No chance. He scoots! ‘I tweet, therefore I am’ , no longer holds true. ‘Ghaplas’ galore have replaced tweets and bores.I have been a diehard Lallu fan ever since I watched him playing Holi on television. What a guy, I said to myself. No six pack, not even a four pack, but an enormous, hard- as- rock pot belly. Yet,there he was rocking and grooving away like Akshay Kumar or Shahid Kapoor. Wah! That’s confidence. Ever since that defining moment, I have faithfully tracked Lallu’s countless antics and frequently dreamt about bonding with him while companionably milking cows on his farm. Last week, when he talked about the IPL ghaplas, I wanted to hug him ( I am sure Rabri wouldn’t have minded). ‘Ghaplas’ is such a delicious description for what has been going on… is going on. ‘Ghaplas’ cannot and must not be translated. Scandals, scams, fraud, corruption – does anybody react to those overused words? But the minute Lallu gives gyaan on the IPL ‘ghaplas’ we start paying attention. Why? Because who knows ‘ghapla territory’ better than the Governor General of Ghaplas – Lallu himself!
Mumbai describes such doings as ‘lafdas’ – which is also a great word since it kinda goes with ‘lafangas’ and even if those high flying IPL loafers do wear Gucci loafers, lafangas they remain. The IPL mess has become a ‘class thing’ (or ‘thingy as SRK tweeted when Sue Pushkar said she’d earlier offered her services to KKR). Considering it was Lalit’s tweet that triggered off the avalanche of muck raking that followed, that communication option instantly brought an elitist angle into the drama. For example – Lallu doesn’t tweet. But if he were to, he’d leave all the others way behind ( Salman Khan included). He could call himself ‘Ghaplawalla’ and break a whole lot of bhaandas on an hourly basis. Sharad Pawar isn’t on twitter either – but imagine what a following he’d get if he succumbed! He could adopt an appropriate twitter name – what about ‘Pawarplay’? Not sure whether Praful P is tweeting away yet? ‘Gadbadghotala’ would work great in his case. It is amazing how this crazy, deceptively harmless social networking tool became a game changer in IPL-Gate. Finger-happy fans have been in overdrive ever since LKM fired the first tweet… err…. shot. The twitter option is restricted to tech savvy, urban addicts, which is where the divide begins.
Like this joke doing the rounds…
“ Tweet , tweet…”
“Who’s there?”
“Lalit Modi…”
“Lalit Modi, who?”
“Don’t tell me I’m history already!!”
Given our insatiable appetite for Ghaplas and Lafdas, we are waiting breathlessly for the IPL sequel. If even half the colourful main players back off at this stage, and leave the proceedings to grim faced BCCI officials with zero charisma, the very people who have been taken for a royal ride ( cricket fans) will rapidly lose interest and look for the next big tamasha , quite forgetting that it will be pretty tough to beat this baby. Can it really get any bigger or grittier than it is? Number crunching is a tricky game, but since when has that daunted Lalit? Soon, such a complicated financial maze will be constructed that due diligence will be reduced to an expensive joke. It has happened with virtually every single national level investigation. So for every Ramalingam Raju cooling his heels in the clink, there are a dozen bigger ( and better connected) crooks taking the country for a ride.
One feels sorry for all those naive bachchas who regard cricket as a religion – their faith in the game has been cruelly shattered. They are the ones who need protection and reassurance before we plunge into the next IPL season. As of now, they are bewildered and disillusioned, unable to make the slightest sense of all the legalities and formalities that the ongoing investigation has entangled itself into. All they know is something murky and unpleasant tainted the IPL…. and some of their biggest icons. They are finding it exceedingly hard to come to terms with the dirt flying around. Who can explain to these trusting kids that the very same people who are key beneficiaries in this set up as it exists, have been appointed to look into its irregularities? Possible? Yes. But only in India!
These young, gullible cricket fans are the very ‘People of India’ Lalit Modi had the temerity to address directly via a live telecast during the presentation ceremony. I wonder whether they were convinced by his shrewdly worded oratory, or did they suspect it was nothing more than a veiled threat ? In a way, thank you, Lalit. You did draw your critics’ attention to the obvious fact that you weren’t exactly the swashbuckling Lone Ranger ( minus Tonto),undertaking hairy scarey deals in isolation. As has been asked by several concerned people – where were the blessed auditors for three years? And if they were sleeping on the job, why haven’t they been hauled in so far?
