Crumbs of Life

IN WHICH I WRITE A POST

2009-08-20T23:42:00.004+05:30

This sure was a long break in between posts, but if someone is expecting an explanation, well, I do not have any. I have been really busy, but not busy enough to prevent me from jotting a few lines on this blog. To tell you the truth, things have changed a lot in the past couple of months. Change of priorities as they say. Though it does not definitely mean that I haven't been following some of your posts. Keep walking...as one of my blogger friends would say.
These really are interesting times friends. When the opposition party in the world's largest democracy expels one of its senior-most members for an academic work (which arguably scratches some old wounds), you cannot help but lament at the parochial attitude of the people involved. The entire episode just demonstrates the insecurity of a political party which once prided itself on being the face of new India. What they fail to realise is that the new India they speak of has learnt to distance itself from the burden of its factious past and has well and truly moved on.
Also following with avid interest the curious case of Caster Semenya, the South African middle distance runner. Read it up if you haven't yet....this raises some difficult questions which we Indians, at least, are a somewhat accustomed to.
Been watching some movies too, notably Inglourious Basterds and Kaminey. The former signals a return to form for Quentin Tarantino, though by no stretch of imagination can it be compared to some of his earlier works. As for Kaminey, well, Vishal Bhardwaj's versatility doesn't cease to amaze me.... a Guy Ritchie-style movie from someone who made Makdee, Maqbool and Omkara.
Books, as always, are constant companions. If you have the time and the opportunity do read Etger Keret's really short short-stories... he is a genius. There have been some criticisms of his style, but he seems quite okay to me.
So long then.... have a nice time and do excuse my frequent absences.

ONLINE I-T RETURNS AND BOOK DISCOUNTS

2009-07-05T11:48:00.008+05:30

It is that time of the year again when you fulfill the duties of a law-abiding and socially conscious citizen by filing your income tax return. It definitely gives you a proud feeling... if you manage to forget the fact that there are at least a dozen people you know who earn more than you yet pay less taxes or better still do not pay them at all. But for all the good that it does, filing tax returns is not exactly a stroll in the park. There are plenty of opportunities to get lost among those Section 80Cs and Income Tax Acts of 19-god-knows-when. And so for the two previous times in my life when I filed my returns, I took the help of a certain gentleman who professes to be the best tax consultant in this part of the city. But not this time. I had had enough of paying his ridiculously insane fees and enduring his incessant calls about one insurance scheme or another. Preparing my return online seemed to be the best bet. And with TaxSpanner offering a big discount, where else could I go? It was all so simple and hassle-free. A single mail and a paltry payment of Rs.125 and my return was ready in my inbox. I just had to send the prepared return to the Income Tax office in Bangalore and I was done. Sigh! Wish everything in life was THAT easy.
And for all those with a liking for regional Indian writing, Katha is good news. I came to know about them when I learnt that I was entitled to a fat 25% discount (yeah I know, some favourable planetary orientation at work there) on their publications. Their catalogue is interesting indeed, with a collection of translated works from almost all parts of India. Ordered half a dozen assorted titles last week, though I haven't received them yet. Hope the translations turn out to be fine; for more often than not it is poor translation that kills the essence of a good book. But if people around the world can enjoy translated versions of Murakami's work, maybe Katha can do it too. At least it is a step forward. What with all the hullabaloo (no pun intended) that Indian writing in English has created recently, maybe it is time we remember the brilliance of the stalwarts of regional literature.
Update: Received the books from Katha in good condition. Wonderfully designed covers.

MONKEY MENACE

2009-06-17T21:12:00.007+05:30

Witnessed a regular turf war today between a pack of dogs and an angry bunch of langurs. It was a full-blown battle. The monkeys, with their superior teamwork, had the advantage over the dogs and would have defeated them hollow had it not been for some serious help from the staff at the nearby office. It felt similar to watching Discovery channel live but without the explanatory commentary and background score.

Langurs

Rhesus Macques

All this reminded me of the monkey menace that we had to endure while in hostel and the shameful manner in which we handled it. The monkeys there were not of any particularly interesting species - plain, old Rhesus Macaques. Definitely not at all ideal for the gross Amul Macho ads. But they made up for their lack of glamour quotient with their sheer numbers. When they came down from the hills and ran in hordes on the corrugated-tin roof of the hostel, the awful din sounded like rolling thunder. And since mischief was high on their agenda, things were not generally amicable between the monkeys and their more modern descendants at the hostel. Every time the monkeys visited the hostel they left behind a trail of destruction. Drawers were flung open in search of food, containers were pried open and their contents spread across the floor, heaps of books and papers arranged perilously on tables were knocked down, the pantry in the hostel mess was ravaged beyond recognition. The monkeys also occasionally made off with clothes, clocks, cigarettes and anything else that caught their fancy. Gifts and chocolates, both for and from special ones, too were regularly stolen by the rampaging devils. Such was their menace that they made the cryptid monkey-man in Delhi look like a veritable Simian saint.We on our part did not lose any opportunity to get back at them. In the weeks before and after Diwali, any monkey which was sighted would be attacked with a volley of firecrackers. Though very few of the missiles actually hit their mark or did any serious damage, but they frightened the Macaques enough to bring peace to the hostel for a couple of months. But peace is a rare luxury and it would not be long before the monkeys would be back with a vengeance. It was almost like Gabbar with a band of monkeys raiding the village of Ramgarh with sadistic delight. But just as "...Ramgarhwaalon ne paagal kutton ke saamne roti daalna band kar diya...", so we too decided that enough was enough. There had to be a way out. Accordingly, one fine Sunday, the raiding monkeys were pleasantly surprised to find a sumptuous feast laid down for them in the dining area. What they failed to notice was that except for one small window, all the other doors and windows in the dining area were closed. Boldly but carefully a bunch of monkeys entered the mess and tore into the food oblivious to the fact that the only open window had been closed. The original intention was to scare the life away from the monkeys with lots of loud firecrackers, but mob behaviour is a strange phenomenon which makes people act in ways in which they normally would not have. What happened next was utter carnage as twenty of the hostel braves (honestly, I was not among them) swooped down on the monkeys. Screams and shrieks flooded the air as blow after blow rained down on the hapless bunch. The monkey-god, Hanuman cringed from his abode in heaven and must have cursed entire humanity. To a band of enraged young men, however, it did not matter if they were reborn as vermins and parasites in their next lives. What mattered was revenge - cold blooded revenge. It was fast turning into a blood-bath, when someone mercifully opened a couple of windows. The monkeys which had managed to evade the blows made a desperate dash for escape while the wounded ones slowly and painfully limped away. When the dust finally settled, someone noticed that one of the raiders was lying slumped on the floor of the mess, quite obviously dead. Amidst much hooting and cheering, the dead monkey was suspended from a tree for all his kind to see and fear. Throughout the day it remained there dangling from tree - a grim reminder of his descendants' cruelty. The other monkeys must removed him from tree that night as it was not there in the morning. I do not remember the monkeys coming to the hostel after that day. And though we never had to clean up our rooms again in the aftermath of their raids, we did miss their thunder on the corrugated tin roof.
The guilt hurts most of us even today.

