Disgruntled in general

Of Seafood, Sand, Stairs and Sex

2010-06-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

This year the Memorial Day weekend turned out to be more eventful and memorable than I'd have expected. The weather sucked big time. It kept raining through the weekend washing out all chances of the usual backyard barbecue bonhomie and beer-bash and kept us mostly indoors.

Saturday afternoon, post a rather heavy brunch at a local seafood buffet, where I totally stuffed myself to the gills with dungeoness crab-legs and oysters with cocktail sauce (yummm...) I managed to drag a nearly comatose spouse to watch Prince of Persia - Sands of Time only because I wanted to ogle at Jake Gyllenhaal. I had absolutely no clue about the video game that had spawned the movie and had no expectations other than get an eyeful of puppy-eyed Jake. And boy was I surprised!! It was a total blast notwithstanding the weirdly fake British accent that Jakey boy was sporting. And gosh, he has beefed up seriously for the role.

There’s nothing much about the story – Jake Gyllenhaal is Dastan a sixth century hero, an orphan who was plucked off the streets by the good King Sharaman (Ronald Pickup). In a series of events that don't bear repeating, Dastan ends up in possession of a super-special mucho-mystical dagger that allows him to turn back the clock for a little strategic redo. His evil uncle (Ben Kingsley) wants the dagger. So does comely Princess Tamina (Gemma Arterton), who joins Dastan on a quest to protect the sands, fend off evil and prevent some kind of dust-spewing apocalyptic maelstrom launched by angry gods.

Dastan, aided by CGI, bounds over the walls of a city. Dastan tippy-toes past cavernous sinkholes. Dastan copes with poisonous snakes and whirling-dervish assassins. Dastan outwits Amar (a brilliant cameo by Alfred Molina), a farcical sheikh who makes his living from ostrich races.

Through it all, Gyllenhaal pops those big baby blues and employs that strange British accent I mentioned before, and in general looks like he’s having a ball . Prince of Persia is this fun ride that is Pirates of the Caribbean meets The Mummy meets Raiders of The Lost Ark and as much as I love Jakey boy, I couldn’t help thinking that a certain Mr Roshan would have been able to do this role in his sleep without breaking a sweat!!

Sunday morning, I woke up early and wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet in the house with a steaming cup of coffee and my laptop. But fate had other plans of course, because somewhere between upstairs and downstairs, I missed a step and took a nice long tumble only to land on moi derriere. Needless to say that it hurt...LIKE HELL!!!! And, now as if I didn't have enough on my plate already, I have to deal with this and the consequence. Oh well...

On Monday night a met up with a bunch of high-heel wearing giggling women to watch Sex And The City 2. The reviews had been so horrible that I didn't have any expectations from the movie whatsoever. And the critics were right - it was a mess that boasted of extreme American obtuseness as well as ignorance and apart from being crass, loud and politically incorrect, it also let all of us down by displaying dozens and dozens of tacky clothes in the name of haute couture!! Well, to be kind, I have to say that there were some moments where I was reminded why I fell in love with the show in 1998...but they were so few and far between that it was hardly worth sitting for two hours on an already sore seat!

One weekend and two movies, that too brand new releases – man, I’m back in action!!! And the critic in me is awake again....yippee!!

The Northeast and my lack of knowledge

2010-05-20T17:17:00.000-07:00

This morning while I was going through the blogs of Times Of India, I came across this one by Tarun Vijay, spokesperson for BJP. Very interesting perspective of the situation in the Northeast, specially in Manipur. I have never been to that side of the country - hell, I've never been to Darjeeling or anywhere north of Kolkata for that matter!! My knowledge about the Northeastern states are as hazy as the mist that lingers over the mountains and the last remaining rain forests of India. And I can count the number of people I have come across who hailed from that part of India in one finger.

Of course it reminded me of Leela - long ago, in another life I had met this beautiful Sikkimese girl called Leela in a NCC camp. We had instant camarederie even though I could barely speak Hindi and she could barely speak English. She had taught me how to say I love you in Nepali and kept correcting my awful Hindi grammar and when we parted ways after being joined at the hip for two weeks, amid copious amounts of tears and snot I promised to visit her in Gangtok. Needless to say that never happened and after writing to each other diligently for a year or so and thereby improving my written Hindi considerably, we drifted apart. Till date though, I cannot think of Sikkim without thinking of Leela - my sole connection with the remote Northeast.

My mother's cousin owned a fairly popular store somewhere in Assam (the details escape me) selling imported goods. I was very young then, but have memories of the dolls and electronic gadgets that he used to bring whenever he visited Kolkata, even though I actually can't remember his face. What I do remember is witnessing their family in shambles when literally over-night they had to flee Assam in the wake of a very violent anti-Bengali movement in the early 80's. He brought his wife and kids to Kolkata, to safety and went back to wrap up whatever was left of his business and found his store burnt to the ground. He was found hanging from the ceiling fan a few days later by his neighbors. To this day no one knows whether he ended his own life or someone killed him. Funny how I'd remember that one violent incident while I was reading about the insurgent groups that are terrorizing the northeast, spreading anti-Hindu, anti-Indian, anti-immigrant sentiments in the entire area.

When I lived in Bangalore, every now and then I'd come across groups of Northeastern students - they'd always stay in a pack, socialize among themselves, remain aloof and sometimes hostile to anyone who'd try to get closer. They were labelled as "chinkies" because hardly anyone knew who they were or where they came from - their Naga, Manipuri, Mizo or Tripuri heritage wiped clean by their flat Mongoloid features. They'd stand out like sore thumbs in the Aryan-Dravidian population of the metropolis - treated with disdain and ridicule. How much of it was because of the ignorance of the people and how much of it was their inability to identify or blend is a topic I won't even touch. I don't see it as any different from a group of Bengalis in Seattle who refuse to socialize with any one other than another Bengali. As human beings we tend to look for our own kind and feel safe as a tribe. Any one who is different is a threat anyway.

I need to read up on this issue a lot more. The lack of knowledge is very unsettling. Ignorance is as bad as indifference...and that needs to change!

A short trip

2010-05-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Kolkata - I travelled alone and it was a short trip, 10 days actually - but the heat and humidity made it feel way longer! What prompted me to land in Kolkata in May you might ask...in fact every one I met asked me that same set of questions. It was strange that people have pre-conceived notions about the NRI's and their travel habits. What are you doing here in May? How come you're traveling by yourself? Who's looking after the kids? Spouse let you travel alone? If those questions weren't bad enough, then came the wistful musings, specially from women - You are so lucky to have a spouse who would let you travel and volunteer to look after the kids!! The operative word here is "let", over and over again. Even my old-fashioned, traditional mother finally got sick of people going on and on about it.

I didn't quite understand the novelty of it much. In my world, women travel alone all the time - even moms travel alone all the time and dads take over the home front when moms are away. Sure, it's an adjustment for the dads - just as it was an adjustment for spouse. Not that I was having it easy either. Three days into the trip, I was missing the children so much that I nearly changed my ticket to come back early. But I had gone there with a purpose - to spend some time with Ma and if I didn't travel now I probably wouldn't have been able to see her this year at all. And this time alone with her, was something that she needed and as much as I hate to admit it, I needed it too.

To be very honest, I was a little weary of traveling alone. In the past, I've landed in some soup or the other pretty much every time I got on a plane without spouse. This time I had braced myself for the worst - a terrorist attack or a plane crash even. But fortunately it was completely uneventful except when I was questioned for the Mexico stamp in my passport at Frankfurt...that was completely bizarre!! And if I can help it, I will never fly through Frankfurt again - their duty-free shopping sucks...big time!!!

It was good to be myself again for a change - not the wife, the mommy or the daughter-in-law...just me, the way I used to be once upon a time...well almost! I say almost, because over the course of the 10 days, I realized how much I have changed since I left home over 15 years ago. Through my late teens and early twenties, Ma used to be pretty strict about late nights and we locked horns so many times over that issue. I was never given the house keys, nor the car/driver for late night uses. Even when I used to live alone in another city, she used to call up to check if I was home or gallivanting around town in the middle of the night. That used to drive me completely crazy - of not being able to get away from her scrutinizing gaze even after leaving home. This time, the house keys were handed over without having to ask for them, there was a car waiting for me 24 hours, no one asked me where I was going, who I was meeting and yet, every time I went out, not only I explicitly told Ma where I was going and with whom, also I was back home well before mid-night every time...voluntarily! What does that mean? Am I more responsible now? Or am I just old?

Bumped into some people I knew in another life in a club. Nothing seemed to have changed. They still meet at the club on Saturdays - sit in the sealed air-conditioned chamber smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey, the DJ still plays music from 80's and early 90's way too loud and the dance floor is still filled with aunties and uncles who has a bit to drink and have shed their inhibitions - the conversation has changed a bit...now they talk about their kids and their high cholesterol rather than the hot deal or the hotter babe they have landed. Some of those babes are now wives and have puffed up beyond recognition and I didn't know how to react to the "OMG... you haven't changed one bit!" squeals and the air-kisses. It was like stepping into a time capsule and it was surreal!! Once upon a time, I'd have been perfectly happy spending my Saturday evening there, but this time, I couldn't wait to get out. I stayed there for a polite half-an hour and then bid adieu to a place and time in my life I refuse to be nostalgic about any more!!

So I'm back. The boys clearly missed me - sonny boy showed a rare display of affection by hugging me in front of the whole world, when I went to pick him up from school. Bonny baby's vocabulary has tripled and I realized that I literally live to hear him call me "mammy"!! The girl has become a woman and the daughter has become a mother...it's good to be back home!!

Random Ramblings of The Disgruntled Kind

2010-03-16T20:11:00.000-07:00

I'm in a crabby mood...so what's new about that? I am always in a crabby mood!! I cannot even blame it on the wrong side of the bed because I always sleep on the same side and get out of that side too. Then what?

May be because all of us are sick - nothing serious...just the razor blades inside your throat, runny nose all day and hacking cough in the middle of the night variety. Add to that, a few throw up bouts on the comforter by sonny boy and I-can't-talk-yet-so-I'll-cry-and-keep-you-up-all-night routine by bonny baby. Add to that, spouse is at a fancy conference in Las Vegas where he's chowing down delicately flaky and moist fillet of halibut while my too tired to cook sorry bones are being fed 15 day old rice from some chinese take-out with frozen sambhar!! No, I'm not mad at spouse! Poor guy offered to abandon the conference and come back home to nurse us and keeps logging into Skype three times a day and watches his babies with a forlorn look on his face from the other side of the computer!! Parenting is tough enough but single parenting is just way too tough!!!

I'm trying to read the not so latest Dan Brown potboiler - The Lost Symbol...it's kind of lame, actually!! It started slow and stayed slow for sooooo long that I almost stopped reading it. Finally after 50 some chapters, it picked up but now I have already guessed the identity of the so called fearsome villain! *Yawn*

Quicksilver doesn't believe that all the pictures of Vidya Balan in ghastly outfits that she has posted in her blog are actually designed by Sabyasachi! I personally don't think Sabyasachi is a great designer, but a lot of women I know swear by him, so I'll keep my humble opinion to myself. Talking about designers, I just bought myself a Manish Malhotra knock-off saree. Now why the hell did I do that?? Where on earth am I going to wear that - considering that I'm on fall-out spree with friends!! I should have spend that money on a knock-off Birkin instead...since there's absolutely no effing way I can afford the original.

I forgot to thank Magpie for making me read Shutter Island many moons ago...that was one helluva book dude!! Anyway, so after sending an application to spouse three months ago, I was finally awarded with a date afternoon couple of Sundays back. We went to watch Shutter Island. Of course the movie was great - aren't all Martin Scorsese (did I spell that right?) movies great, after all? I mean who am I to criticize the great Mr Scorsese (I have a strange feeling that the spelling is not right...what the hell!!) and his movie making skills, right?? Is it okay to say that I was a little freaked out by all the imagery - spooky trees, ominous buildings, a creepy mental hospital for the criminally insane, angry-god weather, rat-filled caves and gruesome hallucinations??!! But I do have to say this, the man knows how to convert a book into a movie without killing it first. Does anyone remember Age of Innocence - a Pulitzer Prize winning novel by Edith Wharton adapted into a touching movie by Mr Scorsese in 1993?

I haven't reviewed a movie in a very, very long time. I miss it. How much I loved to shred those movies into pieces and fantasize that I'm doing the whole movie-watching mankind some kind of a favor. No, I don't do that any more. How sad, na? That's because I hardly ever watch any movie these days. As I mentioned earlier, that I have to apply in triplicate to spouse three months ahead of time in order to weasel out a movie-date. It's just too tedious. So, yes, I haven't yet seen Avatar, Sherlock Holmes, Alice In Wonderland and a host of other movies that has released since...like...summer of 2007!! I did catch a horrible excuse of raw-stock waste called 3 Idiots on DVD and had I caught it within the first week of it's release, I'd have loved to have shred that one. But by the time I watched it, it was already the highest grosser of the year...what's the point of hurting my arthritic fingers by typing up a review after that, you tell me?!

Talking about arthritis - I have a new malady...it's called Fibromyalgia. Nice name, innit? I like it...it's almost...pretty! Of course it causes me a lot of pain and I have been asked to manage my stress...haha...what a joke!! If I manage to manage my stress, then I'll be so boring...probably even nice...and not so disgruntled any more - and no one will read my blog!! OMG!!! Nah, too much at stake. I'll strive to remain what I am - high strung, paranoid, judgmental and acerbic. Bah humbug!!!

Of Friends and True Feelings

2010-03-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

After a long period of writer's block, posts are now coming out like a deluge. Don't know if that is a good thing or not - but sometimes it does feel better when I get things out on this page - my refuge, my confession box, my cave...

An impertinent boy I know keeps talking about how I need to shaken up - like a martini...that will apparently cure all my inertia. What I haven't told him that I don't need shaking... I've been beaten up like eggs , time and again - what I started with and what I have now are so different in color and texture that I can barely recognize it myself!!

I am a little sick of Facebook - the novelty has worn off. Actually it wore off quite sometime back...now it's a habit, like brushing teeth twice a day! I'm not really interested in other people's lives. In fact my lack of curiosity and apathy towards people posts, sometimes makes me wonder why I am still hanging out in the social networking quagmire! The friends that I had hoped to find has been found - communication channels have been reopened - old wounds have healed - tears wiped and snot dried...now what? My status updates are becoming more and more vapid, my albums show a picture perfect but completely bland suburban family on vacation...at parties - just looking at those pictures makes me want to throw up!!! Old class-mates who are now married, some with grown up kids are leaving suggestive comments on my profile pictures - I guess at my age I should be flattered by such attentions. My friend-list used to be pretty decent sized and made me feel all popular and wanted till I went on a ruthless spring cleaning and deleted half the lurkers and inert people who had nothing important or interesting to add to my life or to my wall for that matter.

Talking about friends, I have this friend - actually I have no idea why I call her my friend...in the last 10+ years that I have known her, she hasn't done anything remotely friendly. She owes me money, takes advantage of my generosity and decency all the time, doesn't have any positive thing to say about anything or anybody, raises my blood-pressure and gets me agitated every time I speak to her...overall the most toxic person I have ever known. I cannot remember a single instance where she has helped me in my times of trouble or has lend a hand or shoulder when I needed a friend. If anything, she has tried to poison my mind against common friends and I'm pretty sure she has been bad-mouthing me to other people too. After all, those who gossip with you, will surely gossip about you too!! Anyway, so this person's husband had a ski accident last week and has torn multiple ligaments and is going to be out of commission for a while. That's really terrible! She's of course depressed and worked up.

I avoided calling the first few days because I knew they'll be overwhelmed by the sheer number of well-wishers dropping by and calling to check on them. Finally when I called she ranted and riled about how horrible it has been with non-stop phone calls and deluge of visitors. Between doctors appointments and entertaining visitors she has absolutely no time to even collect her thoughts. I let her vent, as much as she wanted and offered her words of wisdom from my own experience in knee-surgery - what to expect and what not to do etc. including the contact information of my surgeon.

Last night I met another couple for dinner. Boy, news travels fast!! The first thing I hear from them is that how I didn't offer any sympathy to this friend in this trying time and apparently how I told her that her husband being the unfit sloth that he is should have thought before going to the ski slope and if he has torn ligaments he totally deserved it! I was completely stunned and I still am. I have no reaction other than to feel sad and let down yet again by this woman. Unfortunately, I cannot block her out completely from social contact - at least till I get my money back...but whatever precarious thread this relationship was hanging on has now finally snapped.

Lies

2010-03-13T23:53:00.000-08:00

I have been extremely disturbed by the gross videos of Swami Nityananda Paramhansa with Tamil actress Ranjitha, that's doing it's rounds on the web. No, I don't have a problem that two consenting adults were engaging in a sexual act - he's a man, she's a woman - they can do what ever the hell they want to do in the privacy of their bedroom. In fact, I find it very violating that someone taped their very private moments and handed it over to the media. Of course the whole aesthetics of the video is completely cringe-worthy...but that's also not my problem. What I am getting really miffed about is how this so called god-man is justifying himself. Apparently he was sick and the starlet, a devotee was taking care of him - his body was unwell and his mind was in a trance and he wasn't even aware of what was going on around him. What a joke!!! He was just lying around on the bed watching TV and generally being served by this woman in more ways than one.

What is with these god-men???!!! Is there any one who's genuinely enlightened - spiritually or otherwise? Why does all of them have to be crooks and liars?? Is that the pre-requisite of becoming a god-man??

Swami Nityananda has a temple in our neck of the woods. They do roaring business - the hundis are overflowing with donation from the rich desis. It's difficult to even find standing room during arathi time. I go there from time to time - not because I particularly believe, but because it has become a habit to go to a temple during the kid's birthdays for a quick prayer and this particular temple happens to be the closest from home.

Last year, I was going through a rather low phase in my life. I was down - really down. And when you're feeling weak, you tend to seek divine intervention. So one morning I found myself in the temple. There weren't too many people there and after the usual routine of praying etc I got pulled into a conversation with the temple secretary. He began to educate me about the life and work of "Swamiji" and I was told how he from a very early age it was evident that he was the enlightened one and how he's a baal-brahmachaari, completely devoid of any worldly desires and entrapments. He was coming to Seattle for a two-day spiritual healing workshop I was told and the temple secretary almost convinced me to attend. He even promised me to get one on one time with Swamiji so that I can have my all my problems solved. For whatever reason I never managed to register for the workshop and the forms and a calender with Swamiji's mugshot on every page got buried under the mountain of papers on my desk.

A few weeks back, I was finally cleaning up my desk and found those forms and the calender. I recycled the forms along with all other junk mails and expired coupons and random papers that has been crowding my work space. But some how I couldn't get myself to recycle that calender. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. So I put it back in the somewhat smaller "keep" pile.

Today, after the watching the vomit-inducing videos all I could think was how the temple secretary was selling the swamiji to me - enlightened spirit, devoid of worldly desires....my ass!!! Liars...all of them!!! I'm more angry at myself for even giving them the time and consideration in a moment of severe self-doubt and low self-esteem!!

Swamiji's calender now rests in the recycle bin.

Mothers and Daughters

2009-09-09T14:10:00.000-07:00

Spoke to my mom today for 2hrs 20mins on international call. My Reliance calling card is probably depleted, but the very thought of her living alone in that huge cavernous house, unable to sleep, watching astrology shows in the middle of the night makes me want to cry! That I'd been able to fill some part of empty world is solace to me! When she's here she drives me crazy...when she's in Kolkata I pine for her...

A friend of mine took one of those silly quizzes on Facebook which predicts the time of her death. She's supposed to die in 2016 at the age of 44. Of course, I cracked a silly joke about wanting her entire saree collection when she pops it, etc! Many years ago an astrolger predicted some events in my life - typically I don't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo, but whatever this dude had predicted has come true so far. Unfortunately, he had mentioned that I'll lose my mother at the age of 40...that gives her only 3 more years!

Another friend of mine is in Kolkata now. She's been there since June. Her mother has been diagnosed with cancer. The moment she learnt about it, she picked up her kids and landed in Kolkata to be with her mom. I was also in Kolkata at that time and since our kids are friends too, we'd meet every now and then to let the children play together. Every time I saw aunty, it broke my heart - she was so full of life and so cheerful while her body was falling apart! I came back to Seattle after the vacation was over and my friend was supposed to come back towards the end of August along with her parents. She felt she could provide her mom with the best possible care here, in Seattle. Yesterday, when I called her home to find out how they were doing, her mother-in-law picked up the phone. She said that my friend has stayed back Kolkata and her boys have come back to start the school year. I immediately called my friend in her Kolkata number and found out that aunty has had a cardiac arrest right around the time I left and is in coma since then. My friend can't leave her mother and her aging father alone - so she had to let her children go!

She's miserable and so are her boys. No amount of time spent on Skype can fill the void for either. I would know - I had to spend one whole miserable week not being able to touch my children. It was like someone had taken away my oxygen tank. Every night I'd watch them sleep peacefully while my fingers ached for a single precious touch!! But if I were in my friend's place I'd have done the exact same thing. Without doubt I'd have chosen my parents over my kids. But why does life throw us a curve like this? When daughters become mothers, it's such a hard choice to make...

The Long Hiatus

2009-09-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

I've been gone for a while...a year and a half to be precise. Not that I didn't have anything to write about - on the contrary there are quite a few unfinished posts languishing in my documents folder. Every now and then I'd get a nudge from a friend and I'd feel guilty about not writing. It's amazing that there are people out there who actually like to read the crap that I dole out from time to time!! It makes me feel wonderful, loved even!!

So what happened? Well, for starters, I added another human being to the burgeoning world population - a beautiful baby boy! He's a year old now - learnt to walk a few weeks back and exploring the world through his gorgeous dark eyes! I can barely remember a life without him in it. Sonny boy is now a responsible older brother, way wiser than his 8 years. Motherhood has taken precedence over everything else in life.

On top of that my mom decided to "help" me out by staying with me for 5 months or so. As much as I love my mom, I have to admit that she is the biggest baby out there - with her everything is a struggle. To go out or not to go out, to call people or not to call people, to cook this or cook that...the list is endless! And then there's her TV addiction! Like a good daughter I arranged for 14 desi channels for her viewing pleasure and I kid you not, the blasted TV used to be on for more than 12 hours a day, everyday!! She'd watch every infuriating serial, every reality show and expected me to sit with her and postmortem them too! Since the time she left, I can count the number of times I have turned the TV on and of course the 14 precious channels of desi TV were cancelled with immediate effect!

Apart from baby-sitting Ma, I was travelling too - with an infant in tow! There was a trip to San Diego with the usual bells and whistles of Lego Land, Sea World, etc and where I met up with my long lost friend after nearly two decades! We also landed up in Las Vegas over the Thanksgiving weekend and introduced Ma to the pleasures of gambling and boy, she had the time of her life at the slot machines! To celebrate 11 years of (almost) peaceful co-existence, our little family went for a cruise to the Caribbeans. It was amazing - we explored mangrove forest in Belize, climbed ancient pyramids of Altun Ha, got drunk on the white sand beach at Costa Maya, walked amidst the Mayan ruins at Tulum and in general had a great time.

And last but not the least, was the 6 week trip to India over the summer. Gosh, that was the fastest 6 weeks ever!! Bonny baby turned one with great fanfare among friends and family. We did a short road trip through Orissa, covering Bhubaneshwar, Konark, Puri, Raghurajpur, Dhauli among other places. This was my second visit, the first one being over 30 years back. I have always avoided Puri, in fact turned my nose down because it's such popular vacation spot for middle-class Bengalis. And take my word for it, Bengali tourists are a noisy, annoying bunch!! But this time, may be because we landed in off-season, I found Puri to be extremely serene - our hotel was isolated, the beach was almost private and empty, even the early morning visit to Jagannath temple went smoothly. The Sun temple at Konark was just as I remembered it from three decades ago - no words or pictures can describe the beauty of these stones!!

This was also a trip which will be remembered for the sheer number of old friends that I met up with. I made a special trip to Bangalore to meet the sister of my soul - it was an emotional meeting, one of forgiving the past, one of redemption, one of introducing the new generation, one of starting afresh! The other day I came across a line " You cannot lose true friends - only misplace them for a while..." That is so true. I felt that this time meeting all these people. It was so refreshing to be allowed to be yourself - no image to project, no pretenses to keep up - just be yourself and be accepted for it!!

No trip to India is complete without a pilgrimage to Hyderabad - this time it was all about food. For three days I stuffed myself silly. The city has changed so much in the 3 years since I left. So many flyovers and malls and tall buildings - but the soul of the city remains the same. My last five days in India were spent in Bombay. Again it was spent in catching up with long-lost friends and eating like there won't be any tomorrow. Recently I've reverted back to eating fish - so needless to say that this trip was very, very fishy - specially in Kolkata where it was the prime Ilish season.

Over the last year and half blogging took a back-seat because Facebook happened to me. I could express my happiness, my anger, my annoyance, irritation, elation, frustration, optimism, pessimism, all in the status update and once it's out, it's out. No more festering emotions to erupt in a blog post, I suppose. And the emotions which I put a lid on and allow to boil are too private to write about - of course, my therapist will disagree. She has asked me time and again to get those feelings on paper and get them out of my system. May be some day I will, when I'm brave enough...

Chicken pox drama

2009-09-05T14:41:00.000-07:00

I am down with chicken pox. It's really odd getting it at this age and the discomfort of having blisters in weirds parts of your body can be very, very annoying!! I mean, when you are young and don't have body issues you can be all whiny and demanding and ask your mom to scratch that certain part of your antamoy that you can't seem to reach. But now, at my age, all I can do is lock myself into solitary confinement, try to ignore all the itchy parts, watch dvds on laptop, read trashy romance novels and wallow in self-pity!
But what's most annoying is the way people are reacting to the news. The very first irritating question that I'm being asked is "How did you get it?" How the hell am I supposed to know how I got it!!!??? May be I was dancing naked in a vat of chicken-pox virus two weeks ago - yeah, that's how I got it!!
Then comes the next question - "Who's looking after the kids?" Hello? Who do you think is looking after the kids? Who can possibly look after the kids?? They haven't been packed off to an orphanage yet - their father is still alive!! Anyone who knows me knows that spouse is helluva lot better at parenting than I'll ever be. In fact, if I keeled over and dropped dead this very moment, my children probably won't even know that there has been a change!
The third and the deadliest question is "Do you want some food?" How do I even begin to answer that question? I have blisters in my mouth and zero apetite. I haven't stepped out of this room in five days. But when I see spouse and the babies, the certainly don't look like they are starving. No thank you, I don't want any food. Then there are those well-meaning friends who said they'll drop off food whether I wanted them or not, and guess what, they haven't. Good thing that I didn't planto feed my family on the promises of these generous donors!!
I know, they mean well and want to help out - and everyone's busy with this thing called life. I'd have been happy with just an email or a text message or a post on my wall in Facebook saying Get well soon.

Questions

2009-08-18T15:43:00.000-07:00

I'm back or am I, really? My fingers are itching to write, but do I really have anything to say? What do I write about? A movie review? About SRK's detention at Newark airport? About the Swine Flu epidemic? May be I should write about India's youngest rapist - if heroes like Shiney Ahuja can force himself on a hapless maid, why can't a 9 yr old boy assault a 6 yr old girl?
Or should I write about the other night when I was out with my family to have icecream at Marine Drive and a drunk hooligan beat up a scrawny security guard for simply asking to park his car in the right way? Should I write about how people just watched while the poor fellow was slapped, pushed around and kneed in the groin? Should I write how helpless I suddenly felt and the sweet taste of sitaphal icecream turned bitter in my mouth? Or should I confess about my sudden urge to possess a gun, so that I could shoot the bastard at point-blank? Why was I asked not to get involved? Because I'm a woman? Because the guy might have been armed? Or is it because it's okay to not get involved?

Book List

2008-02-01T18:40:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Hawaii for a week! Most of me is really looking forward to it...god knows I need some sunshine to thaw out the frozen bones!! The other part is dreading the flights, plane changes, security checks, bad airport/airplane food, restless legs, smelly toilets, packing, unpacking and other mundane stuff associated with travel. I wish we could use a port-key or floo powder or apparate/disapparate like Harry Potter or beam myself to my destination like they did in Star Tek! Right now my bedroom looks like a war-zone with everyone's summer clothes strewn all over waiting to be packed and a formidable stack of books which will comprise probably 60% of the luggage weight! I'm mighty excited about the prospect of being able to read uninterrupted for the next 8 days! So by the time I get back to the grind, I'd have finished reading

The Zahir - Paulo Coelho
The Thirteenth Tale - Diane Setterfield
Peony In Love - Lisa See
A Mirror Garden - Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian
Heaven's Edge - Romesh Gunesekera
Queen of dreams : a novel - Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Desirable daughters - Bharati Mukherjee
Maximum city : Bombay lost and found - Suketu Mehta

And I just realized that the list looks quite schizophrenic...oh well!!

Of Ghosts, Prostitutes, Babies, White Nights and Trains

2007-12-15T22:30:00.000-08:00

Life has been a little busy last few months what with sonny boy’s long list of extra-curricular activities, homework load, social obligations and traveling, my favorite pastime had taken a backseat. I missed out pretty much on all the new releases at the local Hindi movie theater in the past few months. So last week I went to the Indian grocery store and picked up almost half a dozen DVDs and spent the next two days subjecting myself to a marathon torture session of watching the following movies.

Laga Chunri Mein Daag: What the hell was the all about? It was so regressive that I kept cringing every few seconds. It was so hard to believe that Pradeep Sarkar who made the almost brilliant Parineeta was at the helm of this disaster! Rani Mukherjee is uneducated and vernacular and can’t get a job in big bad Mumbai…oh boohoo!! So she sleeps with the first creep who offers her a job in return of her services for a night. She could have done a lot of things after that…but no, she decided to take revenge by becoming a high class hooker!! I didn’t really get the revenge part…but in no time she brushed up her English and got herself a rather swanky pad with a view. Geez, how much was she charging and how many men was she servicing per day?? Its hard to feel bad for her when it looks like that she’s having a jolly good time in her pent-house, wearing designer clothes or flying first class to Zurich and cavorting around with Trademarks & Patent lawyer Abhishek Bachchan. I don’t know if my copy of the DVD was bad, but one moment Jaya Bhaduri was asking Rani Mukherjee to not to show up for Kankona’s wedding, and the next moment we see Rani and Abhishek dancing to a really cacophonous ditty at the wedding! What was up with that…did I miss something in the middle, huh?

Bhool Bhulaiya: Ok, now I’ve already called LCMD regressive…so what do I call Bhool Bhulaiya? Hmmm…let’s see. How about ludicrous?! This headache inducing, never ending, torture machine had everything that could possibly be wrong in a movie – each and every actor hamming their lungs out, the camera going crazy every now and then, the ear-splitting background score, crass humor, bad music in general ( except for the Hare Krishna Hare Ram number at the end credits)…the list goes on and on!! Akshay Kumar was completely, utterly, absolutely, unreservedly, wholly unbearable…even the usually reliable Shiny Ahuja let me down this time!! But I must admit that Bhool Bhulaiya was really funny at times, albeit unintentionally!! Vidya Balan hoarsely croaking while being possessed by a Bengali bhootni called Manjulika “Bodmaayesh, ami tor gola ketey rakto paan korbo” was so bloody side-splitting, that I forgot it was meant to be scary and not hilarious!!!

Heyy Baby: Oh my god!!! Is there even a word that would describe this god-awful excuse of a movie??!! There was not a single redeeming feature in this crass, loud, preposterous 2.5 hr comedy…absolutely nothing!!! Sajid Khan should go back to doing what he does best - hosting countdown shows on the idiot box and leave the film-making bit to the talented sibling!!

Sawaariya: Its really hard to believe that Sanjay Leela Bhansali, the man who made the lyrical Khamoshi could come up with a self-indulgent juggernaut called Sawaariya!! And I thought that Black was as bad as it gets! Its been a while since I've watched it, but I still remember the hauntingly beautiful “Le Notti Bianche” starring Marcello Mastroiani and Maria Schell frame by frame. SLB’s over-ambitious set designer Oomang Kumar created this strange Venice like place with over-sized neon signs juxtaposed against sometimes blue-gray, sometimes green-black buildings and a canal that meanders through the town ending at a giant Buddha face lit by a thousand lamps!! There is a Gondola (or may be it’s a Shikara) that glides through the wave less canal without the aid of any oars. There are more hookers in the town than residents and they all dress either in green or in blue and look like extras from 60’s Eastman color movies. A Muslim girl from a conservative family walks around the town in the middle of the night wearing low rise lehnga and backless choli. And it rains a lot during Eid and then it starts snowing!!

To top all these madness, there’s the lead singer of RK Bar who’s called Ranbir Raj who drinks milk and zombifies prostitutes by singing to them. He wears bowler hats and sailor pants so wide that he can hide at least 3 prostitutes in each leg. When he dances you want to call the doctor because it looks like epilepsy fit! That is Rishi and Neetu Kapoor’s little baby boy Ranbir, who also acts out SLB’s most ambitious homo-erotic fantasy on celluloid by draping himself in a near transparent towel and gyrating obscenely against a sunny window!! (Now I feel bad for Karishma Kapoor who got so much flack for appearing in swim suit in her first movie Prem Qaidi!) He’s earnest; I have to give Ranbir Kapoor that. But he neither has his father’s good looks nor his mother’s infectious charm and the poor boy was asked to ape his grandfather throughout the movie resulting in a performance that grates on your nerves!! Daddy dearest should immediately pack off sonny boy to some acting academy in New York or London and if funds don't permit, to Anupam Kher closer home to brush up on his craft.
Sonam Kapoor on the other hand was sweet and pretty and hopefully other directors will notice her nubile charms and give her better roles in future to prove her mettle! The girl definitely deserves a second chance.
Salman Khan in his brief appearance looked like a doped pedophile on the prowl. And Rani Mukherjee’s hooker with a golden heart act is staler than a two week old loaf of bread!!
Sanjay Leela Bhansali used to direct the songs for Vidhu Vinod Chopra once upon a time – remember the beautifully picturised “Kuchh na kaho” from 1942 a Love story? Even the songs from Devdas were well choreographed and shot. But something went terribly wrong in Sawaariya. It was like watching Subhash Ghai movie. Tacky, tacky, tacky!!!! Monty Sharma’s rather pleasant tunes were massacred by the director and his team of choreographers!! Unforgivable!!!

Om Shanti Om: First and foremost, I’m not a SRK fan. If anything, I dislike him a lot…a LOT!! So I find it very hard to say anything positive or good about him. But I’ll bite the bullet and say it….Om Shanti Om was a blast!!!! Total time pass, total paisa vasool. SRK sings, he dances, he fights, he cries, he moons, he flies, he wears his red underwear over his super-hero suit, he wears his designer jeans unbuttoned, he slathers oil over his newly chiseled torso and shakes his stuff till kingdom come, he hams till its not possible to ham anymore…and it works!! It bloody works!! Bottom line is you can love SRK or hate SRK, but you can’t ignore SRK ! Deeepika Padukone with her long limbs and dimpled smile couldn’t have asked for a better launch in Bollywood. Arjun Rampal was totally delicious as the bad guy even with that ridiculous moustache!! But the best thing about OSO is the awesome Art Deco inspired set by Sabu Cyril…it was like being in Miami…fantastic!!!! Kudos to Farah Khan…she knows how to make a masala movie…yenna rascala…mind it!!

Jab We Met: Socha Na Tha re-visited. I absolutely loved SNT…a sweet and endearing romantic comedy that introduced us to Abhay Deol and Ayesha Takia. JWM has ample shades of it, yet its every bit charming and engaging by it own merit. Kareena Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor finally get their chemistry right in their so called last film together. What I loved about it, is the natural progression of the story and the easy believable dialogues. Kareena’s character Geet, a loud motor-mouth Sikhni from Bhatinda could have easily been reduced into a caricature, but her charm is so disarming and her enthusiasm so infectious that you just can’t help but root for her. Shahid’s Aditya on the other hand goes from silent and brooding to best friend to prince charming in a smooth transition! Only if Imtiaz Ali could have done away with the whole extra-large Punjabi household and ganaa-bajaana part, JWM would have been a gem.