Lalit has obviously been born under an incredibly lucky star. And Teflon is his best friend. As of now, nothing is sticking, even though the wicket itself is beyond sticky.Preity Zinta described Lalit as a ‘magician’. Well, his magic has saved his derriere so far. His partners and good friends may not be as fortunate now that the heat is on them…. while he cools off and relaxes at his favourite spa. One has to hand it to the guy – a more chilled out customer would be hard to find! Talk about chasing a crooked shadow, this ‘who dunnit’ would have baffled Hitchcock himself. You know why? Hitchcock understood psychos…. but was clueless about ‘ghaplas’.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I am an Indian. Jai Maharshtra!
“There are only Indians and non-Indians….”
“ I am as Maharshtrian as ‘varan bhaat’ – which I love. Everybody loves varan bhaat once they taste it, even those who are not born Maharashtrian. It is the best kind of comfort food – bland, unspiced, velvety and filling. I like to think most Maharashtrians are like varan bhaat – mild, easy- to-digest and likeable. Left to themselves, they prefer to mind their own business and get on with life. And there lies the key – ‘left to themselves’. Unfortunately, the time has come to admit that perhaps they are not being left to themselves.Opportunistic politicians have swiftly jumped in to profit from their discomfiture and frustration. The minute an ambitious, misguided chef takes it upon himself to add heavy- duty masala to varan bhaat and modify its taste, it ceases to be varan bhaat. He also loses his job!
So… let this be a given – Mumbai belongs to all those who live here and love it. That’s non-negotiable. A zero debate topic.Therefore, the question of keeping anybody out of this magnetic metropolis does not arise.Several manipulative attempts have been made by politicians to reclaim the city and rid it of ‘outsiders’. These attempts have failed spectacularly, simply because people have seen through the hollowness of the movement.Maharashtrians themselves have questioned the selfish motives of parochial political parties and rejected their narrow minded agendas.The ‘test’ is simple : Any politician claiming to help the ‘Marathi Manoos’ must begin at the beginning - first improve the lives of the local people through education and employment, dedication and sacrifice. Give the people better health care, roads, schools, hospitals, water…give them better governance on all levels.And stop this nonsensical ‘outsider-insider’ talk which is dangerous, divisive, undemocratic and anti-progress. In short, only two categories can be allowed to exist in our democracy - Indian and non-Indian. That’s where it begins and ends. Jai Maharashtra!
“ I am as Maharshtrian as ‘varan bhaat’ – which I love. Everybody loves varan bhaat once they taste it, even those who are not born Maharashtrian. It is the best kind of comfort food – bland, unspiced, velvety and filling. I like to think most Maharashtrians are like varan bhaat – mild, easy- to-digest and likeable. Left to themselves, they prefer to mind their own business and get on with life. And there lies the key – ‘left to themselves’. Unfortunately, the time has come to admit that perhaps they are not being left to themselves.Opportunistic politicians have swiftly jumped in to profit from their discomfiture and frustration. The minute an ambitious, misguided chef takes it upon himself to add heavy- duty masala to varan bhaat and modify its taste, it ceases to be varan bhaat. He also loses his job!
So… let this be a given – Mumbai belongs to all those who live here and love it. That’s non-negotiable. A zero debate topic.Therefore, the question of keeping anybody out of this magnetic metropolis does not arise.Several manipulative attempts have been made by politicians to reclaim the city and rid it of ‘outsiders’. These attempts have failed spectacularly, simply because people have seen through the hollowness of the movement.Maharashtrians themselves have questioned the selfish motives of parochial political parties and rejected their narrow minded agendas.The ‘test’ is simple : Any politician claiming to help the ‘Marathi Manoos’ must begin at the beginning - first improve the lives of the local people through education and employment, dedication and sacrifice. Give the people better health care, roads, schools, hospitals, water…give them better governance on all levels.And stop this nonsensical ‘outsider-insider’ talk which is dangerous, divisive, undemocratic and anti-progress. In short, only two categories can be allowed to exist in our democracy - Indian and non-Indian. That’s where it begins and ends. Jai Maharashtra!
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