AN ODE TO AN OMELETTE

2009-06-03T01:38:00.007+05:30

Had a bite of an Oriental Omelette a couple of Fridays ago and I was hooked. So simple in its preparation, yet so delicate in taste. Came back home, high on spirits, and promptly wrote this paean to the omelette.

ODE TO AN ORIENTAL OMELETTE

Myriad pubs and seedy bars did I frequent,
Hoping to find the perfect complement.
'Coz the best snack to go with a merry drink,
Was all in my spare time that I could think.

But taste is all about the monies, they said.
The better it tastes, the more you paid.
And so a minor fortune I foolishly spent
In futile search for the ultimate complement.

Alas! In no joint did I ever come across
A flavour upon which a man could gloss.
Or even an inviting aroma strong,
One could immortalize in a song.

All seemed lost, when one crazy, drunken evenin',
On the restaurant menu, below Fish Liver Gin,
I found the beauty I never had met;
It was the humble Oriental omelette.

I swear by Jove, it was a delightful dish.
Stuffed with mushrooms and Parmesan cheese.
Four delicate eggs soft-fried in butter,
Tomatoes and ball-pepper on the platter.

The hard spirits felt strangely smooth
Such did the tender omelette soothe.
And till the very last, broken morsel
It gave me the joy in a kid's carousal.

No more swirling serpents of doubt,
Be it whiskey, vodka, rum or beer stout
The only food on my frugal plate
Will forever be the Oriental omelette.

So what is your chakna of choice?

A STORY OF FATE

2009-05-30T21:53:00.011+05:30

It has been exactly eleven years since the day Mrs. Sharma died. It was a terrible misfortune to befall what had, till then, been a small and happy family consisting of Mrs. Sharma, her husband and their young daughter Tara. It would be superfluous to mention that Mr. Sharma deeply loved his wife because on seeing her lifeless body, the bereaved husband had lamented that he could not imagine life without her. But the death of one unremarkable woman hardly affected the general scheme of things in a planet of teeming millions. It was not a surprise, therefore, that Mr. Sharma remarried within a year of the tragedy and started a new family. His daughter too did not seem too unhappy about the arrangement. Nevertheless, she did sometimes wonder about the new lady in their house whom she was supposed to call 'Mother'. This story, however, is not about either Mr. Sharma or his second wife. It is also not about their daughter, Tara. This story is about the events which occurred on that fateful day, eleven years ago.

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

It was one of those sultry days during the monsoons, when the heat and sweat combine to make clothes stick to your skin like a spandex suit. Fans hardly provide any relief from such sweltering heat, yet, the Sharma family had fought through the day under their illusory comfort. Since it was a Sunday, Mrs. Sharma had suggested, during lunch, that they should go to the only air-conditioned movie theatre which had opened recently in the city. "If not for the movie," she had said, in a manner befitting her middle-class existence, "but for the comfort inside". Mr. Sharma had signaled his concurrence with a gentle nod of the head. How was he to know that on later days he would deeply regret his decision? The late afternoon saw Mr. Sharma lock the front door, tug at the heavy lock to make sure that it was secure and then set off, with wife and daughter in tow, for their evening outing. It did not take the three of them very long to reach the theatre and buy the tickets, but Mrs. Sharma's insistence on having an ice-cream ensured that by the time they were at the entrance of the screening hall, the movie had already started. The usher guided them along the aisle in semi-darkness, pointed out their seats with the beam of his flashlight and disappeared into the darkness. Mr. Sharma instructed his wife and Tara to take the first two seats from the aisle while he chose to sit on the third. It was the best he could do to prevent any unwanted attention towards his wife. Mr. Sharma was just about to sit down when a yelp of pain from his wife brought him to his feet. Instantly, a number of heads turned towards them defeating his intent of not drawing any attention. A concerned inquiry from Mr. Sharma revealed that something sharp, probably a tiny nail protruding from the upholstery, had pricked his wife just as she was settling on her seat. This carelessness on part of the theatre owners greatly angered Mr. Sharma and he hurried towards the entrance to look for the usher. He presently returned with him and pointed out the seat in question. There were loud shouts of protest from the seats behind them as Mr. Sharma and the usher proceeded to look for the offending nail. What they found was not a nail but a pin with small piece of paper, about the size and thickness of a visiting card, attached to it. Under the pale-yellow light of the flashlight, Mr. Sharma saw something written on one side of the card which drained all the blood from his face and sent shivers down his spine. Written in clear, bold letters was the message, 'HIV, ALWAYS POSITIVE' and a small signature scrawled at the bottom. The next few minutes went in a daze. In short, incoherent sentences Mr. Sharma told his wife about the horrible turn that events had taken. Mrs. Sharma was strangely quiet for a few moments and then broke out into uncontrolled sobbing when she realized that none of the people she knew had HIV and that all of them thought that HIV was contracted through dirty habits. By then most of the people around them had forgotten the movie and were staring at them with great interest. The usher saw this and led three of them away from the hall but not without young Tara throwing a tantrum about it. Though her husband tried to reason with her, Mrs. Sharma could already see herself ostracized from everyone she knew. All three of them would be treated like lepers; they would become the living dead. Her husband, meanwhile, was thinking of the two logical things he could do. He could either accost the manager of the theatre or he could immediately take his wife to a doctor. He decided on the latter and accordingly came out of the theatre dragging his daughter by the arm and trying to console his wife at the same time. They walked up to the bus-stop nearby, where Mr. Sharma asked the two them to wait while he himself went to hire an auto rickshaw. Inspite of more than twenty people being around Mrs. Sharma and her daughter during that time, no one was really sure what happened next. Some said she fainted, some said she was trying to cross the road, while some even said that she did it on her own. Whatever might have happened but the fact remains that a speeding bus ran over the anguished Mrs. Sharma mercifully putting to an end the intolerable misery she had been suffering from for the past ten minutes. The screech of wheels brought a bewildered Mr. Sharma to the spot and it took him some time to realize that life, as he knew it, was well and truly over. Since one must take care of the living than worry too much about the dead, so in subsequent discussions about the accident, Mr. Sharma never mentioned the part that the pin played in the incidents of the evening thus saving his daughter and himself from a lot of trouble.