So here it is…six reviews in one post! None of these really merited a separate review and at the end of long weekend I’ve realized that I haven’t really missed out on movies as much as I thought I did!

Let it snow

2007-12-01T15:40:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up to the first snow of the season. It must have had snowed in the night...when I woke up all the roof-tops and lawns were coated with white powder. It looked so pretty…so pristine…as if nature just decided to hide all the ugliness of the world under the magical white blanket of snow. The weather forecast had predicted more snow and lo and behold it came down fast and furious in the afternoon covering everything.

What a beautiful sight!! Snow on the trees, snow on the street, snow on the grass, snow on the roof-tops and chimneys, snow on the cars parked outside! Snow in my hair and on my shoulder as I walk to my car my arms full of shopping bags; snow on my tongue as I try to catch the flakes by sticking the tip out; snow on my eyelashes as I look heavenwards and utter a silent thanks!

Tomorrow the rain will start and all the snow will melt. All that is beautiful and sparkling now will be the same old again.

Everything just seems to be insignificant right now

All that really matters is the magic from the sky

Let it snow

Let it snow...

Confessions of a Soccer Mom

2007-10-03T19:18:00.000-07:00

As of last week I’ve become a bona fide soccer mom! I can already visualize some of you snickering and for the uninitiated, here’s what Wikipedia has to say about soccer mom:
The "soccer mom" typically indicates a single income family, where the husband works while the wife is a homemaker. They are strongly against video games, music, movies, and books that disagree with their worldview. The term can carry pejorative connotations, where the soccer mom may denote a woman who is aloof and has little responsibility or occupation, other than providing basic transportation for her children. In feminist circles, the soccer mom may refer to a woman who has given up on a promising and successful career, particularly after having some early aspirations and achievements.
Literally, soccer moms drive their children to play soccer, and sometimes cheer them on during the game. At once, the soccer mom is associated with encouraging, if perhaps over-scheduling their children with activities, and with making personal sacrifices for their children's benefit while perhaps remaining somewhat overprotective.
The term has found a life as shorthand for a stereotype far beyond its literal meaning. Most widely, perhaps, they are associated with driving Volvos, minivans, or SUVs. Active pride in their children may be displayed, for instance, with membership in a Parent-Teacher Association, or with a bumper sticker boasting that her child is an honors student at their school. They may also have drinks and snacks in the car, for/if when the children finish school and/or soccer.

And now add the desi quotient into the mix. Culture confused, cleanliness obsessed, academic brilliance demanding, native language enforcing, over-the-top mom! Yep, that’s me – Mini (not the van type) driving, cell phone weilding, latte drinking, suburban homemaker and member of PTA (albeit the most inefficient of the bunch) who herds her child from school, to soccer field, to piano lessons, to martial arts class, to drama club, to play dates, in rain or shine without fail and on time carrying various paraphernalia in the trunk of her car that include folding canvas chair, three umbrellas (one of which doesn't work as I found out today), water-proof blanket to sit on, bottles of water, books from library and enough sugary snacks to keep a six year old bright eyed and bushy tailed for 18 hours straight!!!

This afternoon I stood around in pouring rain for 60 minutes, huddled under an umbrella watching a completely soaked sonny boy chase a soccer ball around the field as if his life depended on it! I was wet and cold, nose dripping, ears stinging from the icy wind that blew intermittently, my fingers so numb that I could barely hold on to the umbrella – my soul yearning for the dry, warm comfort of the car! But I stood there clutching a bottle of water and my oversized designer bag because my little angel would come running towards me on drink breaks looking for a high-five and a word of praise for all the good work he’s doing!! Note to self: carry ear muffs, hat and waterproof gloves to the soccer class next week!

Ten years ago if someone had shown me this picture I’d have laughed in disbelief! I was a career woman, single and fancy-free, not particularly fond of children and miles away from any sport whatsoever! Look at me now – so much has changed in the last ten years that I can barely recognize myself! Here’s where you’re probably deciding to feel bad for me…please don’t!! This post is not meant to garner any sympathy for the loss of my corporate aspirations or the consequences of putting my home before my career! I have very little regret for the choices I have made.

I’m living vicariously through my six year old – yes sir, I am!! He’s doing all the stuff that I couldn’t even dream of doing as a child – sometimes due to lack of opportunity and mostly because we couldn’t afford so many extra-curricular activities!! But sonny boy is lucky – he has me, his mommy who’s hell-bent upon saving him from the evil clutches of video games and endless hours in front of pixilated screens; who’s going to live up to the stereotype of first generation immigrant parent pushing her child to the limit for a dazzling future and if that means adding swimming, horse-riding, skiing, ballroom dancing and fencing in the already over-crowded schedule, so be it!

Hail the soccer moms. Don’t feel bad by the snide remarks ignorant people make about you at school parking lot or your husband’s office party. They don’t understand that you are raising model citizens of tomorrow! I’m going to be on your side and fight for your cause as long as you don’t mow me down with your giant SUVs or ask me to whip up 100 cupcakes overnight for the annual bake sale!

Tagged!

2007-09-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

Exactly three months ago Quicksilver – the Queen of the Universe tagged me with “have-to-write-and-post-it-in-8-hrs” thing! It took me this long to muster up enough courage and write this – mostly because I got intimidated by her expectations!

Nautilus…I have a feeling that her answers are going to be very interesting.

Oh Quicksilver, I wish you hadn’t asked for this – and now the bubble will burst not just for you but for all to see…

So here it goes:

8 Random Facts About Nautilus!!

1.I have to, have to, HAVE TO sleep on the left side of the bed. If by some cruel twist of fate I find myself on the right side, I usually stay up all night tossing and turning; even if I manage to doze off, I’ll get terrible nightmares and wake up in cold sweat!!

2.I’m a total reality show junkie – Indian Idol, Sa Re Ga Ma Pa, Jhalak Dikhla Ja, Nach Baliye, Dancing With The Stars, The Bachelor, Super Nanny, Wife Swap, Top Chef, Design Star – you name it, I watch it ! But funnily enough I haven’t seen a single episode of the grand-daddy of all reality shows – Survivor!!

3.I’m a hoarder – not the obsessive compulsive type, but an intelligent hoarder (if there’s such a thing!) It’s a cycle I can’t seem to break – for example, I’ll go through a phase of buying shoes (80% of those will sit in their boxes and never the light of day) then I’ll feel guilty about owning too many pairs of shoes and go on to buy purses – then the same guilt and the same urge to move on to something else like kitchenware, perfume, creams and lotions, sweaters, sunglasses, watches, books, art supply…you get the drift!!

4.I’m an extremely uncoordinated person and I can’t help it!! Usually I mask it very well, but try playing Frisbee with me and you’ll know what I mean. I can see the disc coming straight at me yet I can’t decide which way I should move in order to catch it – as a result most of the time I’d find myself flat on my back after being thwacked by a Frisbee on my forehead!!

5.I read 2-3 romance novels after every serious book I read. I called decompressing, spouse calls it addiction to soft-porn :D

6.I relax by cooking. In the good old days spouse would get a five-course meal every time we fought! These days we don’t fight as much, so the poor man is starving himself to a trimmer waist-line :)

7.I can’t read newspaper if someone else has already read it. I don’t know what the big deal is, but I like the fresh smell of a crisply folded newspaper! If someone else gets to it before I do, its akin to wearing someone else’s underwear or using someone’s toothbrush! In the same fray, I should also mention that wet bathrooms give me the heebie-jeebies!!

8.I’m addicted to dried cranberries and tangerine flavored jelly-belly and Sour-patch Kids! I hide my stash from sonny boy and spouse on a regular basis. And when they do discover my…ummm…weakness, I never apologize for succumbing to such greedy decadence. I deny sonny boy from candies’ evil influence, but yield personally to its entrapment. Sometimes I eat candy to wake me up, or to keep on working when I want to stop and take a nap. Much preferred to a carrot on a stick. A self-imposed bribe to keep pushing. Of course, this bribe has negative consequences when my jeans don’t fasten. Oh well!!

Like it or not I tag...

Ghetu - because I'm extremely curious to know what else we can dig out of this disarmingly frank person!
Lonely Blogger - because I want to know what habits she has picked up since I saw her last almost 18 years ago!
Grey - because he needs a new post!! :)
Lavanya - because anything she writes reads like poetry! :)
Chatter - because we are members of an exclusive mutual admiration club!!
Magpie - because his recent ramblings have been too short!
Shashank - because behind all the nerdy stuff there's a fun guy!
and
Shampa - because I'm curious about other things in her Bookduniya!

And here are the Tag Rules:

1) Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.

2) People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.

3) At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

4) If you fail to do this within eight hours, you will have to acknowledge that you are a bigger slacker than Nautilus!!!

So tag along guys!!

Sexy

2007-08-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

Sonny boy's summer vacations are not over yet!! So these days where ever I go, I have to drag him with me and play Bollywood item songs in the car to keep him entertained!! I know, I know I should be playing Rabindrasangeet or Beethoven to stimulate his young mind and not "Aa khushi se khudkushi kar le"...so I'm not raising a culturally elite kid...oh well!!!

These days most songs have bizzare Hinglish rap thrown in to make it more hip-hop I guess...I usually tune them out, but apparently sonny boy has been listening! So while such a song was playing, we had a conversation, which went like this:

Sonny Boy (SB): Mommy, can you turn down the volume please? I want to ask you a question!
Me: Yes baby!
SB: Mommy, what is sexy?
(Me pretending momentary deafness!)
SB: Mommy, you didn't answer my question!!
Me: Erm...
SB: I asked you, what is sexy!!??
Me: Sexy? Hmmm...lets see...what is sexy??!!
SB: Yes, what is sexy?
Me: Erm...sexy is....an adjective...to describe a person who is...goodlooking, smart, well dressed and excercises regularly so that he or she has a very good body!
SB: That makes me sexy!!
Me: Huh?
SB: Yes! I'm goodlooking, smart, well dressed and I go to Aikido classes regularly!
Me: No baby! Only grown ups can be sexy! Children are not sexy - they are cute!
SB: Thats not fair!!

Disgruntled As Ever

2007-08-17T12:59:00.000-07:00

I have been away for a while – physically as well as emotionally. Its one of those periods in your life where you are just tired and weary and going into a cave to lick your wounds in private seems like a good idea. Well, that kind of sums up my situation. And I could just stop writing anything more in this post – but I guess I won’t and so dear readers, if you’re still with me, let me warn you that this will be a long one!!!

I had gone back home in Kolkata for a month and a half. What a trip that was! Some vacations stay etched in our memories for the fabulous time we have and the wonderful experiences that we carry with ourselves for a very long time. And then there are trips straight out of hell like this one. In retrospect I should have had consulted my horoscope before making the plans or done some puja paath havan at the temple or worn an amulet or something around my neck before leaving home.

I didn’t really want to go to India in the summer. But sonny boy’s school was over for the summer. I hadn’t been home in a year. Ma was extremely distraught since Chhotu and Bhalo passed on. Going home seemed like the right thing to do even though I had a bad feeling about it. That bad feeling intensified even more when sonny boy and I landed in Kolkata early morning on my birthday and was greeted by a sky almost as dark as night. As soon as I loaded my stuff in the car the heavy dark clouds broke into torrential rain and crackling thunder. It was terrifying! It always rains on my birthday – I was born on the first official day of monsoon anyway. But never in my long years have I seen it come down so hard and furious.

The first few days weren’t so bad after all, barring the terrible rains followed by terrible heat! I was already getting tired of Kolkata and looking forward to Mumbai where Ma and sis awaited my arrival! I love Mumbai – I’ve always associated the city with fun times and excessive shopping. This time it was slightly different. Ma was still mourning Chhotu and Bhalo in a way that is very hard to understand. No one was allowed to enter the mausoleum of her grief; no matter how hard we tried to make her realize that her daughters are still there by here, she seemed to be lost in the infinite vacuum of her profound sorrow and emptiness.

And then out of the blue life threw a curve at me – it was quite unexpected and needless to say very traumatic! That was probably the time I needed my mother the most! But she couldn’t come out of her shell and extend her hand towards her daughter! Sis was already overwhelmed with her own set of troubles plus baby-sitting Ma for two months had left her exhausted! I was supposed to relieve her of that duty – but there I was, in need of attention myself! Her stress was palpable! I was completely alone through the worst nightmare of my life!!! Spouse proved yet again that he is the pillar of my strength – he dropped everything and showed up at Mumbai to be by my side in less than three days!! Together we lived through the final act of the real-life drama that left us heart-broken and drained! They say “that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”! I guess its true to some extent. Am I stronger now? I don’t know! I don’t feel terribly strong! Even after more than a month I’m still limping towards normalcy! But then life goes on and while you never really get over your sorrows, you learn to live with it!

We decided to cut the trip short and come back home. I needed to be in my own space. The journey back had to be taken separately – spouse couldn’t manage to get tickets on the same flight as mine. He took a different route. I boarded the British Airways Kolkata-London flight on a Friday morning, eager to get home. But who knew that was the beginning of yet another nightmare!

I had mild flu symptoms when I left Kolkata. And as luck would have it, sonny boy and I got stranded in London for 48 hrs. It was total chaos in the true sense of the word! Thousands of stranded passengers, total collapse in the system, confusion, mayhem, fever, hunger, thirst, uncertainty…how I managed to stay sane through all that is still a bit of a mystery to me! Anyway, we gave up on British Airways and bought fresh tickets on Air Canada and flew in through Vancouver two days later. That flight also turned out to be rather interesting! I decided to glug down some of sonny boy’s emergency supply of Benadryl to control a rather embarrassingly hacking cough. It controlled the cough alright, but it made me real drowsy and added to that it gave me a major case of restless legs! So for 10 odd hours I stood next to the toilet dozing standing up!!!

Anyway I’m back now and we’ve moved into our new pad. There’s just way too much to do around the house – boxes to unpack, things to put away, curtains to hang, call the cable guy, mow the lawn, cut down the 6 feet tall weeds, fight with BA so that they reimburse all the expense I incurred in London…the list is never ending!! We’ve also discovered the presence of a rather large concrete box embedded in our yard! Now it could be for rain water retention or for collecting the neighborhood’s sewer waste – heaven knows!! Whatever it is, it has completely messed up all my lofty landscaping ideas!! All of a sudden a simple backyard beautification project has become entangled in endless bureaucratic paperwork and permits!!!! So now I have to go to the City Hall and find someone who can and is willing to answer my questions and help me out!! As if I already didn’t have enough to do!

As my spate of bad luck continues, I have burnt my hand; got mauled by predatory looking weeds; the city threatened to disconnect electric and gas line because we forgot transfer our accounts from the other house to here; my car is demanding an oil change for which I have to drive half-way across the state to the dealership…I wish I could bury my head somewhere and make it all go away!!!

Someone, whom we considered a very dear friend – in fact almost family, is acting very strange. Usually I would have just left this person alone, but this time I decided to go out of my way to figure out the problem. Apparently we have used a certain tone of voice with this person and that was not okay. Huh? What tone? Spouse and I sat down and painstakingly recalled the series of events before and after this person started this strange behavior and we couldn’t really fathom what could be wrong!! Still I went out on a limb and tried pacifying this person without much success! So I guess its over now – it was great while it lasted! Hope this person finds happiness and lots of tone-less friends!

Finally I caught up with Harry Potter – the last book and the movie! The movie was actually bad and I’m very upset because of that!!! The Deathly Hallows turned out to be a damp squib – I do feel like writing a review, but its just too tedious!! Just this post alone has taken me almost three weeks to write – at this rate the review will show up on Daniel Radcliffe’s 21st birthday!!

So here I am, disgruntled as ever, and with ample reasons to be so. The summer is almost over and it’ll be a summer I’ll remember for the rest of my life for all the wrong reasons! Hope the colors of the fall and the crispness in the air bring fresh hopes in our lives…

The Origin of Crows

2007-06-15T00:04:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a small boy who lived in a city by the sea. He was a sweet little boy, quite mild mannered and was loved by every one. Being the only son after two girls, our little boy was quite privileged. His middle class parents showered him with all the gifts they could afford. He got a home-spun version of Sinclair ZX-81 computer with 2kb memory at the age of 10 on which our little boy started writing his very own computer games. Later his mother would sell this prized possession for mere ten rupees to the local junk-shop. Arround the same time, on the other side of the world a geeky teenager called William Henry Gates III was writing Traf-O-Data on a similar computer along with another teenager called Paul Allen. Their paths would cross with our little boy many years later, but this post is not about that.

Anyway, our little boy got an air gun as a gift when he reached his early teens. He and his equally privileged friends soon developed a favorite pastime – shooting crows! This was highly unusual, because the boy didn’t have a single violent bone in his body! Yet, he possessed a strong dislike towards crows and ruthlessly killed them with his air gun. He also happened to shoot the insipid son of his mom’s friend in the thigh though quite by accident. Fortunately nothing serious happened to that boy. But I digress… Anyway, our little boy found a like-minded partner in his cousin when he was visiting his uncle during summer vacation. They bonded over their common hatred for crows and together they made a sizable dent in the crow population of the immediate neighborhood that summer. I guess his father got a little worried by the sudden change of nature in his little boy, so at the end of the summer vacation, when the family returned to the city by the sea, the air-gun was left behind at his cousin’s place. Next summer when they went back there, somehow no one seemed to remember having seen the air-gun ever!

Many years passed, our little boy grew up into a bright young man and like most bright young men he too decided to explore the land of opportunities. Far away from home, from his loved ones he was all alone and not so privileged anymore. And to top it all there weren’t any crows in the bright and shiny antiseptic country. Yet, he couldn't quite get over his strong dislike for the black ugly birds. One night, lonely and hungry, probably slightly drunk, wallowing in nostalgia, he sat down in front of his type-writer and painstakingly typed out the following essay with only two typos. Ladies and gentlemen, from the dusty pages of almost forgotten past, I present you – The Origin of Crows!!!

There have been many theories about the origin of species. These theories were initiated by Charles Darwin and were followed by loads of other such loony scientists. However, all of them have been wrong only about one species – the Crows.

This paper intends to present to the world, the actual theory about the origin of crows. While all the species were developing peacefully, according to Darwin’s theory, in 20336858 BC during the time of dinosaurs, there was an invasion from outer space. Huge hoards of great black invaders stormed the earth. All over the earth there was panic wide-spread. The dinosaurs made desperate attempts to ward off the intruders. But there were too many of them. When the dinosaurs realized this they attempted in vain to flee. Finally, after a long drawn out, gruesome struggle, the dinosaurs were wiped out from the face of the earth and the world became the domain of these great black horrible repulsive creatures. For a few million years these creatures and their descendants ruled the earth. As they continued to dominate the earth, other strains of life stemming from the dinosaurs were also able to survive along with but under cover from these tyrannical creatures. Very soon these creatures adapted to air. They developed wings and took on a bird like structure. This was done so that they could look inconspicuous to their prey – all life on earth. These creatures were ruthless and cruel. They would very subtly kill other forms of life, making it apparent that they were absolutely innocent of the murderous deed. You may be surprised to know that these creatures still exist today.

These creatures are none other than what we call the common crow. So while all other forms of life developed parallel to the ancestors of the unscrupulous crows, without being aware of the fatal danger of them being around, man soon became, thanks to his high level of intelligence (?), the dominant species of the earth. However the danger posed by crows is still very serious and every year approximately 7000 people get brutally but subtly massacred by the crows. No one knows as yet how they do it, but it is certain that they do it. This actually is the real theory about the origin of crows. If they are not stopped, soon they will succeed in what they came to the earth to accomplish…the demolition of all life on earth and the taking over of the earth for the crow civilization of Crowton – the planet where the invaders came from. We must not allow the crows to further monopolize the earth. Demolish all crows.

Sister of My Soul - Part deux

2007-05-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

Those who read my previous post called “Sister of My Soul Part I” and gave me their valuable insights, comments and advice, there is news. Last week, late one morning my phone rang and the number on caller-id was unfamiliar. I was on my way out and almost didn’t pick up the phone – but I did and now I’m so glad I did! It was a phone call that I’d been waiting 19 years for!!! In less than a minute, all awkwardness, all inhibitions and all trepidations were forgotten and two friends reconnected once again, like we were never apart!! And the entire credit for this unimaginable feat goes to one person – someone who knew both of us very closely, someone who took the time and effort to bridge the gap by constantly encouraging us to start afresh! You know who you are and I cannot thank you enough for re-uniting the Three Musketeers!

On the heels of this wonderful reunion came another news – not such a good one this time. News of someone – a very dear friend I once loved and cherished and then lost to stupid ego and irrational anger! She has lost her father. A part of me wants to pick up the phone and talk to her, be there for her and there’s another part of me recoiling in apprehension, in fear of rejection! She has moved on in life and what if there’s no place for me in her world anymore?!

I had known her for a long time. We were buddies at NCC camps and hung out regularly on Saturdays after drill practice. But it was during the last two years of school that we became really close friends – inseparable and each others’ confidants and allies! As young-adults, together we explored and enjoyed the taste of new-found freedom. Those were the wonder years…the sky was the limit for the free souls…the world was our oyster!

We went to different colleges – me in the drab, early morning jail for studious girls where I was complete misfit while she was in the most happening university campus. I spent a large chunk of my first two years of college life at the cafeteria of her university than in my own classroom! It was at that cafeteria, she introduced me to a boy – someone she liked a lot. He was perfect – in every sense of the word – good looking, from a good family, brilliant and on the brink of a promising career! I couldn’t be happier for my friend!!

Around the same time, she also developed a new habit – going for early morning walks by the lake. I’d join her once in a rare while if I managed to roll out of bed that early, which didn’t happen very often! Once, after I had ditched her several times in a row, I got a call from her – she was very excited and wanted me to meet her at the lakes early next morning! She had met someone at the park. He was a looker, she said – they had exchanged a few lines and she was smitten. What about the boy from the university, I asked. I thought they were getting serious about each other. She said she was confused – she liked them both and wanted my honest opinion before she makes up her mind.

Early next morning I meet my friend at the lakes. She was excited and nervous at the same time. We held hands as we approached the boy doing push ups in the distance. He was really nice to look at I admitted. He greeted us with a cocky grin as if he was well aware of his effect on women. We were introduced briefly. I don’t recollect exchanging more than a few words with him. But I remember having a long discussion with my friend, during which it came out that this boy was from a different religion, a school drop-out and earns his living by dancing at various shows around the city. Of course I was all for dignity of labor and stuff, but I couldn’t really see what could be so attractive about him except his pretty face. I implored her to think and act sensibly – her friend from the university held a lot more promise for the future than this boy I argued. If any amount of time and energy needed to be spent it should be after the boy from the university I reasoned. She seemed to agree with me which pleased my foolish ego to no end.

Over the next few months I saw my friend on and off, sometimes alone, sometimes at the cafeteria with the boy from the university. They seemed to be getting along really well. I once managed to corner the boy and asked about his intentions for her. He said, she was very special and that he liked her a lot and he saw a future together. I was ecstatic for my friend...everything was perfect! Little did I know that my world was going to fall apart in a matter of days!

A common friend came to my house couple of days later. He was very distraught. He had been keeping a secret for weeks he said and it’s been driving him crazy. He was afraid that if he didn’t get it off his chest he’d fall sick!! My friend had called him a few weeks earlier and asked him to accompany her to the house of the boy from the lakes who was laid down at home after a serious motor-bike accident. The “house” apparently was a one-room shanty in a filthy slum at a religiously sensitive area of the city. There the boy lived with his parents and about half a dozen siblings. Mortified, this common friend literally pulled her out of that hell-hole and berated her for dragging him to that place. She apologized to him and begged him to not to tell me anything about their little “trip”. Our common friend agreed not to tell me anything on one condition – she’d have to tell me herself. She promised that she’d tell me as soon as finds the right opportunity! But apparently it had been weeks since the incident and it seemed that she was still waiting for the right time, because I was clueless about all that!

I remember feeling very numb while the story was being narrated to me. I felt like a fool…that made me very angry! I loved her and trusted her…it was unimaginable that she’d hide things from me. The very thought hurt me so much!! Her secret now became my burden and it sat really heavy on my shoulders. But I wanted to wait for her to come clear…confide in me just like she always did and for the next few days I made sure that we had ample time by ourselves to chat… for her to tell me her secret. She didn’t…and every time I said goodbye to her, my heart broke a little more.

I still remember that evening quite clearly. I was at her house. Our favorite place to hang out was the terrace. She was making small talk and I was distracted. I had so many questions…why wouldn’t she tell me anything!! What was she afraid of? My disapproval? But she knew I’d disapprove – in spite of that she went ahead and contacted that boy! Does that mean she doesn’t care what I think!? Does it mean that my opinions are meaningless to her? But she had asked me for my opinion when she called me to the lakes. What was she thinking? Was she ashamed of her actions? If that was the case, she could just tell me and we’d laugh it off and move on!! The questions kept swirling in my head like a tornado. I was feeling sick!! I finally blurted out everything…I took the name of our common friend and told her that he had told me everything! She was quiet for a moment and then she got very angry. She was angry at the common friend for betraying her trust…he was not supposed to say anything to me…he promised to her! But he promised on the condition that she’d tell me herself I reminded her! That got her even angrier…she said, she never found the right moment to tell me. But its been weeks I argued…there were so many times we were alone…she could have told me anytime! “What are you afraid of?” I asked her, “My disapproval?” She looked at me with cold eyes and said she didn’t care much about my opinion and she was perfectly capable of taking her own decisions! And that I should stop trying to run her life for her!!

Every time I look back at that conversation, I feel that if she had shot me in the heart with a gun, it’d have hurt less! “As you wish” I said and walked out of her house and of her life that day. I moped around for days…sometimes heart-broken and in excruciating pain...at other times blinded by extreme anger. And in that fit of mad rage, I ended up doing the absolute worst deed of my life!! I sought out the boy from the university at his dorm and ratted my friend out to him! I still don’t know what I was trying to accomplish that day…but when I left him, I felt so low that I wanted to drop down in the gutter and die!! In one fell sweep I finished off whatever chance there was to save the friendship by my one stupid and irrational action!

I never stepped into that university campus ever again. For the longest time I refused to hear anything about my friend. Time dulls all pain…everyone moves on. I did too. So did the boy from the university and my friend - but in different directions! Some years later, I heard from common acquaintances that he’s settled somewhere in the windy city…married to a beautiful girl chosen by his parents, doing really well for himself. My friend never married…she’s working with a multi-national bank and lives alone in a city once known for its gardens. Nobody knows what happened to the boy from the slum! Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t acted in such a reprehensible manner that day, whether my friend would have ended up with the boy from the university!! Did I change the course of their fate?

The burden of my guilt and my shame is too heavy to let me pick up the phone and call my friend again. What will I tell her? Ask for her forgiveness? Yes, I am sorry for ratting her out. But did she ever feel bad for trampling on my feelings? For belittling my trust in her! For crushing my faith in our relationship!! I suppose these questions will go unanswered, because I don’t have the energy in me to bridge that gap anymore, no matter how much I want to. So In this time of her personal loss, all I can do is wish her strength and pray for her well-being from afar!

Of Pirates And A Sugar-free Romance

2007-05-28T01:11:00.000-07:00

One long weekend and two movies…both highly anticipated albeit by different groups of people…well mostly! Because there are some people, like yours truly for whom cinema is like oxygen irrespective of the language and genre!

So Friday night was reserved for Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End. I was slightly apprehensive of subjecting myself to the latest 2 hour 50 minutes long pirate extravaganza, especially when I totally hated the last installment which was too soggy for my comfort. Well, I’m happy to report that Gore Verbinski has once again redeemed himself in my esteem. Here’s the low-down. Lord Cutler Beckett has control of Davy Jones' heart, (which sounds sort of gay when you're just reading about it, but it's not — the heart's in a box). And because he's got the heart, that means he's going to rule the seas. All the pirates and their friends call on all the other pirates around the world to battle it out against the dark forces of uncool un-pirate-ness. And they do this by sailing off the literal edge of the world's map. I think. I just said, "I think," because it's very long, with a hundred characters and lots of plot, and most of the pirates, while speaking, actually sound exactly like "Arrrrrrrhh!!" so you're sort of just waiting for action to speak more clearly than words — truth be told. Eventually it does - in a way that's been designed to deliver maximum sensory blast. It's loud, the effects are cool, the action explosive, the décor opulent and there are surreal scenes of mayhem and madness -- including a mass crab-and-ship exodus, an apocalyptic-looking waterfall along with multiple Jack Sparrows and great Fish People, as well as a fantastic finale battle that'll simultaneously confuse and thrill you.

Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow's in fine flighty form and the enterprise as a whole has reconnected with some of that fun stuff that made it such a pleasant excursion when it first set sail back in 2003. Joining him are Geoffrey Rush as Captain Barbossa (as delightful as ever) Orlando Bloom as Will Turner (blander than a bowl of mashed potato without salt), Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Swann (coming off as downright tough and Pirate Queen-ish throughout) and Chow-Yun-Fat as the ill-tempered Capt. Sao Feng leading the pirates of the Singapore. The extensive passenger list also includes Bill Nighy as the heavily tentacled Davy Jones, Stellan Skarsgard as Turner's imprisoned dad Bootstrap Bill, Naomie Harris as Tia Dalma, the gypsy queen who turns out to be a true force of nature, and, most notably, Keith Richards in a brief but memorable cameo as crusty and mumbling Keeper of the Code and Sparrow's dad, Captain Teague. And I must mention the funny pirate monkey – if I weren’t so smitten by Johnny Depp, I could watch At World’s End just for the monkey! I have a feeling the ride is not over yet…so watch out for the fourth installment in a few years or even earlier!

This evening I ventured out all by myself and treated myself to a sugar-free romance. It’s been a while since I’ve watched a movie alone and believe me, for the longest time I was alone in the entire theater. It almost felt like a private screening with samosa and hot chai for snack, till noisy and late-latif desis started trickling in and messed up my reverie!

Coming back to Cheeni Kum – I’d call it a romantic comedy with a difference. While it isn’t path breaking, it is eminently watchable!! It was short and well, low on mush! Amitabh Bachchan as 64 year old pony-tailed London restaurant owner - the egotistic, caustic and cynical Buddhadev Gupta and Tabu as the strong, independent 34 year old Nina Verma, a software engineer from Delhi are the most unlikely people to fall in love. But they do and their chemistry is awesome and you want to root for them when they decide to tie the knot! Of course there’s a kabab-mein-haddi and completey over the top Paresh Rawal who’s Nina’s father and is actually six years younger than his potential son-in-law! The movie was going great till Paresh Rawal showed up post interval and made it a tedious watch! Also a monolgue by Amitabh Bachchan rationalizing why Paresh Rawal is freaking out at the prospect of his daughter marrying a man 30 years her senior slowed the movie down to a crawl!*yawn*

Watch out for the scenes where Mr Bachchan shares screen space with Tabu and Zohra Sehgal who plays his mother! The grand old lady is still such a delight to watch. Lately, I’ve been noticing a trend in Hindi cinema where strong and entertaining characters are being written for supporting roles( Khosla Ka Ghosla, Pyar ka Side Effects) – Cheeni Kum too has a wonderful collection of supporting cast – the guy playing toothy Colgate (I totally loved his accent) and Swini Khara as Amitabh Bachchan’s 9 year old friend and neighbor Sexy stand out - she undoubtedly had the best lines in the movie!

Sometimes, they say, less is more. In this case, a little less sugar made Cheeni Kum a fun caper and saved it from being too sappy!

Obiter Dictum

2007-05-17T23:47:00.000-07:00

As I write this, there’s a tiny little humming bird right outside my window flapping its wings frantically to stay afloat while drinking nectar from the freshly bloomed maple flowers from the tree that frame view of the yonder. This is my most favorite window in the house. If I look down, I can see the community garden where people grow herbs, flowers and vegetables and right now there are tulips and hyacinths and poppies and calla lilies blooming in riots of colors. A little beyond is the park where children play on the swing set and run around the fountain on a sunny day. And over the absurdly green tree tops that border the park, on a clear day Mt Rainier looms like the giant sentinel that guards the horizon. These days every time I look out from this window, I get sad…this view won’t belong to me for long! We’re moving…yet again! And this time I have no one to pass the blame on…it was solely my decision to move back to the suburbs; to be close to spouse’s work place; to get back into the big house, big garage, big yard lifestyle of the suburbia. It was a decision made with my head (or so I keep telling myself) and not with my heart! Because my heart breaks every time I think of moving away from this place!

I’ve been religiously going for walks last few weeks…probably to get my fill of this place before I say goodbye. I walk on the tree lined avenues of Capitol Hill, past the historic multi-million dollar mansions with their impeccable lawns and flower beds, listening to the soundtrack of Metro and Ek Chaalis Ki Last Local, up and down the hill, sometimes through the winding roads of the Interlaken Park, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air, stopping to smell the flowers and realizing how much I’ve come to love this neighborhood! My walks have become my daily pick-me-up, my time to unwind, plan the day, plan my life and come up with hare-brained schemes to make more money among other things! Beats going to the gym any day!!

Finally I caught up with the Koffee with Karan Season two. Interestingly, Karan Johar seemed a lot mellower and talks about his mom all the time! His guests are as boring and predictable as ever, barring of course Rakhi Sawant…I absolutely loved her! The girl has spunk and doesn’t believe in mincing words! My kinda girl! Even La Mallika Sherawat seemed a little subdued compared to Rakhi Sawant! Also caught up with the first two episodes of Indian Idol 3. Anu Malik should be fired with immediate effect for being obnoxious in general; Alisha Chinai should lose 20lbs and that weird accent; Udit Naryan should first fix his own diction before commenting on others' (Koi enzineer ka kaam karega, anyone?) and Javed Akhtar should leave his insecurities at home before coming to reality show as a judge! His constant bickering with Anu Malik was borderline juvenile. There was a sense of déjà vu while watching him bitch and moan about Anu Malik’s high-handed attitude…Javed saab had a pretty similar spat with Ila Arun during that pathetic show called Fame Gurukul last year (or was it the year before? ...who cares!)

Thank god the news-sites have stopped obsessing about Abhishek-Aishwarya’s wedding and Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty’s highly erotic kiss! Now I can go back to reading news in peace without having to devour the minute by minute details of the wedding of the century. From the pictures that made their way into the internet, I have only one thing to say - Aishwarya Rai needed a stylist at the Cannes and she needed one real bad for her wedding! Ok so I have more than one thing to say...sue me! Abhishek Bachchan’s jewels would put the Nizam of Hyderabad to shame…that Sarpech alone would have cost an arm and a leg; I’m not even getting into the string of pigeon-egg sized emeralds that were hanging from Baby B’s neck!! But whats with the garish mandap Mr Bachchan? It looked like something straight out of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan!! Then media brouhaha caused by Gere-Shetty PDA and the subsequent arrest warrant was even more ridiculous than the Aishwarya-Hrithik lip-lock controversy! Whether or not the media blew everything out of proportion, Richard Gere, the old goat should have known better!! And I own the DVD of Shall We Dance…there is absolutely no scene in that movie that is even remotely close to what transpired on stage that day! Having said that, I also must admit that Ms Shetty was looking particularly yummy that day and Richard Gere yet again proved the old adage “Bandar kitna bhi budha ho jaaye par gulatiya marna nahi chhodta!”