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

While Mr. Sharma was still trying to convince himself that the mangled, unrecognizable body lying on the street in front of the theatre was once his wife, a different scene was being played out in a hostel of the government engineering college in the outskirts of the city. Twenty-three youths in the last years of their teens were made to stand in a line in front of their hostel where a few of their seniors had started gathering. It was their daily ragging session - a sort of ice-breaking taken to the extremes. The twenty-three freshmen, with their hair closely cropped and dressed in formals in the warm and humid evening, were a jaded lot. They were a trifle frightened too though none of them admitted it. The seniors sat on the stairs leading to the hostel, sharing a cigarette among themselves while the wretched freshmen stood in attention in front of them. "So are you maggots ready for the quiz?" KP asked with a faux, sadistic smile. All the freshmen moved their heads to indicate an affirmative. It was KP's idea to order the helpless freshmen to watch the movie being played at the matinee-show at one of the theatres in the city and question them later on what they saw. The matinee-show movies were invariably awful and the one which the freshmen watched was no exception. That the theatre happened to be air-conditioned was the sole redeeming factor. "First one from the left, come here", demanded KP. The chosen one came forward slowly.
"You are the one in your batch with the highest marks in the entrance examinations, aren't you?"
"Yes Sir."
"So are you very smart?"
A question such as this was not about right or wrong answers per se, it was about giving the appropriate answers. Previous experience had taught the freshman to keep quiet when the questions were too complicated and so he did not give a reply. A string of the choicest expletives and jeering followed. But that was much better compared to any kind of physical pain.
"OK, then. First question....." KP said."Who is the art director of the movie you saw this afternoon?"
KP was waiting for the answer, when someone from among the other freshmen caught his attention. He beckoned the poor soul to come nearer. There were no questions this time, just two hard slaps across the face which would leave their mark and elicit sympathetic glances from the professors the next day.
"Can you see all of your friends wearing the hostel badge on the pockets of their shirts?"
"Yes Sir."
"Do you know that all new boarders are to wear it at all times when they are in the hostel?"
"Yes Sir."
"So where the fuck is your hostel badge, you bastard?"
"I am sorry Sir, I lost it somewhere."
Two more resounding slaps, this time from another person. It was ARP. "You will find a few extra badges on the table in my room." he bellowed "Take one of them." Smarting under the sting of the slaps and the embarrassment, the new boarder silently walked away. He was back soon with a badge pinned to the pocket of his shirt, it was identical to the ones his friends had.
"It looks good on you" observed KP looking at the card attached to the boy's shirt. Written across it in clear, bold letters was 'HIV, ALWAYS POSITIVE', it also had ARP's signature at the bottom. "What does it say?"
"Hostel-4, always positive. We, at hostel number four, are always positive in our attitude, Sir" answered the young man. One of his cheeks had already started swelling.

Notes:
What are the chances of transmitting HIV through a needle?
Snopes: Pin Prick Attacks

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS (A POST IN 5 MINS)...

2009-05-26T23:15:00.004+05:30

I am really thinking hard of changing my priorities.
Looking for a something new. Seriously. Same ol' job, same ol' life. Nothing to bring the long unused grey cells into motion.
If there ever is a hero in the Mahabharata, it is not any of the Arjunas or Krishnas or any other cunning liar. It is Karna. Having read more than 600 pages of 'Mritunjaya' gives you that kind of a feeling. Good book this. But the translation by Nandini Nopany and P. Lal leaves a lot to be desired. The use of vernaculars like 'Bhaiya' and 'Arrey' makes for some crappy reading. Which reminds me of Upamanyu Chatterjee's 'Weight Loss'. If ever, there is a book which I would never recommend to any of my readers, it would have to be this. 'Weight Loss' has to be one of the most worthless attempts at writing by anyone serious enough to do so. Sheer waste of half a grand and four hours of valuable time. Should have stopped at 'English, August' before picking up this worthless babble. But 'Mritunjaya', on the other hand, is much better....dispels some of the unanswered questions that a generation of kids watching Mahabharata on Doordarshan might have had. Also read 'Green Berets' by Robin Moore, if you have the time (irrespective of whether your favourite colour is red or not). I assure you, it will not be a disappointment.
Watch '12 Angry Men' and Basu Chatterjee's 'Ek Ruka Hua Faisla' and try to decide which is better. Agreed that Henry Fonda is irreplaceable but then you have to appreciate how Basu Chatterjee manages to adapt the classic for an Indian setting and extracts a memorable performance from Pankaj Kapoor. Annu Kapoor too plays his part with aplomb. Readers with a memory of Indian serials/teleserials from the late 80s and early 90s will recognise most of the actors who play the roles of the 12 jurors. 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' on the other hand is quite a bore. An interesting premise goes to waste here - except for a couple of scenes. What could have been a hard look at some uncomfortable and unusual topics, delves into realms of fantasy and expected dilemmas. Cate Blanchett' s role being the sole redeeming factor. Fincher's 'Seven' and 'Fight Club' were much better. Kevin Spacy's psychotic scream of "Detective....." towards the end of 'Seven' would have put a million Gabbar's to shame.
Also watch 'The Bicycle Thieves'... it is really worth it.

ANSWERING THE CALL OF NEGLECTED LOVES

2009-05-18T19:04:00.006+05:30

What am I up to?
Well, it is a return to life without TV and Internet. The TV went kaput towards the end of last month which in turn inspired me not to pay the Internet bill. And honestly I miss neither(not even the Indian Paisa....err....Premier League).
Loads and loads of books....from Ogden Nash to Stephen King, from Upamanyu Chatterjee to Issac Asimov.
Loads and loads of movies....from Bicycle Thieves to Amores Perros, from Citizen Kane to Road to Guantanamo.
And I have a sneaking feeling that this books-n-movies duathlon will continue for atleast one more week.

Footnote: Managed to get my hands on Batman#534, a part of the 'Batman:Legacy' arc. After all it is not in every issue that you get to see the dark vigilante teaming up with Lady Shiva to prevent Ra's al Ghul goons in Calcutta.

IN SEARCH OF BOOKS

2009-04-26T23:20:00.005+05:30

Been a bit stuck up with work for some days which explains the absence of new posts.
With a bit of time to kill today, I visited some of the second-hand bookstores around College Street. Brought home a 1965 edition of "The Oxford History of the American People" by Samuel Eliot Morison and a 1989 edition of the English translation of Shivaji Sawant's acclaimed "Mritunjaya".
Also found some old war comics which I promptly brought, about thirteen of them.
The entire loot cost an unbelieveble Rs.490.
Sawant's "Mritunjaya" was on my wishlist for a long, long time. So the acquisition today called for a celebration......what better place than the only bar near home which permits smoking.

A QUESTION OF VALUES

2009-04-17T00:42:00.003+05:30

I was talking to an acquaintance of mine, trade union leader Samir B, today. This is what he said, "You will gladly pay Rs.160 for a Cutty Sark but will ask the old woman selling spinach to give you two bundles for the price of one". What followed was a lengthy monologue on the eroding values of the nouveau riche.
Election rhetoric or a rapier thrust to our long dead conscience?

THINGS OF MINOR IMPORTANCE

2009-04-11T23:08:00.007+05:30

Spent the morning listening to some indie songs from India and Pakistan which were the rage during college. Songs like bodhiTree's 'XL Ki Kudiyan', 'Sabka Katega', 'GMD' and Zeest's 'BC Sutta' .....if you get the drift. These are not the kind of songs which you could play at full volume at any self-respecting Indian home. But for young greenhorns at college campuses who were just beginning to enjoy the freedoms of staying away from home, they were nothing short of anthems. I haven't heard of bodhiTree lately, but Zeest is still around, having released their second song, '100 Rupai' towards the end of this January. It is a much more mature and accomplished work then their earlier one (and can be played at home too!). '100 Rupai' is available for download the the Zeest site. 'It reminds me strongly of Agosh's 'Mujhe Mil Jo Jaye Thoda Paisa' whose music video was a killer, featuring parodies of some of the most popular ads of the late 90s.

I had also been missing my dates with weekend movies recently. Set it right somewhat with back-to-back viewings of 'Outlander' and 'Being John Malkovich'. Watch 'Outlander' for its amazing SFX and a really well-conceptualized and developed monster, Moorwen. As for 'Being John Malkovich', well, this is probably the fourth time I have watched it and yet I cannot, for the love of God, understand what this movie is trying to say. Interestingly, the director - Spike Jonze - also happens to be the producer of the insane Jackass series. So, probably one should not delve too deep into 'Being John Malkovich'.

SHOE-D WE OR SHOE-D NOT WE?

2009-04-07T21:49:00.011+05:30

Somewhere around noon today, India became the newest member of a very select group of nations whose public figures have been on the receiving end of shoe-throwing incidents.
For all those of who who missed the action, here are the bare facts condensed in a single sentence (the video is there too at the end of the post). At a press conference in Delhi, Dainik Jagran journalist, Jarnail Singh threw his shoe at the Home Minister Mr. P. Chidambaram in protest against the latter's refusal to answer questions relating to the CBI's role in the Jagdish Tytler case.
Technically though, the attempt cannot be described as a throw; it was more of a gentle underarm lob. But it did threaten to almost make contact with the honourable minister's face (which, I am pretty sure, was definitely not what the valiant Sikh wanted). For a very brief period during the white shoe's graceful trajectory, P. Chidambaram must have had strange but delightful visions of flying idlis heading towards him. But the realization of the embarrassment that might result if the missile found its target brought him to his senses. And in a surprising display of agility hitherto unseen in an elderly Indian politician, Mr. Chidambaram deftly evaded the said missile. The hawkish concentration with which his eyes followed the shoe as it passed him would have been a lesson for any top-order batsman in evading a bouncer. The Home Minister, who also happens to be an MBA from the Harvard Business School, quickly regained his Zen-like composure, managed a confused smile and in true Gandhian spirit proclaimed,

I forgive him...let not the action of one emotional person hijack the entire press conference. I have answered his question to the best of my ability

All of which brings us to the question of whether Jarnail Singh's preferred mode of protest is indeed justified. The missile in this case happened to be a sneaker which has a relatively low chance of causing grievous bodily harm. But it may not be long before a fanatic decides to hurl a clog or a skate shoe or 4-inch heels at his/her victim. Other than the obvious risk of physical injury, there is also the chance of hurting sensibilities. Everyone cannot be a George Bush or a P. Chidambaram in his reactions. The Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao, for instance, let his displeasure known in describing his recent shoeing incident as "despicable". In this age of touchy international relations, it doesn't take much for a trivial issue to snowball into a major row. And with enough troubles in the world already, we do not really need any more.
There surely must be more civilised and creative methods of protest to get your point across. Suggestions anyone?

Here is the TV footage of the incident in question.

THE ARCHITECT FROM MANCHESTER

2009-03-29T04:28:00.009+05:30

Let us call him Steven. For the record, he had a last name too, but my chronically unreliable memory fails me once again and I cannot, for the life of me, remember what it was. You know how it is when you forget a name. It rolls teasingly on the tip of your tongue but the stubborn brain refuses to remember it leaving you searching for it obsessively the entire day. And when you finally do remember it, it leaves you with a strange feeling. Somewhere between the feeling of attaining nirvana and the relief after an emergency visit to the loo. Anyway, I am digressing here. What I remember about Steven's last name though, is that it sounded suspiciously similar to an embarrassing vernacular word.
We met Steven on the final day of our college festival, wandering around the city with a faint whiff of whiskey around him and a goofy smile plastered across his face. We could not tell with authority whether he was drunk or not but since he could, more or less, maintain a coherent conversation, we assumed he was sober. He was tall and ungainly and walked around with such a stooping gait that it was a miracle that he didn't fall over at every step. His posture suggested that he had just been ordered to do a 15-km march under the hot sun. But before you jump to any conclusions, let me assure you that he wasn't feeling miserable at all. On the contrary he was in high spirits. The smile on his face would have launched a million toothpaste brands (if not ships), were it not for the minor problem of Steven owning a set of magnificently crooked teeth. This was Steven's first visit to India and he had taken a liking for it inspite of an entire night spent in a railway station, with an army of mosquitoes which almost threatened to carry him off. So, it didn't take much to persuade him to stay in our hostel for the night. This, obviously, was an entirely unofficial arrangement, which the hostel superintendent did not have an inkling of.
Steven really enjoyed himself that night with booze, joints and a stunning performance by Motherjane. Students at the college would later speak of a tall, blond, foreigner who went about greeting everybody with a namaskar in a totally inebriated state. We, of course, feigned ignorance. Steven extended his stay with us for a couple of days, enjoying his brief sojourn in our hostel. During this time, he discussed a lot about his life with us. He was an young architect from Manchester who had taken a break for sometime to explore the Indian subcontinent. He didn't want it to be one of those daintily packaged tours with complementary breakfast and dinner. No sir, he wanted a first-hand experience of one of the oldest cultures of the world. The two days he shared with us were enough for him to build up a strong camaraderie with every one...... well, except the hostel dog. To say that Steven hated the dog would be putting it too mildly. But to his defence, one must concede that the intolerance was mutual. Rocky, the dog, went mad every time he smelt Steven somewhere near. Maybe the sight of a tall, reed-thin, Caucasian was too much for the black, pudgy, vertically-challenged mongrel to handle. Not that Rocky was racist or anything but the mere sight of Steven gave him an inferiority complex.
Before Steven left the hostel in search of more colourful adventures, he told us that he intended to go to Pakistan and Afghanistan.....on a donkey. We thought that it was a ridiculously absurd idea and tried to make him understand the danger involved with this particular campaign. But Steven thought it would be fantastic. And though he appreciated our concern, we knew that he would not relent. During the next few weeks, Steven sent us occasional mails updating us about his whereabouts. But about six weeks later the mails suddenly stopped coming. We thought that Steven finally had enough of travelling and had gone back home to England. But we were completely wrong; our modern Marco Polo had attempted to enter the north-eastern state of Arunachal Pradesh without a proper permit and, after a slight misunderstanding, was promptly arrested. He was released after a week and since it was not quite a sensational issue, the media did not attach much importance to it. The newspapers reported it almost as an afterthought, in unassuming little 50-words side columns in which they did not even mention any names. But we knew very well that it was old Steven who was involved, especially when we read the last two lines of the report in one of the newspapers. It said "The foreigner also had a donkey with him when he was arrested. It was later handed over to him after his release."

EARTH HOUR 2009

2009-03-25T21:59:00.007+05:30

It will be the darkest hour in history and yet it will be the hour when millions of people across countries, races and religions will unite together in an unparalleled show of support and solidarity. It will an hour when we, for once, turn our attention towards the planet we call home. It will be Earth Hour 2009 - Saturday, 28th March from 2030 hrs to 2130 hrs. An hour when we turn off our lights.