This afternoon on a whim I called a friend I haven’t spoken to in nearly seven years. No, we were not fighting or anything…in fact we’ve been in touch over instant messengers etc., albeit sporadically. But it was wonderful to talk to this person after such a long time. Reminded me why we became friends in the first place…even after three hours of marathon talking (during which I ran errands, picked up sonny boy from school, took him to the park, came home and started dinner) we were reluctant to say bye. Well lets see if it takes another seven years to pick up the phone again!

Spider Man 3 has apparently become the biggest hit of 2007 in India. Cool! I saw it last week…didn’t think it was anything to write home about. Now I want to watch the Bhojpuri version…I’m sure it’ll be infinitely more entertaining than the original!!

Yet Another Farewell

2007-05-09T15:46:00.000-07:00

Last night Bhalo left us to join Chhotu somewhere in dog-heaven. We were expecting it and had braced ourselves for the eventuality, but that doesn't lessen the pain and the sense of loss even a bit!

Visual DNA

2007-04-26T08:45:00.000-07:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

A Farewell

2007-04-17T21:21:00.000-07:00

I still remember the day she was born, like it was yesterday! Pingo chose to give birth under my brother’s bed and we waited in anticipation and barely suppressed excitement as each puppy came out of their mother’s womb. She was the last one – almost half hour younger than the rest of the pups and the smallest of the lot. I was immediately smitten and named her Chhotu, because she was so tiny! My sister named the rest Lolo, Goondi and Bhalo! What a joyful time that was – watching the four of them grow from red and sticky looking creatures to white balls of fur, their tails like baby-corns. As much as we loved them all, it was impossible to keep five dogs in the house – so we had to give away Lolo and Goondi. I couldn’t imagine parting with Chhotu and my brother with Bhalo. So they stayed.

The little fur-balls grew into playful puppies in no time and kept all of us on our toes with their mischief. They would run amok given the slightest opportunity throwing everybody in a tizzy to catch them and bring them back to safety! One morning when the pups were two and a half months old, Chhotu fell from the fourth floor terrace! No one knows till date how she reached the terrace and jumped over the vegetable patch – but she did, and miraculously survived the fall with only a fractured forearm! It was such a sorry sight – Chhotu would limp around all day on three legs, her forepaw stretched in a plaster cast! That made her even more adorable in our eyes. It was around that time she started sleeping on my bed, snuggling next me. She would sleep as long as I slept…that could be 10 in the morning on some days!!

A few years later I left Kolkata and moved to Bangalore. The first few months were sheer torture. I was homesick alright – but more than that I missed Chhotu; her playfulness, her frantic welcome when I came home, her warm furry body next to me when I slept at night! Eventually the pain dulled and I got used to living on my own in a different city away from everything I’ve ever known, but every now and then I’d rush back home to be with my babies Chhotu and Bhalo.

Eventually my distance from home became even greater when I moved to Seattle and I wouldn’t see my babies for almost two and a half years! When I walked into the house after such a long gap, Chhotu and Bhalo greeted me with the same frantic enthusiasm as always…but Pingo was very sick. That was the last time I’d see her…few months later she had to be put to sleep to end her sufferings! That was such a huge shock for me and even now when I enter my mother’s house, its hard to believe that Pingo is not there anymore!

As an empty-nester, my mother’s life started revolving around Bhalo and Chhotu. They were her children, her friends, and her reason to wake up every morning! When I relocated to Hyderabad, I decided to bring Ma, Bhalo and Chhotu to come and stay with me. It was a huge endeavor – convincing Ma that the two dogs, now more than 10 years old would survive the journey, stuck in a cage and locked up in the cold, dark belly of the plane! On top of that I had to get custom made cages for the two of them and get necessary paper work required by the airlines for transporting animals – finally everything was arranged! I couldn’t sleep at night all week before the journey and kept praying that Bhalo and Chhotu reach Hyderabad alive! Ma will never forgive me if anything happened to them in the hold of the aircraft! But we made it – Chhotu and Bhalo reached Hyderabad alive and all was well! We spent the next six months just like old times – well almost! I was reunited with my babies, but they were not babies anymore! Both of them were old and as much as they loved to play, they tired easily. Then there was sonny boy – those two never really took to him and regarded him mostly as a nuisance vying for attention from me and Ma! Yet, the six months flew and they went back home, which was yet another production involving cages, tranquilizers, frayed nerves and non-stop prayers!

The last time I went to Kolkata was a month before I was to move back to Seattle. Both Chhotu and Bhalo were not keeping well. Ma was tense and the vet had become a permanent fixture in the house. I’d call home every now and then to find out about them and talk to Ma who was getting into the vicious cycle of insomnia and depression. She would constantly voice her fears about the future without Chhotu and Bhalo and the bottomless pit of emptiness that she was slowly sinking into. How helpless that made me feel – not being able to do anything to help her out! I can’t leave here; Ma can’t leave Kolkata because the dogs are in no state to travel!

Then Chhotu fell violently ill…all of us gave up hope, including the doctor… but Ma didn’t! I’d call her everyday and enquire after Chhotu! I don’t know if it was the strength of Ma’s love or Chhotu’s will to live, in a few weeks she got better! We all heaved a huge sigh of relief!

But who has ever been able to cheat destiny?! Day before yesterday, Chhotu stopped eating and on wobbly legs started exploring the house. She would walk, fall down, sleep for a while and then get up and explore some more refusing all attempts to feed her. Ma waited for the inevitable with bated breath all day and then ten minutes to three in the morning, Chhotu came to Ma, lay down at her feet and breathed her last!

I was informed almost twelve hours later…not that I could have done anything had I known earlier! I couldn’t have done anything even if I was right there! Except may be lend Ma a shoulder to cry on, wipe her tears, distract her from the vacuous emptiness that Chhotu has left behind, relive the last 13 years of joy that she brought to our lives…but all I can do is write this post and try to reduce the numbness that has engulfed my whole being since I got the email bearing the news early this morning! I know I’ll never get over this, but I’ll learn to live without her, just as I learnt many years ago in Bangalore…but this time there’ll be no Chhotu jumping up and down with unbridled joy when I go home in June!

Abu Simbel and the journey to Alexandria

2007-04-15T10:10:00.000-07:00

March 3, 2007

This morning after yet another fabulous breakfast at 1902 we bid adieu to the Old Cataract hotel (and to moronic Akram and his over-powering cologne) and left for the airport to go to Abu Simbel. Everything is so organized here. The India-esque appearance can be very misleading – people are very laid back here, but at the same time everything’s quite organized and extremely clean! The high point in the whole check-in and boarding process was spotting an item called “spiral taking away instrument for cork-plug” in the prohibited items list at security check! The flight itself was short and unremarkable, flying over the vast Sahara and Lake Nasser to reach Abu Simbel. From the top the vista tourists was spectacular! Our companions on the plane were a gaggle of Japanese tourists and a very butch looking lesbian couple. The Japanese tourists are subjected to constant “Arigato Gozaimasu!!” just like our “Indiaah! Namaste!” torture – but at least they don’t have to hear some actor’s name a thousand times a day!!!

At Abu Simbel airport, someone was supposed to say “Aton” to us – that person would be our guide. Someone did say “Aton” but he vanished leaving us standing around twiddling our thumbs. Then yet another “Aton” showed up, shook hands and vanished. After 15 more minutes of waiting, a third “Aton” showed up and introduced himself as Nasir and escorted us to – guess what – our very own 40 seat private bus and we headed to our hotel, Seti I! I’ve been warned by Alnoor back in Seattle that this was to be a very basic hotel. How basic? Who knows! I pretty much had no idea what to expect! Would it be bug infested, leaky roofed dump? Seti I turned out to be this really nice resort situated on the bank of Lake Nasser! And our room was actually a large one bedroom cottage in Nubian style domed architecture overlooking the lake on side and an infinity edge pool on the other! The only thing “simble” about this place is its name!!

Later in the afternoon the local guide and “Aton” number three came to take us to the Temple of Abu Simbel. Built by Ramses II the two temples of Abu Simbel belong to the 14 temples UNESCO saved from submersion in Lake Nasser. These people literally moved the mountain – a project that took four years and extreme precision to complete! The original temples were cut into a giant cliff face – UNESCO engineers created artificial domes of concrete and piece by piece they reconstructed the Abu Simbel temples on these domes like a giant jig-saw puzzle!

The façade of the main temple that of Re Harakhte takes your breath away no matter how many times you’ve seen its pictures! Arranged in pairs on either side of the entrance, are the four enthroned colossi of Ramses II. Standing at 20m high they dominate the landscape! Inside both the temples, well preserved carvings give glimpses into the life and times of the Pharaohs as well as the fashion of that era!

I was a little undecided about coming to Abu Simbel in the first place. But I’m really glad that I came – would have missed the fascinating sight that no picture or film can do justice to!

We decided to give the sound and light show a miss though. At $25 per ticket, it smelled of tourist-trap. May be we’d have gotten some really nice night-time pictures of the monument, but it wasn’t incentive enough to in cold wind and mosquito bites and get nagged by sonny boy!

The hotel, as nice as it is, unfortunately is completely dead. Wonder where all the tourists are. Saw a whole bunch of them at the temple complex! And I know for fact that there aren’t too many good hotels in this town, which by the way was built to house the people who worked in the rescue project of the temple. Before that it used to be just a Nubian village.

Well, all the tourists showed up at dinner time – most of them were Japanese, who rarely hang out by the pool or at the bar if you ask me. They were herded in by their tour guide – given time to eat their dinner and again herded out like chattel. I preferred to retire early than stay up and listen to soppy love ballads that were being played in a loop!

March 4, 2007

I woke up around 5am this morning – it was light outside. Looking out of the large picture window of the living room, I caught a spectacular sight. The sun was coming up casting a golden glow on Lake Nasser and the sand-stone cliffs on the bank. The moon hadn’t set yet – it was white disc hanging low on the horizon forming a perfect iridescent triangle on the lake water with its reflection. I stood around and watched the moon set – for the first time in my life. A very poetic moment indeed. But my inability to express my feelings in verse left me handicapped! Kabi kabi bhaab, chhander obhaab!

Today we are flying back to Cairo and from there we’ll be driving to Alexandria. I’ve been a little wary about Egypt Air, mostly because of my bad experience with state run airlines. Especially the harrowing experience (thanks to China Eastern airlines) in China will be indelibly printed in my mind forever. Alnoor in Seattle had glowing things to say about Egypt air, but I wasn’t convinced. And I am happy to say that I was wrong to assume. Egypt Air is extremely efficient and always on time. There are some quirky things I noticed which are quite amusing! The first one is the small audio-visual presentation of Islamic prayer before the plane takes off! That’s a nice touch I thought – “Keep the passengers safe and reach the plane to its destination on time O Allah!” Then there’s this film for safety instructions – the protagonist is an animated pot-bellied Arab with unibrow and heavy moustache, who walks us through all the safety procedures of the aircraft. Last but not the least is the announcement from the cockpit by the captain. In the Arabic version, pretty much every third word is “Inshallah”. To me it sounded something like this, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. In a short while, Inshallah, we’ll take off from Abu Simbel for our destination to Cairo. We’ll make a small stop in Aswan, Inshallah for re-fueling. This aircraft will reach a maximum altitude of 30000 feet Inshallah! Inshallah we’ll provide you with light refreshments as soon as the seat-belt signs are switched off Inshallah!” That makes me wonder if Allah is flying the plane! Anyway, no cause for complain – if He is, then He’s doing a great job!

So we’re off to Cairo from where we’ll drive to Alexandria. I don’t understand why we’re not flying to Alexandria directly. But that’s something I will have to take up with Alnoor once we get back to Seattle.

***************

At Cairo airport we were received again by Ramzy and Saeed. Together we loaded into Saeed’s van and went off to pick up Zainab, our guide for Alexandria from Ramses Hilton in downtown. Zainab turned out to be this delightful old lady who’s a big Indophile, or should I say Kolkata-phile. Having lived in Kolkata for almost a decade in the seventies, she still remembers quite a bit of Bangla and was delighted to make our acquaintance.

We took the desert highway from Cairo to Alexandria. Its desert highway only in name – Egypt has reclaimed more than 3 million acres from Sahara desert and urbanized it. They’ve built industrial townships, Smart City – the technological hub of Egypt, country clubs, private estates, olive gardens, vineyards, stud farms and acres and acres of green.

We stopped somewhere half way between Cairo and Alexandria for refreshments at a rather swanky pit-stop. Posh looking shops and rows of shiny foreign cars in the parking lot gave it a rather upscale mall look. Spotted a proudly displayed red leather thong set at one of the shop windows – hmmm so this is what the apparently conservative Egyptian women wear under their burqas!!

I had a very interesting exchange with the young Arab who served me coffee at the pit-stop. He poured three whole sachets of sugar in my miniscule cup of Nescafe with milk (no 12oz extra hot lattes here!) and exclaimed “Indiaaah!” I instinctively knew what was coming next, so I told him “Please don’t say Amitabh Bachchan!” The guy was very perplexed “Why? You don’t like him?” “Yes, I liked him, a lot in fact – but before you Egyptians started chanting his name wherever I went!” I said to myself. Back in the van Zainab explained that Amitabh Bachchan has always enjoyed major fan-following in Egypt. Apparently last month he came to Cairo to inaugurate some film festival. There were some other Bollywood stars with him too. But young girls stood outside the airport in thousands and screamed his name completely ignoring the rest of the stars. Now, how many men in their sixties can claim to have such effect on young girls!!

We reached Alexandria around 8pm. Our hotel, Sheraton Montaza was pretty much at the end of the corniche, next to the Montaza Palace. The hotel turned out to be a little ratty – may be because it was old and was in dire need of renovation. The lobby had a big poster for Monday night belly-dancing competetion – the girl featured prominently on the poster looked vaguely like Mallika Sherawat!!

The day was long and tiring and we covered a long way from southern edge of Egypt to the northern tip in just one day. The room-service menu had something called “The World Famous Egyptian Lentil Soup”, we decided to sample that and which by the way was really yummy! Tomorrow we have an early start yet again, so its time to switch off the lights!

A Journey Through Egypt - Two days in Aswan

2007-04-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

March 1, 2007

This morning we arrived at Aswan, the last port of call for the cruise boat. Apart from our usual droning guide Ahmed, we were met by a travel coordinator called Akram – a cool dude of sorts wearing a suit in the stifling desert heat and waaaay too much perfume with a cell phone perenially stuck to his ear. There was an instant chemical reaction…I don’t know which happened first; did I decide to dislike him first, or did his perfume assault my olfactory sense and gave me a headache first? Whatever it is, I started bristling every time the dude came within 5 feet of my personal space. Much to my dismay, Akram decided to accompany us to our first stop of the day - the Temple of Philae. I had to endure his smelly company for the 15 minute ride to the small dock from where we were to take a motor-boat to the temple. Allah be praised, Akram left us there and went back to town to do whatever that he does, and I was finally able to breathe properly!

Now here’s the interesting bit of information about Philae that I wasn’t aware of before coming here. In 1902, after the British completed the Aswan Dam, the island of Philae got partially submerged threatening the future of the ancient temple that stood on the grounds. Then after the construction of the High Dam in the 70’s, this island got completely submerged in the waters of Lake Nasser. Before that happened, UNESCO took on the mammoth project of dismantling the Temple of Isis stone by stone and rebuilt on the nearby island of Agilika located about 500m away from the original site. So seamless is the re-assembly that it’s hard to imagine that the temple has not been standing on Agilika for the last 2000 years, but since the 1980’s!!

After suffering yet another attack from hawkers selling tacky souvenirs, we set out towards the High Dam. We had to cross the old dam and while doing so, we caught a glimpse of the first Cataract of the Nile. Though there weren’t much swirling water rushing through the stone outcrops, one can always imagine how spectacular it must have been before the dams were built. We passed a stretch of desert which I was told was the eastern edge of the great Sahara – how fascinating -makes me want to sit on a camel and embark on a desert safari. Since the morning at the Valley of the Kings, I have been wearing my shawl as a turban – in the true Bedouin style – tres chic I must say!! So no harm in fantasizing about hopping on a camel and seek out the mysteries of the desert!

The High Dam is definitely a giant feat of modern engineering. Apparently 17 times as much material went into its construction as was used to build the Great Pyramid of Cheops! The dam has also created the world’s largest artificial lake called Lake Nasser (named after Egyptian president who commissioned the dam), which reaches back 500km to the second cataract of the Nile in Sudan!Thanks to UNESCO, about 14 ancient temples were saved from the threat of submersion by Lake Nasser. One of them was the Kalabsha Temple situated now at the banks of the lake. It was visible from the view point of the High Dam, but the only way to reach it is by helicopter or a boat.

We drove on to see the unfinished obelisk in the ancient granite quarry. Had it been completed it’d have been 42m tall and would have weighed over 2.3 million pounds making it the world's largest piece of stone ever handled! Since no inscriptions were made on the stone, historians guess that it dates back to the time of Ramses II or Hatshepshut (New Kingdom 1570 -1090 BC). Standing in front of the gigantic obelisk I’ve had an epiphany – these Pharaohs weren’t very well-endowed! You know what they say in America – people with small …erm…apparatus buy big cars! Going by the same theory, the Pharaohs who weren’t very well-hung built extra large phallic shaped obelisks. Especially Hatshepshut, who asserted herself as a man, commissioned the largest number of obelisks – talk about overcompensation!

In the afternoon we went for a ride in the Felucca. What a wonderful little boat! It was rather windy and the boat kept tipping from side to side – it was great rush!! None of wore life-jackets (Ahmed insisted that we trust his judgment about the wind conditions) and the water of Nile looked dark and formidable! 12 weeks of swimming lessons with Frenchie hasn’t given me the confidence to even dip my toe in the Nile much less swim and save my life if we were to capsize! From the boat we had a better view of the Tombs of the Nobles and Aga Khan’s Mausoleum on the other side of the Nile. The trip back to the boat involved walking on a thin concrete ledge holding on to exposed re-bars for support! Its getting more and more adventurous every day - but not in a good way!

March 2, 2007

Today we were supposed to see Aswan at our leisure. Ahmed vanished in the morning after receiving a generous tip for his services – not that I’m missing him or anything! We checked out of the boat after breakfast and keeping our bags with the concierge, we went for a walk on Corniche El Nil (every city in Egypt has one such corniche) dodging various offers for Felucca rides and horse carriage tours! Indiaah – Namaste –Amitabh Bachchan seems to follow us where ever we go! I have developed a strong dislike for Mr Bachchan in the last few days!!!

We walked the entire length of the promenade and reached the Coptic Church. Being a Friday (equivalent to Sunday in non-Islamic countires) morning – the mass had just ended and a whole lot of Arab-Christians were coming out of the church. We walked into a hall – very plain, made of concrete and plaster and whitewashed walls greeted us. There weren’t any pews either – only cane chairs. The walls were mostly unadorned – few painting depicting Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection thereafter hung on one side. It was so sad! Even the Medak Church in middle of nowhere Andhra had more character than this! We quickly left the so-called cathedral and made our way into the Feryal Gardens across the street.

A group of noisy school-children waited outside the garden gates waiting for their turn to enter – and what an entrance that was!! With what sounded like a war cry, at least 50 children shot through the garden gates leaving us shocked and petrified in their wake! Sonny boy was paralyzed with fear, poor thing! And to make matters worse, a group of pre-pubescent girls decided to stare at sonny boy and whisper and giggle among themselves! Sonny boy declared that he hated girls in general – hopefully this hatred won’t last for long! I’m not very sure that those girls were laughing at sonny boy…may be collectively we looked like a funny family…who knows! We spent some time chilling out in the beautiful Feryal Gardens – located on a cliff just by the Nile – overlooking the idyllic Feluccas dotting the river, the ruins of the Tombs of the Nobles, Aga Khan’s mausoleum and the vast desert beyond.

We came back to the boat and waited for Akram who was to escort us to the Old Cataract Hotel (even though we knew exactly where it was!). The wait was long and tedious and somewhat irritating! Since we had already checked out, we didn’t really belong on the boat and on top of that there cropped up an issue of two missing cans of Heiniken from the mini-bar, which we knew nothing about! Finally cool dude Akram showed up around 1:30pm reeking of some strong perfume and we got off the boat for the last time with a bad taste in our mouth and me with yet another headache!

The Old Cataract, a very historic hotel in southern end of Aswan, that has hosted various celebrities and dignitaries since they opened their doors in the late 1890s. Their guest list includes names like Sir Winston Churchill, T E Lawrence, Lord Mountbatten, Alfred Hitchcock, Agatha Christie (who immortalized the hotel in her famous novel Death on the Nile), President Mitterrand and Princess Diana among others. We decided to lunch at the picturesque patio overlooking the giant cataracts of the Nile and the ruins of the ancient Nubian village of Yebu, while our room got readied. By 3pm we were tired and anxious and extremely irritated. Finally a very apologetic Resident Manager informed us that we have been upgraded to a suite (sweet!!!) and escorted us to our room. And what a room!!!! Called the Champollion Suite (named after French archeologist Jean-Francois Champollion, who deciphered the Rosetta stone in 1822), it was by far the biggest room in the hotel with a spectacular view! Appointed with period French furniture (most likely Louis XVI – I’m not very sure!) and silk damask in yellow, gold and blue, it was bigger than a lot of apartments I’ve seen! Instantly our mood lifted! I went down to read by the pool, a glass of chilled white wine keeping me company while spouse and sonny boy took a dip. The room had a decent library of really old first edition books – I picked Voices in the Night by Flora Annie Steel published in 1900…seemed like an interesting story set in India during the Raj. The sun was setting over the western desert and the hotel seemed to glow under the light. I quickly went back up to the balcony to enjoy the view of the sun setting on the Nile.

One of the Old Cataract's broad and lofty corridors led to a vast Moorish dining hall simply called 1902. From the dome shaped ceiling that rises at least 40 feet if not more, hung a massive Moroccan chandelier flanked by a dozen or so smaller pendants which cast an ethereal glow on the entire hall. There is a formality and timelessness about dining in this vast hall with the dishes named after the hotel’s more famous guests from Howard Carter, Sir Winston Churchill to Prince Charles and King Farouk. Come to think of it, that we almost didn’t come to 1902 because Akram said that the restaurant didn’t allow guests in without a dinner jacket! Also the totally fish-y prix fix menu displayed outside thwarted us somewhat! They did have a whole bunch of vegetarian options in the a la carte menu. Great dinner, great wine and great ambiance – tonight I’m a happy camper! Wonder who all lived in this room before us and if there are any famous ghosts haunting the halls in the dead of the night!!

A Journey Through Egypt - Edfu & Kom Ombo

2007-03-31T16:58:00.000-07:00

28th February 2007

I feel like a human being today! The few extra (precious) hours of sleep in the morning has finally rejuvenated my tired soul!! This morning we anchored at Edfu. Without wasting any time, we immediately head out to the Horus temple in a horse drawn carriage. The driver was ancient and the horse emaciated! We clip-clopped through the small town of Edfu towards the temple complex. Edfu could easily have been mistaken as old city area of Hyderabad – the only difference is that Edfu is a lot cleaner than Hyderabad! Sonny boy complained loudly at the foul smell the horse emanated – we should take him back to India soon…he’s getting too used to the antiseptic environment in the US.

There were many entrances to the temple of Horus – but all the gates were closed save one – which made us walk through a series of souvenir shops and rather pushy salesmen! It was extremely annoying and sometime down-right nerve-wracking to say the least!!! We finally made it to the temple complex and what a magnificent sight it was! Temple of Horus is probably the most well-preserved archeological site in entire Egypt. In fact so well preserved it is that the temple almost looks like a set from some big budget Hollywood historical! Inside the temple, all the chambers are still there with their roof intact – giving us a glimpse of its actual grandeur!

Though younger in age (built in 237BC) than some of the other sites we saw over the last few days, it is no less awe inspiring or beautiful! Lot of the carvings inside the temple has been defaced by the early Christians in Egypt who were on a crusade of orts against paganism. It amazing to think that vandalism in the name of god has been practiced since time immemorial! Countless works of ancient art has been destroyed in the hands of religious fanatics all over the world! My mind keeps going to the Bamiyan Buddhas and their destruction by the Talibans. I wonder if Egypt, as an Islamic state, would ever consider destroying these temples of pagan gods?! Probably not – billions of dollars coming in from 9 million tourists a year makes it worthwhile to practice tolerance and secularism!

After lunch we sailed for Kom Ombo, another port upriver. We passed the idyllic Egyptian countryside, dotted with lush green farmland and palm trees on the banks of Nile and dry, arid desert land just beyond with dark brown mountains looming in the horizon. We pass villages of mud-huts painted blue – they look dusty and desolate under the hot sun. Fishermen throw nets into the Nile from their white painted sail boats known as Felucca. It makes such a picturesque setting, but life must be really hard for these people. Egyptian countryside is really poor and every year more and more people leave their villages to seek fortune in big cities like Cairo and Alexandria.

We reach Kom Ombo right after sunset. Its supposed to be one of the most important ports on the Nile owing to the large sugar factory located here. But you couldn’t guess that from the state of the dock! It’s a mess!!! Boats were parked 7-8 deep and we again trudged through lobbies of 8 different boats to get to the shore. The temple of Haroeris and Sobek is located right off the dock accessible by a few flights of stairs. This is yet another exquisite example of Ptolemaic architecture and looked even more spell-binding in the evening with all the strategically placed lights on. It was once a famous hospital in ancient Egypt and the very first documented cataract surgery was done in the halls of Kom Ombo. Sculpted wall relief include one showing ancient surgical tools, bone-saws and dental instruments.

Coming back to the boat was yet another nightmare. It seems that the traffic volume dictates the parking spot for the boats. In the one hour that we spent at the temple, our boat had to move away. So when we came back to the dock, the Sonesta St George was nowhere to be seen. The acrid smell of burning diesel hung in the air and the hawkers selling sub-standard souvenir created a terrible racket! Keeping spouse and a half-asleep sonny boy on the lookout for our boat, I decide to go for a walk. That was a very bad decision – I realize within a minute. Hawkers mill around me brandishing their special wares – camel bone jewelry, ghastly belly-dancing costumes, towels with King Tut’s face printed on them, hieroglyph-printed sarongs, Nefertiti’s bust, granite obelisk, fake turquoise scarabs and cheap Galabiyyas – I walked into a nightmare with my eyes open wide! Smelly men in skull-caps and dirty Galabiyyas jumped into my line of vision - so close to my nose that my eyes blurred! “Indiaaah! Namaste! Amitabh Bachchan!” they shouted trying to attract my attention. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and to save my sanity I quickly retraced my steps shaking my head vigorously and screeching “La shokhran! No – don’t want! Don’t touch me!! Get Lost!!”

Finally I find spouse carrying now-asleep sonny boy still waiting for the boat! The Japanese tour-guide who sits at the table next to ours in the dining room finds us – she was herding a gaggle of Japanese tourists to the nearest coffee shop where everyone’s to wait till the boat moors again at the dock. Just few minutes back, we refused Ahmed’s invitation to join him for Turkish coffee – I kept praying that we don’t bump into him at the café. A band of folk musicians were playing loud music and traveling from table to table looking for baksheesh. I already had a pounding headache and that music made the pain so bad that I had to grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut in order to ignore the cacophony! An orderly from the boat found us before the musicians could reach our table – thank God! I might have punched them in the face or something! The trudge back to the boat wasn’t terrible, but again we had to cross four other boats in order to reach ours – I’m getting used to it now!

Tonight the dining room hosted an Egyptian themed gala. It totally made my day. The falafel was great; so was the lentil soup, hummous, babaganoush, mousaka and the baklava was simply sublime! After dinner the party shifted to the lounge upstairs where most of the people showed up wearing cheap Galabiyyas bought off the street vendors, pretending to be Arab sheiks! It was surreal – almost like being at the pajama party at a retirement home! Grey haired, moldy old-fogies shook their replaced hips and gyrated to thumping Arabian music wearing long night-shirts!! I was too depressed to linger – spouse was half asleep anyway and sonny boy passed out cold at 7pm…there was no reason to sit around and watch old European women rub themselves against the good-looking young stewards! Ewww! It was time to retire for the night!

A Journey Through Egypt - Luxor, the West Bank

2007-03-25T12:53:00.000-07:00

27th February 2007

A not very long, but extremely hot day!! We started early around 5:30am amidst major confusion - to eat breakfast or not; when is the boat leaving; where is Ahmed our guide; where is Oont (sonny boy’s toy camel which has been accompanying us everywhere!) Finally, we got off the boat and everyone was in a bad mood! The boat was leaving the Luxor docks and we were to catch it upstream at Esna around noon.

Our first stop was the Valley of the Kings on the west bank. Today for the first time I got a clear picture of the scale of the tourism industry in Egypt. At 6am there were at least a couple of thousand geeky tourists thronging the Valley of the Kings. Bus-loads and van-loads kept coming wielding digital cameras and guide books of every imaginable language – gaggles and gaggles of chattering tourists! Apparently between 6am and 9am everyday the Valley receives 5 thousand tourists!! Amazing!!! The ticket to the Valley offers visit to three tombs and the price of entering Tut-ankh-amun’s tomb is extra! Having traveled this far, I couldn’t go back not seeing the most important historical discovery of the 20th century!

The three tombs we got to see were of Ramses IV, Ramses IX and that of Meneptah. All of these tombs dug deep into the belly of the mountain are richly decorated with colorful inscriptions from the Book of the Dead. The shafts leading to the antechamber and the main hall (pretty much the same pattern in all the tombs) were quite well lit, easing my initial apprehension of closed spaces! We did miss the tombs of Seti I and Ramses II which I heard is fabulously decorated – but they are closed to the public for the time to preserve the old paintings and carvings which tend to fade and crumble from the humidity generated by millions of tourists milling about in such closed space!

The last tomb to have been found at the Valley of the Kings was in 2006 by the archeological team from the University of Memphis. 84 years before that Howard Carter, quite by chance discovered the tomb of Tut-ankh-amun – a really small pit and quite unadorned compared to the rest of the tombs we saw. All the fabulous treasures of the tomb of King Tut are on display at the museum of Cairo – but his mummified body still rests in its original cask at the sparsely decorated chamber. The Egyptian government is definitely minting quite a bit of money from geeky tourists like us by charging by charging 80LE a pop for viewing this tomb! Oh well!!!

Next stop was the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepshut – the only female Pharaoh in the history of ancient Egypt. She asserts herself as a man in all the paintings and carvings – that kind of gets rather confusing! Especially thanks to her feud with son-in-law Tuthmosis III, who ritually defaced most of Hatshepshut’s figures and statues, its hard to tell who’s who! But the temple of Hatshepshut is a marvelous monument rising out of the desert plain and blending into the cliff beyond! It wasn’t even 9am and the sun was beating down on us mercilessly. The open walkway into the temple glowed hot under the desert sun and the constant droning of Ahmed didn’t help the situation at all! Sonny boy started acting up; spouse was getting baked in his black turtleneck (it was freezing cold when we left early in the morning)! Mortuary temple-shmemple, we were eager to get back into the comfort of the air-conditioned van!

We did a quick photo-stop at the colossi of Memnon – two gigantic statues that once guarded the mortuary temple of Amenophis III (which was crumbled to ground thousands of years ago). The Valley of the Queens had to be given a miss – Ahmed insisted that it wasn’t in our itinerary (we didn’t have the paper with us to be able to argue with him); also the most interesting tomb, that of queen Nefertari (wife of Ramses II) is now closed to the public. On the way we passed Howard Carter’s residence sitting high on the hilltop looking down at the Valley of the Kings – it looks dark and forbidding and is closed to the public. We also passed the Nobles’ Tombs, the Ramesseum and the Mortuary Temple of Seti I.

Back in Luxor we had kill an hour waiting for a convoy which was to escort us to Esna. Egypt has a rather formidable force called the Tourist & Antiquities Police – totting vicious looking guns and wearing black uniforms, these people are everywhere! In fact I haven’t seen regular police so far – only these black-clad menacing looking men perched on tops of camels, in jeeps, on bikes! We check into this secured area and sit around for sometime, while Ahmed goes to obtain permission for us to get out and walk around. He did manage to get permission and we went for a stroll by the Nile in the scorching heat! Sonny boy wanted to use the toilet and we searched high and low till Ahmed decided to take him to the nearby mosque. I had no intention of standing outside the men’s room (which I was later told was just a wall), so I ventured into an air-conditioned store selling Egyptian cotton garments. I was looking for Galabiyyas, which turned out be very nightie-like and quite pricey at 250LE!

Finally our convoy took off for Esna – a port about 45 minutes south of Luxor. The drive made us feel rather vulnerable as well as somewhat important. This armed convoy has become a necessity post the ’97 attack on tourists at Hatshepshut’s temple. The threat must still quite considerable to warrant such an elaborate procession!

Our boat was docked in Esna –but getting onto the boat became quite a production by itself!! There were at least a dozen cruise-boats anchored at Esna, literally shoulder to shoulder. Our boat was second in row – so we had to pass through another boat to reach it. And how did we do that? Instead of a gangplank, there was a cane chair on the concrete wall (which will be the edge of the dock some day when its built); we are to step on the chair, jump into the deck of the first boat, go through the labyrinth of musty corridors to reach the grand foyer (in this case, not so grand foyer) and then hop over to our boat! Sounds quite simple, right? But in reality there were a gaggle of geriatric tourists with replaced knees and hips and old women with huge posteriors for whom even getting up on the cane chair was next to impossible – forget about doing the Tarzan swing on to the deck! That caused a huge traffic jam in front of the coveted chair! There was a lot of pushing and shoving; creaking cane; squealing women, grunting men – some managed to cross over to the deck, some gave up and stood aside, some kept trying without success completely unmindful of other people standing in line! We did the desi thing – skipped the line, gave the cane chair a miss and hopped over to the deck!

At lunch, again the chef insisted on serving me his version of ‘aloo mutter” - which was pretty much the same thing from last night – just different veggies! As it is the location of the dining room freaks me out – it is in the hold of the boat, as a result the windows are at level with the river. Not very good for people like me who are deathly afraid of water! And now the chef his doing his bit to scare me off!

Dinner was a complete disaster! All of us overslept our little afternoon nap! Can’t help it – day after day of waking up at 3am to make it to the tour van plus the jet-lag did us in! We reached the dining room at 9pm – almost everyone had eaten by then. The chef served me yet another ghastly preparation of the “special daal”! I really should have slept through dinner! Tomorrow the shore excursion doesn’t start till 9am. At least I can sleep in!!!!

The Namesake

2007-03-17T19:30:00.000-07:00

I’ll take a quick break from the Egypt travelogue and write about the most hyped movie in the recent times among the Indian diaspora – Mira Nair’s The Namesake. The Bengali intelligencia of Seattle area has been waiting with bated breath for the release of the movie and Jhumpa Lahiri’s book-reading coming up in May! So does the movie live up to the expectations? Read on!

The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri's first novel, following her Pulitzer Prize-winning story collection, Interpreter of Maladies, tells the story of the Ashima and Ashoke Ganguli, whose move from Calcutta to Cambridge, Mass., is a balancing act to adjust to a new world while honoring the old. Saddled by his immigrant parents with an odd name and the hopes and expectations of his family, their son Gogol struggles to find meaningful work, sustaining love, and his own unique identity and place in the world. It was a rather simple story told in a grand way. Honestly, I didn’t find the book any great shakes – it was long and meandering and awfully boring at times! I mean there was hardly anything spectacular about The Namesake – nothing that I haven’t read before. Over the years a lot of books have been written on immigrant lives and some of them are quite fabulous – Amy Tan’s Joy Luck Club, Monica Ali’s Brick Lane, or most of the works of Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni comes to mind immediately. Jhumpa Lahiri is a gifted writer; I absolutely love her Interpreter of Maladies, but on a personal level The Namesake didn’t work for me. It is not classic – full of clichés and predictable plot twists, The Namesake didn’t give me much to think about once I was done reading!