But make no mistake. It is not an attempt to reduce electricity consumption or carbon emission. The reduction, of course, will be too small to be of any significance. Rather it is an opportunity to create awareness about the thoughtless impudence with which we are contributing towards the global climate change. A change which is both unwanted and unnerving. For too long now, this little non-issue has been conveniently stowed away somewhere, even as our leaders kept themselves busy with more important issues like economic and security policies. While all this time our summers grew longer and spring arrived earlier than usual, glaciers melted and sea-levels rose. Yes, they are cliches but they are real. And it is to address these very real concerns that world leaders will meet in Copenhagen later this year at the Global Climate Change Conference. Earth Hour 2009 is our chance to make sure that the policies which replace the Kyoto Protocol take into account not only the voices of a couple of hundred attendees but also of the unheard millions.
Supporters of previous Earth Hours include Google, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Sydney Opera House while this year we have the Great Pyramids, the Petronas Towers and the Empire State Building among others pledging their support to the Earth Hour. And believe me this isn't all about tokenism and publicity.
So then, what are you waiting for? Participate, spread the word and experience the difference that you can make.

On a different track, what is the significance of Earth Hour in areas with an acute shortage of power? When people there have to live through power cuts for five hours a day, are they expected to turn off their lights for an hour more?

OI, ETU FRIDAY HOI....

2009-03-20T23:59:00.011+05:30

Friday evening meetings are always a tricky proposition, you are not really sure whether there will be drinks on offer. Consequently, you are not sure whether you want to attend them or not. If you are lucky enough to be a teetotaler than it doesn't matter anyway - it is a win-win situation in any case. But the true connoisseurs of Friday night activities will vouch to the fact that a round with close friends is always better than a cocktail party at some fancy place. So, I was pleasantly surprised, today, with the arrangement at ITC, Sonar Bangla. I mean it was pretty good. A nice sales pitch followed by a warm round of quality scotch and an absolutely fantastic dinner to end the evening. Hectic exchange of business cards and some small talk about career opportunities were also the order of the ~~day~~ night. Safe to say that this happened to be of the few corporate meetings which I enjoyed. Oh! And did I mention the complimentary 2-bar water-resistant wrist watch which everyone got after the party?

Meanwhile look at this page from BBC. Punctuations, or lack of them, do change the entire meaning of a sentence. With all sensitivity to the dead and injured, since when did media houses start keeping ferocious dogs which apparently go about attacking humans. Is 'Irish News' a new breed of wild dogs distantly related to Irish Wolfhounds. And Toronto Star...well, it even seems to have an online pack of dogs?!!! Pardon my sense of humour, but it has always been....a bit outlandish.

PS: Could not resist posting this - although it is for those who understand Assamese - courtesy Basu.
Assamese translations of some common phases:

Baby, let's hang out.
Maina, bola bahirot ulomi thaku

Hey wassup?
Oi, heitu uporot ki?

Let's rock the party.
Bola sobha khonot pathor maru.

You rock.
Tumi pathor.

Honey, I love you.
Moujul, moi tumak bhal pau.

Are you nuts?
Tumi badam niki?

So long then, 'av a lazy weekend everyone.

TWO-SENTENCE REVIEWS AND A SMILE

2009-03-15T03:49:00.006+05:30

I cannot recall the last time when two really good movies were released on the same Friday. Both the movies in question, Gulaal and Little Zizou, matched up to their expectations. And in their own distinct styles, both of them painted a true picture of our times.
Anurag Kashyap's intense tale of student and caste politics manages to remind everyone that he was the man behind Black Friday. I think Kashyap finally understood that self-indulgence doesn't work....well, except maybe for Baz Luhrmann. But it is the debutante director, Sooni Taraporevala who makes the bigger impression with her 'Bawa film'. Packed with the right dollops of just about everything, Little Zizou is rollicking stuff. It is one of those rare films which leaves you wishing for more.
I am a bit short of time, so no ramblings today. Instead, here is a recent xkcd strip which can bring a smile to non-geek faces too. The original strip is here.

PS: Read the untold story of the world's biggest diamond heist at WIRED if you have the time. It is quite engaging.

AN INTERVIEW WITH SOONI TARAPOREVALA

2009-03-06T22:25:00.006+05:30

In case you are a film aficionado, you must know Sooni Taraporevala. A scriptwriter par excellence with films such as Salaam Bombay, Mississippi Masala and The Namesake to her credit, Sooni is also an accomplished photographer. Her photo-book "Parsis: the Zoroastrians of India - A Photographic Journey" remains a much-admired work. For her work in Salaam Bombay she received the Lillian Gish Award from Women in Film while Mississippi Masala brought her the Osella award for Best Screenplay at the 1991 Venice Film Festival. Enough for a lifetime, you say? Well, you are wrong. Sooni Taraporevala has just donned a new mantle - that of a director. Her maiden venture "Little Ziziou" is slated for an all India release on the 13th of March. And if her past record is anything to go by, then this story of two Parsi families in conflict - one headed by a humbug religious bigot, the other by a reforming journalist promises to keep you enthralled.
Here is an interview with this lady of multiple talents who also happens to be a great human being (that she accepted this interview request from me just proves it).

Me: First of all congratulations on "Little Zizou" - your first film as a director.
Sooni Taraporevala: Thank you Sujoy.

Me: Sooni, you are a person who has dabbled in a lot of things and quite successfully at that. So, out of screenwriting, directing or photography which is it that gives you most joy and satisfaction and why?
Sooni Taraporevala: I love doing all 3 Sujoy - though I must say screenwriting is something I have grown a bit tired of having done it for 24 years; and also now that I've tasted the thrill of directing which is stressful but also really really exciting. As a director I loved working with so many talented people. It's an honor and a privilege to have so many poeple working so hard to help you realise your vision.

Me: Be it photography or films, a sizeable portion of your work deals with the Parsi community. Is it a conscious decision that you take or is it more like following your inner urge?
Sooni Taraporevala: Actually that's a wrong perception though I can see why you think this. In 24 years of screenwriting and some 20 odd scripts - only 2 have dealt with Parsis - "Such a Long Journey" - which was adapted from Rohinton Mistry's novel in 1997 and now "Little Zizou" in 2009. All my other scripts had absolutely nothing to do with Parsis at all.
After a lifetime of writing about far ranging subjects and people - like Afro Americans in Mississippi, AIDS patients in Tennessee, legalized prostitution in Nevada, homeless kids in LA etc - I finally metaphorically came home and wrote a story that takes place in my own backyard, so to speak. (Because of course very few people in Bombay have backyards!).

Me: We all have our own colourful and sometimes impossible dreams when we are young. As a student studying English Literature, Film and Photography at Harvard did you ever think that you would end up getting an award for the very first film you worked in?
Sooni Taraporevala: Never! Not in my wildest dreams. That is what is so exciting and terrifying about life isn't it? Its unpredictability. Anything can happen - good or bad - in the blink of an eye and your life can change completely - for the better or for the worse.

Me: You have had a long and successful association with Mira Nair. How did it all start?
Sooni Taraporevala: We were foreign students at Harvard together - at a time when there were just a handful of undergraduates from India. We met in 1976 and have been friends, and partners in crime since then. 10 years after we first became friends we worked together on "Salaam Bombay"!

Me: Coming back to "Little Zizou", the short but delightful promo says "What do you expect from a movie written and directed by a Parsi starring Parsis...". Well Sooni, what should we, as viewers, expect?
Sooni Taraporevala: I think you can expect to laugh most of the time, cry a little, relate many of the events and feelings to your own life and leave the theatre with a smile on your face and a desire to see it again and again:)

Me: "Little Zizou" is a story set in Bombay about two Parsi families at conflict , why did you choose to tell the story from the 11-year old football-crazy Xerxes' perspective?
Sooni Taraporevala: That came later - originally there was no narrator. But there was some public pareshani with so many characters so I made Little Zizou the character who takes you through the story. He seemed the natural choice for being the sutredhar.

Me: You cast and crew is a motley lot, consisting of people like Boman Irani, Cyrus Broacha, John Abraham, Shiamak Davar, Bickram Ghosh and Sanath Banerjee. How did you manage to rope them in together? Was there a sort of friends' network working overtime?
Sooni Taraporevala: I've known all of them (except John, Bickram and Sarnath) for a very long time.
John I met in his trailer when he was shooting "No Smoking" - when he heard it was a film set in the Parsi world he agreed to do it in exchange for homecooked dhansak. Naturally I agreed and would happily supply him with a lifetime of dhansak dal!
Boman I first met around 1996 when I went to see the play I'm "Not Bajirao". I was just blown away by his peformance and even more stunned to discover backstage that he was not an old man at all. I've wanted to work with him since those days because I think he is one of the most fiercely talented actors we have. He was so incredibly generous. And he brought so much to a role that was the most under written in the script. It's not easy to play a "good family man" without making him into a huge bore.
Shiamak is my angel. I have known him since the days when he was a struggling and very talented dancer. I have complete admiration for him. It wasn't easy in those days to be in 'unconventional' professions. Dance? Te vari soo? All very well to dance in your free time but as a profession you were expected to be a lawyer, doctor or accountant. Shiamak has proved all his detractors gloriously wrong! For me his greatest achievement has been that all his thousands of students adore and love him. He was and continues to be one of Little Zizou's most ardent well wishers.
Now for my Bawa-Bong connection.
Sarnath called me some years ago to ask permission to use some of my Parsi photos for a comic he was doing. I had forgotten this but he reminded me of this when I called him many years later to ask him if he would do the drawings for the film. I loved his book "Corridor" and at the time he was India's first and only graphic novelist. We corresponded for a long time without physically meeting. I sent him earlier drafts of the script and he sent me back drawings of certain scenes that I added in this photo booklet I had made to accompany the script. Much later I met him when he came to town and introduced him to Imaad. He gave Imaad many tips and pointers. The drawings are a huge hit with all audiences who have seen the film. It helped that Sarnath is as whacky as I am!
And last but not least - Bickram...I'm not a person who is very musical, or who keeps up with music trends/releases. I enjoy listening - and that's it. My friend Aurobind Patel had loaded my I-pod with music and there was an album there that I loved - two tracks really evoked certain scenes in my script. The album was "Rhytmnscape", the tracks were "Rhythmn Speaks" and "Language of Innocence". From the cover art I couldn't tell whether the group was called "Rhythmscape", and how this person Bickram Ghosh fit into the picture. When we went to Kolkata for the premiere of "The Namesake" I resolved to track down this Mr Bickram Ghosh. In the plane opened the newspaper and there he was on Page 3. On the streets from the airport he was everywhere on hoardings advertising - I think it was dahi...and then we finally met. Since then we have worked closely together - he is an incredible person and musician. I really enjoyed being in Kolkata and watching with admiration as he and his musicians made the scenes from Little Zizou resonate with feeling with their music.

Me: Now that the almost everything is complete except for the frantic last-moment activities leading up to the release, how was the experience of directing your first film? Any plans on making another one soon?
Sooni Taraporevala: The experience was fantastic. A dream run. No traumas. No horror stories. Thanks to my wonderful cast and my top-of-the-line crew to whom I owe so much. Little Zizou was made with lots of love and laughter and it shows.
About the future - who knows? I have never planned anything. As I said before - I love the unpredictability of life.

Me: Thank you, Sooni, for your time and patience in answering the questions. Best of luck for "Little Zizou" and hope that it emulates the success of your other works. We all look forward to watching many more of your films in the years to come.
Sooni Taraporevala: Thank you so much Sujoy. Please spread the word and please try and see it on the opening weekend of March 13th as these days films seem to be judged primarily by their opening numbers!

The official premiere is on the 12th of March at the Nariman Point INOX in Mumbai. I will, however, have to wait till the next day to catch "Little Zizou" at the INOX here in Kolkata. And for those of you who missed the promos, here it is:

THE IDIOTS AT MTV INDIA

2009-03-01T10:58:00.004+05:30

Most people with any semblance of an active life usually stay away from MTV Roadies - the Indian version of MTV Road Rules ( though head-honcho Raghu Ram vehemently maintains that he "created" it). That the show is of, for and by people whose sorry little lives are pretty much limited to the confines of the show itself was brought to my notice recently. A friend of mine directed me to this page at www.mtvindia.com.
Here is the abysmal truth of the matter:

Assam is a CITY???!!!! Boys, get back to school or watch Lola GK on Channel V.

HOLIDAY REPORT

2009-02-27T21:27:00.005+05:30

So finally the loose ends are all tied up and I return to post again.

Spent thirteen glorious days without office during which time:

I met my elder brother after a year and half and his wife for the first time.
Our family got a brand new member
I was forced to part with my two month-old beard which had protected me from the winter cold and was just beginning to look threatening.
The pet rabbit at home gave birth for the sixteenth time.
Well-meaning relatives almost managed to coerce me into wearing a goddamn sherwani for the reception. I got back at them though by wearing a black shirt in protest against this blatant Bollywood-anization of Bengali culture.
I smoked a quite a few fags in the spare kitchen on the first floor. A cursory glance at the ash-filled sink would have raised quite a few eyebrows. But to my defense, I wasn't the only offender, brother was an equal accomplice.
I endured a lot of queries about my intentions of tying the knot, some in jest, some with utter seriousness. "Since you are seem so enamored by this marriage thing why don't you convert to Islam and get a second spouse and let me live in peace", I muttered under my breath. A couple of my friends got married last year and I can already see their pain. On the day of their weddings I could still smell the whiskey they drank on the farewell night at college. This surely is not the time to get married.
I realized that out of the 150-odd extended family members and relatives which I have, I recognise only about fifty of them. It was a sheer ~~SPARTA~~ madness trying to remember the names of an endless Parade of cousins, uncles, aunts grandmas and grandpas.
I had my trusty Zippo confiscated at the Silchar airport. All avenues of anger, persuasion and enticement were already explored when I luckily remembered that there was someone at the airport whom father knew well. I handed over the Zippo to him with a request to give it to father. It was embarassing, but atleast I didn't technically lose the Zippo.

Things were fine overall except for the time when a broken water pipe threatened to flood the wedding reception. But then incidents such as this is what makes you remember the day long after. This being a family gathering which I attended after quite a long time, there were some new things to notice not least of which was the sad realization that the days of the Great Indian Joint Family is truely numbered.

PS: I am not really supportive of sharing pictures on the Internet. Nevertheless here are a few old pictures of Dad's garden on the roof which I brought back.

SEE YA AFTER A SHORT BREAK

2009-02-04T22:56:00.002+05:30

Wedding in the family, brother is getting married.
Big, fat, Bong wedding, here I come.....