Ever since Mira Nair showcased The Namesake to standing ovation at the Toronto Film Festival in 2006, the buildup has been tremendous! I like Mira Nair’s work – she has given us some dazzling cinema like Salaam Bombay, Mississippi Masala, The Perez Family and Monsoon Wedding and visually arresting but duds like Kamasutra and Vanity Fair. But her adaptation of The Namesake works and how! She took a 291 page average novel and turned it into a 2 hour film which gives the viewer very little to complain about. Very well written and brilliantly acted by Tabu and Irrfan Khan, the movie version The Namesake rises head and shoulders above the book!

Nair changes the setting from Cambridge to New York City where a young bride Ashima (Tabu) arrives sometime in the 70’s to begin her life with Ashoke Ganguly (Irrfan Khan), an academic whose deep attachment to Nicholai Gogol’s The Overcoat is never explained properly in either the book or the movie. Yes, Ashoke’s grandfather gave him the book to read; and it was the book he was reading when the train he was traveling in met with an accident; and he was clutching the remains of The Overcoat in his hand when rescuers found him. Quoting Dostoevsky he says “We call came out of Gogol’s overcoat!” Did he actually believe that Gogol’s spirit saved his life? Ashoke and Ashima’s love blossoms in cold wintry New York as lonely and isolated Ashima grudgingly makes concessions to the strange American world of washing machines and other conveniences. Nair has altered Ashoke and Ashima’s characters too from the novel in subtle ways, suggesting more warmth and love in their lives and includes a slightly gratuitous love-making scene. As Ashima settles into the American life and pines for her family in Kolkata, Gogol is born to the couple followed by Sonia, their daughter and they move to the suburbs in a bigger house to join the scores of middle class Bengalis who work hard during the week and congregate in each other houses over the weekend dressed in their best sarees and kurta-pajama and sing Rabindrasangeet after a few drinks!

Gogol (played from teenage on by Kal Penn) grows up and is hell bent on becoming a hip American and is ritually distancing himself from parental influence. Like many children of immigrants, he channels all his resentment into a profound loathing for his foreign name, Gogol Ganguli. In due course, Gogol finds his name all too distinctive and opts instead for Nikhil (often conveniently Westernized as Nick).

Later, as a twenty-something Manhattan architect, he finds that his unresolved sense of identity is affecting, among other things, his love life. The doting WASP girlfriend (Jacinda Barrett) and her snobbish moneyed parents represent ultimate assimilation, but he settles down with a mirror image of himself: a modern, independent Bengali woman Moushumi (Zuleikha Robinson) who torn between her free-thinking spirit and her self-imposed duty of making samosas from the scratch, brings her own baggage to their relationship.

When we finally leave Gogol, he's still figuring out the immigrant's eternal dance between tradition and modernity, between adapting to the new world and longing for roots. Only now he understands that the dance never ends.

This should be a breakout role for Kal Penn, holding the dramatic center of a film for the first time (unless of course you consider his portrayal of Taj Badalandabad in last year’s Van Wilder2: Rise of Taj as a dramatic performance). His Gogol is a funnier and more believable creation than the book's, in part because to play the teen malcontent, the actor has shrewdly imported aspects of the pothead persona he popularized in "Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle." He does very well even though he’s burdened with a face that registers very few emotions beyond “doh”!

Tabu on the other hand is blessed with the most mobile (and the most under-used) face in Bollywood...she’s shy, she’s naughty, she’s a woman in love, she’s a concerned mother, she’s a grieving widow and in the end a matured woman who has risen above all the pitfalls of her life…she’s is a delight to watch! Her mannerisms, her body language, her crisp cotton tangail sarees and her Bengali accent is so perfect that Tabu makes Ashima comes alive. Irrfan Khan’s Bengali accent trips a few times... but only hardcore Bengalis will notice that. He slips into Ashoke Ganguly’s skin with amazing ease, tapping into considerable reserves of depth and subtlety.

The running time of 122 minutes could have been shortened if one or two sequences were chopped...specially the one where Gogol and Moushumi does a rather weird dance to a remixed version of Mukesh’s “Yeh mera diwanapan hai”. Also, someone should have told Mira Nair that middle aged Bengali widows typically don’t wear red bordered Kanjivarams to their son’s wedding!

Jhumpa Lahiri’s book is driven more by incident than by plot, and Nair's largely faithful adaptation suffers at times from an episodic choppiness. Still, the lack of obvious narrative arcs is refreshing. We laugh with the Gangulys, cry with them and through the tears we smile with them! Instead of melodramatic implausibility what we get is the commonplace stuff of life: marriages and breakups, births and deaths. The Namesake is a thoroughly engaging, terrifically moving family story that's rich in beautifully observed and lovingly conveyed human detail making it Mira Nair’s best film yet!

A Journey Through Egypt - Luxor, The East Bank

2007-03-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

26th February 2007
10:38pm

Early this morning we caught our flight to Luxor – a rather short flight – 1 hour to be precise. By 6:30am we were already in Luxor being received by our guide for the next part of the journey Ahmed, and by 7am we were at the Temple of Karnak. What a magnificent sight or site, whichever way you look at it! The Karnak site covers a huge area. One dynasty after another added to the temple of Amun, so that from its founding during the Middle Kingdom to the building of its outermost pylon during the 25th Dynasty, 1300 years elapsed!! A processional way lined with ram-headed sphinxes leads into the temple. They represent Amun, the primordial creation-deity and between the forelegs of each stands a diminutive figure of Ramses II, Amun’s representative on earth.

Once we cross the second pylon, we enter the Hypostyle Hall, the 19th Dynasty work of Seti I and Ramses II. Its forest of gigantic columns, some in the shape of open papyrus flowers and others as closed buds is probably one of the most spectacular sights of Egypt. Each of these columns are so massive, that apparently it takes outstretched arms of six people to encircle one. Since there were only four of us (including our guide Ahmed), we didn’t try encircling one.

An obelisk, raised by Tuthmosis I stands in the small courtyard between the 3rd and the 4th pylons. Between the 4th and the 5th stood two magnificent obelisks of Hatshepshut, daughter of Tuthmosis I. One remains intact at 29.5 meters, it is the tallest obelisk in entire Egypt. The other one has snapped into two – the upper portion lies at the corner of the Sacred Lake where one can examine the hieroglyphic inscriptions up close. Close to that is a giant granite scarab dedicated to the rising sun. Legend says going around the scarab gets boons – 3 times, good luck; 5 times, marriage; 7 times, baby! Spouse and I took turns to walk around the holy scarab…and no, I’m not telling you, how many times we went around the silly scarab!!

Next stop on the itinerary was the Luxor Temple. Its situated bang in the center of downtown Luxor, visible from all sides. The Luxor Temple, in my mind was a lot less spectacular, once you’ve seen the Karnak Temple. Yet the numerous colossi of Ramses II dotting the great court, his beautiful wife Nefertari standing knee-high at his side, cannot but inspire awe! It was built by two of the most famous Egyptian pharaohs - Amenhopis III, a magnificent patron of the arts whose 40-year reign was one of the peaks of Egyptian power, and Ramesses II, sometimes called the 'great builder'.

The temple was dedicated to Amun, the king of the gods. It survived as a temple under the Greeks and the Romans, and later became a Christian church - and now a Muslim mosque still nestles among its colonnades.

On the front of the entrance pylon of the temple, Ramesses II had carved the story of his great battle at Kadesh in Syria, against the Hittite empire, the battle which inaugurated the Egyptian empire in the Near East in the New Kingdom. He also had six huge statues of himself constructed in front of the pylon, along with two great obelisks - one of which was removed, and can now be seen in Paris.

The sight-seeing was over and it wasn’t even 10am. But you couldn’t guess that from looking at the sun. It was high and hot. We get into our van and head out to the docks to board our cruise-ship. The entire east bank of Luxor seemed to be chock-full of cruise boats. Most of them looked old and ratty and in major need of repair! I was getting scared about our boat…they did send us a picture, but it was so small that I couldn’t quite figure out the details. But when we reached our private dock, the sight of the boat took my breath away! Its not the massive cruise-ships that voyage the oceans; a new generation stern-wheeler Sonesta St George is truly beautiful! Inside was opulent and sometimes slightly over the top (if not bizarre) with Louise XIV furniture interspersed with Rococo flowers and Trompe l’oeil galore along with statues of Egyptian gods. But somehow in this setting it didn’t look that incongruous! Either I’m losing my taste or the jet-lag has messed up my brain! At lunch all the dining room staff fawned over me making me really embarrassed. Somehow word has reached them that I’m vegetarian and they were running helter-skelter trying to make sure that I get enough to eat!

I’m ashamed to say that yet again I indulged in a 5hr afternoon nap! Jet-lag I say!!! Dinner starts at 7:30pm here – slightly late for our usual time but that gave me an opportunity to loll about in bed a little longer before getting dressed in formal clothes to go to the dining room! At dinner the chef insisted on serving me something “Indian” despite my protests. His concoction was ghastly – beans and carrots in a thick sauce which had way too much curry powder and no salt! I’m really touched by the thoughtfulness of the chef, but the prospect of being subjected to such “Indian” fare everyday might keep me away from the dining room!

The after dinner entertainment consisted of a male dancer with twirling skirts which he took off and spun over his head like roomali roti! Pretty neat actually! What wasn’t neat was the belly-dancing act after that! We’ve seen some fabulous belly-dance performances in Seattle where one can’t help but gasp at the grace, the fluid movements and at the sheer flexibility of the dancer’s body! This girl was plain bad…had the appeal of a beer-bar dancer at the most!

Tomorrow we have yet another early start. Got to get off the boat by 5:30am. Gosh! What I wouldn’t give to sleep in late for a change! So good night – Ma Salaama!

A Journey Through Egypt - Memphis, Sakkara & Giza

2007-03-15T16:41:00.000-07:00

Saturday 24th February
9:38pm

Just woke up from a 5 hr afternoon nap!! This stupid jet-lag is throwing everything out of gear! Spouse and sonny boy are still dead to the world. We have to catch an early morning flight to Luxor at 4am – may be I should try going back to sleep!

Today was hectic! Manal and Saeed (our chauffer) picked us up from the hotel at 9am and we went through the busy streets of Cairo towards the outskirts. Once we crossed the bridge over Nile, we came across rows and rows of unfinished houses…and people seemed to living in them! Manal said that all these are illegal constructions on agricultural land. They keep the outside unfinished in order to avoid paying taxes!! How very ingenious! Seemed like something builders would do in India! The similarity between the two countries is fascinating!

This morning we had our first sighting of the Pyramids from our hotel room. It looked like two floating shapes in the distant horizon. While we were passing through the city of unfinished houses, we could see it clearly. But our destination was in the other direction! Leaving the Pyramids of Giza behind us, we headed towards Memphis, the ancient capital or what is left of it near the village called Mitrahina. Sadly very little is left of the ancient capital of Misr except for three giant statues of Ramses II. The other notable antiquities are the alabaster sphinx and the giant column bases engraved with the cartouche of Ramses II. After a quick stop at Memphis, we headed towards Sakkara.

The palm lined road to Sakkara ended suddenly and literally ejected us into a vast desert. The change was so sudden, that it took us by surprise! This is the site of the famous step pyramid of Zoser, the 3rd dynasty Pharaoh who ruled Misr around 2700BC. Legend says he commissioned building his tomb at Sakkara, a site very close to royal quarters at Memphis, so that he could see it from his palace and admire it! The level of preoccupation with after-life is rather disturbing! We walk through the funerary complex of Zoser admiring the tall sandstone columns and the walls with their frieze of cobras. We reach the only tomb currently open to public – the rest are under heavy restoration work. It’s a mastaba of Akhti-hotep a vizier at the court of Zoser. His tomb is decorated with finely craved baas relief and rich painting in black and red.

From Sakkara we head back towards Giza. On the way we stop at a papyrus institute…I knew it was a tourist trap, but couldn’t suppress the curiosity to see how papyrus reed is made into paper! An Arab guy with a very thick and almost unintelligible accent took us through the process of making paper and then invited us to look at the gallery of full of gaudily painted scenes from the Book of Judgment or King Tut’s wedding! Now, I promised myself before coming to Egypt, that papyrus painting is one souvenir I’m not taking back home – but the sales tactic was too strong against my resolve! I finally succumbed and bought a blank sheet – to be given as a gift to someone I know who’s extremely artistic!

Off to Giza now. As we approach the great Pyramids, my anticipation builds! Let me tell you something, dear readers. The Pyramids of Giza are like Taj Mahal – no matter how many times you’ve seen it in pictures or in the movies, the real thing will take your breath away! Built in 2600BC, the Pyramid of Cheops (also known as Pharaoh Khufu of 4th Dynasty) once had smooth sides of polished limestones. 4600 years later, the casing of Cheops’ Pyramid is entirely gone – but that hasn’t diminished its magnificence one bit! One gets to see the underlying tiered courses of 2.5 million limestone blocks! Manal informed us that contrary to popular belief, the great pyramids were not built by slaves, but by volunteers who believed their Pharaoh to be God. I like the slave story better – gives it that exploitation angle where rivers of blood, sweat and tears have flown to carry out the whim of a selfish king! Makes it more poignant!

We climbed the few steps leading to the entrance of Khufu’s tomb. Its supposed to be a narrow, dark and low corridor (requiring some bending and crawling) which first descends and then ascends to reach the king’s chamber. I begged off the experience – knowing my serious claustrophobia, I didn’t want to venture into a dark, narrow tunnel, deep inside the belly of a gigantic tower of stones and then cause a medical emergency by passing out on my hands and knees somewhere in the middle!! The books I’ve read so far say that the king’s chamber is quite plain compared to the tombs in The Valley of the Kings in Luxor. I’ll save my energy for those, thank you!

I was attempting to climb the giant limestone blocks for a better photo-op, but a rather rude Tourist Police started wagging his finger at me, motioning me to come down at once!! No one has wagged a finger at me in like three decades!! Anyway, it’s really hard to get a decent picture of the monument among zillions of geeky tourists jostling each other for a better photo opportunity!

Next stop was the pyramid of Chephren or Khafre, son of Mr. Khufu. Its actually smaller than Khufu’s pyramid, but looks larger as it stands on higher ground. The impression of greater height is also due to the casing stones which are intact towards the top giving it a look of snow-capped mountain. Little away from Khafre’s pyramid stands the smallest pyramid of the trio – it belongs to Mycerinus or Menkaure – Khufu’s grandson. The interesting feature about this structure is that the base is made of granite blocks while the rest of the pyramid is limestone.

Next to Cheops’ Pyramid is the Museum of Solar boat. In 1954 a pit was found which contained a dismantled but perfectly preserved boat made of Syrian cedar. Archeologists painstakingly re-assembled this 4600 year old boat and put it on display at the specially built museum right over the pit in which it was found!

We head out into the desert for a panoramic view of the great pyramids – they look so majestic, so formidable – like three sentinels standing tall against the vast desert backdrop! I try to get rid of “Suraj Hua Maddham” playing in my head ever since we entered the complex. The desert wind whips my hair on my face making my eyes sting and flaps my jacket around while I pose for a picture against the ancient wonder of the world. “I should have worn a saree today”, I muse – “the anchaal would have fluttered in the wind like Kajol’s!” Spouse does a slow-motion run that would have put any Bollywood hero to shame!! Okay, enough cheesiness! Lets get on with the sight-seeing!!

Here, I must add that people in Cairo seem to be quite aware of Bollywood. Every now and then someone would stop us and say “Indiah! Namaste! Shukriya! Amitabh Bachchan!” Seriously, I think Mr Bachchan is the most well known Indian in the world after Mahatma Gandhi!!!

We take a short break from ancient history and try out something I’ve never done before – camel riding! Now this was a total Sonar Kella/Lalmohan Babu moment!! No matter how many times you’ve seen a camel stand up or sit down, it won’t prepare you for the experience or should I say jolt, when you’re actually sitting astride the beast!! We divided up – me and sonny boy on one camel and spouse on the other – off we went on our 5 minute desert safari! After a bit it turned out to be less scary and much easier than horse-riding! But I kept glancing at the ground – it looked really far away! When I disgraced myself by falling off the most docile horse in the riding club, it hurt really bad – camel is a taller animal – wonder how much it’d hurt to fall from that height! Mercifully we stopped before my fears actualized and after tipping the Galabiyya-clad handsome camel-herd, we boarded our van for our next stop – the great Sphinx.

My first impression of the Sphinx is that its not as large as I thought it’d be. Much of its bulk crouches within a large pit. Legend says that a limestone outcrop was left standing in the quarry from which many blocks of Khufu’s pyramid were cut. His son Khafre had the idea of shaping it into a figure with a lion’s body and a human face. Some say that the face is Khafre’s own. The mystery of the Sphinx’s missing nose could be simple erosion over time or may be the Turks used it for target practice in 16th century and shot it off – who knows! What we do know is that the British has its beard in their museum. The Sphinx is in a very sad condition mainly because of the poor quality of the stone that has contributed to its erosion over the last 4600 years!
To the left of the Sphinx stand the remains of the Valley Temple. A part of the causeway leading to the Mortuary Temple still stands, while the Mortuary Temple itself has crumbled to the ground long ago.

We bid farewell to the Pyramids of Giza and head out to the historic Mena House hotel for lunch. Now managed by the Oberoi’s, this fantastic palace was built in 1869 by the Egyptian government for accommodating royal guests who came from all over the world for the inauguration of the Suez Canal. A lovely specimen of Moorish architecture, the Mena House is like an oasis in the shadow of the great pyramids. The lunch was fabulous and leisurely, during which manal regaled us with her stories of guiding various people around the world including celebrities like Mrs & Mr Collin Powell.

We came back to Cairo through nasty traffic. The plan was to take a short nap and then go for dinner. Its midnight now and my boys aren’t showing any signs of waking up. Perhaps I should try to get some more sleep before we have to leave for the airport to catch a flight to Luxor!

A Journey Through Egypt - Cairo Museum

2007-03-09T12:49:00.000-08:00

Sunday 25th February 2007
8:00am

Yeah!!! Our bags are here!! It almost felt like meeting a long lost friend when spouse dragged in the suitcases early this morning! All that “inshallah” did pay off – god has brought our luggage back to us in 24hrs!

Yesterday was tough – all of us were in bad mood –smelly clothes, unwashed underwear – it was gross! How can one relax and enjoy a vacation like that!? Sometime around 6am we went for breakfast. It was a lavish spread complete with some authentic middle-eastern/Egyptian favorites – we ate like famished travelers and crashed soon after that only to be woken up at noon for the day’s excursion. We met up with Manal Helmy our English speaking Egyptologist – a smart woman with blonde hair and French-Arab accent all decked out in designer garb. Being around her made me feel even smellier!!

Our destination was the Cairo Museum. A fabulous specimen of 19th century colonial architecture, the museum houses some of the world’s most priceless treasures. It was heavily guarded and we had to go through a series of metal detectors and scanners to enter the building. Apparently it takes more than three days to explore all of its 120,000 exhibits; but we were on the fast track. Manal took us on a “Best of Cairo Museum” tour. That included among other fabulous exhibits, the King Tut collection.

Last December I managed to catch the Tut-ankh-amun exhibition at the Fields Museum in Chicago. The 100 objects on display were on loan from Cairo Museum touring the US to raise funds for the new museum in Cairo. The Fields Museum exhibit was lavishly mounted, with an audio-guide voiced by Omar Shariff – it was very informative! I guess I’m so used to the western style of museums with their information plaques and audio-guides etc., that Cairo Museum, in spite of its fabulous wealth of priceless artifacts was a big let down. It felt like walking through a massive warehouse of antiquities! It was crammed to the brim with ancient articles which had little or no information or explanation! It must be an Egyptologist’s dream come true – but for a layman like me, it was frustrating. I needed more information! Manal tried her level best to guide us through the two hour tour, but I left the building thirsting for more knowledge!

Along with King Tut’s treasures, we were also privy to the Mummies room. Sonny boy did quite well for a while, but the female mummies with their inlaid eyes and matted wigs kind of freaked him out a bit! Can’t blame the poor child…it was a creepy sight! I was reminded of an ancient horror movie of black and white genre where a mummy comes alive late at night and attacks the archeologist!

The late afternoon went in search for a suitable mall to buy some clothes. The mall attached to the hotel was useless – full of pricey winter clothes (it is winter here after all!). Across the street the department store of Four Seasons was no better – it was all about Gucci and Prada and Fendi and Ferragamo! Finally we ended up in Liberation Square (pretty close to the museum). A non-descript store selling conservative clothes for Arab women caught my attention. A little search and a little bargaining later I had an outfit. The sales lady insisted on tugging at the neckline of my t-shirt to conceal any skin show! What touched me was her sincerity - in my world this is something only my mom or my sister or a very conservative girlfriend would have done…not a complete stranger! Barring the sour guy at the immigration counter, so far my encounter with the Egyptian people has been nothing but pleasant!

A Journey Through Egypt - Reaching Cairo

2007-03-09T12:00:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 24th February ‘07
5:15am

Just checked into the swanky Grand Hyatt in Cairo sans our luggage. What a mess! NW-KLM has lost our bags, and we have no clue when we’ll get them back!! Here we are in Cairo, all set for a tour of our life time, wearing two day old stinky clothes, while all the carefully chosen “vacation” clothes are languishing somewhere else in two suitcases!!

This whole trip started bad! First the Indian consulate in San Francisco took a month to give us additional pages in our passports – as a result the Egyptian visas didn’t come on time and as a result of that we had to postpone the trip by 20 days! Then we come to airport only to find that KLM hasn’t issued a ticket for sonny boy! Some major confusion and an additional $150 later sonny boy gets a ticket and we board a plane to San Francisco and start the long journey to Cairo. Spouse had a premonition about the bags and I knew it too, in my heart – but who likes to believe in such premonitions anyway!!

Thanks to the free tickets bought on mileage rewards, we had this insane 10hr layover in Amsterdam. By the time I reached Schiphol, I was exhausted and delirious. We decided to rent a room at the on-site Mercure hotel. That was the most worthy $160 ever spent – we slept like logs!!!!! Woke up all groggy- even a hot shower in the dingy 80’s style bathroom didn’t defog my brain. Had to stand in line at McDonalds for sonny boy’s Happy Meal – no drive-thru here!! Forgot that the Europeans didn’t serve ketchup with their fries…by the time I realized, I was back at the end of the line for a 40cents sachet of ketchup!!! Sonny boy should learn to eat his fries without ketchup!

A café with tacky beach-shack décor was selling foccacia sandwich with tomatoes, mozzarella and pesto – sounded yummy (tasted like cardboard!) I asked for a non-fat latte. “We don’t serve non-fat milk here!” came the curt reply. Oh all right, make it extra hot then, 190 degrees. She stared at me as if I had landed from another planet or something. What? Spouse came to her rescue “Its Europe, they measure in Celsius, remember?” How much is 190 degree Fahrenheit then, translated to Celsius? Ok make it at 95 degree C – I’m still sleepy you see! Earlier I had wished her “Good Morning” at 7:30pm – so she has probably made up her mind about my mental health!!

Another 4 hours of flying got us to Cairo. First impression stepping out of the aircraft was, its very much like India. Same rickety old stairs leading weary travelers to CO2 spewing buses waiting to transfer us to the arrival hall. There a skinny young fellow ceremoniously handed me a bouquet of half-wilting flowers. “Welcome to Cairo”, he tells me. “My name is Ramzy”. We follow Ramzy to the immigration check, where a sour-faced officer promptly stamped sonny boy’s US passport but detained ours for extra checking! We stood around like idiots, while yet again I wondered why we’re still holding on to our Indian passports!? A little while later an angry looking older man stormed into the little cubicle where the immigration officer was holding court. The new guy waved our passport at the officer’s face, wagged his finger right in front of his noise and yelled in Arabic, before he stormed out again. Without a single word the officer stamped our passports and let us in.

Then started the infinite wait for our bags, which didn’t show up. But the KLM folks at the airport seemed helpful…aided by Ramzy’s translation, we managed to lodge a complaint for lost baggage. I didn’t quite catch what they said, but heard the word “inshallah” a few times. Yeah, god will bring our bags to us!! We took our complaint number and headed to the hotel.

The drive through the city of Cairo to the hotel seemed a lot like the drive from Chhatrapati Shivaji terminal to the town…only the number of rather grand looking mosques seemed to pop up every few meters reminded me that we’re indeed in an Islamic country. On our way, we passed Heliopolis, a very posh area of Cairo where all the grand palaces and villas of Cairo is concentrated. The roads were empty at that hour, but the number of fly-overs also reminded me of Bombay.

The Grand Hyatt is located on an island in the Nile. Our room has a fabulous view of the Nile and the city…apparently in the day we’ll be able to see the Pyramids from the room. Tried standing outside in the balcony, but the smog hanging over the city was asphyxiating me! There’s a barge bearing TGIF logo floating on the Nile – isn’t there a single place devoid of American commercialism???!

A Journey Through Egypt - Prologue

2007-03-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

My love affair with Egypt started a long, long time ago – when I was a little girl of about 6 or 7 years. One my birthday someone gave me a book which was an encyclopedia of sorts – concise and written in Bengali. It contained among other treasures of information, a chapter on Egypt – the pharaohs, the pyramids and the legend of the Egyptian gods. I learnt about the boy king Tut-ankh-amun, the sun god Ra, the jackal-headed Anubis – I was hooked for life!

Over the years I have eagerly absorbed all information available to me about ancient Egypt – books, articles in National Geographic, features on Discovery Channel. I knew almost everything a lay-person can know about ancient Egypt; but I knew nothing about the modern country.So when I finally landed in Cairo, I was a bit taken aback – even though I didn’t quite know what to expect. Cairo is a city where 3500 year old pyramids co-exit with 21st century glass towers. It is a bustling city of 18 million people – the largest in Africa! It has imposing 19th century villas and multistoried tenement buildings, swanky malls and 17th century bazaars, communication towers right next to 12th century citadel! It is a Islamic country, where non-Muslims are welcome to enter mosques; where young girls in hijab wear form fitting clothes and walk arm in arm with their boyfriends on the Corniche El Nil; where the ancient clan of Coptic Christians live peacefully with Jews and Arabs! It is a place where people are friendly and smiling, the food is sublime and the hospitality is outstanding! No wonder 9 million tourists land in Egypt every year, making tourism the main industry of the country!

For the next few weeks I’ll be posting the diary I maintained during my two weeks in Egypt. It is long – I must warn you, and contains very little historical reference to the ancient sites we visited (one can look it up on the net very easily). This is mostly my observation, my experience and my feelings while I came face to face with some of the best known monuments on earth along with some fabulous pictures of the breathtaking country called Egypt!

Pan's Labyrinth

2007-02-08T17:00:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I was really happy that Deepa Mehta’s Water has been nominated in the Best Foreign Film category for the Oscars. I hadn’t seen or caught up with the buzz on the other nominees. Most of them are festival-circuit movies which are now getting major publicity and wider releases after the Oscar announcements. I watched Water sometime back and thought it was a fabulous movie (minus the song and dance of course)…but I hadn’t seen Mexico’s entry Pan’s Labyrinth. Finally I caught up with the movie masterpiece that has critics and general public going gaga in unison! And here’s a reason why…in my humble opinion Pan’s Labyrinth is the most beautifully written, directed, shot, edited and acted movie I have seen in my entire life! And it’d be a shame if the golden statue doesn’t go home with Guillermo Del Toro.

Now, I have to admit that I’m not that familiar with Del Toro’s work. I know he directed Hellboy and Blade 2, but action/horror is a genre that I usually stay away from. I’m definitely in the process of rectifying that…as I write this post, the entire Guillermo Del Toro collection of DVDs is on its way to my library account.

Pan’s Labyrinth is poetic and beautiful and nightmarish and hellish in the same breath. Set in a dark Spanish forest in a very dark time, 1944 - the civil war is over, and Franco's Falangists have long since subjugated the country. The last remnants of Republican resistance are fighting a rearguard action in the forested northern hills. A voice-over tells us of the existence of a timeless underground realm "where there are neither lies nor pain," a world that once had a princess. She left it to experience life on Earth and had her memory blotted out by the sun, but her father, the king of the underground, has always held out hope that her soul would return, even if in another body.

A little girl Ofelia (played with a heartbreaking and winning combination of grace and awkwardness by 11 year old Ivana Baquero) is traveling with her pregnant mother Carmen (Ariadna Gil) to the rural outpost of Ofelia's stepfather, the rigid and, we will soon learn, brutal fascist Captain Vidal (Sergi Lopez, gives an extraordinary performance as the bestial captain, an irredeemable villain to rank with Ralph Fiennes' Nazi in "Schindler's List."), whose mission is to stamp out the embers of the Republican army. Ofelia's an imaginative girl, still in thrall to fairy tales as her adolescence approaches; she and her mother have a strong bond but are confused by each other. Captain Vidal is one of those types for whom confusion is a luxury, and he regards Ofelia as an unmitigated pest. His main concern, aside from slaughtering freedom fighters and keeping the camp well under his iron boot, is that Ofelia's mom bears him an intact son and heir.

The forest around the old mill where Ofelia and her mother come to live is full of signs and portents: old carved stones and half-buried, crumbling structures that attest to a primeval body of lore and belief. Ofelia's first steps waken an ancient and completely marvelous creature, a faun who might be the goat god Pan himself but who prefers to say only "I've had so many names ... old ones that only the wind and the trees can pronounce." Old though he is, the faun immediately recognizes the girl as the long-awaited Princess Moanna, returned to take her rightful place in the underground kingdom. Before she can do that, however, the faun insists, like any good fairy tale enabler, that Ofelia must perform three tasks before the moon is full "to make sure her essence has remained intact."Those tasks, each more daunting than the last, bring the girl into contact with a series of strange and wondrous creatures, from a giant toad with a huge tongue residing in a dark, muddy, insect-infested tunnel under a crumbling fig tree to a terrifying, flesh-eating monster called Pale Man (an echo of Francisco Goya's child-devouring Saturn?), whose eyes are to be found in the palms of his hands.

Between these creatures and what happens above ground with Vidal's army and the resistance, "Pan's Labyrinth" has its share of quite violent and potentially disturbing moments. Yet because the violence is used not for titillation but to create a world we can be fearful about, because the film lives up to its tagline that "Innocence has a power evil cannot resist," we see it all without wishing we were somewhere else. Ofelia’s adventures in the underworld are inter-cut with the guerrilla war in the woods. Del Toro has an unusual capacity to keep the narrative moving on two levels. Every character in the movie has a secret and a mission. The commander's housekeeper, formidable, fearless Mercedes (the movie's secret star, Maribel Verdú, best known as the sexy older woman in Y Tu Mamá También) is aiding the insurgents—as is the local doctor. Mercedes’s surreptitious visits to the rebels often coincide with Ofelia’s journeys into fairyland, and it may be that the film’s romantic view of the noble, vanquished Spanish Republic is itself something of a fairy tale.

Pan’s Labyrinth is a political fable in the guise of a fairy tale. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Fairy tales are mostly designed to console as well as terrify. What distinguishes Pan’s Labyrinth, what makes it so terrifyingly beautiful, is that it balances its own magical thinking with the knowledge that not everyone lives happily ever after.

The story has two endings, two final images that linger in haunting, unresolved tension. The film ends with a beautiful image of a princess, smilingly restored to her throne, bathed in golden subterranean light followed by a grown woman weeping inconsolably in the hard blue twilight of a world beyond the reach of fantasy. "Pan's" stories of what's happening underground and aboveground subtly reinforce each other, but the film refuses to say what exists and what does not. It not only leaves us free to determine how real Ofelia's world is, it trusts us to make the right decision

Now, we all know that Oscars sometimes tend to bestow its honors on less worthy candidates (Nicholas Cage for Leaving Las Vegas over Sean Penn for Dead Man Walking or Gwyneth Paltrow for Shakespeare in Love over Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth, anyone?) Hopefully this time around they’ll get it right.

Go see Pan’s Labyrinth. But, do not, I repeat, do not take kids to this movie unless you're somehow convinced of their innate worldliness, knowledge of the Spanish Civil War and its grim aftermath and their ability to withstand nightmare-inducing horror. It's violent, creepy and unlike anything you've seen in a while. It's also insanely imaginative and beautiful. An awesome movie, but not for little kids. At all.

Swimming Lesson

2007-02-06T16:01:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in the backwaters of Kolkata there lived a curious little girl in a house by the lake. She was too young to go school and unlike other little girls, she was not content playing with her dolls all day or chasing dragonflies in the long grass that grew in their garden. She loved to explore (the mishti in the fridge or the tamarind achar in the pantry); discover new things (a new box of water color in her sister’s cupboard); unravel secrets (a stack of “special” books on the top shelf in the store room)! Her curiosity got her into trouble many times, specially when her sister shrieked after finding her water color tubes crudely pressed and left open to dry ;or her mother discovered the empty box of sweets that was meant for guests! But all the scolding and the punishment in the world couldn’t suppress the indomitable curiosity that ran through the veins of this little girl!

Then came the most exciting day of her little life…the installation of a new tube-well in their backyard! A group of workers, their dark bodies shiny with sweat started excavating the earth in search of water. The little girl was fascinated. She had never seen anything like that before. The men dug into the belly of the earth, bringing out brown mud and then dark grey chunks of tightly packed clay. Since the house was right next to the lake, it didn’t take them long to find water…the workers hollered in excitement the moment muddy water started coming out of the ground! The little girl sat on the steps of their back porch and watched in awe. Her mother had forbidden her to go anywhere near the work site. But her little feet itched to go near the hole…see how deep the cavity was and how the water spewed out of the earth. But she was afraid of going against her mother’s wishes, knowing she’d get into deep trouble if she did.

Sometime in the afternoon the workers took a lunch break and her mother went to take her usual afternoon siesta. The little girl was supposed to lie down next to her mother and try to nap. But her mind was too excited for sleep. She lay there fidgeting, forming a plan in her little head. Soon her mother fell asleep…this was the opportunity she was waiting for! Very quietly she slipped off the bed and tip-toed out of the room and ran straight to the back porch. The workers were still resting after half a day of rigorous work. No one was near the hole…this was the time to take a quick peek; whet her curiosity! She approached the large cavity, the ground slippery with the wet mud…she could see the muddy brown water slowly filling the hole. She just wanted to take a closer look and leaned in.

It happened really fast. One moment she was leaning to look, next moment she was in the muddy water…drowning! She could feel herself sinking, and the more she struggled the deeper she went. She couldn’t breathe…she opened her mouth to scream and gulped in some muddy water! Terrified, she flailed her arms and legs only to find herself sinking even deeper! As darkness seemed to engulf her whole being, she felt a pair of hands grabbing her shoulders and pulling her out of the water…

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I wait beside the swanky pool, dipping my toes gingerly in the warm water. Even after six weeks of swimming lessons with the hunky French instructor I’m still as nervous around water as I have been all my life. This is my new year’s resolution…I have to be able to swim by the end of the year! I’ve been trying to overcome my fear of water all my adult life without much luck! Can this self-proclaimed Master Coach change a life-time of trepidation in a matter of few weeks?

“Bonjour Madame! How are vee zis morning?” I eye the steaming cup of coffee in his hand longingly and grumble “Sleepy and cold!! And I haven’t had coffee this morning!” He takes a long swing from the cup and says “Get into ze water…it’ll wake you up! Better zan coffee!!” I obey his orders and get into the pool…the water is warm and I feel confident waddling around in the shallow end. But the tyrant I’m paying to teach me swimming doesn’t care about my comfort zone! With one last swig of coffee, he jumps into the deep end and hollers “Ze party is over…get to work!! Stop day-dreaming!”

We’ve been doing this dance for weeks now! I’m supposed to dunk my head in the water, exhale, blow bubbles and then float on my back, kick, come back up, float on my tummy, kick some more and somewhere in the middle I’m to assert my independence and do all these all on my own! Of course that doesn’t happen. I stand at the shallow end, nodding my head like an obstinate mule completely impervious to anything Frenchie has to say till he shakes his head in frustration and muttering in French he’ll physically drag me to the deep water and dunk me!! After a couple of gulps of disgusting chlorinated water my foggy brain will wake up and I’ll get into the routine with much bitching and moaning as if its me who’s doing him a favor by learning to swim!

I hold my breath and go down into the water. But my head keeps bobbing near the surface. “Non, non, non!!” He yells and drags me up. With elaborate and sweeping hand gestures of a ballet dancer, he explains my mistake. “Lady, you need to get rid of all ze hair from your chest!!” Huh? I look down at the rather generous display of…ahem…chest, but I don’t see any hair. What on earth is he talking about?
“Hair?” I ask him tentatively.
“Non! Not hair! HAIR! How do you say it?“ He’s clearly frustrated with my stupidity. “HAIR! HAIR!” He rubs his hands all over his naked chest (which by the way is completely hairless). He inhales deeply and exhales slowly! “Zat hair! Get it?”
Ohhhh! Duh! Realization dawns on me! How stupid! I inhale deeply through my nose and go down into the water and exhale, feeling my body get lighter and lighter! At least, the lesson started on a good note. Hope it stays that way.

“Great job, lady!” I get a high five. “Ok, now float on your back!” I try but I can’t let go…I have trust issues you see! What if he doesn’t catch me when I fall!! Panic grips my heart! I look over my shoulder to check if he’s still there! Frenchie knows what I’m thinking.
“Don’t vorry” he says “I’m right behind you…I von’t let you drown!”
I close my eyes and fall back. He catches my head, supporting me till I float. My arms and legs are stiff as board, my neck literally sticking out of the water.
“Relax ze neck and open your eyes. Look at me." I look up...not a bad view really. "Your ‘ed and hears should be in ze water! Feel ze water support you!” Dutifully I relax my neck and let the water come to my face. It begins then. I start to feel my old panic rise…the water closing in on me, an inch at a time; first covering my ears, touching my cheeks and then nearing my nose…like a coffin lid closing on my face, smothering me. I lose my concentration…I want to stand up, feel the solid ground under my feet! But I forget the technique; instead I start flailing my arms and legs, splashing water...unable to get vertical! In my terror I reach behind me and grab Frenchie’s upper arm! With one swift push on my shoulder he steadies me and I finally find firm ground under my feet! I stand crestfallen, hanging my head down, ashamed of my rather juvenile behavior! He rubs his right arm with a grimace on his face. “You need to cut zose nails lady!!” I look up and see a set of half-moon welts on his well-formed biceps where my nails had dug in. Ugggh!! Can it get any worse than this!!?? I mentally invoke mother earth to divide and take me in…and save me from this embarrassing situation!

But that doesn’t happen; instead Frenchie thrusts two neon colored sponge noodles towards me, "Okay, lets try something else!"and instructs me to float on my tummy. “Put ze ‘ed in ze water and exhale through ze mouth. Relax ze arms and then keek.” I follow his instructions to the best of my ability and start kicking in earnest. “Non, non, non!!” he bellows again. “Not from your knees! Keek from ze heeps!!” He pats his own gluteus maximus as if to explain to a child who’s just learning to identify body parts! I have no idea how to kick from my hips but I make an effort. That seems to please him. “Zats better!!” He quips happily. “Now keek, tap ze water with ze top of your feet!” I hold on to the noodles for my dear life and do as he asks. We cross the length of the pool a few times like this.
“Now, exhale completely under water and zen quickly come up for more hair and go back down!” Sounds simple, right? It probably is quite simple! But I botch it…rather bad! I take a deep breath…exhale completely underwater and come up to inhale more and again go straight back into the water, but this time I forget to close my mouth! As a result about half a gallon of disgusting chlorine water get into my mouth, my nose, my lungs! I choke, cough, splutter and go blind momentarily. Yet another panic attack, followed by some thrashing around and then I get pulled up. “Concentré! Don’t rush! Understand ze principes of breathing!” he barks at me. By this time I’m at my wits end; tears of anger and frustration threatening to spill out any moment. But I’m not the kind of person who cries in public. Frenchie sees my distress and softens a bit. “Don’t vorry” he says,” Your mind needs to get used to being in ze water! It’ll happen! Just relax! Oui?” I shake my head side to side. He looks very confused. “Is zat a yes or a no?”
“Yes, that was a yes! “ I nod my head vigorously again. I've had it for the day. I want a hot shower and get a latte and a slice of pumpkin bread!
“Okay, sounds good!” He tries to copy my nodding. “It takes practice to get it right! Merci beaucoup!” I retort and climb out of the pool, bracing myself against the sudden change of temperature, my teeth already chattering. Frenchie climbs out behind me and gently wraps a towel around my shoulders. “You are a funny lady!” he guffaws still trying to get the Indian nod.
“And you are a débile, Monsieur!” I mutter under my breath! I pick up my belongings and head to the locker room. “Next week then?”
“Oui. Next week. Au revoir, madame!”
“Yes, au revoir!”

A Holiday Tradition

2006-11-29T23:31:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a house-hold where all festivals were celebrated with great enthusiasm regardless of their religious implication. During Kali Puja, Diwali, Bhai Phonta our house would be filled with aunts and uncles and cousins for days. Every morning Daddy would go to the bazaar and come back with bags laden with vegetables, fish and meat which would then be lovingly prepared by mom and my aunts. The men would sit on the dining table and the children on the ground and have our lunches and dinners amidst laughter and chatter and great bonhomie in general! In the evening we’d burst crackers and even after three days of non-stop bursting, there’d still be crackers left over for next year!

During Eid, Daddy’s friend Atiq Mian would send home giant vessels of Biryani and mutton curry along with trays of dry fruits and sweets…the smell of that Biryani would linger in the house weeks after that! Holi meant helping ourselves to packets of aabir of every possible color and filling balloons and pichkari from buckets my brother prepared to attack unsuspecting passer-by! For Lakshmi Puja, Didi and I would painstakingly adorn the house with alpana while mom fasted and prepared the bhog and in the evening we would all sit by the alter with folded hands watching mom in her red-bordered garad saree, face radiant in the lamp-light, read aloud from the panchali, asking goddess Lakshmi to keep her home filled with good fortune and happiness forever! Then there was Bijoya Dashami when the house would be filled with people and mom would serve never ending plates of home-made nimki and narkel’er naroo to every one who walked in and Poush Sankranti when the entire paara could smell the delicious puli-pithey and the patishapta being made in our kitchen!

But my favorite holiday of all was Christmas. That particular time of the year signified a lot of things; exams were over, good or bad – the results were out, which meant we could play all day long without a care in the world! Christmas meant hanging our school stockings from the bed-post before going to sleep, which would miraculously get filled with candies in the morning! It also meant enjoying once in a year treats – a fruit cake from Nahoum’s, a trip to the zoo or the Victoria Memorial! One year Daddy took me to New Market before Christmas - I don’t recall how old I was or if I had ever been to New Market before that! But I remember this – it was filled with Christmas trees, shiny ornaments, paper streamers, garlands, colorful hats of all shapes, piñatas and star lanterns – an enchanted bazaar straight out of a little girl’s fantasy! Daddy bought me a Christmas tree that day. It was a tiny thing, the kind that one puts on their desks. I decorated it with tinsel garlands and little shiny balls of different colors! That tree was my pride and joy – none of my friends had it and I would show-off my little Christmas tree to anyone who came by!

A few years later Daddy passed away and all celebrations stopped in our house! Holi became colorless, Diwali light-less. Uncles and aunts and cousins started congregating in someone else’s house. Dada would wake up very early in the morning on Rakhi and Bhai Phonta and disappear for the rest of the day! Eid came and went but the aromatic Biryani from Atiq Mian’s house never came! Very few people came to wish us during Bijoya Dashami and who ever came would be served store-bought mishti and shingara instead of my mom’s home-made delicacies! Like every year Didi and I would adorn our house with alpana, but mom would never make bhog again. Neither would she sit by the lamplight and read aloud from panchali. She would offer cut fruits and sweets to Lakshmi and sit in front of the alter in mute silence as if she was having a silent dialogue with the goddess who let her down!

But I held on to my Christmas tradition; every year I would unpack my little Christmas tree and decorate it with great enthusiasm. The twinkling lights and shiny ornaments brought a strange sense of peace in my heart! But nothing lasts forever, and one day my tree fell apart – the wooden base was eaten hollow by wood-worms and the paper needles of the pine disintegrated! I threw the tree in the garbage and never looked back. So along with other festivals even Christmas was buried under the collective grief in our house-hold! Yet every year I would be drawn to Park Street on Christmas; I would treat myself to a piece of fruit-cake at Flury’s while looking at the magical lights adorning the street outside!

Many years later in Bangalore, on Christmas day I found myself alone at home with my Anglo-Indian landlady. I was new in town and had nowhere to go, and she was almost 70, a spinster and nearly crippled with arthritis! Together we sat in her bed-room watching TV and drinking home-made wine while she told me how she was betrayed by her Sikh paramour, a doctor in the army where she was a nurse during the WWII. Her hatred for the man who broke her naïve heart fifty years back was quite intense!
“Men”, she said taking a sip of the too-sweet wine “are all bastards! You smile at them and they’ll want to get into your knickers!” The wine, in spite of its rather overwhelming sweetness, was quite potent!
“You’re right, Aunty!” I said.
“Take it from me girl - don’t let any man take off your knickers unless he gives you a wedding ring first!” A wonderful pearl of wisdom from a senile (and drunk) old lady on Christmas night that I’ll never forget in my life.

Little more than a year later I was married, moved to Seattle, bought a house and trying to settle into the suburban American life. That year I learnt that one can celebrate festivals with people other than family. I attended the Bengali community Durga Pujo, followed by Bijoya Dashami and Sindoor Khela party at some one’s place. There was more than one Diwali party to go to, where we didn’t burst fire-crackers, but generally partied till wee hours of the morning! Along with these I also adopted the American traditions of barbeque on 4th of July, putting pumpkins outside your doorway and dress-up silly on Halloween and eat-till-you-throw-up on Thanksgiving! Sometime after Halloween I noticed a giant Christmas tree in a mall…I was child all over again…I rushed to the tree and stared at it in amazement! Never before I had I seen a tree that big or ornaments that beautiful! I stared at the tree for a very long time admiring its beauty.

The day after Thanksgiving, spouse pulled out a battered old card-board box with a picture of Douglas fir on it from the store room and that day we started our very own tradition of putting up the Christmas tree. In the initial years the tree wasn’t much to write home about…but with each passing year we added more ornaments to our collection and decorated the same tree with great enthusiasm. After we had sonny boy, he too joined the family tradition with equal gusto – he would putter around us, handing us ornaments and squealing with delight when we turned the lights on!

The two winters that we spent in Hyderabad were rather interesting. The first Christmas, we were in Bangkok partying like it was the night before apocalypse! Little did we know that the very next morning hundreds of thousands would be killed as giant waves would hit the coasts of Indonesia, Thailand, India and Sri Lanka! We were incommunicado with family back in India who just knew we were in Thailand and Phuket was one of destinations – till we were able to get past the tremendous communication jam and get in touch with them! It was a time of stress, anxiety and immense sadness!

The next year we decided to celebrate Christmas in a much sober manner and planned to throw a party for sonny boy and his little friends! It was fun organizing such an event…it took me all over Hyderabad in search of Christmas paraphernalia, including a Santa Claus – yes, a rotund jolly-faced Santa Claus, who would walk in with his customary “Ho Ho Ho” and distribute gifts to kids from his giant sack! But alas, there was no Santa to be found, specially the jolly-faced kind! Every one offered me a Santa suit and asked me to find someone who’ll wear it! Honestly, I couldn’t ask any of my friends to actually wear that ill-fitting, not to mention smelly red suit! At the last store, I begged and pleaded with the owner. “Please, please, please find me a Santa! The children are expecting him – it was written on the invite that Santa will be there!”
“Sorry madam! This is a very busy time for Santa – they are all booked by star hotels months before Christmas!” the store owner said.
“What will happen to my party?” I wailed.
He took pity on me and had a quick discussion with his partner in swift Telegu which I failed to catch. Then he turned towards me and said “I think madam you are in luck…we can give you a guy!”
“Really? Wow! Where is he?”
He called out to someone “Ask Chhotu to come here for a minute”
A minute later Chhotu appears from somewhere in the back of store.
“Madam, this is your Santa Claus! Kya re Chhotu, do ghante ke liye Santa banega kya? Sirf yeh laal rang ka suit pahenna hai aur bachcho ko present dena hai…kar sakega?”
Chhotu dutifully nods his head as I stare at him. Where is my rotund, jolly-faced Santa? This guy is tall as a lamp-post, skinny like a match-stick, black as ebony and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he was completely cross-eyed! I wanted to cry. I wanted to go back to Seattle, to a mall, where Santa sits on an ornate chair, in his make-shift North Pole village smiling indulgently at whiny, snotty children who stand in line for hours in their stiff new clothes to get his or her picture taken with Him. I shook my head violently and left the store. Later in the party spouse and I cranked up the air-conditioners and wore Elf hats and spread Christmas cheer to a bunch of four year olds who kept asking when Santa will show up with the presents!

Christmas is still my most favorite time of the year – the beautifully decorated Christmas trees all over the city, the twinkling lights adorning the leafless trees on the curb, the gingerbread latte the Starbucks would serve during the season, the ancient creaking carousel in downtown, the fruit-cake baking in my kitchen, the holiday parties, the gifts under the tree – yes, I love every last commercial aspect of Christmas! And why not, it reminds everyone to be happy and kind, the idea of giving and sharing with everyone! Of course I’ve run into monsters out to do Christmas shopping, in the mall parking lot jostling for a spot, ready to run-over anyone under their expensive SUV’s; I’ve heard people complaining because of the conflux of family under one roof ; people getting stressed out over gift-giving; and people getting depressed because they have no one to share Christmas with!

This year, the day after Thanksgiving we took out our Christmas from its card-board box – its falling apart in every possible way. Spouse suggested we get a new tree. But I told him that I had promised our tree that it will be with us this year when we packed it last year. I have to keep my promise, so we lovingly put it up and decorated it with yards and yards of twinkling lights, red and gold ornaments, ribbons, garlands and beaded sprays – in my eyes it’s the most beautiful tree I’ve seen this season!

Dhoom 2 : A Roller-coaster Ride

2006-11-26T13:39:00.000-08:00

Last night I had yet another one of those disgruntled moments, which soon turned into the biggest embarrassment of recent times. We went to watch Dhoom2 after a wonderful meal at the neighborhood Italian diner. Happy with the food and even happier with the delectable Pinot Noir that accompanied the meal, I rush into the theater hoping to capture some nice seats leaving spouse to park the car. Looked like it was a house-full show…lots of people inside the theater, but I was lucky enough to find some really nice seats…center row, towards the back, just where I like to sit! I immediately called spouse to let him know about the sudden windfall. Couple of minutes later spouse calls me back…he’s unable to locate me in the theater and asks me to wave my arm in the air- which I do- yet he cannot locate me! Turns out that we were in two different screens! He trudges over to join me. In the meantime, a man carrying a precarious tower of samosas and coffee comes over and scowls at me. The conversation that follows goes somewhat like this:
Man: Excuse me! You’re sitting on our seat!
Me: No!
Man: YES! That’s my daughter’s jacket over there!
Me: OK! But nothing was on these three seats, so I’m going to sit here!
Man: Come on! Don’t be so rude!
Me: (getting a little annoyed with the exchange) I’m not being rude! You should have put something on the seats to secure them. These seats were empty, so I took them. YOU are being unreasonable!
Spouse shows up by my side.
Spouse: What’s the problem?
Me: Nothing that I can’t handle!
Man: (He’s really upset now) This is ridiculous! Why don’t you go back to the seat where you were before the interval!
Wordlessly I got up from the prized seats and beat a rather hasty retreat, my ears burning in embarrassment, dragging a bewildered spouse and sonny boy behind me!

It took a second bottle of Pinot Noir smuggled into the theater in coffee cup to wash away the sense of mortification! But then Hrithik Roshan did a spectacular sky-diving stunt and landed on a moving train somewhere in the Namibian desert and robbed some royal old dame off her jewel-encrusted crown! And I stopped fretting about the stupid fracas that took place moments ago.

Dhoom2 is all about Hrithik Roshan, in fact its an ode to the handsome actor’s multi-faceted talent, so much so that you’d think Papa Roshan is at the helm of the movie rather than Aditya Chopra and Sanjay Gadhvi! Hrithik over-shadows every other actor in the movie in every department! Whether its his Greek God like statuesque physique, or his ability to dance like he has no bones in his body, or the death-defying stunts that he insists on doing himself, Hrithik is a cut above the rest of his contemporaries!

There’s not much to the story-line of Dhoom2. Aryan (Hrithik Roshan) is a suave, high-tech master thief who is giving Mumbai Police department sleepless nights with his daring robberies! He’s a master of disguise who revels in whisking away the coveted object from under the cops’ nose! On his trail are Jai Dixit (Abhishek Bachchan) and Ali (Uday Chopra) who has joined the police force now. They are joined by ACP Shonali Bose (Bipasha Basu in uncomfortably tight clothes) a ball-busting non-nonsense super cop! Shonali also happens to be Jai classmate from college and they share a wonderful camaraderie much to the chagrin of Sweetie (Rimi Sen) Jai’s pregnant wife.

Aryan carries out another audacious robbery in Mumbai and dares the cops to catch him at his next mission in Junagadh. In Junagadh, while trying to steal a six hundred year old royal sword, Aryan finally meets his match – Sunheri (Aishwarya Rai) a street-smart petty thief with an attitude. After much humming and hawing the two form a partnership and head to Rio for yet another heist with Jai and Ali at their heels. In Rio the cops are greeted by Shonali Bose’s beach-bumming sun-worshipping twin Monali. Thus begins the game of cops and robbers, of intrigue, of betrayal and of passion!

There isn’t really much to complain about Dhoom2. Yet, if I nit-pick, I would say that the initial track of domestic discord with a hint of adultery in Jai Dixit’s life could have been explored a little more by cutting off a song or two which kept popping up at most inopportune moments! And why did Shonali Bose’s tough-cop character just disappear only to be replaced with the ditzy twin Monali? It didn’t make any sense whatsoever! And why didn’t we see any Brazilian cop during the Rio heist sequence?

The other problem with Dhoom2 is its music. Pritam had a tough act to follow…and he couldn’t live up to the hype at all! Dhoom2’s music is at best mediocre. The saving grace is the trendy choreography and stylized picturisation, which makes the songs visually stunning!

Watching Abhishek Bachchan in Dhoom2 I was reminded of Shashi Kapoor in numerous Amitabh Bachchan blockbusters. He is very important to the movie; nonetheless Jai Dixit’s character has been relegated to the backseat. Bachchan Jr does a fine job as usual with his “oh-I’m-so-cool” body-language! Yet every time he was pitted against Hrithik Roshan, you couldn’t help but notice how much Abhishek needs to spruce up his appearance, his posture, his physique and his wardrobe!

Ash's Sunheri is all glamour and absolutely no substance. The anxiety or strain that you expect from her as she follows the master thief on potentially dangerous missions is never felt. Sunehri enters the scene silently; almost an hour into the film in a cat-woman like body-suit hugging her newly toned contours sensually, completed with a mask that highlights her gorgeous eyes. In a matter of minutes she spoils it all – as she strips out of her cat-suit she opens her mouth…what a let down!! No more sensuality, just plain annoying! I for one couldn’t see why Aryan would take her as a partner let alone fall for her!! Sunheri and Aryan's union was meant to be a sizzling, electrifying moment but yet again Aishwarya Rai's lack of chemistry with her co-star made even the most well-written scene fall flat! And no, she didn’t wear a bikini in the movie, in case you were wondering!

It was Bipasha Basu who appeared in a teensy-weensy bikini and looked really good in it! At least as a cop she had somewhat of a job but as the scatterbrained Monali she pretty much had nothing to do except run on the beach wearing a Baywatch inspired red swim-suit in Uday Chopra’s dream!

Uday Chopra is the comic relief and his exchanges with Abhishek are quite funny at times. Most people find him irritating, but I think he was quite endearing! If there’s one person who’s super-irritating, that’d be Rimi Sen! Not only her dialogue delivery is awful, her penchant for breaking into Bengali every now and then (this time around she was craving for Machh Bhaja) can get really exasperating…in fact so annoying that in the five minutes that she was on the screen I wished Jai would dump her (pregnant or not) and shack up with Shonali!

Mounted on a rather extravagant scale, Dhoom2 is definitely a visual delight. It’s a hi-octane action/thriller and the thrills, stunts, pace and the breathtaking visuals are dazzling enough to keep the audience riveted from the beginning to the end! Dhoom 2 isn’t a good movie, but it’s not a bad movie either. Its clearly a Hrithik Roshan show – throw in some stunning action sequences, fabulous bikes, chuckle-inducing comic sequences, scantily clad women and you get a sure-shot crowd pleaser! Go watch it, but leave your brains back at home!

Casino Royale

2006-11-20T11:00:00.000-08:00

When Pierce Brosnan was unceremoniously fired form the James Bond franchise I was heart-broken, and I guess I wasn’t the only one who felt that no one else could do justice to the flamboyant agent 007 on the silver screen. And then, precisely thirteen months back the name of the new Bond was announced. He is now played by Daniel Craig, as the world knows, and although I loved him in Layer Cake, like everyone else, I too waited with bated breath to see the result! And what a result that is!! Along with his bullet-shaped frame, jug-ears and unlikely azure eyes, Daniel Craig brings an emotional unpredictability to the role that is both clearly human and just plain more interesting than his recent predecessors. Notwithstanding my personal obsession with Mr Brosnan, I have to admit that Craig's easily the best Bond since Sean Connery.

In Casino Royale James Bond is back to his roots as Ian Fleming's driven, bare-knuckled, rough-around-the-edges sociopath killer in Her Majesty's Secret Service who’s only just graduated to coveted 00 status. He doesn’t know much about the difference between a shaken and stirred martini let alone care, and who doesn’t get behind the wheel of an Aston Martin until a third of the way through the picture. Until then, it’s (gasp) a Ford rental car for him!! This is meant to be a less elegant, more rough-and-tumble Bond than we’re accustomed to — Bond before he becomes “Bond, James Bond.”

It doesn't even feel like a Bond film as we have come to expect them, in their mind-numbing, increasingly gadget-dependent gigantism. There is no mastermind hell-bent on world domination, no invisible car, no laser guns and hundreds of extras don’t get mowed down in every other scene. It begins with a black-and-white sequence in which Bond brutally earn his 00 status with two textbook-perfect killings, followed by an exhilarating foot chase, as Bond pursues a terror suspect (French “free running” champion Sébastien Foucan) through a Madagascar construction site… that’s a ballet of gravity-defying acrobatics!.

Under the watchful eye of M (a wonderfully animated Judi Dench) and aided by a fellow operative Mathis (Italian actor Giancarlo Giannini last seen in Hannibal where gets his entrails eaten by Anthony Hopkins), Bond arrives in Montenegro with British Treasury functionary Vesper Lynd (French actress Eva Green) by his side. There, in the swank hotel and gaming establishment of the title, he squares off against Le Chiffre in a multimillion-dollar poker game. Instead of a megalomaniac out to rule the world, Le Chiffre (Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen), "the Cipher," is a banker to international terrorists who is only in the game for the money. His quirks are a tear duct that drips blood and the need for an inhaler. He gives off a genuine creepy vibe, especially when he tortures Bond with a rather painful testicle squeeze and pauses to leer at his naked body. The marathon casino sequence is the front and center of the movie, although attempted assassinations and a poisoning make it a poker game with a difference. Also if my math is correct, Bond goes through three freshly ironed dress shirts in a single night, which suggests that he has off-loaded Q in favor of a silent Jeeves! I guess, he has to look good for Vesper Lynd.

The advance publicity for James Bond movies usually features an interview with an actress who insists that she's not playing the typical Bond girl. Yet invariably the movie comes out, there's some serious actress suddenly acting like an idiot. The pattern is finally broken with Eva Green. Vesper Lynd is probably the most complex creation in the “Bond girl” catalog — neither the submissive flirt or ball-busting vixen of older Bond adventures nor the extreme sportswoman (Michelle Yeoh, Halle Berry) of more recent past, but rather a smart, sexy, independent-minded femme (with smoky eyes, blood red lips and paper white skin) whose relationship with Bond is based on something deeper than the exchange of mutually seductive charms. Meeting on a train, they exchange some fabulously punchy dialogue that’s like the smart, double-entendre-laden lingo prospective lovers use in literate Hollywood romantic comedies. And when he comforts her in the shower following a frightening shootout in a hotel stairwell, it’s tender and touching in a way we don’t expect from a James Bond movie.

Having said that, I should also mention everything one expects from a James Bond film is here, but better and more human. Bond gets off wisecracks at the expense of his adversaries, but this time it’s almost apologetic. This Bond isn't invincible; he’s forever getting nicked and bruised and he half expects that next time his number will come up.

Craig reinvigorates a fagged-out franchise that's been relying on preposterous stunts and sillier gadgets to disguise the fact that it's run out of ideas. And he does it with an actor's skill, an athlete's grace and a dangerous glint that puts you on notice that Bond, James Bond, is back in business. This you do not want to miss.

Sister of my soul - Part I

2006-11-01T11:24:00.001-08:00

This is a story from the not so faded pages of my memory…about a friend I loved…and lost! I forget when I became friends with her or how. In a school reputed for teaching the maximum number of students in the whole world, unfortunately there were very few I could relate to. But she found me in the sea of faces and singled me out for her affection, loyalty and devotion and I returned her gesture with equal fervor! We were thick as thieves, always sitting together, always talking, whispering, laughing, and sharing everything from homework to lip balms to pangs of puberty to immature crush on some senior boy! And we shared a passion for Beatles, ABBA and Simon & Garfunkel…even the teachers knew about that! Every now and then we’d be pulled up to give impromptu performances in front of the whole class! In a class full of budding Rabindrasangeet and Hindustani classical singers, we were the odd ones out, but we loved every moment of our little gigs and the applaud that followed!

When we reached class IX, we had to separate! She and I chose different additional subjects because of which we were put in different sections. I missed her terribly and waited for the lunch-break and the minutes between classes when we could catch up by the drinking-water taps! That year her cousin, who was in the morning section all these years, joined us. I didn’t like this girl from day one…she was the proverbial kebab mein haddi…apart from the fact that she had absolutely nothing in common with us, she was also very needy, very insecure and very nosy! Yet my friend had to keep her close, because she was family…and if we didn’t give her enough attention, this girl would go home and cry after which her mom would call up my friend’s mom and complain how badly she’s treating her own first cousin! Pretty soon the situation became unbearable…my friend and I couldn’t talk at all…anything we said or discussed would eventually reach my friend’s family distorted like Chinese whisper and the poor girl would be reprimanded for ignoring her cousin over the company of someone with dubious morality! We mutually decided to give the cousin some space between us so that she stops making life so miserable for my friend and that seemed to work for a while! As much as I disliked her, I decided to be nice to her for the sake of my friend!

One day something unexpected happened. I had a severe stomach pain while in school, and had to be rushed to hospital for emergency appendectomy. For the next two weeks I was in the hospital and then at home recuperating! My classmates came to visit; those who couldn’t, sent get-well cards or called home to inquire. Only the person I missed most didn’t visit or call! There was complete silence from my friend. It broke my heart…I oscillated between making preposterous excuses for her, getting really angry and feeling abandoned! After almost three weeks when I went back to school, I took special care to avoid my friend; I rarely left the classroom, ate lunch at my seat, took the lift instead of the stairs and every day I waited her to come looking for me! But she didn’t!

A few weeks later, one day I bumped into my friend at the girls’ toilet. We exchanged forced pleasantries, she enquired about my health, I said I was doing fine…after that I had nothing to say to her and she seemed uncomfortable too! We bade each other good-bye and went back to our classes! That was probably the last time we spoke. Every now and then I’d see her at the playground during lunch-break standing arm in arm with her cousin at the corner which used to be ours for so many years! Sometimes we exchanged weak smiles…her cousin would always make it a point to turn her back towards me! After a point I stopped looking at her, moved on with my life…in a school of 14,000 students it wasn’t too hard to find new friends!

Soon it was time for the Board exams, the long break after that and then the results! I did pretty well…good enough to be among the hallowed circle of handful of students who get accepted in the last two years of school. My friend didn’t make it…she went to another school; so did her cousin and I never saw them after that!

A couple of days back I received a mail from the cousin…she found me on Orkut and wanted to get back in touch. I read and re-read her three line mail over and over again. In a flash I was 15 again; all the sadness, the anger and the heartache came rushing back like water from a broken dam! I realized that I was holding my breath, so I forced myself to take a deep breath and calm down…that chapter of my life ended so long ago; so much water has flown under the bridge since then! We are grown ups now and as the rational adult that I claim to be, I shouldn’t hold the cousin responsible for the demise of my friendship! In retrospect, I could have done things differently; I could have told my friend how much I missed her or given her a chance to explain…but I didn’t; I was busy playing the victim and wallowing in self-pity!

The petulant 15 year old me and the middle-aged current me fought for a long time and finally I decided to reply to her mail…no angry, sarcastic diatribe against her for the follies of the past; neither a mushy, sentimental reminiscence of the good old days…just a cut and dried account of the present! So now we are officially in touch…yet I don’t see the point of all this! Why play this charade when I have neither forgotten what she did nor forgiven her for it?!

Does time heal all wounds? Does growing older really make you wiser? I think not. There are some incidents in life that you never get over; you just learn to live with it!

Don - A chase that shouldn't have began in the first place!

2006-10-22T18:25:00.000-07:00

I’m quite angry! No, let me rephrase that…I’m extremely angry…and confused! I don’t know whether to be mad at the teenage couple who rear-ended my car yesterday evening in crawling traffic or at Farhan Akhtar for completely massacring a classic movie like Don or at myself for being such a sucker for punishment!

What a way to spend a Friday evening! I braved rush hour traffic to get to the movie hall only to get embroiled in a fender-bender, 911 calls and police interrogation! By the time I reached the movie theater, I was already in a foul mood and unfortunately, Don did nothing to alleviate that!

I loved the original Don, one of my Amitabh Bachchan favorites along with Deewar, Sholay, Namak Haram, Satte pe Satta among others. Having watched it again just a few month’s back, I applauded the engaging storyline, the tight pace, the unusual lack of melodrama and above all the perfect casting of Don. The new Don, although technically a superior fare turned out to be much ado about nothing! Five years ago when Farhan Akhtar gave us Dil Chahta Hai, everyone hailed him as the messiah of ground-breaking cinema in Bollywood. He followed that with a much-hyped damp squib called Lakshya and now the super-hyped remake of Don! Why on earth Farhan, I ask, did you think of re-interpreting with a perfectly fine screenplay and make such a mess of it?!

It started off quite alright…Don (Sharukh Khan) answering a call on his Motorazr (pretty low-tech if you ask me) in a Paris bistro and subsequently beating the pulp out of Chunky Pandey (in desperate need of a face-lift)…introduction of DCP D’silva (Boman Irani) and Roma (Priyanka Chopra) doing a graceful Tai-chi routine. So the first half of the movie went off as expected…when ruthless Don (based in Kuala Lampur this time) is killed by the police, the DCP is afraid that another "Don" will take over when the rest of the gang come of know of his death, so he, unbeknown to the rest of the police force, recruits Don's look-alike Vijay to become the real Don. Vijay is at first reluctant, but when promised that the child he is caring for will be looked after and educated, he agrees. He is successfully re-located back with his gang by feigning injuries and loss of memory. He soon recuperates and takes over the job as Don. Unfortunately the similarity in the plot ends right here. There are so many twists and turns in the plot hereafter that as a purist I cringed and shuddered through the rest of the movie. I’m dying to blurt out the climax to all and sundry but I won’t be a spoil-sport and let the discerning viewer figure it out!

Performance wise I have to admit, everyone put in sincere efforts. It was quite refreshing to see SRK in his bad-ass elements years after Baazigar, Darr, Anjaam and Ram Jaane. We got so used see him sleep-walking through the Yash Raj type romantic roles as Raj or Rahul, that we nearly forgot that he could be quite delicious as a bad guy too! But its one thing to stammer K-k-k-kiran and totally another thing to mouth dialogues immortalized by the only superstar of Hindi film industry! SRK’s delivery of the famous lines was too hurried and lacked the desired punch! Yet I cannot deny his sincerity…looked like he relished every snarl and every growl looking through narrowed eyes…but honestly he wasn’t menacing enough! I mean how can you take someone seriously who sings “bahut hi khatarnaak hu main”?

I love Boman Irani in general and can sit through his idiotic antics even when he’s hamming…but his DCP D’silva just wasn’t good enough! One can’t help but miss Iftekhar’s portrayal of the gritty weaseled cop who is Vijay’s only alibi! And what was the big idea of casting Om Puri as Malik only to give him less screen time than the model-turned actor playing Inspector Verma?

Kareena Kapoor’s much talked about cameo as Kamini was a pleasant surprise…she looked great and acted her part well but got saddled with unimaginative choreography (aping the original by Helen, which wasn’t that great to begin with) in “Yeh Mera Dil”…her moves were dated and too frantic to be seductive! Priyanka Chopra had a tough job filling Zeenat Aman’s shoes. She didn’t really have the fire of original Roma but gave a restrained performance and some spectacular stunts. A lovely girl with a body to die for, Priyanka should really look at her wardrobe a little carefully…some of her attires were downright tacky!

Last but not the least is Arjun Rampal (or is it Ramphal…whatever) reprising Pran’s role as Jasjit. His story is supposed to be running parallel with Vijay’s…but in Farhan Akhtar’s version he just vanishes into thin air without any explanation whatsoever somewhere near the climax.

The climax itself, shot at Mt Mat Chinchang in Langkawi was quite bizarre and comes as a complete surprise to everyone, purists and novices alike! It doesn’t tie the endings in a neat bow which it should have, instead opens avenues for a sequel in the near future.

Farhan Akhtar with the blessing of his indulgent father Javed Akhtar (who also happens to be one of the writers of the original) has presented a supposedly updated Don. He has given this Don a sleek wardrobe, plush locations and technical gloss, along with confusion and mayhem in general. Herald this as the harbinger of a slew Bachchan remakes -- everything from Sholay to Amar Akbar Anthony to Satte Pe Satta which is in the pipeline, and that’s not good news at all!

Homesick

2006-10-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a bit homesick lately, what with my knee surgery, the aftermath, the rehabilitation and the frustration of not being able to function “normally”. Then the Seattle fall/winter has set in…anyone who has been in Seattle between October and May will know what I’m talking about…the bleak light, the incessant rain, the cold wind day after day after day…I already feel the symptoms of winter blues or Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD...what an apt name) if I try to make it sound glamorous!

Makes me want to go home…but then the million dollar question is...where’s home? Isn’t this home, the cozy nest that I've painstakingly built, which I share with my two boys? Is the cavernous mansion in Kolkata home, where my mom is spending her twilight years with two ailing dogs and a lifetime of memories as company? Or is it the house by the lake, where I was born, where I grew up, where every nook and corner has memories of my father, of which I dream about even after leaving it quarter of a century back? How about the shoe-box size flat in Bangalore, my very own space for the first time, where I learnt many a important lesson in life including atta-daal ka bhav? Is it the tiny apartment in Redmond I stepped into as a blushing bride to be greeted by a room full of pink and yellow and white balloons? Or the suburban house where I grew lilies and roses and the backyard patio still has the handprint of my baby boy in wet cement? Should I go back to the designer home in Hyderabad with its film star neighbors and army of servants? They say home is where the heart is…then where do I have to go to feel at home?