SEVEN THINGS I LEARNT THIS YEAR

2009-01-24T19:47:00.005+05:30

I know, it is quite early in the year to make lists. But it is amazing how even after "two score and a few years" of walking the earth, I had no idea about the facts in the list. So, here are the seven things I learnt this year:

1. Drinking alcohol can lead to gout.
Went to the doctor yesterday to get some treatment for the annoying pain in my big toe. One of his first questions was regarding my drinking habits. It was through him that I came to know of the relationship between alcohol and gout. And apparently, among all spirits, beer is the biggest culprit. Hmmm... do they have orthopaedists on call at the Oktober Fest. Oh! And it was a false alarm in my case, it is not gout.

2. Fresh eggs sink in water rotten eggs do not.
Yeah! I distinctly remember the incredibly foul smell all around the house. With a room freshener not available, I spent my deodorant spraying it around the kitchen.The landlord still eyes me suspiciously whenever he sees me coming home from the market.

3. To ensure that the fish does not disintegrate into pieces while frying, make sure that the oil is smoking hot.
If the oil is not hot enough, you might as well end up having scrambled fish for dinner.

4. The Daab-Chingri at Charnock City restaurant is simply superb, period.

5. My room-mate is colour-blind.
And the interesting thing is that he would have been blissfully unaware of it forever, had he not gone for a test. This is exactly the case with most colour-blind people, they almost never realize it themselves that they are colour-blind. Colour-blindness affects about 10% of the entire male population, though it is rare in females. You can find some tests here and here.

6. Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron and Dr. Strangelove are very similar in their central themes.
While Kundan Shah's Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron is a social satire Kubrick's Dr.Strangelove is a political one. So similar are they that it seems one inspired the other. When I first saw Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, my young mind categorized it as a comedy, and a good one at that. It took a recent viewing to understand it's true importance as one of the landmarks of Hindi cinema. Sadly, Shah has, since then, failed to match up to his own lofty standards.

7. Plain toothpaste foam is lethal for cockroaches.
Cockroaches (those unfortunate little things which some sadistic students enjoy dissecting at school) are one of the most resilient beings on earth. They are capable of surviving upto 30 minutes without air and for more than a month without food. But about 5ml of common toothpaste foam dropped on a cockroach's underbelly can kill it in less than a minute. At least, it killed the one I experimented on. Don't ask me how I performed the experiment. Suffice to say that the environment was not very much controlled. The toothpaste is of a reputed brand and claims to "fight ten teeth and gum problems". The fluoride content is a maximum of 1000ppm.
If it could kill the roach, wonder what it can do to our mouths over a period of time. On second thoughts, maybe it was the nicotine and alcohol from the previous night which may have killed the poor soul. Or it might also have died of a regular cardiac arrest. Who knows?

OF HOSPITALS, $100 TRILLION BANK NOTES AND EVENTS

2009-01-17T10:56:00.014+05:30

Chanakya, the master strategist that he was, formulated the golden rule of "Saam, Daam, Dand , Bhed". And it is the 'Dand' part which seems to be working for the SSKM hospital at Kolkata. Fed up with the ugly tobacco stains all over the hospital, the authorities decided that being polite would not do anymore. A more direct approach was required. Hence the new signboard which says, "Anyone entering this hospital premises with pan or pan masala will be beaten up." Now, that is about as effective as it gets. And just to drive the point home they put it up in three languages, Hindi, English and Bengali. Apparently the tactic has worked and the premises are much cleaner now. Read about it here. Just wondering whether they have employed anyone for dealing with the offenders. An Andrew Symonds would do fine. I am sure he would not charge a dollar for the job, it would be a pleasure for him.

Speaking of dollars, the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe has released a $100 trillion note in an effort to cope with the super-inflation that has ruined the country's economy. A loaf of bread in Zimbabwe now costs about 300 billion Zimbabwean dollars. The inflation rate is at an outrageous 231 million percent. The President Robert Mugabe has consistently blamed the British government for the sky rocketing inflation rates. Mugabe claims that the entire situation is a British plot to overthrow his hugely unpopular government. I can't even begin to imagine the kind of experience it would be to live in Zimbabwe right now. Every single person is a billionaire. Incredible tragi-comedy!!!

Meanwhile, life has been quite 'eventful' for me this week. First up was the Annual General Meeting of the IEEE, Calcutta section held at the Calcutta Club on Thursday. And I felt totally out of place there. I mean, here I was, a supposed Electronics & Telecommunication engineer whose last attempt at anything remotely related to his field was trying to set up an motorized billboard on the roof of the ASTC building at Guwahati, three years ago ... just for kicks. That the billboard worked for about an hour and half was not my fault. But I am digressing here. The meeting room was teeming with grizzled college professors. The kind of people whose idea of a nice evening is a stimulating discussion on image processing using quadratic Volterra filters. The atmosphere was generally quiet except for the commotion that arose when an inspired gentleman made some inappropriate comments regarding the auditors' report. Some suggestions were also proposed and seconded. There was this burly professor who suggested a reward system for scholars which was so overwhelmingly confusing that no one had any clue. Consequently the idea was rejected. Dinner was a drab Continental affair and to make it worse there were no drinks on offer. Not a very great way to spend an evening but at least the gift, presented at the end to everyone, was good.

Next was Infocom08-09. I had missed out on last year's Infocom. No doubt, I was pretty happy to get the sponsor's pass and a dinner invitation this time around (courtesy the sales team) . I was there yesterday, after office, along with my boss at the ITC, Sonar Bangla. It was quite fruitful. Managed to make some new contacts over a few cigarettes and drinks. Popular crooner Shaan and a certain June Mukherjee provided the entertainment. Though I would have preferred Orange Street, Motherjane or Low Majaw any day. Dinner was good, exceptionally so. But, by the end some of the tipsy guests were making a mess of themselves. I thought it would make better sense to head home before I too joined their ranks.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

2009-01-11T01:13:00.004+05:30

No, this not about Sofia Coppola's Academy winner. It is about this delightful little book I came across the other day - Lost in Translation: Misadventures in English Abroad by Charlie Croker.
Lost in Translation is a collection of notices found in hotels, airports, streets and shops all over the world. So, where is the delight in it? Well, the whole point about the book is that it contains some of the funniest examples of the kind of abuse that the English language goes through. Grammar, syntax, vocabulary- everything is thrown out the window as you read through the notices which range from the utterly hilarious to the deeply philosophical (in ways they were never supposed to be).
Though most of the howlers are from the Asian and other Non-English speaking countries there are examples from the UK and the US too (Surprising? Not really).
Here are some excerpts.

Instructions on a Korean flight:
Upon arrival at Kimpo and Kimahie Airport, please wear your clothes.

Thailand(offering donkey rides):
Would you like to ride on your own ass?

In a hotel lobby, Beijing, China:
Good appearance please no watermelon please.

Paris, France:
Please leave you values at the front desk.

Leh, India:
The Old Ladakh Guest House
(hospitalizing since 1974)

Rome, Italy:
Please dial 7 to retrieve your auto from the garbage.

Tokyo:
Guests are requested not to smoke or do other disgusting behaviours in bed.