Going home, where love abounds.
Coming home, where comfort is found.
After many journeys long,
you turn back to where you belong.
Home again, where you find rest.
From every trial and every test

Broken and Mended

2006-09-26T17:59:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been a believer of Vaastu Shashtra or Feng Shui, even though I’ve indulged the whims of many a client who wanted their homes spiritually correct by positioning doors, windows, beds, kitchen sinks and even commodes at really odd places which completely defied logic as well as aesthetics. I gnashed my teeth in frustration or sighed wistfully every time a perfectly designed space got massacred in the name of Vaastu! And yet somewhere along the line those ancient beliefs seeped into my conscience without me realizing it. The exact thing that I pooh-poohed sometime back started molding my life…sleeping with my head towards the north became complete no-no; I blamed my fights with the maid to the wrong positioning of the kitchen in the house; started believing that the north-south positioning of the potty is an antidote to constipation; I looked at the sunken living room in the north side of the house with new eye even though routinely someone or the other forgot to mind his/her step and fell down! And then came the big move and with it the biggest question of all…where was I going to find a Vaastu perfect house in Seattle?! I reasoned with myself saying that the ancient laws didn’t affect my life at all when I didn’t know anything about it…

So we bought the first house that I felt had the right chi, even though the bedroom was designed such that I have to sleep with my head towards the North. But the kitchen is at the south-east corner; that was a big bonus! We moved in about a month back with our mountain of stuff. (Its like trying to get into size 2 skinny-fit jeans that you thought Bipasha Basu looked really hot in when you need a size 20 relaxed-fit…a nearly impossible feat! But you have your heart set on the skinny fit jeans so you start shedding that extra load….trim yourself down to realistic size… after all you know your limitations!) Then bad things starts happening in the house quite inexplicably …I reverse my car into the garage door folding it into half (nothing happened to my car, thank heavens!); light bulbs in the bathroom go on and off according to their free will; cupboard doors in the kitchen won’t close properly; fuse blew plunging an entire floor into darkness over a weekend; electrician shows up on Monday afternoon and finds mysterious water seepage into the fuse box; calling bell and security phone goes kaput; cherry wood floor develops ugly white patches and last but not the least the radiator died in the master bedroom. Apparently all these spooky incidents have explanation… OUR REAL ESTATE AGENT SCREWED UP!!! She did the final walkthrough of the house on our behalf while we were packing up in Hyderabad and she did a very shoddy job! Of course she’s got excuses up the wazoo…grandmother passed away, dad was diagnosed with cancer…oh boohoo!! Fortunately the builder is being really patient with all the phone calls and nagging from our end and trying to fix everything albeit on their own time.

In the mean time I finally got my knee fixed. After putting it off for more than a year, I finally bit the bullet and went in for surgery last week. My orthopedic surgeon turned out to be a man of few words. On our first meeting he breezed into the consultation room about forty minutes late, took one quick look at my year old MRI, twisted my already hurting knee real hard and gave me a pink slip…instruction to get appointment for surgery. All this happened in less than 5 minutes and during that time he said less than 5 sentences to me. The next time I met him was on the day of the surgery. Again he waltzes in about an hour late, signs his initials on my left knee and leaves me wondering if I’m doing the right thing. Thankfully my anesthetist was a cheerful soul and quite chatty too; he wagered a latte if I could count past five after he drugs me. Needless to say I lost the bet! An hour later I was rudely awakened in the recovery room. This time doc gave me a cheerful smile and said “Everything’s done!” and vanished. I turn towards the nurse, who smiles indulgently and said “He’s funny!” Weird is more like it if you ask me! Hopefully he has explained to spouse what he did, because all I can see is three incisions and a knee that’s the size of a giant watermelon! But the good part is that I’ve been given a generous supply of party drugs which I’m taking rather indiscriminately and in general having a good time. It’d be even better if I could add some champagne to the cocktail! But the good mommy syndrome is stopping me…don’t want sonny boy to grow up with the stigma that his mommy went to God’s house because she OD’ed on pain killer and alcohol after a stupid knee arthroscopy!

So I’m pretty much stuck at home sitting on my butt all day unable to stand or walk without doubling up in pain. Makes me wonder if suffering through a locked knee once in a while was better than this ordeal? It’s supposed to get better I know, but after hobbling around for five days, I’m losing patience! I’ve watched so much TV that if I weren’t on serious pain medication, I’d die of a splitting headache. On the upside I managed to watch some movies that I’ve been dying to see…Water, Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi, Khamosh Paani, Anahaat, Chameli and unfortunately The Mistress of Spice. I guess I’m the last person to watch them, but I’m glad I did. I heard Water is Canada’s official entry to the Oscars…if there’s one movie that deserves to go to the Oscars, this is it!

Things are broken, things are mended…beliefs change…old habits give way to new…you pick up the pieces and move on! And I wait for the discomfort to abate so that I can start a new beginning!

Home Again

2006-09-10T23:58:00.001-07:00

My stuff has finally arrived …yippppeee! Of course, now I’m buried under the collective weight of 197 boxes…but at least I’m finally re-united with my things!

We had a hell of a time unpacking those 197 boxes…the skinny old men sent by the packers in Hyderabad took 3 days to painstakingly wrap each shot-glass in five layers of paper (I have a LOT of them…like I have a LOT of everything…so I’m a pack rat, sue me!) The guys unpacking this side were completely pissed off by the meticulous packaging and kept cribbing how its costing them time and such waste of paper, blah blah blah…and I suspect that in their hurry they’ve thrown away some of the stuff without even opening the parcels…talk about bad attitude!

Their cribbing finally got to me and I told their leader (who was complaining the loudest) to look at things in perspective…last time thanks to the shoddy job the US packers did , half of my furniture were destroyed and the company had to pay me five grand in compensation. This time, apart from the missing stuff, only a terracotta pot and a slice of the crown molding of an antique armoire have broken. That shut him up pretty quick, but they did leave without unpacking a whole lot of boxes. I don’t mind really…their lackadaisical attitude was irritating me to no end and I want them out ASAP. So now spouse and I are doing what those over-paid idiots should have done!! As a result there’s stuff on every flat surface in the house…one can barely differentiate between the Toss, Sell or Donate pile…there’s a mountain of debris in the garage…the city won’t collect our garbage because we’re way beyond limit! It’s a wonderful life :-)

I’m quite ashamed of the blatant amassment of things that I’ve indulged in…there’s just too much of everything! So from now on I’m going to turn over into a new leaf and simplify my life…de-clutter and organize! The funny part is I never realized how large this collection of “stuff” had become, simply because I’ve always lived in big houses and everything somehow always managed to disappear in various closets out of my sight. Now that I’ve taken a conscious decision to downsize I realize its easier said than done! Parting with things is hard…like I couldn’t bid adieu to spouse’s collection of National Geographic magazines dating from 1954 to 2003 even though either of us couldn’t remember the last time he read an issue!

In spite of the chaos there’s a sense of calm…there’s something peaceful about being able to sleep on my own bed, use my own towels and eat off my own dishes even if its just two minute noodles! Every thing will find its place and what doesn’t will either go to Craigslist or Ebay. But at least I am home...finally!

A letter to Karan Johar

2006-08-19T18:01:00.000-07:00

Hi there KJ,

Last night I finally saw your latest directorial venture Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. You were so secretive about the plot line. There were rumors floating around that it’s a remake of Silsila; someone said it’s a desi version of Closer. Of course, it wasn’t…why, its just a bad copy Falling In Love (1984) starring Robert De Niro and Meryl Streep. Now Falling In Love was such a lovely film, sweet and sentimental, packed with powerful performances not only by De Niro and Streep, but wonderful character artistes like Harvey Keitel, Dianne Wiest and Jane Kaczmarek (of Malcolm in the Middle fame). Unfortunately the movie went largely unnoticed when it was made, but watching it now, one gets a glimpse of the amazing talents both De Niro and Streep, before they started selling out to uninspiring, sleep-walking roles in mundane films. Their ability to get under the skin of the characters is incredible... so much is communicated between them in so few words! Falling In Love does not make light of the subject matter of having an affair but instead is a film about finding love itself. In keeping with that theme, the romantic feelings of the two leads are never allowed to reach their natural conclusion.

While watching Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, I was cringing every two minutes. How on earth did you manage to completely massacre the beautiful screenplay of Falling In Love and fill it with so much of inane crap? While Frank (Robert De Niro) and Molly (Meryl Streep) in Falling In Love were people caught in a predicament who you genuinely liked and rooted for, KANK’s Dev (SRK) and Maya (Rani Mukherjee) turned out to be these two obtuse, selfish and insensitive characters you feel like shaking really hard so that they snap out of their senselessness! Not only does one not feel any sympathy for these two for being trapped in their so-called “loveless” marriages, but actually start wishing that their spouses come to about their sordid affair and dump them like hot potatoes so that the movie can come to an end!

I read somewhere that you cannot even think of making a movie without SRK, Kajol and Rani. Your loyalty towards your friends is undoubtedly very touching...but can you please, please, pleeeease ask SRK to stop hamming! Poor Rani Mukherjee tried her level best to rise above the stupid character you wrote for her, but bogged down by the endless bottles of glycerin she put in eyes to generate gallons of fake tears and the hideous bustiers she wore, she couldn’t really salvage the one-dimensional Maya! And may be you can suggest to your other best friend Farah Khan to watch more MTV…her dance moves haven’t changed much in the last decade and a half!

I understand your indomitable urge to make films with a large star-cast, but then choose your “inspiration” films wisely. This movie required great character artistes, not stars in supporting roles. To give these stars screen time, you stretched the story beyond its comfort level and made it into this mammoth song and dance affair interspersed with silly comedy and tasteless digs at homosexuality!

But I’m glad that you finally gave Baby B his due. After all he did tell you that “he’d do ANYTHING” when he dropped by to have "koffee" with you. Hmmmm…wonder what you made him do for Rishi’s role?! What ever it is, I’m glad Baby B is a part of this otherwise sorry tale…watching him interact with the Big B as “Sexy Sam” so effortlessly was a treat! He’s definitely a natural…his portrayal of flamboyant but overall nice guy Rishi is so convincing that you want Maya to get out of his life because he definitely deserves better! There’ll be a serious tug of war at the award ceremonies this year between Baby B and Saif Ali Khan (Ishwar “langda” Tyagi in Omkara) for the Best Supporting Actor category, unless they give Chhote Nawab the Best Villain award!

You started the movie by portraying Preity Zinta’s Rhea as this cool, calculating, corporate ladder climbing bitch. Then you had a change of heart and made her a successful career woman (sweet nonetheless) fighting for her marriage. Then again you changed track and made her into a strong no-nonsense woman towards the climax. I guess hers was the only believable character in the whole movie. And please complement her for her sense of style, even though I personally don’t agree showing that much cleavage at work place!

BTW, why did you choose to set the movie in New York instead of Mumbai, may I ask? Is it because the upper class people in Mumbai don’t travel by local train? And your romantic couple might look incongruous standing outside Churchgate Station wearing designer garb from Manish Malhotra’s boutique? Or having cutting-chai from foothpath stalls instead of high-end Manhattan cafés serving over-priced latte? Or is it because the inspiration film was also set in New York? Anyway, I’m not complaining about your choice of locations… I love New York and your cinematographer did do a great job capturing the beauty of this fabulous city.

Just for your information dear KJ, the game that everyone in KANK kept calling football is called S-O-C-C-E-R in America. Since your characters were so obviously New Yorkers, this bit of a glitch was quite glaring!

Well, you did push the Hindi cinema envelope a bit. Goody-two-shoes characters of your previous ventures are now either black or white…I wish you had experimented a bit with grey too. Anyway, you get an E for effort from my side. But do remember next time you feel like Indianizing The Deer Hunter, SRK and Rani Mukherjee ain’t no Robert De Niro and Meryl Streep!

Yours disgruntled

Nautilus

Rantings in general

2006-08-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

My life is on hold. For last six months I’ve been living out of suitcase in temporary housing, first in Hyderabad and now in Seattle. This move has affected my life in more ways than one. Let me explain. I’ve never been very fond of camping, really! Yes, I diligently attended all the NCC camps I could find back in school, not because I enjoyed them but because they allowed me to skip exams (clever, hmmm?) I travel quite a lot and camp in various hotels around the globe…but in those cases I know exactly how long I’d be camping, where I’d be going, what I’d be doing and also that I won’t have to make my bed, do laundry or cook for that period of time. This arrangement works out pretty well for me. But these last six months’ camping has left me exhausted. Not only I’m not living in my own house and I don’t have all my stuff which makes me feel so darn incomplete, but every time I need something I have to rush out and buy it, even though I might have that exact same thing locked up in a 20 feet container crossing the Atlantic at a snail’s pace!!!! My brand new house is sitting vacant while I sit here, twiddling my thumb, waiting for that damn container to show up so that I can move into my house and get on with my life!

I should really start looking for work, just to keep myself sane. But I have been procrastinating…a) because my portfolio is in that container and b) once that damn thing shows up I’ll anyway have to take sometime off to get unpacked and get the house in order. I know it’s the lamest excuse in the whole wide world…but since I’ve already waited out two and a half months, a few more weeks wouldn’t hurt, now would it?

My Liquid Yellow Mini Cooper is sitting in the shop. Apparently these cars are notorious for landing up in the shop every now and then. For whatever reason, my car had to develop a problem which the technicians have never experienced before...they are so stumped that even after taking apart the car 3 times they haven't been able to figure out the malady!!! * Gnashes teeth in frustration* So heaven knows when the car will show up!

I just got back from a cruise to Alaska. It was fun…well mostly! It was a family reunion, called by the patriarch of the family (sounds vaguely Godfather’ish, but this patriarch is a far cry from Vito Corleone) which no one could say no to. So all his children and their bitter halves boarded the super-luxurious cruise liner to be trapped with each other for the next seven days. In fact one bitter half actually paid $50 a minute (or something equally exorbitant like that) for internet connection on board so that he could vent on his blog every night! And no, he didn’t give us the blog address, the chicken! :-)

It was somewhat entertaining to see a bunch of people, who are not particularly fond of each other trying to be civil. Its really hard…people got mild cabin fever, fangs and claws came out once a in a while, but no serious injuries happened as far as I know. What was I doing, you might ask…I was hiding most of the time. There was a lovely library in ship with huge glass windows from which you could see the whales jumping once in a while and I had a couple of really nice books to read…a perfect place to hide with a tall cup of green tea.

Other times we’d go for shore excursions and we all tried our level best to avoid each other. Spouse and I went dog-sled riding on Mendenhall Glacier in Juneau. It was quite amazing…after a stomach dropping helicopter ride (my first) we landed deep into this gigantic glacier where there was camp with about 200 dogs. While we were shivering in 5 layers of warm clothing and gloves and caps, the dog mushers were walking around in shorts and t-shirts. Our musher, a comely lass from Norway, took us for this once in a lifetime kinda ride through pristine white, almost surreal landscape of the glacier on a sled pulled by a dozen really frantic dogs. Pretty amazing! I wish I could share the pictures with you, but that brings me to my next reason to vent…spouse lost the camera! Yes, a lovely 8 mega-pixel digital camera brimming over with pictures of a life-time was inexplicably lost. What do I say to that? I wish whoever got it had the good heart to at least return the SD Card.

My gal pals have ditched me. By some quirky co-incidence, all of them are out of town this week, while I’m languishing here waiting for my stuff to arrive. One is in LA looking after her mom who just had a surgery, so she’s excused. Another one is in Cancun frolicking on the beach…may you get the seat next to the toilet on your flight back home! The third one is sailing somewhere around the San Juan Islands in her brand new boat…she’s too dear to me to wish anything ill…I’ll just have to guilt her into taking me out for drinks more often.

Couple of Sat’days back we went to a club in downtown Seattle, which was hosting a pre-Independence day bash. In the recent years Bollywood music has gained tremendous popularity among the club-going crowd of Seattle. In fact there is a club which devotes entire Sat’day nights to Bollywood/Bhangra which attracts major crowd, desi and firangs alike! This particular night we had to stand in line for nearly forty minutes to gain admission. The place was full, bodies were packed like sardines on the dance floor and it was easy to get it into the mood. We were having a great time, till spouse went to the bar for refills while the DJ was playing some Punjabi number. Lo and behold some guy showed up right next to me. I tried ignoring him as much as I could by slowing down and getting closer to my sis-in-law who was there on the dance floor. Out of the blue, he slapped me on my butt, grinned at me, leaned closer and said “Have fun!”, and disappeared into the crowd. I was completely flabbergasted. I left the floor in a daze to find the men, who of course wanted to beat the crap out of the fellow if only I could recognize him. But he looked like anyone in there. I kept wondering if I should have retaliated and caused another mini-stampede (read Shame for reference) or did the right thing by not making a big deal out of it. And two weeks later I’m still wondering…hmmm!

Few weeks back, following spouse’s corporate membership in the swankiest health-club in the area, I went in for a physical assessment with a personal trainer called Sebastian. He greeted me with a “Bonjour Madame” and for the next two hours I was mesmerized while he assessed my fitness. Okay, he was not particularly great looking, but that French accent was so delightful…it was pretty easy to close my eyes and pretend that he was Olivier Martinez! I smiled indulgently even when he measured my “waste to heap” ratio and declared me clinically obese. How could I not…even when he called me fat, he did it with so much flair :-)
“Help me” I said dreamily “I can’t work out. My knee is broken!!”
“In zat case you need to sweem, madame. Zat is zee best excercise for ze bad knee.”
“But I can’t swim either!”
“Don't vorry, madame! I vill teach you. I’m ze master coach. In 2 weeks’ time you vill be sweemming like ze feesh!” he declared.
Needless to say, I haven’t gone back there. I don’t trust myself around men wearing nothing but a swimming costume and French accent! :-)

That’s the current status of my life. I had this overwhelming need to vent today, which has been achieved. A few days back Ichatteralot mentioned that I sound happy and not disgruntled in general while White Magpie said that I lead a charmed life. Sure I do! :-)

Motherhood

2006-08-11T15:00:00.001-07:00

Last night my 5 year old son was hatching a plot to kill me. He enlisted his dad to do the dirty work and in graphic details explained to him how to stick the knife in me! But he also asked his dad to take me elsewhere, because he doesn’t want to see blood!!! I tried to be a silent spectator of this drama as long as I could; after all I was the one who started it all.

When we were buying our cars, sonny boy expressed his desire to have a car which has a DVD player (read Mercedes Benz R500 MSRP $ 56,275…the guy has expensive taste I must say), so that he could watch Tom & Jerry in the back seat. Now, I know a lot of parents actually buy silence from their little ones by turning on the DVD player during long drives, and sometimes that silence is priceless, but I’m an old-fashioned girl…15 channels of so-called kids’ programming on TV plus countless “educational” computer games plus Gameboy is more than I can handle anyway…no kid of mine needs to be stuck to a pixilated screen in the car too! Of course the biggest reason is we can’t afford a $56k car…but try telling that to a 5 year old who thinks daddy owns the World Bank. So in my characteristic need to have the last word, I told him “over my dead body!” Little did I know that my famous last words will come back to bite me in the derrière!

So last night I watched my little baby, my bundle of joy, the light of my life, making plans to snuff me out so that he could have his daddy get him a car with a DVD player! In a flash I remembered the miserable nine months of carrying him inside me, the three day labor I went through to bring him to this world, the sleepless nights spent watching over him when he was sick, the years I spent being a stay-at-home-mom stifling my ambitions so that he gets the best attention…all mothers do that, right? That’s what motherhood is all about. You bring a child into this world, and then do your best to raise him/her right and lose yourself somewhere along the way…you stop being a person…your only identity is Mommy! But nothing in the handbook of motherhood had prepared me for this!

Of course I was told that he didn’t know what he was saying, that he has no clue what death is or the permanence of it, that as usual I’m over-reacting. But when my baby was asking his dad to put the knife in me, he looked so cold and distant. Where have I failed in raising this boy, I ask myself? Who do I blame for this…the TV? Tom & Jerry and their mindless, graphic violence? The consumer-driven world of instant gratification that we live in? Our policy to let our son have an opinion about things, treating him like person instead of a child? Are we raising a child who’s completely detached from reality?

I recall my childhood and my relationship with my mother. She was quite the Hitler…hers was a tough love and of course we were raised deprived, somewhat by design and also because she couldn’t afford to splurge. Growing up, I wished to get away, live my life on my own terms, earn enough money to be able to buy all the things I knew my mother could never afford to get me or herself for that matter…but never ever I wished her dead!

Every now and then I come across hapless moms trying to calm down hyperactive kids in malls, stores…typically the kid wants something that the mother is unwilling to get them and more than once I’ve heard a kid scream “I hate you!!! I wish you were dead!!” Such scenes would numb me to the core and I always wondered about my own reaction if my child ever said that to me. I had visions of slapping the living daylights out of him and then giving him up for foster care or something irrationally dramatic like that! But when it hit me last night, I was speechless. Was it because he didn’t throw a tantrum or scream at me, instead in the calmest manner one could expect of a 5 year old, he wished my end? Would it have been easier to deal with tantrum than the cold resolve I saw on his face?

I know the whole thing is much ado ‘bout nothing and this post is also quite meaningless. My ramblings here will be dismissed as the typical over-reaction of a drama queen! But what I’m trying here is to introspect and answer some questions about my own ability as a mother and to see if I’m fit to carry out the task that nature has entrusted me with! It hurts to fail you see!

Reconnecting

2006-07-22T09:35:00.000-07:00

Last few weeks have been all about reconnecting with people I knew once upon a time. While I was away, I kept in touch with some and lost touch with others. Over the years I’ve come to terms with my inability to sustain high maintenance relationships…I get very claustrophobic as soon as I realize that the other person is expecting me to call, write or e-mail on a regular basis and I start looking for a way out. I love people who are as socially inept as I am and don’t hold it against me that I haven’t once called or emailed in six months. But the social creature that I am, I need people around me hence the need to reconnect!

There is this lady, much older to me and for whatever reason is extremely fond of me. Sometimes I wonder what she has seen in me to bestow that much of affection! Anyway, this lady actually threw a small dinner party to welcome me back to Seattle. Unfortunately I wasn’t really aware that there were to be guests other than us. I landed up in a Bong party wearing jeans and shirt…that was a complete sacrilege! I was immediately accosted by bejeweled, besaree’d didis who demanded an explanation for such behavior…didn’t I get any decent salwar kameez or saree to wear in my two and a half year stint in India!! I mumbled some vague excuse about not finding enough time to go home and change while the truth is that I was taking an extended afternoon nap when spouse reminded me of the invitation and I simply rolled out of the couch and sat in the car!

I think they forgave me as a first time offender (I swear this was the very first and hopefully the last instance that I broke the unwritten dress code…I have to be completely out of my mind to willingly invoke the wrath of the Didis!) and then they moved on to filling me with the latest gossip in town over the sumptuous five course meal that our hostess had painstakingly prepared. The biggest discussion was about the scarcity of daal in the Indian stores and how prices have gone up from 70cents a pound to $2. They shuddered at the plight of the poor South Indians who need daal in some form or the other in their meal (idli, dosa, sambhar anyone?) while we Bongs can live on Machher Jhol alone! I nodded my head meekly not daring to point out that I haven’t had Machher Jhol in last 15 years, yet can do without daal till Indian government decides to lift the ban on daal exports, even if it takes after another 15 years!!

We bumped into a cute little kid, who I realized was the son of yet another affectionate didi. This kid was born a few days before my son; the only thing I remembered about him was that the tyke used to scream all day and all night…so much that I sometimes felt like wringing his little neck! Since I was terribly ashamed of such impure thoughts, I actually started avoiding his mother! Anyway, he’s all grown up now, doesn’t scream as much…quite the precocious thing he is I was told, requires his mom’s French perfume to sniff while he goes potty! His mom took me aside and asked me for potty-training tips to which my answer was “Um…errr…take him to India!”
“But he needs to go to school this fall. How am I going to explain this habit to his teachers?” she cried. Now, I had just finished reading Indu Sunderesan’s Twentieth Wife and Feast of The Roses and my imagination was still wandering somewhere in the Mughal courts. So I told her, “Why don’t you tell them that your son is a re-incarnation of Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. He cannot stand the smell of his own excretions, and needs the perfume of fresh roses to mask the unpleasantness!” She regarded me with suspicion, not sure if I was being serious or pulling a fast one. Then everyone else in the room burst out laughing. She wasn’t pleased at all, I could tell, but joined in half-heartedly.

The hostess’ son, a young whipper-snapper fresh out of Cornell (a model kid; every Bong mom wants a son like him) was trying his level best to be friendly to us, even tried speaking in heavily accented Bengali just to fit in. What a sweet guy! Everything was fine, till his mom requested me to find a suitable girl for him! What the…?? Do I look like someone who has little black book full of names and phone numbers of potentially marriageable girls?! Of course I refused point blank, instead offered my services as the wedding-planner if she couldn’t afford one when the time came! (I love to shop, you see.) Poor kid, he’s started working less than a month back and his mom is already planning to get him hitched!

The other day I drove my brand new Liquid Yellow Mini Cooper over to a friends place. She said I am suffering from mid-life crisis and the car is a sure sign of crying for attention and that the indicator knob reminded her of a dog in heat! What’s up with that? It’s only a car…at least I haven’t colored my hair Liquid Yellow! Since then I have exchanged cars with spouse. I drive his more understated elegant car (that’s what he calls it) and he gets around in my attention-seeking four-wheels. He’s a lot more comfortable with his mid-life crisis as far as I know!

Few days back I caught up with an old friend. She left Seattle about the same time I moved to Hyderabad and has settled in Chicago. It was wonderful talking to her…we picked up exactly we where parted two and a half years back. Neither of us complained about the lack of communication, didn’t accuse each other of indifference…we just talked like we never said goodbye!

So here I am, reacquainting myself with the milieu. Sometimes it’s pleasant, sometimes I wish I didn’t bother, but it’s an enriching experience all the same. So here’s to friends, old and new!

Gameboy and Sequels

2006-07-09T15:19:00.000-07:00

Ever since we got back to Seattle, our social life has plummeted to an abysmal low. Evenings were being mostly spent in sitting in front of the TV or surfing the net, till we realized the power of Gameboy. Baby-sitters cost $14 an hour and typically an evening out will be nothing less than 3 hours, so that’s $42 plus tip down the drain to a pimply teenager barely able to look after him/herself. A Gameboy cartridge on the other hand costs $20 and after a skillfull bit of negotiation we were able to buy co-operation (read silence) from a 5 year old boy in exchange of a Gameboy cartridge every sixty days. We can now go to movies…yeah!! A small beginning, but a beginning nonetheless!

So, past few weeks we have been catching up on movies with a vengeance…anything to get out of the house after sundown you see :-) I have been noticing a pattern in the releases this summer…they are mostly sequels to blockbusters that came out couple of years back. In fact the last three movies we saw were all sequels.

First was Krrish (I hope I got the spelling right…these numerology influenced titles always confuse me to no end!) Now, I completely, totally, absolutely, entirely, utterly hated Koi Mil Gaya…and thanked my lucky stars a zillion times that I chose to watch it on DVD instead of putting myself through sheer torture for 3 hours! Then why on earth did I actually land up in a theater to watch the sequel you’d ask? Confession time…I missed Hrithik Roshan! Actually I didn’t realize how much I missed him till I walked into Totem Lake Theaters, Auditorium 3, (which smelled of greasy samosas and was occupied by talkative desis) and saw Hrithik running…muscles heaving, tresses flying, nostrils flaring and it all came back to me in a rush…I’m a Hrithik groupie!! Yes, I did get distracted and side tracked recently by the rising temperature of Baby B, but that’s what happens to hysterical female fans whose memory is only slightly better than that of a gold fish (3 sec) and Hrithik was away from more than 3 years (wasn’t he?). Anyway, he’s back…and with a bang! Krrish is all about Hrithik and showcasing his various talents…such as wearing designer clothes that mould to his perfect body like a second skin, dance with uninspiring music composed by Uncle Roshan like he was made of rubber, execute hideously choreographed Matrix-like fight sequences with panache, making Bambi eyes to a shabbily dressed Priyanka Chopra and give Oscar-worthy performance mouthing completely inane dialogues written by proud Papa Roshan…ok I was kidding…he still can’t act…but who cares as long as he looks so dishy!!! Overall, Krrish was a teensy-weensy bit better than its preposterous prequel.

Next up was Superman Returns. When was the last Superman movie released again? And who watched it?? I had vague recollections of the first two movies…didn’t have the time or the energy to rent them from video store for a quick recap. And I remembered Christopher Reeve better from The Bostonians and Somewhere In Time than the man wearing his red underwear over his blue tights. Even though I was curious about the new lad Brandon Routh, I really didn’t know what to expect. But Superman Returns didn’t disappoint. It was a fun movie. Of course, there were loads of tributes and references to the older movies, which I completely missed, but it didn’t matter on the whole.

Brandon Routh had pretty large boots to fill and I must say he was very endearing, not to mention a total hottie! Routh’s Clark Kent was slightly insipid though, but this movie was very little about Clark Kent and more about Superman and the new boy looked like he was relishing every minute of doing all the Supermanly stuff like deflecting bullets with his eyes. Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane was nice to look at and that’s about it. Her on-screen chemistry (or lack thereof) with Routh reminded me of Aishwarya Rai and Martin Henderson in Bride & Prejudice. I have vague memories of Gene Hackman as Lex Luther from the first two Superman movies…Kevin Spacey (as much as I love him) was a bit of a disappointment…he was more Dr Evil than Lex Luther. The special effects were mind-blowing, as was the overall look of the movie. A total paisa vasool film in my humble opinion.

Last night we saw Pirates of the Caribbean - Dead Man’s Chest. I have only one thing to say…What the heck happened? I so loved Curse of the Black Pearl; it was total masala movie that had all the ingredients right and has been an oft watched DVD in our household along with the Harry Potter series. I was looking forward to the second installment with great eagerness, not just because of Johnny Depp (I don’t think I’ve missed any of his movies including the very bizarre Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas), but because of the whole action-adventure-comedy genre that Black Pearl so successfully attempted and I hoping for a reprise.

Johnny Depp is still there as the foppish, mercurial, sexually ambiguous and probably very smelly scoundrel Captain Jack Sparrow along with Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom, who finally have something to do other than stand around and look pretty. This time around Sparrow’s nemesis is Davy Jones, captain of the Flying Dutchman (isn’t that what KLM is called?) an undead maritime goblin who's been on the water so long that he's sprouted tentacles all over his head. Somewhere beneath this Medusa rig is an unrecognizable Bill Nighy, the lovable old rocker in "Love, Actually" and a sublime character actor. What a waste!

The movie is too long and there are way too many sub-plots with five times the special effects that the first "Pirates" had. The most amusing side trip finds Sparrow captured by a tribe of primitives who worship him and want to eat him at the same time. That leads to a funny and clever chase scene in which everything Sparrow does makes him look more like a human shish kebab. A lot of time has been committed to watching people chase one another around, turn, and chase one another the other way. After a point it just gets tiresome. Also, the art department went totally overboard with the make-up of Davy Jones and his crew. Every man in Davy's crew has fish-man disorder: One sailor looks like a blowfish, another like a hammerhead shark, one has a starfish stuck to his cheek, and several resemble piles of barnacles. These billions of blue blistering barnacles made my stomach too queasy to actually applaud the talents of the people who created them! Seriously, did it have to be so in your face?

The ending, though it involves a surprise decision that is completely out of character for one of the leads, at least leaves us with a cliffhanger, and there's a rousing final twist. It's like Lois Lane said, the world doesn't need Superman, but it could use more of Jack Sparrow. The galley is well-stocked for "Pirates 3," coming next year. Aaarrrr!

Coming back to Gameboy and its merits thanks to which all these movies were watched in packed theaters without any interruptions or tantrums. If Lego was the toy of the last century, someone should start a campaign to vote Gameboy the toy of this century!

PS: Also saw The Da Vinci Code: BORING…yaaawwwn! Fanaa: Hummable music, Kajol looking great, Amir Khan should retire! Devil Wears Prada: Diluted from the original book, great shoes, bags, coats & clothes, Meryl Streep great as usual…over all ho hum!

Springing Forward

2006-06-15T18:05:00.000-07:00

Its spring time in Seattle. Actually spring is almost over…in fact, within the next few days, it’s supposed to be summer, officially! Then why the heck is it so cold!!!??? You can see that everyone’s ready for summer. Men are wearing shorts and t-shirts, women are wearing shorts and t-shirts and other barely nothing items of clothing (those who have the body to carry them of course) and everybody is hugging themselves to keep warm against the chilly wind that keeps blowing every now and then and looking wistfully skywards hoping for a sun-break (a very Seattle word…no where else in the world any one uses such a word!)

We had a sun-break last Sunday…it lasted pretty much all day and was beautiful! In fact so beautiful, that we braved our collective jet-lags, picked up Subway sandwiches and headed towards the park by Lake Washington for an impromptu picnic. I had almost forgotten how beautiful the lake side looks when the sun shines! The park was full of children splashing in the near frigid water while indulging parents lounged languidly in the sun. Nubile nymphets pranced around in miniscule bikinis showing off their perfectly toned and amazingly smooth (how do they do that?) bodies, while young studs with perfect six-pack abs strutted about wearing swim shorts that hung dangerously low on their butt ( I had to control the urge to pull one down when one them passed me in close range!) They rubbed sun-tan oil on each other, undid bikini tops to get smooth unlined tans on their backs and in general looked gorgeous!

Meanwhile, I was seating in the shade, covering my bags of cellulite in a mulmul tunic and long pants, munching on veggie delight sandwich (they are supposed to have only 6gms of fat), not daring to step out in the sun (I had forgotten my morning routine of applying Fair & Lovely on my arms, you see), feeling fat, dowdy and ugly!

So I went shopping that afternoon. My wardrobe consists of only mulmul tunics and jeans and salwar-kurtas…they were perfect for Hyderabad spring, summer, monsoon, autumn and winter. Being away for two and a half years, I had forgotten the art of layering that’s essential when you live in Seattle. Once in the store, I was thoroughly confused with the array of items that was available…skirts and shorts, shirts and shrugs, capris and culottes, camis and tees…everything looked great but nothing looked right on me. In my mind I was still the shapely teenager who was able to carry off anything she wore…but the matron staring back at me from the dressing room mirror looked completely incongruous in those clothes. I had picked things that looked nice on size 4 (that I used to be once upon a time) but not on size 8, 10 or 12 * sigh*

Next few days very cold and dreary and I felt cold and dreary. My birthday came and went. I general, I don’t like birthdays…mine or any one else’s…especially mine, since it reminds me that I’m getting old and makes me grouchier than usual! Spouse tried his level best to cheer me up. We went up to the mountains to a fancy lodge, had a fancy dinner watching the heavy rain obscure the valley below (it always rains on my birthday…always!), drank a fancy bottle of wine and passed out while wisps of clouds floated blissfully over rain-washed evergreen woods!

Yesterday, with renewed enthusiasm, and a vow to look good in future (birthday resolution…won’t last for long!) I walked into Old Navy and asked the first friendly teenager in obscenely low-rise jeans I could spot for help. I wanted to know what fat-middle-aged-but-young-at-heart women are wearing these days. She arched her perfectly shaped eyebrow and stared at me like I just landed from Mars or something (little did she know I indeed landed from Hyderabad) then smiled and said “Follow me!” Couple of hours later I left the store with two bags full of goodies, lighter by almost $300!! But now I have a wardrobe full of “in” clothes that actually fit me! Now that, as Mastercard would say, is PRICELESS!!

So I’m ready for Seattle spring, with all it’s the sun breaks, tall-non-fat-decaff lattes, walks in waterfront parks and fresh asparagus from weekly farmers ’ markets. I’m springing forward to a new beginning (yet again)!

Khuda Hafez Hyderabad

2006-06-08T06:43:00.000-07:00

Its time to bid adios to Hyderabad. Two and a half years back when I moved to the city lock stock and barrel, I didn’t know what to expect. I had never been to Hyderabad before; my knowledge about the city was limited to Charminar, pearls and Chandrababu Naidu! I had no friends, no social life, I hated the blistering sun, the heat, the laid back attitude of the people, the chaos and confusion that comes as package with life in India; there were so many times I wished I said no to the move! In fact, I choked the mail boxes of friends with voluminous rantings about the city and its people, which I lovingly christened the Hyderabad Blues series!

Over the next year things started to change. I got myself a job (and quit it pretty quickly too…but that’s another story), met a woman who opened the door to a whole new world. I had always considered myself to be worldly wise, the been-there-done-that kind of person; but of course I was in for a rude shock because I had seen nothing before I came to Hyderabad! After two and a half years I can truly say that I’ve seen it all…desperate P3 types straight out of Madhur Bhandarkar’s movie, male strippers, drugs, adultery, attempts of murder, gun-totting bodyguards, mujra party at far-flung farmhouses, a foreigner who over stayed her visa and is now a fugitive, a man with many passports who love the thrills of international human trafficking, open marriages, upper-middle class women pimping their bodies for cash or kind…the underbelly of an apparently staid and boring city!

I also met some amazing people… true blue Hyderabadis, so kind and generous; they welcomed me into their city and their lives with their arms open wide. Memories of their warmth and hospitality will remain in my heart till I die. The last weekend was hectic…two farewell parties in my honor! The first one thrown by my girl gang…women I’ve come to love and respect over last two years…women with whom I’ve laughed and cried, partied and done tequila shots, had endless cups of coffee over hardcore bitching sessions and called up at 3 am when I couldn’t sleep! The other was organized by a very dear friend, the most generous and kind man in the whole wide world! The venue was perfect - open air, lots of trees, a pond and a cascading waterfall - all very carefully lit up. There was an open bar, a DJ spinning foot-tapping tracks all night long and lip smacking food (including haleem and grilled bater). Half the town showed up (there were some gate crashers too) to say good bye! It was such an emotional experience!

I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t help it…I’ll miss Hyderabad! Didn’t realize when the local lingo invaded my vocabulary and no became nakko bhai and go slow became hulloo lelo! I was always a foodie, but my decadence in Hyderabad will (hopefully) remain unsurpassed (because the weighing scale has been sending me signals for a while now!) I’ll miss Fusion 9, Angeethi, Dosa Plaza, Encounters, Gufaa, midnight Biryani at Ohri’s Banjara, Sunday brunch at Touch…heck I’ll even miss Indian Harvest, the Gujju thaali joint that closed down a while back!!! I’ll miss shopping for bangles and laces in Laad Bazar, its myriad colors, the glimpses of fair arms of Burqa-clad maidens, laden with sparkling bangles. I’ll miss my walks through KBR Park, the view of Golconda Fort and Qutb Shahi Tombs from the vantage point where Narne Road dips into Whisper Valley. I’ll miss the Ladies Night at 10D, Touch, Liquids and the after hours party at B&C. I’ll miss making fun of the ineffectual security guards armed with only a whistle who take their jobs too seriously! I’ll even miss the way Hyderabadis lie “raaste mein hoon” when they haven’t even dressed to go for a party! I’ll miss the awesome rock formations that dot the Banjara Hills-Jubilee Hills skyline (specially the one shaped curiously like a male body-part that can be seen from the terrace of Zafraan Exotica) and are fast disappearing thanks to the real estate development. I’ll miss the AP Riding Club, a heritage building gifted by the Nizam to the riding club almost 150 years ago, where generations have learnt to ride; thanks to the greedy bureaucrats it’s closed now, the horses languishing in Chanchalguda jail (of all places)! I’ll miss my man Friday cum chauffer, who would reverse the car in heavy traffic just to save me from walking a few extra steps in the sun; my maid, in spite of her limited intellectual capacity and her inability to follow instructions kept my home in shape and took over the greatest challenge a mother faces – feeding a five year old!! I’ll miss my family (even though none of them stay in Hyderabad, they were never more than two hours away).The list is pretty long…

I’m moving again and I wish I had said an emphatic NO this time. I’ll pretend that I’m taking one more of my frequent trips and avoid the emotional (read teary) good-byes and the heart ache that I invariably feel every time I leave a place. So farewell Hyderabad…hopefully I’ll see you again sometime soon!

I’ll sign off dear readers, with a beautiful poem, Nightfall in the city of Hyderabad by Sarojini Naidu

See how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon's throat,
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridot.

See the white river that flashes and scintillates,
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates.

Hark, from the minaret, how the muezzin's call
Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall.

From trellised balconies, languid and luminous
Faces gleam, veiled in a splendour voluminous.

Leisurely elephants wind through the winding lanes,
Swinging their silver bells hung from their silver chains.

Round the high Char Minar sounds of gay cavalcades
Blend with the music of cymbals and serenades.

Over the city bridge Night comes majestical,
Borne like a queen to a sumptuous festival.

Micropettiness

2006-06-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

My previous house-owner got into Time Magazine’s list of 100 people who shape the world! He’s been doing great work in micro-financing, making venture capital available to more of the 800 million people in rural India. He’s a true visionary, making a difference in the lives of people who live way below the poverty line.

But this post is not about his achievements…its actually about my experience in dealing with the only human being I’ve ever personally known, who got his name printed in Time magazine. When we rented his Hyderabad house, he used to live in Chicago. The house was in complete mess…his family here was in charge, and they couldn’t hand over the keys till the 23rd of the month even though we started paying rent from the 1st. When we wrote to him, about a refund or a rent adjustment, all we got was radio silence! Anyway, we did move in, and after some time a woman called us up, introduced herself as a cousin of the house-owner and told us that she’d be in charge while he’s away. Fine!!

A year and few months went by. In the mean time the electricity meter blew up, the man-hole covers got stolen, snakes and stray dogs kept coming inside through the gaps in the main gate, a septic tank pipe burst, the light fixtures inside the house kept blowing up one after another, ants ate up the exterior light wiring, the bore-well conked off at the on-set of summer, monsoon left huge damp patches all over the wall and rain-water seeped in through leaky windows and flooded my living room! Some stuff got fixed, some didn’t, some I paid for because I was living there! Then one day he came to visit us; seemed like a nice guy; gushed about how beautifully we kept his house, blah blah blah, told us about his divorce, his son, his alimony program and lot of other things about his personal life that we didn’t really want to know! But over all the experience wasn’t unpleasant.

Another six months went by. He came to visit us again…this time, he wanted to know how long we were planning to stay in his house…the lease was to expire in three months’ time. We told him that we were planning to move out at the end of the lease period. He expressed interest in staying in the house…his dream home, which he never got to enjoy! In the same breath he also added that we could stay on as long as we liked if we paid him the “market rate” which, according to him, was nearly 70% more than what we were paying him!! When we recovered from the mini heart-attacks this piece of information caused us, we enquired around…and no prizes for guessing that the so called “market-rate” was nothing but a figment of his fertile imagination! We were certain that we would be able to vacate the house by the end of the lease period!

The big move was in the pipeline and no matter how hard we tried, couldn’t wrap up everything within the stipulated time. We needed at least one more month in the house. Mr. Philanthropist immediately turned into Mr. Shylock and demanded his pound of flesh, in this case the exorbitantly inflated rent! We had very little choice but to comply. On the upside, he did buy out all our appliances which we couldn’t move and most of the IKEA furniture that I was dying to get rid of, but he also tried to weasel out a free dinette and an air cooler, which finally went to someone else. We left that house with a bitter taste.

Then came the news of his great achievement. It was in a mail from yet another female cousin of Mr. Philanthropist which was languishing in my Junk Mail box. I send him a congratulatory mail and in reply I got this:

“It would be helpful if you could call the cable operator and indicate that you do not want cable service terminated but instead transferred to the new occupants (me). Otherwise, he is requiring me to pay a new installation amount. I realize that it is a relatively small amount I would save (Rs. 2,500), but would appreciate a call nevertheless.”

Can’t blame the poor guy, he’s involved in micro-finance after all. *Sigh*

Sholay In Schools?

2006-05-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

Rediff.com reports "More than 25 years after its release, Ramesh Sippy's Sholay continues to make headlines. This time, the film has made history of sorts by being the first to be introduced in schools as a chapter in textbooks! The movie will be part of a course teaching Std 5 students (of the CBSE board) to communicate well in English."

Wow! I'm actually dumbfounded! I've been trying to figure out the relationship between Sholay and teaching 5th standard students to communicate well in English! If I remember all right, Sholay didn't have any dialogues in English. If anything, it popularized Gabbar Singh's Avadhi accent! I wonder if after this, children will start calling their moms Chamiya, dads Sambha and their cars Dhanno!

Arre o Sambha, kaisa jamana aa gaya re!!

[Update: Patient Portnoy kindly pointed me to more information on this, umm...issue! Thanks a ton! And this is what I found out.]

For the first time in the history of Indian academia, an entire chapter in a school textbook will be devoted to a mainstream Bollywood blockbuster. Ramesh Sippy’s multi-starrer Sholay has been added to the Broadway course workbook No 5 for Class V students of CBSE.

Published by Oxford University Press, the inclusion of Sholay is a continuation to the chapter on films and film-making in the Broadway book, which is designed to help students communicate effectively and accurately in English.

The National Curriculum Framework 2005 postulates that the multi-lingual character of our society be treated as a resource and school teaching should focus on what the child understands. Since films are an integral part of our culture and Sholay is one of the most influential films, it has been included in the course, said sources. "The text on films and filmmaking in the course book and Sholay in the workbook is a representation of Indian drama in the life of a child. The choice of Sholay was made because it is a different film in many ways. Besides,we wanted children to be aware of the prominence attached to the Indian film industry," said an insider.

Now, my question is, do the members of National Curriculum Framework really believe that the current generation needs to be made "aware of the prominence attached to the Indian film industry"? As if...

Reactions have been by and large positive. Psychiatrist Harish Shetty believes it is an excellent idea. "Sholay encompasses the ethos and feeling of an era in a brilliant narrative. It can certainly touch young hearts and minds," he said.
However, an academic said: "The negatives may have a bigger influence on children than the positives.... Amjad Khan became more popular than Sanjeev Kumar."

Finally here's a person who said something that made some sense :-)

Gangster - A Love Story

2006-04-30T15:51:00.000-07:00

I was a bit skeptical about Gangster…even though Raja Sen and Taran Adarsh had given the movie great reviews! How far could I trust those reviews; after all Raja Sen liked Paheli and Taran Adarsh likes anything and everything that releases every Friday! And the last time I tried watching an Emraan Hashmi movie (Murder), I couldn’t stand the torture and left the theater sometime after the interval! But I decided to watch Gangster- A Love Story anyway…the soundtrack rocked and I was curious about Shiney Ahuja! And I’m happy to say, Taran Adarsh wasn’t kidding this time!

Gangster is a violent film and it’s a love triangle…well, almost! The subject is pretty complex, and as far as my knowledge of Hindi movies go, never been explored before. Kudos to Anurag Basu for attempting something totally different and not ruining the film by resorting to usual Hindi movie clichés!

The main protagonist is Simran (newcomer Kangana Ranaut); it’s through her eyes we see the story unfold. She is a mysterious woman, living alone in Seoul, has a wardrobe of rather revealing outfits and is a hopeless alcoholic, desperately seeking out the last drops of whiskey from discarded bottles in a garbage bin! Her only friend in an alien city is Akash (Emraan Hashmi) who’s a crooner in an Indian restaurant (he calls it the “club”). Akash is clearly besotted with Simran, tries to protect her from self-destruction and in general keeping her out of trouble when she falls into the deep abyss of alcoholism and depression. On a particularly rough night, Simran lands up at Akash’s pad (which has a precarious terrace with incredible views) and confesses her story. A Mumbai bar dancer, she fell in love with Daya (Shiney Ahuja), a Chhota Rajan/Abu Salem’esque gangster. Her presence in his life softened Daya, a hardcore criminal who guns down people in cold blood everyday. Daya’s mentor Khan (Gulshan Grover, in a special appearance with the best dialogues) tries to warn him of the consequences, but he turns against his own gang in order to protect Simran. They even try to live like a regular family for a while, but Daya’s shadow catches up with him and after a tragic encounter with the cops, Daya has to flee the country. Simran ends up in far-away Seoul, safe but lonely, spending her day and night in an alcoholic haze waiting for Daya’s phone call. Akash’s gentle insistence and her own growing loneliness lead Simran into Akash’s arms where she finally finds the happiness and peace that has been eluding her. But her bliss is short-lived, because Daya shows up on her door-step and in a fit of jealous rage, beats the pulp out of Akash. Simran, now pregnant with Akash’s child has to make a choice between the two men in her life.

From here the story takes quite a few unexpected turns which leave you slack-jawed, and it ends in the most unpredictable but befitting way. Anurag Basu never loses control over his story telling, keeping the pace tight all through. I’d be nit-picking trying to criticize the film, but I wish the director had taken care in some areas. There are some glaring continuity glitches…Simran starts walking wearing black boots, which mysteriously becomes black stilettos! Also during a very crucial and poignant scene, a huge billboard flashing LG logo was extremely distracting! The dialogues sometime sound very forced.

Kangana Ranaut is a lucky girl to have gotten a chance to play a character as complex as Simran in her very first movie. She’s hauntingly beautiful, with unusual hair and sad eyes. Playing an alcoholic is not an easy job; even seasoned actors tend to over do the drunken mannerisms. Kangana adds subtle nuances to her character, never over-doing anything! I found her dialogue delivery slightly weak…getting an experienced voice-over artiste to dub for her may have added more zing to the role. But over all a very impressive debut, I must admit!

What do I say about Emraan Smooch-me, oops, Hashmi? Every time he opened his mouth, crowds in the theater broke into peals of laughter, even though what he was saying wasn’t even remotely funny!! He plays the lover-boy crooner with great panache; gets to kiss the girl, make out on a bed of brilliantly hued autumn leaves and lip-sync some really great songs. But when it came to dramatics, he fell really short…he made an ass off himself in the confrontation scene at the Indian Embassy! I read somewhere that this was his last smooching role…he’s tying the knot and won’t be kissing any other girl. Hmmm…wonder if people would pay money to watch his movies anymore?!

I said right in the beginning that I was really curious about Shiney Ahuja. I haven’t had a chance to watch any of his previous films. (Note to self: Rent Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi ASAP) He was simply amazing. His Daya is reticent, relying mainly on his eyes and facial expression to convey his rage, passion and pain, and does a superb job. Daya’s character is mostly bereft of dialogues, and when he has things to say, it comes out a bit shy and awkward…things that a cold-blooded murderer is not used to saying. He disgraces himself by bawling on his girl-friend’s lap and in the very next moment reverts back to his take-charge macho self while fleeing from the police. Shiney Ahuja is definitely one of the best actors to hit the marquee in recent times. Of course it helps to look like a dream boat too…wearing a beret and a scruffy work shirt, he looked more like Italian Mafioso straight out of Godfather!

The Gangster soundtrack totally rocks. Pritam has done a great job with the back-ground score too. The songs pop up at the right places in the film, taking the story forward. I’m particularly addicted to Bheegi Bheegi and Ya Ali, even though the latter’s choreography was a bit of a let down. There I go nit-picking again!!!

Over all Gangster- A Love Story is a good movie; different from the usual Bollywood fare. Go watch it!

How Kaavya Vishwanathan Stole Someone Else’s Lines, Got Caught And Got Sued

2006-04-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

I picked up Kaavya Vishwanathan’s How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got A Life last Sat’day at Mumbai airport. It wasn’t on my “must read” books list, yet I bought it, because a) I remembered reading rave reviews about it sometime back, b) the author, an Indian-American teenager studying in Harvard secured half-a-million dollar two-book contract with the publisher, and b) the blurb on the back cover was quite interesting. Sure enough, the book was quite a page turner; I finished it in 4 hours. The story had hardly anything new, except for the fact that the protagonist, Opal Mehta is a desi girl from New Jersey, whose parents’ sole aim in life is to send their daughter to Harvard. To achieve that they develop a program called HOWGIH or How Opal Will Get Into Harvard. In spite of her impeccable academic resume, Opal fails the Harvard interview. The Dean asks her “What do you do for fun?” and that’s one question Opal didn’t have an answer for! She’s given one more chance to interview five months later and asked to get a life in the meantime. Thus develops HOWGAL or How Opal Will Get A Life, which she follows to the T with disastrous results. Along with it she also learns some lessons in life.

The book had quite a few things going for it. It was sharp, witty and often quite funny. I quite liked Kaavya’s style; the prose was simple and straight-forward. In fact I recommended it to quite a few people for an easy read. Then came the shocker. Tuesday morning’s paper carried the story of how Harvard Crimson, the student news-letter of Kaavya’s alma mater has accused her of plagiarizing passages from Megan McCafferty’s teen bibles, Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings. Apparently there are as many as 29 passages in Kaavya’s book which are identical to McCafferty’s books!

Here comes the funniest part. First, Kaavya denies any knowledge of similarity between Opal and McCafferty’s books. The next day she comes up with an apology through her publisher Little Brown. Apparently, she is a huge fan of McCafferty, has read all her books and “wasn’t aware of how much” she may have “internalized Ms McCafferty’s words”!! Well, 29 passages is definitely a lot to internalize! As Opal’s bitchy friends would say, HOWLAME is that!!

Now, we all get “inspired” every now and then by other people’s works…I mean look at Bollywood, it practically runs on inspiration! Vasu Bhagnani made a career out of producing movies which are inspired from B-grade Hollywood romantic comedies. Sanjay Leela Bhansali took truck-loads of awards by making Black which was inspired by The Miracle Worker. Even great composers like RD Burman, Bappi Lahiri and Anu Malik has succumbed to “inspiration” from western or regional music from time to time! It’s okay to get inspired…but do it smartly. In Bengali there’s a saying “Churi bidya maha bidya, jodi na poro dhora!” Loosely translated, it means “Stealing is a great art, till you get caught”!

Talking of Bappi Lahiri and his inspired works, reminds me of another Lahiri. I read Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies sometime in late 1999. It was an amazing book; completely unputdownable! A collection of short stories depicting lives of immigrant Bengalis in and around New England. The stories were simple yet distinct, that the characters so real that one can’t help but empathize with them. I was so proud when she got the Pulitzer Prize…she certainly deserved it!

A few years later I stumbled upon an article in an in-flight magazine about contemporary Sri Lankan literature. It also provided a list of authors and their works. I managed to get hold of a few of the titles and one of them was Monkfish Moon by Romesh Gunesekera, a Sri Lankan writer based in London. He made his debut with this collection of nine short stories in 1992. Written with great simplicity, the stories create a compelling picture of Sri Lanka, a country of teeming natural beauty and a society in turmoil. Each story haunts you long after you’ve finished reading it.

But something bothered me while reading the book, specially the story "Captives"; a story about Mr Udaweera, the owner of a newly opened guest house near Sigiriya, and his first guests, an English couple. Udaweera assumes they are on their honeymoon, and goes out of his way to help them, eventually overstepping the thin line between hospitality and emotional involvement. There was a great similarity between Mr Udaweera and Mr Kapasi of "Interpreter of Maladies". Both are guides in exotic historical monuments and both are enchanted by a tourist woman with a secret of their own.

In the story 'Batik', Gunesekera depicts the disintegration of the interracial marriage between Tiru (Tamil) and Nalini (Sinhala) in their self-imposed exile in a nondescript London terraced house. They are able to physically escape the ethnic carnage of the 1983 riots, but not their emotional or psychological effects. In essence it was very close to the slow and unspoken death of a marriage in "A Temporary Matter".

In fact, the similarities were so glaring that I read both books back to back once again. Both had nine stories each, about an ethnic group (Bengalis and Sri Lankans) in different parts of the world. And several stories had the same essence. Yet nobody can accuse Jhumpa Lahiri of plagiarism, because she didn’t “lift” any passage, nor did she blatantly copy a story idea. Hers was an “inspired” bit of writing, which made her a lot more famous than Romesh Gunesekera, (and definitely a lot richer!) And she’s way smarter than Kaavya Vishwanathan, who should learn from Ms Lahiri how to "internalize" without getting caught!

Any way, coming back to Kaavya Vishwanathan…Little Brown, her publishers will have to do some serious thinking. They have shelled out half a million dollars for a two book deal and are saddled with a writer who apparently is a plagiarist. Apparently, Vishwanathan didn’t merely write the book. She collaborated with a “book development” company to ensure “proper positioning and marketing”. Perhaps that was where things went wrong. Maybe they “over-developed” the book just a tad.

Also heard that there are plans for a film on Opal Mehta. I wonder if the studio who bought the rights will back out because of this controversy. Probably not—after all, this fiasco gives the book the kind of publicity that money cannot buy.

Things To Do Before I Die

2006-04-25T13:32:00.001-07:00

We were walking on a suspension bridge on Mt Mat Chinchang in Langkawi, about 2150 feet above sea level on a foggy, misty afternoon! I’m deathly scared of heights, as I am of closed spaces and water and creepy-crawlies among many other things! And I kept having premonitions of the bridge snapping under the collective puny weight of our little family (I can get really morbid at times, but the bridge WAS swaying a little!!) It occurred to me that if I were to fall to my death at that instance, I would miss out on so many experiences, there would be so many things left undone…it would be an unfinished life!

It made me think about the things I always wanted to do but never really got around doing. And I know I'm not the only one here. Most of the time we don't even realize our own desires, because we merely exist instead of living! Thus came the overwhelming need to write down the list of things to do before I die! There's also a wish list; wishes that I nurture in my heart and hope that they come true some day!

So, here’s my to-do list in random order:

Sail down the Nile, climb the pyramid on a moon-lit night, glimpse at the treasures of King Tut, marvel at the gigantic pillars of the temple of Luxor, wander through the maze like El Khallili bazaar…to cut a long story short, visit Egypt!
Learn to speak in French fluently…don’t ask me why…I’m obsessed about everything French :-)
Go Bungee jumping…vertigo notwithstanding!
Fly in a hot air balloon…hmmm…looks like I’m on a quest to conquer my fear of heights!
Learn to play the piano.
Learn Ballroom dancing.
Learn swimming.
Write a book that people will pay to read and then sell the movie rights for an undisclosed amount :-)
Start my own restaurant.
Ride a horse without being afraid of falling down!
Lay a rose on Kafka’s grave.
Paint more often.
Adopt a baby girl.
Lose weight and keep it off.
Create my website.
Ride a bicycle.
Read all the books on my “must read” list.
Travel, travel and travel more.
Learn to ski.
Live life as if I have only a month to live!
Stop procrastinating!!!!!

And here’s my wish-list:
Happiness, peace and freedom in the lives of the two most important women in my life.
A very, very long and healthy life for the brightest kid I know.
Not move for at least 2 years :-)
See sonny boy get into Harvard…may be I should start drafting HAWGIH !
Get over my fear of confrontation.
Overcome my need for approval.
Be a better spouse, mother, daughter, sister and friend.
Have more people visit my blog and comment :-)

Rock Hudson is smiling somewhere

2006-04-16T03:11:00.000-07:00

Much has been written about Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain, its Oscar nomination and subsequent loss to Crash. I have been waiting for a long time for its release in Hyderabad. PVR Cinema tantalized us with trailers and posters during the pre-Oscar weeks, but suddenly and very quietly pulled back all publicity materials in what I assume, a classic case of “sorry-no-gay-movies-we’re-Indians-please!” Finally I got hold of a DVD of the movie with decent print in a mall in Kuala Lumpur. What a pity having to watch a movie on my laptop when the grand visuals were clearly meant to be enjoyed on the big screen!!

Brokeback Mountain is at once the gayest and the least gay Hollywood film I’ve seen. If anything, the movie is an old-fashioned romantic weepy whose protagonists happen to be two men, boldly played by two of Hollywood’s hottest young (and hetero as far as I know) studs. Over the course of a long Wyoming summer in 1963, Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger), a freelance ranch hand, and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal), a rodeo rider, are thrown together on a sheep herding gig. Behind them is space — the airy, lonely infinity of a Wyoming mountain, snowcapped and freezing even in August — and long hours when nothing or anything can happen. To keep the coyotes away, Jack is assigned to sleep near the flock, but mostly the two men have hours, days, and weeks on their hands. They jump on horses to guide the sheep across meadows and rivers; they sit around a campfire, heating canned beans and swapping stories and a bottle of whiskey. Then, one night, when it's too cold for either one of them to sleep outside, they do something that the old movie cowboys never did: They get into a rough embrace and, without a hint of seduction, they have sex, an act that's as shocking to them as it is to us.

Ennis and Jack, who've been raised in a world where to be ''queer'' is not to be a man (and is therefore unthinkable), can't grasp the feeling that's come over them because they literally don't have the words for it. They call each other ‘‘friend” and they mean it, but their bond evolves into a delicate, suspended romance, and Brokeback Mountain becomes their Eden, the craggy cowboy paradise from which they are destined to fall.

The two grow so close in body and spirit that when the job ends and they have to part, the inexpressive Ennis slugs his lover without warning. It will be four years before Ennis and Jack meet again, and by then they have both married and fathered children — Ennis with his longtime sweetheart Alma (the amazingly subtle Michelle Williams) and Jack with rodeo queen Laureen, portrayed as best she can by a woefully miscast Anne Hathaway, who looks as if she just breezed in from tea with Julie Andrews! The two men reunite over the years, going on fishing trips where no fishing gets done, sharing, however fleetingly, the connection they can barely speak of.

Jack, a shade more comfortable with his nature, talks of getting a ranch together, but Ennis will have none of it. Stung by childhood memories of a rancher who lived with a man and got bashed for it, he fears that exposure could kill them. In the classic Westerns, the cowboys were often men of few words, but Heath Ledger speaks in tones so low and gruff and raspy his words just about scrape ground. Ennis says nothing he doesn't mean; he's incapable of guile, yet he erupts in tantrums — the anger of a man who can't be what he is and doesn't realize the dilemma is eating him alive. Ledger, with beady eyes and pursed lips, gives a performance of extraordinary, gnarled tenderness. Gyllenhaal is touching in a different way, his puppy eyes widening with hope, then turning inward and forlorn.

What deepens the tragedy of Jack and Ennis is that the obstacles to their love are only partly cultural. The romantic lesson of Brokeback Mountain is that the heart wants what it wants, and should have it regardless. In an age when the fight over gay marriage still rages, Brokeback Mountain, the tale of two men who are scarcely even allowed to imagine being together, asks, through the very purity with which it touches us: When it comes to love, what sort of world do we really want?

To Pee Or Not To Pee

2006-04-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

The Mayor of Hyderabad, Mr. T Krishna Reddy has come up with a simple program to discipline people who abuse roads. In an interview with TOI he said “If any one spits or attends to nature’s call on the road, the patrolling MCH vigilance squad will immediately pick them up and deport them at least 6km away from city limits!” He is ashamed and embarrassed by the disgusting habits of Indian men (yes, men…I’ve NEVER seen a woman doing that) relieving themselves everywhere possible. When he visited Singapore, he noticed that it was very clean. Hello?? Anybody caught peeing on the wall in Singapore would probably get a death sentence!!!

He adds: “It isn’t difficult to keep our dear city clean, but I have found that the amenities provided by the MCH are most often misused. And the only way is to punish those who flout the rules of civic decency. The punishment needs to be humane but lasting!” Hmmm, I wonder how lasting this punishment will be, unless of course the vigilance squad also confiscates their belongings and makes the offenders walk back home! Or how about confiscating the offender’s pants…of course, it won’t be a very pretty sight…a bunch of men walking around without their pants!!! *shudder*

On a brighter note, the vigilance squad is on alert 24/7 and has found many law-breakers, but has managed to deport only 70 to 100 people to the outskirts of the city so far.

How many times must a man be deported before he stops peeing on the wall? In this case the answer my friend, is not the only thing blowing in the wind.

Of Antiques and Ghosts

2006-04-06T13:40:00.000-07:00

I’ve always dreamt of being a collector of sorts…you know, antiques, arts, crystals…the good things in life. After spending years of putting up with cheap IKEA furniture, I have finally arrived! I have bought myself a few pieces of antique furniture.

I came to know the dealer Mr. Gupta about two years back. He has a small dusty shop full of goodies and does brisk business with people who know what they are looking for. Unfortunately the first time I walked in, I was totally clueless. Yet this man was very patient with me. He showed me around with great enthusiasm even after I told him that I was just looking! There were cupboards and four poster beds, easy chairs (that’s what they were called before the mechanical “recliners” came into the market) and chest of drawers, dowry chests with many hidden compartments, sofas upholstered in fraying brocades, dusty chandeliers, blackened silver tea-sets…it was a glimpse into an era gone by! I wanted every single piece in the store…only if I could afford them! Mr. Gupta also taught me to differentiate between real antiques and reproductions (he hates the word fake!) Each piece in his store was lovingly restored or faithfully reproduced!

Over last two years I have visited his store many times, some times to buy antiques for clients, sometimes to just browse…but never bought anything from there! Finally, I did it…I’m moving again and getting rid of ALL the IKEA furniture!! And I’m taking back some antique pieces with me. A entrance mirror cum hat and umbrella stand, a glass case which is at least half a century old, a wooden chest with beautiful brass inlay work and last but not the least, a beautiful rosewood desk at least 150 years old. All lovingly restored to its original glory.

I have heard about ghosts that stay with antique furniture. Why, just the other day I was reading about Robert of Spokane, WA who bought an antique roll-top desk and found a lock of hair and some hat pins in one of its secret compartments. In his own words:

One night I went into the den to catch up on some work. I turned on my desk lamp and on my desk were three rose petals. This rather confused me because I don't have any roses around the house and it was not the time of year roses would be in full bloom. No one else lives here besides me. I picked them up and put them in the waste basket next to my desk and started to do some work. About an hour later I had the strange feeling I was being watched and I am sure every one who has had that feeling know it is somewhat uncomfortable. I walked over to the window and closed the blinds and sat back down to do some more work. I was writing up some orders when I felt what I felt like a hand brush over my arm. I kind of jumped and just figured it was my nerves! I was tired and it has been a long day. So I stopped what I was doing and went on to bed. I read for a bit then turned the light off and went to sleep. I was awakend by what I thought was the smell of perfume in the room. It smelled like roses and was pungent.I turned the light on and did not see anything. But I did notice that the left side of the bead spread looked like some one was sitting on it. I moved to get out of bed and the indentation on the bedspread smoothed out as though what ever it was got up off the bed. Well I must say I was wide awake by now I was breaking out into a sweat at this point. I was not scared , but just could not understand what was going on.

The next day I was making a pot of coffee and some toast while reading the morning paper, when one of the hat pins that was in the roll top desk just all of a sudden fell on the table. The den is on the other side of the house how in the world did the hat pen get into the kitchen I thought. These events have been going on for a few years now. I have even seen the mystery ghost it is a young lady she stays in the den mainly. She has long hair down to the middle of her back I see here from time to time out of the corner of my eye. I have even started talking to her when in the den. I know this sounds crazy but I truly feel her spirit came with the Roll Top Desk. She is now a part of the house. She has never tried to scare me or hurt me but always makes things pleasant such as the perfume smells and trying to let me know she is around.

Just thought I would share this with people that there are more to antiques than just age. If it is an item that some one just loved and really liked, you never know that they may have a part of them embedded into it.

I’m hoping that there would be at least a ghost or two associated with my furniture, you know the bhatakti aatma types…at least with the desk; someone harmless of course…may be a writer, who can inspire me with words and expressions! I’m yet to sit at the desk and write, (I’m moving, remember? Everything is in transit!) But I’m so excited, that I even splurged on a bougainvillea pink raw silk covered chair to go with it! Can’t wait to set it up my new bedroom, in front of the window (that looks out to someone’s ugly backyard) and dream up intelligent blog posts and new plot lines for Ekta Kapoor’s serials!!

Being Cyrus

2006-03-24T12:09:00.001-08:00

The tag line of Homi Adajania's Being Cyrus is “who you let in can change your life”! The movie begins with the arrival of Cyrus Mistry (Saif Ali Khan) into the lives of Dinshaw and Katie Sethna who live in a dilapidated bungalow among the secluded hills of Panchgani. Dinshaw (Naseeruddin Shah) is a retired sculptor and is forever stoned. His once beautiful, over the hill wife Katie (Dimple Kapadia) immediately takes to Cyrus, who comes to assist Dinshaw at his pottery school.

The tales revolves around Cyrus and the dysfunctional Sethna family and shuttles between Panchgani and Bombay where Dinshaw’s aged father Fardoonji Sethna (Honey Chhaya) lives with his younger son Farokh (Boman Irani) and his wife Tina (Simone Singh).

As the movie proceeds, one realizes that everything is not right with the Sethna family. There are skeletons in the cupboards and a lot has been swept under the carpet. Not just that, even Cyrus has his own mysteries and demons to fight. As Katie pours herself all over Cyrus in her attempt to win his passion and make him dance to her tune, Cyrus decides to play a different game altogether. His is a complicated round of chess, with each member of the Sethna family a pawn in his hands. As the plot slowly unfurls, morbid and unanticipated sides of these characters are revealed. Saying anything beyond this point would be giving away the plot.

Being Cyrus is embellished with some fine performances, something that's expected from an ensemble cast. Naseeruddin Shah as Dinshaw is flawless yet again. His stoned expression and apparent detachment from life is beautifully portrayed by Shah. He is especially outstanding in the sequence when he cuts his foot while trying to pluck flowers from a well.

Saif Ali Khan took a big risk by stepping away from his current status of box-office heart throb and play Cyrus. He is present in almost every frame and literally carries the film on his able shoulders. He’s mysterious and a rogue, yet so vulnerable that you want to protect him. Looks like every now and then Chhote Nawab relishes playing the bad boy (remember Ek Hasina Thi?) and I must say he does it with great panache!!

Boman Irani as the scheming, blunt and quarrelsome Farokh is a bit jarring. He’s your stereotypical Parsi complete with the accent and white shirt and trousers. He did have some hilarious sequences though, specially the fight about the neighbour’s pet dog.

The worst thing about the movie is probably Dimple Kapadia. She is supposed to be the femme fatale here, but I’m sorry to say she’s a far cry from either Dil Chahta Hai or even Leela. She hammed throughout the movie reducing Katie to a sad caricature!

Honey Chhaya, Manoj Pahwa (as the cop) and Simone Singh provide excellent support to the lead characters!

The cinematography and the background score deserve special mention for lending Being Cyrus that unique quality that sets it apart from the rest of the mindless Bollywood fare that are churned out week after week.

The uniqueness of Being Cyrus lies in the originality of the story and the distinctive look of the film. Yet it is not what I expected it to be. I guess I had some expectations from the movie; after all it generated quite a bit of media hype in the recent past…but at the end of the day, it wasn’t quite as fulfilling as thought it’d be. It is definitely very hatke, quite dark and sometimes funny without trying too hard (but one has to be quite conversant with Parsi humor to get the jokes!) I personally would have liked a little more background on Cyrus, because at the end of it all I still couldn’t fathom his motive!

For a debutante director Being Cyrus is definitely a very good effort. Keep up the good work Mr. Adajania!

Air Deccan Woes

2006-03-23T04:33:00.000-08:00

This came out in Mid-day. Its unintentionally hilarious :-)

Delhi resident Omkar Singh Pal (42) got into a fight with an Air Deccan airhostess over Rs 20. Pal refused to pay the airline its marked up price for two bags of chips.

The MRP was Rs 10 per packet, but Pal was furious as Air Deccan charged him Rs 20 per pack.He got angrier when the airhostess refused to give him a bill, as the amount was less than Rs 50.

When the flight landed in Mumbai, policemen greeted Pal at the airport and asked him to explain the matter. Both the airline as well as Pal lodged complaints against each other.