Seoul, Korea:
If you wish you may open the window.
Do Not Open The Window.

Italy:
The hotel is renowned for its peace and solitude
In fact, crowds from all over the world
flock here to enjoy its solitude.

Acapulco, Mexico:
The manager has personally passed
all the water served here.

Saudi Arabia:
In case of fire, please read this.

and there are more...about 170 pages of them.
The book is a laugh-a-thon and at INR 150 is a real good bargain.
PS: The second volume is out too and I am already looking for it.

SLUMDOG MILLIONIARE

2009-01-04T22:40:00.008+05:30

This was what Elsa Dixler in the New York Times Book Review had to say about Vikas Swarup's Q&A when it was released:
"Swarup.....writes humorously and keeps surprises coming. When it is turned into the movie it wants to be, Q&A will be a delight."

Watching Slumdog Millionaire makes me believe that Elsa Dexter has mastered the exotic art of soothsaying. Based on Swarup's bestseller, 'Q&A', Slumdog Millionaire is definitely a delight, and much more. Though director, Danny 'Trainspotting' Boyle and scriptwriter Simon Beaufoy, deviate a lot from the original source, the final result is quite breathtaking.
Right at the first few frames when you see the noisy group of happy slum children playing cricket on the airstrip, you know you are in for a ride. The scene is slightly reminiscent of a similar one from the 'City of God', just that it is cricket here instead of football. Set in the dark underbelly of Mumbai (skilfully captured by Anthony Dod Mantle), the movie chronicles the young life of its main protagonist- the teenaged Jamal Malik- as he fulfills his destiny. Slumdog Millionaire, in case you don't know yet, is an eternally stirring rags-to-riches tale with dollops of humour and pathos thrown in. The movie plays out as a series of flashbacks while Jamal unerringly answers one question after another in the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionire. Jamal is an uneducated chaiwalla working for a call center and each of his answers are gleaned, not from any book, but from his own poignant life experiences. These episodes of his young life and the search for his lost love set against the backdrop of the game-show is what this stirring film is about.
Chaotic, heartwarming, sad and funny at times, Slumdog Millionare offers a brutally true picture of modern India and its inhabitants. Danny Boyle beautifully captures the essence of India through Jamal's life without going overboard, except for the part about the communal riots, which I believe was a bit too gory than necessary. Just as in life, destiny and coincidence play an important part in this movie, as emphasised by the intertwined fates of Jamal, his childhood love, Latika and his ambitious elder brother, Salim. Slumdog Millionaire takes its viewers on a journey- a journey that spans the entire gamut of human emotions and leaves you with the feeling that life is not about questions but about our shared destinies.
Dev Patel excels in his role as Jamal as he conveys the frustration and vulnerability of the young protagonist with effortless ease. Freida Pinto's looks manage to depict the lost innocence of Latika and her histrionics too do not disappoint. Anil Kapoor's Prem appears a bit over-the-top but is still commendable. And it is the supporting cast of Irrfan Khan as the police inspector, Saurabh Shukla as his sidekick and Madhur Mittal as Salim that steals the show. There is a nice cameo by Mahesh Manjrekar. Sometime VJ, Shruti Seth also appears in a blink-and-you-miss role as a call center instructor. But the ones who breathe life into the movie and are its best performers are the three child actors who play the young Latika, Salim and Jamal. In their effortless portrayals of street urchins they tug at just the right strings of your heart and make the first third of the movie utterly memorable.
A.R. Rahman's score is as always brilliant and adds to the narrative element. The first track 'O...Saya' which plays while a couple of pot-bellied policeman chase a horde of street urchins through the dingy slums of Mumbai sets the tone for the rest. There is also a Bollywood-style song-and-dance routine, the peppy 'Jai Ho', at the end by Rahman regular Sukhvinder Singh and others which Boyle put in as a mood lifter after two hours of raw emotions.
So much for now. Go watch the movie. What with the Oscar buzz around it, you can say later that you saw it before it won the Academy Award.

Update:
Slumdog Millionaire wins in all categories for which it was nominated.
Best Director - Danny Boyle
Best Screenplay - Simon Beaufoy
Best Motion Picture(Drama)
Best Original Score - A. R. Rahman.
Much happiness. I am wailing in joy!!!!

By the way, WTF was Shah Rukh 'I-am-so-gay' Khan doing there. He along with the Johars and Chopras were singularly responsible for promoting a skewed view of Indian cinema to the world. And like the shameless little showman that he is, he deemed it fit to appear there smiling like a moron.

Update 2:
Slumdog Millionaire wins eight in the 81st annual Academy Awards.

UPDATE

2008-12-15T23:27:00.002+05:30

Dear readers, I am really sorry.
It has been a long time since this blog has seen a new post and I am afraid that things will remain in a similar state until, at least, the first week of January. I am going through some seriously busy times which has even managed to limit my forays into the realms of alcohol, books and movies.

Though I sometimes suspect that the only people who follow this blog are social scientists trying to study the effects of bad writing on average human lifespan, I have reasons to believe otherwise.
And for all those who keep proving my suspicions wrong - Thank You.
Hope to be back soon. Meanwhile have a Merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year.

PS: Shantanu, I graciously accept the tag.

WHAT TO DO ON DREARY WEEKENDS

2008-11-09T18:36:00.006+05:30

Yesterday was turning out to be one of my most boring Saturdays, ever. And a bunch of Indians and Australians at Nagpur were making it worse. Yes! Yes! I know it was a well-planned strategy. But spare a though for the paying public. No wonder the stands were practically empty.
With nothing interesting happening on the pitch, I started scribbling and doodling randomly, which in case you did not know is a great time-killer. This is something which I picked up at college. With the kind of college I had been to, you had to do something to while away the time during lectures. What resulted were sketches of a female Silver Surfer, a few caricatures and a short poem. Maybe I will put up the sketches later. But here is the yet untitled poem, which my close friends can vouch, is..... forget it.

Remember that Saturday dawn, my friends?
Our final time together.
The waterside and black, rolling clouds.
Bleary-eyed and unsteady
From a long night of drunken bonhomie
We stood there in silence.
Souls at peace, strangely tranquil,
While the moment of a lifetime
Gently slipped away, forever,
Into the land of tangled memories.
Been ages today, since that Saturday.
Our dusty dreams between then and now
Scattered somewhere along the way.
Often now, when in my wanderings
Amidst regrets, aspirations and memories
I dwell upon that magical day,
A sad, delicate longing fills me within.
And voiceless whispers remind me
Of something beautiful which we lost
On that quiet Saturday dawn.

Hmmm! Morning spent, lunch dealt with, what else? Well, I have quite a few movies on my hard disk which I have not watched. So a nice afternoon movie it had to be. I decided on 'The Bank Job'. I had brought it from Piko. His recommendations are generally spot-on, except for the one time when he suggested the intolerable 'Walk Hard - The Dewy Cox Story'.
Except for some corny dialogues, The Bank Job is eminently watchable. And for conspiracy theorists and the like, it is the real deal. What with the MI5, the royal family and Michael X thrown into the plot, it is one glorious connect-the-threads story.
By the way, does anyone have the latest on Pamela Bordes(Singh).