“Why should I pay more than the printed price? Why should they refuse to furnish a bill? I will move the consumer court as I have been overcharged. The hostess should not have argued with me. She lied to the pilot that I was misbehaving with her,” said an incensed Pal.

Air Deccan spokesman Vijaya Menon, however, said that Pal was being unreasonable. “The in-flight menu rates are higher than MRP. We charge Rs 20 for a packet of chips (Frito Lays), as it also includes service tax and loading charges. We don’t give bills for purchases below Rs 50. We complained against Pal because the argument could have led to a security problem,” she said.

Spouse reaction to the "security problem" issue :-)

Pal: “That’s it, I’ve had it! I’m hijacking this plane and not letting it land unless you sell me your chips for Rs. 10!”
Air Hostess: “Umm, no.”
Pal: “Arrrgh!” *bonk* *creak*
Air Hostess: *shriek* “He’s opened the emergency exit!! People are flying out the…” *swoosh*
Pilot: “Mayday, mayday!”
People on the ground: “Hey, are those bags of chips falling from the sky?”

Disgruntled, Annoyed, Displeased and other Synonyms

2006-03-16T05:15:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me why I decided to name my blog “Disgruntled In General”! I was taken aback...I just thought it’s quintessentially me …grouchy, caustic, disillusioned, mostly annoyed with everything in life! Never really needed to analyze the cause of my perennial bad mood. But spouse pointed out that I can be really nice and sweet at times and even look pretty when I’m not frowning. :-) That got me thinking. Why am I disgruntled? So I’ve decided to revisit the last week and see what caused me to frown and what made me smile.

First and foremost, I’m moving yet again!! I’ve counted the number of times I’ve changed residence in last 10 years…a whopping 11 times!! I should be a veteran by now, a master of moves…but I’m not! I still get attached to every house I stay in…try to make it my “home” and get heart-broken every time my nest is destroyed!! So pardon me, if I’m frowning and acting moody. No it’s not PMS…I’m just sad. Some people cry when they’re sad…I frown and get crabby!

The other day I had a fight with a client. Let me rephrase that…the client stood around like cat’s got his tongue while his uncle was screaming himself hoarse over some petty issue. I actually didn’t fight…I can’t fight…I’m too sophisticated for that! :-) I just leave the scene if it becomes unpleasant. So I left this uncouth person foaming in the mouth and walked out of the site with my head held high. Can’t blame me if I’ve been in bad mood since then!

An uneducated labor contractor gave me some pearls of wisdom! He told me that one can’t work compromising his or her dignity. In his words “Hum log kaam karke paisa lete hain…ijjat ka suada nahi karte hain!!” Wow!!

Some people owe me money, and I am sick and tired of politely reminding them. Why do people conveniently forget when they owe money??? I can’t sleep at night when I know that I haven’t paid someone on time! I guess I can do some yelling to get the dough out, but that will sour the relationship…and I believe in relationships…I wish some more people thought like me! *sigh*

A so called designer has seriously messed up some of my clothes. They look like something you’d see on extras in a Telegu film song!!! I was too stunned to even react. Of course, he’s not getting paid and I don’t care if our relationship sours…in fact I asked him never to cross my path again! It boils my blood to even think that he calls himself a designer and actually has a degree from NIFT. Wow, I’m astounded by the quality this hallowed institution is producing!!

Half the lights in my house don’t work! Every day a new bulb blows out and I’m sick of replacing them. Lately my excuse has been that I’m moving anyway, so why bother! In addition to that there’s the intolerable heat (it’s only March), the power cuts, the mosquitoes, the nagging maid servant and a hyper-active child! I really do have a wonderful life! My injured knee is acting up again. The pain gets unbearable at times. I know I should go for Arthroscopy which promises miracle cure, but I can’t get myself to trust the local health care system. So I grit my teeth and bear the pain and the result…more frowns :-)

I can't seem to avoid Himesh Reshammiya. He's everywhere; omnipresent...like god! He's at the pubs, at the grocery store, at the mall, on my TV, in the car radio...last week my 5 year old son had a play date and I heard his little friend crooning" Ooooooooooo Oooooooooo Oooooooooo...A(n)shi(n)q Banaya(n) Aa(n)pne!! That was clearly the limit!! I'm not jealous of Reshammiya's success...in fact I'm quite in awe that he's become such a hit machine! But please, that Sufiana (read annoyingly nasal) voice is now getting to me! As if Ashiq Banaya Aapne and Aksar wasn't enough...he now has a private album (whatever it’s called...its sounds the same any way). The music video also looks like a rehashed version of his other videos where he sports three day stubble and a baseball cap and looks forlorn, pining for some pretty girl who has decided to move on with her life!!! Good for her!! Bad for us...unless he gets the girl we'll be subjected to more Ooooooooooo Oooooooooooooo’s! *frown*

Last but not the least; Amey Date got eliminated from Indian Idol 2. My first reaction was “What the @#$%???!!” Has the audience gone deaf that they gave more votes to Anuj Sharma?! I was very angry. But then I saw the monk like smile on Amey’s face and the dignity and grace with which he accepted the decision. I was so touched by his humility. Hats off to Amey! He brought a smile through my tears of anger! But I can’t rest in peace unless I know that Karunya has won the title. Yet, looking at the trend, I won’t be surprised if he gets eliminated next week! If that happens, I must warn everyone, there’ll be a lot more grouchiness!!!

I haven’t been on a vacation in a very long time. Every now and then I hallucinate about a white sand beach, azure sky meeting aquamarine ocean at the horizon, a large umbrella fluttering in gentle breeze, a muscular guy in brilliant white uniform and teeth to match serving me Lynchburg Lemonade while I lounge on a deck chair reading one of the 12 books that I plan to read (as soon as I can get some time). Now wouldn’t that be loverly!!

I guess my life is not that bad. I don’t have an alcoholic husband who beats me up, or evil in-laws who threaten to burn me alive if I didn’t bring more dowry from home. Neither am I suffering from a debilitating illness or in a financial mess. My problems are small, may be even petty! I manage to keep my chin up all day, but I should at least be allowed to vent in this space!!!

Maalamaal Weekly

2006-03-10T08:08:00.001-08:00

I have to admit that I have been a closet Priyadarshan fan…why closet you ask? Well, I had never watched any of his movies in the theater…always on DVD (sometimes pirated) or on TV. But today I changed that. Armed with popcorn I went for the first day first show of Maalamaal Weekly.

I was told that it’s a rural comedy. Rural it was alright, complete with Bhaiya accent and curiously South Indian homes. Oh well, why get into the details. The setting is a village called Laholi where after a long spell of drought the starving villagers have sold or pawned everything to the evil Thakurain Karamkali (Sudha Chandran, sporting colored lenses and ironed hair). Her brother Baaj Bahadur aka Baje (Rajpal Yadav) terrorizes the villagers with his power. Lilaram (Paresh Rawal) is supposed to be the only educated fellow in the whole village who sells tickets from Maalamaal Weekly lottery to the villagers. He sells a ticket to the village drunkard Anthony (played by Malayalam actor Innocent, voice by Tikku Talsania) which wins the first prize of Rs 1 crore. The drunkard dies before claiming the money and half the village gets involved in an elaborate charade to impress upon the lottery inspector (Arbaaz Khan) that Anthony is alive and keep the money in the village. Saying anything beyond this will be giving away the kahani mein twist and there are quite a few.

Priyadarshan has made an original comedy this time (as opposed to remake of his Malayalam hits). It’s fast paced with quite a few laughs and some really hilarious moments. Mercifully there’s only one song in the movie which felt like a gratuitous cleavage show for the front benchers. Maalamaal Weekly boasts of an ensemble cast of very talented actors like Om Puri (playing to the gallery with great gusto), Asrani (good to see him in a substantial role after a very long time), and not so talented like Shakti Kapoor and Arbaaz Khan. Then there is Ritesh Deshmukh as lover boy wooing designer village belle Rima Sen …both has too much city kid body language to pass off as villagers…but you can ignore them. Just watch Paresh Rawal, Om Puri and Asrani. Innocent as the dead Anthony reminded me of Satish Shah's dead D'souza in Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron. Tough act to follow, but he is quite effective. Rajpal Yadav in a completely over the top role is great…he’s funny even when he’s trying to be sinister (ok, I’m a bit partial to him…but he is good!)

Maalamaal Weekly has its flaws. It defies logic most of the time and could have been trimmed down a bit, but over all it’s a time pass movie with a message. What message you ask? Leave your thinking caps at home and go figure it out!

Shame

2006-03-07T04:15:00.000-08:00

This was written as a participation post for Blank Noise Project http://blanknoiseproject.blogspot.com/. It was extremely hard to write these words which has tormented me for many many years. Finally they are out and the process has been extremely cathartic. Thank you BNP for giving me the courage!

Growing up a girl in Kolkata who studied in a co-educational school and went without chaperon everywhere had its consequences. Eve teasing is a term I learnt pretty early in my life…I had a very attractive elder sister…that helped!

Both I and my sister always dressed conservatively. We were Bengali middle class girls who neither had the guts nor the means to dress otherwise. Yet every now and then some young man would leer, lick his lips obscenely or wink in a suggestive manner…which blissfully didn’t affect me much, thanks to my innocence or naiveté, whatever you wish to call it!

My earliest memories of sexual harassment are honestly quite fuzzy. There’s a cousin (I don’t speak to him anymore) who was, lets say, a bit touchy feely. In an unfortunate event, I was introduced to French kissing by him…thankfully it didn’t go any further! So you see, it all begins at home!!

I’m eleven years old. On the verge of puberty. In a school full of boys with raging hormones! The slightly “developed” girl students are called “Dolly Parton” and the not so developed ones “Manchester”. I was one of the fortunate ones to be somewhere in the middle who didn’t attract much attention. Also being a tomboy and hanging out with the guys helped! Yet one evening on my back home I meet a stranger on the road, who very casually and with extreme nonchalance came up to me and squeezed my budding breasts. Before I could react, he was gone, smiling like a Cheshire cat! I remember coming home and telling my mother, whose first reaction was “Tumi ki korchhiley?” (What were you doing?) As if I was flaunting my assets to a total stranger inviting him to fondle me on the street in full view of at least 100 other people who didn’t even bat an eyelid, didn’t chase him down, didn’t beat him to pulp for molesting a minor!!!! That incident taught me three things: a) never to talk to my mother about something like this, b) walk with your bag clutched in front of you and c) nobody gives a damn!!

I’m about fourteen. I’m going back home from school in the rush hour. The bus is very crowded! A math teacher from school, I’ll call him PM, is also in the bus. We are all jostling for standing place, when PM comes up behind me. The bus is packed like sardines and PM is standing very close to me, so close that I can feel his foul breath on my neck. He slowly inches forward till he’s completely pressed against my back. I feel his hard-on pressing against me. And then he starts rotating his hips, grinding himself against my back, in front of a bus full of people, who were either completely oblivious or utterly disinterested! I’m standing there, rooted to the spot, tears steaming down my cheeks, being used by my math teacher, who could ruin my year if he wanted to be malicious …not even a single person asked me why I was crying!

I’m twenty-two. By this time I’ve got myself a job and spend most of my salary on cab-fares! It was before Durga Puja and my office was very close to a major shopping area. This particular evening I’ve been standing around for almost 45 minutes fruitlessly waiting for a taxi. Finally I give up and take a bus to home. It was as usual very crowded. I barely managed to get past the door, and find myself a spot not wanting to venture inside among throngs of sweaty bodies. The bus hadn’t gone past two stops when I suddenly felt a hot breath on my neck followed by a sharp pain on my shoulder. Someone bit me! Yes, someone bit me!! I know it sounds funny now, but at that point, I felt extremely violated. I yelped in pain, causing a commotion and a man jumped off a running bus and vanished into the crowd. This time around I found a lot of sympathizers who wanted to know the incident in gory details. I was shaking uncontrollably, shocked, in pain and in disbelief! I got off the bus at the next stop and took a cab back home. I bathed at least 5 times that night unable to feel clean, unable to erase the teeth marks of a man who couldn’t resist the “provocation” of my kurta covered shoulder!

1997. I’m in Bangalore. On a Sunday evening I go out with a girlfriend for a movie. It was Ishq starring Aamir Khan and Kajol. I keep cribbing why the Hindi movies play in theaters in the Majestic area. It was crowded and down-market. This particular theater had three screens simultaneously showing different movies. We bump into a male acquaintance; I’ll call him Raj who was there with his girlfriend. We make plans to go out for dinner post movie.

While stepping out of the theater we realize that the other two theaters also have ended the show, so there were at least 1500 people trying to get out of the complex. In retrospect I should have waited till the crowd dispersed. But I didn’t. I was young and reckless and always in a hurry. I stepped into the sea of human bodies and immediately assaulted by groping hands all over my body. I could have gritted my teeth and walked through it, but I didn’t! I reached behind me and caught a particularly persistent hand on my derriere! And then all hell broke loose! The owner of the hand pulled himself away, as a result pulling me down. All of a sudden I was splayed on the ground…feet trampling over me, hands slithering all over like a million snakes…I was kicking and screaming but nobody heard me. Pain was shooting up from everywhere in my body and I could taste the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. With one last surge of strength I started kicking and flailing my arms. I didn’t care who I kicked or where I kicked…survival was more important at that point!

All of sudden a pair of hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me up. Through the haze in my eyes I recognized Raj. He held me close and dragged my injured body out of the throng…arms were still reaching out towards me for one last grope, one last assault to my dignity! My clothes were torn, glasses shattered, arms and face bruised, I was missing a shoe. But the greatest loss and the ugliest bruise was one that couldn’t be measured or seen!

I survived that episode. It took me a while though! For a long time I oscillated between anger, shame, self pity and self deprecation! Lot of people who came to know about the incident offered me support and then there were some who said I was asking for it by going to the movie hall in the Majestic area! The marks on my body healed, but the scars inside remain. Almost 10 years later I still cannot go to a crowded place in India or abroad. I still have vivid nightmares about the incident, as if it happened yesterday.

Raj and I never talked about it again. It was an unspoken pact that we both honored. We have moved on with our lives leaving that nightmarish evening behind. I can’t remember if I ever thanked him, but Raj if you are reading this, please know you are my true knight in shining armor and no word of thanks can ever express my gratitude!

What happened to me happens to women everyday somewhere in the world. I remember sometime back the US media sensationalizing an incident where a girl was molested in public view by revelers in the Central Park. Last yearTamil film actress Jyothika was molested by her fans in Chennai which was caught on camera and was shown over and over again by different news channels. Was anyone caught or punished? None I suppose.

I have heard so many times that women who are targets of sexual crimes are responsible for their fates, because they are either dressed provocatively or behave in a manner to arouse the animal instinct in men. But tell me how provocative can a 11 year old girl in school uniform be to warrant a sexual crime against her?!

Shall we Budget??

2006-03-01T20:57:00.000-08:00

I don’t understand economics, neither do I try! I’m the artsy type you see :-) I’m officially close to middle age, yet I cannot recall a single time the Union budget has affected my life!!! How can this year be any different?

So, pasta is cheaper!! Yippppppy!! Now I can feed my son 10 min pasta instead of 2 min noodles more often! Who has the time to cook anyway!

Umbrellas and walking stick to be more expensive. Hmmmm...let me see. Dadu used to have a walking stick. But he left us for a heavenly abode sometime in 1986. I can't seem to remember anyone who uses a walking stick...darn...I need to know some more old people!!!

I personally don't use umbrellas. I run to my car when it rains or simply stay home. When it’s sunny out there I do wear sunglasses or should I call it "goggles"? Which BTW will be more expensive! But who calls it "goggles"? A goggle is something that Rishi Kapoor wore in Bobby or Tariq in Yaadon Ki Baraat. That was the 70's. This is 2006...Sanju Baba & Sunil Anna opened a store called Shades in Begumpet that sells designer "goggles".

I think the reason why they made Henna more expensive is to control the sudden conversion of brunettes to redheads among the Indian female population!! Finding a non-streaked head is like looking for needle in haystack!! Only someone should have told PC that Henna is not the culprit here…L’Oreal, Garnier and other brands making hair colors should have borne the burden instead of the Henna powder making industry!!

This year on Feb 28 my son and my father-in-law had a huge fight! Baba was monopolizing the TV and son wanted to watch Tom & Jerry. Couldn’t make my son understand how a man in white mundu and shirt talking for hours with little or no expression on his face could be more interesting than a cat and mouse chase interspersed with graphic violence!!!

Oh well, one more year, one more budget…what difference does it make anyway!

Jessica Lal & SMS Poll

2006-02-27T18:49:00.000-08:00

Jessica Lal, a model, was murdered in 1999 in front of 300 people by Manu Sharma for refusing to serve him alcohol after the bar was closed. She was the celebrity barmaid at a party comprising of the Delhi glitterati. Over the years there were trials after trials and one by one the entire eyewitness turned hostile leading to the acquittal of all the suspects. Manu Sharma is a free man thanks to the judicial system of our country which relies on unflinching evidence rather than circumstantial evidence. Jessica Lal was also let down by her so called friends who refused to testify for her. I hope they can sleep in peace now that they have been collectively influential in freeing a murderer!!!

The media has unanimously denounced the verdict. NDTV has gone as far as starting a SMS poll where Indian junta can join hands with the channel to petition to the President for a new trial in the Jessica Lal case. The chance to make a statement quickly and easily seems to have struck a chord with the public. This SMS poll has gotten everyone from students to film stars to express their outrage on the verdict! People seem to like having the opportunity to vent some steam about the burning issue!

Will it work? I have heard that Delhi High Court has ordered clarifications in the case and transfer of the investigating officer. The opinion poll may or may not have been vital in this case. Will NDTV's efforts go to waste in getting Jessica justice? Or is it that NDTV is eyeing a share of the SMS poll pie which so far has been associated with game shows and competitions?

Memoirs Of A Geisha

2006-02-26T11:21:00.000-08:00

WARNING: Spoilers ahead...proceed at your own risk :-)

I absolutely loved the book Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden and was eagerly awaiting the movie version. It took a while for the movie to release in India, but the wait was worth it, or was it?

Technically brilliant, visually sweeping, the celluloid version of the well loved story of the trials and tribulations of Chiyo, the daughter of a fisher man, a girl with eyes like water who was to become a celebrated geisha Sayuri was engrossing and engaging, yet it lacked the soul, the emotions so vividly portrayed by Golden in his book.

The movie starts exactly like the book where on a stormy night nine year old Chiyo and her elder sister were sold off by their father to a stranger who brings them to Kyoto. There the pretty Chiyo(debutante Suzuka Ohgo) get accepted in the Nitta okiya while her plain sister goes to a common brothel. Chiyo's journey to become the most accomplished Geisha Sayuri ( Ziyi Zhang) of her time had its share of trauma in the hands of the cold hearted matron of the okiya and the mindless jealousy of beautiful Hatsumomo (a fabulous Gong Li). Her chance meeting with the much older Chairman (Ken Watanabe) inspires her want to become a Geisha only to be able to get close to him. She remains a servant girl at the okiya for a long time, until another matron Mameha (Michelle Yeoh) turns her mentor and insists on converting her into one of the most desired of geishas.

Mameha's mentoring comprises tips on how to get and keep a man's attention, beauty makeovers ("agony and beauty go side by side"), tutoring in dance and conversation and explaining the real meaning of a geisha. Mameha and Chiyo take us right in the tearoom with the geisha; we are there as she gracefully fights for her life in a social situation where careers are made or destroyed by a witticism, a too-revealing (or not revealing enough) glimpse of flesh under the kimono, or a vicious rumor spread by a rival.

Strangely, while we are repeatedly told that geishas are "moving works of art, who do not sell their bodies," we see Sayuri's virginity auctioned to the highest bidder. There is a cold cruelty in the mechanics of the trade - from rivalry to the nonchalance and manipulation with which a girl's virginity is sold.The movie ends rather abruptly where out of nowhere the Chairman decides to profess his affection for Sayuri. It was the weakest scene of the movie. It could hardly portray the passion of expressing years of pent up feelings and ends up as an awkward finale to a rather grand arrangement.

Performance wise young Suzuka Ohgo steals the show as Chiyo. Her earnest face and expressive eyes draws you in and makes you want to protect her from all the cruelties in this world. Ziyi Zhang as Sayuri is beautiful in a mesmerizing way and with her limited knowledge of English was as effective as she could be. Gong Li is absolutely fabulous as the insanely jealous Hatsumomo... she is the diva here, imperious, vicious, being cruel to Zhang. She's fun to watch. Michelle Yeoh as Mameha is the only actress who has any command over English and does full justice to her role albeit slightly bland. I loved Ken Watanabe in the Last Samurai. Here he was wooden and one dimensional and looked extremely uncomfortable kissing the bewitching Ziyi Zhang!!

Beautiful locales and sets, lavish costumes and eye candy actors make Memoirs a lush period film that is simultaneously gorgeous and dissatisfying!

The Rang De Basanti Experience

2006-02-24T05:09:00.000-08:00

WARNING: Spoilers ahead...proceed at your own risk :-)

I had pretty much made up my mind that I would like Rang De Basanti. After all, I have always liked Aamir and his movies (well, most of them anyway!). And I adore Atul Kulkarni. Rakeysh (what's with the spelling!?) OmPrakash Mehra had impressed me quite a bit with the strange, dark and very unusual Aks...I was eager to see his next offering. A R Rahman's tracks were already a rage. Did I need anymore reasons to head to the nearest multiplex?

RDB has a story to tell. It is not a rip-off of some Hollywood or Korean film. But the story is told at a rather leisurely pace. Is it a patriotic film? Yes and no. Is it a coming of age film? Yes and no. Is it a fun film? Yes and no. Is it a serious film? Yes and no. The movie is essentially split between intermissions as "A comedy caper" and "The Awakening" with a rather convoluted ending.

The story begins with the young British filmmaker Sue (Alice Patten) stalking off her budget-hit job to India to make a film on the young revolutionaries who so impressed her grandfather, a jailer, with their calm in the face of imminent death. In Delhi, aided by Sonia (Soha Ali Khan), she runs into DJ (Aamir Khan), Karan (Siddharth), Sukhi (Sharman Joshi), and Aslam (Kunal Kapoor). With them and the saffron-hued Laxman Pandey (Atul Kulkarni) who joins them later, she hopes to realize her dream of a making a film on Bhagat Singh, Chandrasekhar Azad, Rajguru, Ashfaq, Bismil among others. Contrary to Sue's expectations, the youth have no feelings for their country. India is a no-hoper where corruption is rampant, and nothing can be done to salvage the situation, they believe. They even poke fun at Sue's attempts to make a film, till they come around. As they play the historical characters, their perspective about the present, and their own role in it, changes forever. This, in a nutshell, is what the movie is about.

Madhavan, as Sonia's IAF pilot fiancé is the voice of conscience. It’s his unfortunate death in a MIG 21 crash, knee-jerks the group into action. They take it upon themselves to avenge his death. How they do it is where the confusion comes in. The graph of the transition from being no hopers to believers should have been more like a curve rather than the drastic step which it seems like. It also gives a dangerous message to everyone... in a civic society, how are we going to decide who are the Bhagats who will rightfully kill the Scotts and who are the Nathurams. It is here that the film sends the wrong vibe.

I couldn't help but think of the characters to be foolish to juxtapose Bhagat Singh's movement to what they were planning to execute in the hope of producing similar results!!

The cast, besides Aamir Khan (let me get back to him later), was quite a pleasant surprise. I liked Kunal Kapoor in Meenaxi, and in RDB he doesn’t disappoint. Sharman Joshi was a revelation. It about time he rises above B-grade movies like Style, and joins the big league. Alice Patten was brilliant (even though her Hindi was too shuddh at times). Soha Ali Khan was a big surprise. Until RDB I hadn’t seen any of her movies so I didn’t have any expectations from her. She definitely is a chip off the old block! Atul Kulkarni unfortunately didn't have much to do other than look at Aamir and Siddharth angrily from time to time. Eventually he does redeem himself, but I always expect a lot from the actor! But the real surprise was Siddharth. His underplayed, intense performance as the suave Karan was the most impressive of the cast. I particularly liked the way he handled the climax. I am told that Karan’s role was offered to Hrithik Roshan who turned it down because he wanted to play Aamir’s role. Well, your loss Mr. Roshan!

Coming to Aamir Khan, the 40 year old actor looked too old (even with his new haircut) to be someone who graduated from college 5 years back, unless of course we’re talking about a PhD here. His DJ was coarse, uncouth, loud and sometimes downright irritating! That might have been by design; in that case you have acted really well Mr. Khan. I personally think you were hamming in most parts. You need to lose about 10kgs, get some botox treatment done to fix the puffy-eyed look and please try not to dance...you look ridiculous and borderline obscene!!

A R Rahman’s music rocks, well…mostly! I didn’t care much for Paathshaala and Khalbali. In fact the Khalbali sequence could have been edited out to make the pace tighter. My personal favorite is Roobaroo. Prashoon Joshi’s dialogues are natural and the lyrics inspirational.

I feel the film is still a great one, but it lost focus somewhere in the middle of the road... and became only a shadow of what could have been... Nevertheless, congratulations Aamir, Siddharth, Sharman, Kunal, Soha, Atul, Alice! And thank you, Mr. Mehra!

Charminar and the Prophet's cartoon

2006-02-17T15:11:00.000-08:00

How old is the issue of the Prophet's cartoon published in a Danish newspaper? Sorry if I can't recall..may be September 30, 2005! The echo hits Hyderabad on the 18th of February 2006 where following the Friday prayer 10,000 strong angry mob descend on the old city and went on a rampage indulging in burning public transport, stone pelting and looting shops!!!!

Hats off to my Muslim brothers of Hyderabad!! To protest about a politically incorrect cartoon published in a Danish newspaper, you burn down your own transports, loot shops owned by your brethen and pelt stones at your own people!!! I sincerely hope that by destroying properties in your own city you have conveyed a messege to the Danish newspaper, who in my opinion gives a rat's derriere to your sentiment!!! And who will compensate the damages suffered by these poor business owners, many of whom are Muslims just like you (or did you only target the Hindu shops) ? Will it be the AIMIM, whose leaders stood around and argued with the police instead of controlling the mob?? Do you even know what the cartoon was all about, or how it hurt your religious sentiments? Or did you just carry out orders from your religious-political leaders who has some other agenda??

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jyllands-Posten_Muhammad_cartoons

An Ode to...ahem...read on

2006-02-09T20:31:00.000-08:00

Spouse found this poking around the Mumbai craigslist.org forums. Proceed at your own risk...it might be a bit to risque for some...I thought it was very creative :-)

Ode to My Husband's Missing Foreskin

I never knew you. I wish I had.
Someone said you were bad.

Ripped you off before you were complete,
thought that bare glans looked so neat.

Now we deal with wet against dry
and rely on KY.

How much fun it would have been
to slide you back and forth again.

And see the pleasure in his eyes
as his pressure starts to rise.

Circumcision robs more than one
of the perfect design for fun.

He doesn't miss what he never had,
so why does it make me so sad?

--Anonymous

Indian Idol 2

2006-02-08T11:00:00.000-08:00

Monali got voted out last night! Not that I was a great fan of hers, but she was better than a lot of the current crop. Her voice shook a bit, but poor girl...how do you expect her to sing in pukka sur, emote, dance and be camera friendly at the same time??? Not forgetting at least half a dozen dancers prancing around her causing a major distraction!!Still she was leagues better than Antara, who btw completely massacared my most favorite RD song...I'd never forgive her for that!!

Ravi seems to be a jinxed name for Indian Idol. Last season thanks to Ravinder Ravi quite a few deserving singers didn't get a chance and this year looks like Mr Tripathi is pulling yet another Ravinder Ravi!!!

And what about Panna?He's cute to look at, dances well, but performance is getting repetitive and singing stays average. Anuj, the great come-back miracle completely squandered his golden opportunity! But surprise surprise, he gets voted in and who goes to bottom 3? Of all people on earth...Karunya!!!

Amey and Karunya by far are the strongest contenders for the title if one looks at raw talent only and not at cuteness factor or underpriviledged background or make-over magic or any other emotional drama!! These two sing with all their heart and soul and does justice to any song they pick.

Antara...what do I say about her?!I still remember when she asked Farah Khan about X-factor and how she can't help her bhadda surat! A trip to the beauty parlor did wonders to her! But where is the spark that she showed in the preliminary rounds??? Does she really come from Maslandpur, the so called chhoti si gaon? Her English diction is perfect, her body language is confident, it totally belies her claim of being a village belle! Remember the fashion victim Ritu Pathak...she was the real thing...one look at her and you know her background!!

Last but not the least, Meenal...hmmm...she's pretty, sings reasonably well, but her voice lacks the maturity required to carry off the songs she's picking. Who knows what the coming weeks will bring for her!!

The official Indian Idol site is flooded with messages from Pakistan, UK, USA, Canada, Bangladesh, Nepal, UAE and god knows where. Glad to know people out there are colsely following this mega talent hunt. Wonder why they don't open up internet voting like Sa Re Ga Ma Pa?! They have internet poll going on with security code against multiple voting...why not vote for the contestants the same way?

Hyderabad Blues Part III

2006-02-07T06:11:00.000-08:00

First of all I have to say that I’m deeply touched by the overwhelming response to the previous installments of Hyderabad Blues. Many of you have informed me that you are keenly awaiting the next bout of my mental diarrhea manifested in an extra-long email choking up your mail-box. Since I'm so concerned about the health of your mail-boxes,I have decided to put it out in a blog format. So welcome to my blog, where I rave and rant about anything and everything, voice unfounded opinions and quote misinformed data at random!!!

Today I’d like to share with you my observations of a peculiar group of people who, in my opinion has become a very important part of our everyday life in India. There’s hardly any place one can go without bumping into one of them and most of the time that interaction leaves a rather bitter after taste. In case you are wondering, I’m actually talking about the security guards. Whoever thought of this form of employment has to be a genius! What a novel idea…get a bunch of really dumb guys, pay them peanuts, put them in colorful uniforms, make them stand in sweltering heat wearing hats, their only job description is “harass any one who tries to get past”…and boy, do they take themselves seriously!

Case in point, Microsoft campus in Hyderabad. One morning I had the misfortune of visiting the building. It seems there are two gates, one for VIP/employees and another one for visitors. Now the gate for visitors is actually located almost a kilometer away from the building entrance and if you are not carrying your Microsoft ID card you are not allowed to take in your car, which means park your car outside, fill up forms in triplicate to apply for a visitor’s pass, walk the kilometer in the Hyderabad heat to get to the building, wrestle another guard who’s standing at the door operable only by a card key and then fill up another set of forms in triplicate at the reception to finally get your visitor’s pass. The other gate actually expects you to have a pass even before you can enter. Well, on this unfortunate and extremely hot morning, after being unceremoniously and unnecessarily shunted about between the two gates of the great Microsoft, I finally lost it. I refused to walk the kilometer and decided to try my luck at the VIP gate. I try to walk in with a VVIP air about me, but the security guard was not to be fooled…he knows a real VIP from a fake one. The conversation thus followed went like this.

Security Guard (SG): Arre madam, ID card kidhar hai?
Me : Visitor
SG: Toh pass kidhar hai?
Me: Andar nahi jayega to pass kahanse ayega?
SG: Bina pass ka andar jana mana hai!!
Me: Thik hai, toh receptionist ko yahan bulao!
SG: (very patronizingly) Nahi madam, aisa nahi to hota. Rule hai…bina pass ka andar jana mana hai!
Me: Rule kahan likkha hai? Dikhao!
SG: Maine bataya na rule hai!
Me: Rule aapne banaya?
SG: Nahi upar ka order hai
Me: Toh upar wala ko hi bulao
SG: nahi bula saktey!
Me: Rule nahi dikha saktey, uparwaley ko nahi bula saktey…toh kaise chalega? Mujhey andar jana hai!!
I make an attempt to walk off. Now this guy gets really serious.
SG: Aise andar nahi ja sakte!!!
By this time I’m already baked in the heat, so I just lose it completely and break into this tirade ( in suddh Hindi) of how I have been going into Microsoft campus for last 7 years and nobody has ever dared stop me ( haha) and now I’ll have to learn the rules from him etc etc. I threw one last “Rok sako toh rok lo” and marched off to the reception while he stared helplessly. Well so much for security!!! But he forgot to ask me how I managed to go to the MS campus for 7 years when the campus was only 1 year old?! Oh well...

This afternoon, we took our son to the Birla Planetarium. Beautiful place located atop a hill with great views of Hyderabad. We reached about half hour before the show time. Sonny boy wanted to use the restroom so we show our tickets to the security guard and enter the building. They had some interesting exhibits on Einstein, so we decide to read those to kill time. A loud whistle makes me jump out of my skin. Turns out to be a security guard. “Yahan anadar ghumna phirna mana hai” he says. Spouse shows him our tickets.

Spouse:Tickets hai hamare paas.

SG:Ghumna phirna mana hai!!

Spouse and I wonder aloud why they put up the exhibits, if no one’s allowed to look at them. Now the guard is really angry. He chases us with his whistle and says ‘Bola na ghumna phirna mana hai! Show ke 15 minutes pehle gate khulta hai!”

Spouse: Aapko to ticket dikhakey andar gaya.

SG: Sirf bathroom jaaney ka permission diya tha…ghumney ka nahi!

Me: Pehle batane ka tha na ke aankh bandh karke bathroom jao, aas paas mat dekho!

SG: Bahar sab log wait kar rahen hai…aaplog anadar hai, confusion ho raha hai!!

So we decide to be good little citizens and obey the “rules” and step out. Immediately he takes our tickets, punches them and says, “Ab andar ja saktey hai!!” Apparently it was 15 minutes before show time.

So our friend the security guard is also the usher inside the planetarium and he decides the seating order. He points to a far corner and says “Wahan jaakey baith jaaiye.” Spouse and I look at each other and in unison say “nahi jayengey!!” pick our own seats and sit down. The guy probably realizes that we are lost cases and turns his attention to other people who are a little more “rule” abiding!

Now, this one takes the cake. Some time back we went to a water park close to Hyderabad. At the wave pool there was tiny entrance gate with a security guard checking if people are wearing “proper swimming attire”. The park was renting out long pants and shirts for the conservative Indian woman to protect her modesty in a swimming pool. A repatriate friend of ours was wearing a jet-ski top over his swim shorts…he was forced to take it off because it was improper attire. Then it was my turn. I had a sarong over my swim suit and the guy wouldn’t let me in.

SG:”Madam, skirt allow nahi hai!”

Me:Yeh skirt nahi, sarong hai

SG:Kucch bhi ho, skirt allowed nahi hai

Me:Arrey woh log lambey pants pahenkey pool me utar sakti hai to phir sarong kyu nahi chalega?

SG: Mereko nahi maloom. Skirt allow nahi hai! Yeh kholkey jao.

Me: Nahi kholti

SG: Nahi ja saktey

Me: Manager ko bulao

The manager was called…I start yelling about the unfairness of the rules by which women can wear long pants to the water park to protect their modesty and sarongs are considered improper attire! He took one look at my agitated state, decided not to aggravate the situation anymore and let me in. Unfortunately by then the security guard had already been at the receiving end of some choicest phoren gaalis from me. Before going in I took the sarong off just to prove that I was indeed in proper swimming attire!!

Another repatriate family renting out a huge mansion in Jubilee hills and employing day/night security guard experienced burglary three times in a span of one year…each time the guard was conveniently somewhere else!

Sometimes I wonder what exactly the role of a security guard is. Every place has one…banks, schools, shops, office, homes, malls, cinema, restaurants…why are we suddenly in need of security? What are we securing ourselves from? Can two skinny guys in ill-fitting uniform stop terrorists from attacking a school and taking our children as hostages?

And here's some food for thought...Why do Microsoft employees have to show their ID card while getting out of the building in Hyderabad?