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Consumption Junction

As is with most other bandwagons, I’m about 2 years late in jumping on the Brand My Day meme. I first found it on JaneSample’s blog (that is now unfortunately inactive) but I always nurtured the dream to be able to post one of these on my blog. It’s very enlightening, suddenly opening your eyes to your consumption pattern, letting you know EXACTLY where your money is going  and what’s going on you. Not to mention, it’s deliciously voyeuristic in a non-this is my bra color/I’m on a reality show way.

So you basically list all the brands that you came in contact with throughout the day on a typical day. This was one of my less typical, but frequent Saturdays and I’ve of course missed out a ton of stuff, that I don’t even know I’ve missed out.And of course I use a ton of stuff that doesn’t really have a brand, or a brand that doesn’t really have a logo. (I ate daal-chawal with bhindi (rice, lentils with okra) for lunch, made in an office, so I have absolutely no clue where that came from.)

Without much ado, I present to you:

CONSUMPTION JUNCTION

7:00 AM

7:30 AM
9:00 AM

9:30 AM

11:00 AM
1:30 PM

3:00 PM

7:00 PM

8:00 PM

8:30 PM

2:30 AM

Fun no? Now go get your own @ www.brandmyday.com

EDIT: Back to having problems with linking stuff in my posts. I’ve listed all links at then end of the post.

The Maharashtra (the state in which Mumbai is located) court recently announced that from now on, they would only hand out taxi permits to people who could speak, read and write Marathi fluently.

I’m yet to understand what the connection between being able to speak, read and write Marathi fluently and driving a taxi is. I have to admit, shamefacedly,that in spite of being in Mumbai for more than 15 years and having gone through 3 years of Marathi in school (that barely counts, the first words of my Marathi teacher Ms. Savadhi,as she entered the class were “Aditi ani company, varga-che baher ja“  (Aditi and company, please leave the class) my Marathi is strictly operational. However, in my entire life, wherever I have gone in Maharastra, be it Mumbai, Pune, Panchgani and even Belgaum, I have never felt uncomfortable, or lost because I didn’t know the language. Especially in a city like Mumbai that has people from almost every state in the country and different countries of the world pouring in, this seems like an unnecessary rule, that solves no problems but in fact may end up causing more than a few.

Speculation is that the Congress (the reigning party in Maharastra) has taken this step in order to appeal to the voter base of the Shiv Sena and MNS(Two parties that have taken the ‘Maharastra for Maharastrians’ moniker way above and beyond it’s practical application). The above rule very clearly prevent immigrants from entering the city. Congress has also seemingly forgotton that Mumbai’s immigrants are a huge part of thier current voter base, pissing them off might not be such a good idea.

In other news our resident Aurthur Road celebrity and 26/11 accused of the brutal and vicious attacks on Mumbai, Ajmal Kasab gave Shiv Sena and MNS serious boners after speaking to the court in Marathi recently. While our justice system plods on, Ajmal Kasab is keeping the crowds entertained. Seems like our boy has been doing his homework in jail. I foresee a huge career for him in reality T.V. (“Ajmal ki Talab“–Ajmal’s quest for a lawyer/bride. Either way I hope NDTV is listening becasue there’s money in this idea. Lot’s of it.)

Now the only thing that should be stopping Ajmal Kasab from getting himself a taxi permit is….oh wait, there’s nothing.So why not? The bloke knows his Marathi. That’s about 50% of the battle won right there.

Bhaisahab. Bhaad main chalenge? (Will you go to hell?)

  • Marathi compulsory for cabbies in Mumbai: http://www.hindustantimes.com/maharashtra/Marathi-must-for-Mumbai-cab-drivers/500019/H1-Article1-499775.aspx
  • Kasab tells judge he understands Marathi: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Kasab-tells-judge-he-understands-Marathi/articleshow/4609487.cms

Shit for Pat

In the wake of one of the worst natural disasters in history Pat Robertson, televangalist, founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network, 1988 US Presidential hopeful, host of the 700 Club (we even have ourselves an Indian version of the show ‘Ek Nayi Zindagi’ (a new life) on Star Plus),  and sociopath dropped the following pearls of wisdom:

“Something happened a long time ago in Haiti … they were under the heel of the French, uh, you know, Napoleon the third and whatever … and they got together and swore a pact to the devil, they said, we will serve you, if you get us free from the Prince. True story.”

He basically implied that Haiti deserved the earthquake because of their pact with the devil.

My Question is: Ummmmm….What?

Now on a somewhat related level–”True Story”. Really? Now unless you’re Miley Cyrus or some asshole in a frat house bragging about your threesome with Megan Fox and Jennifer Love Hewitt, no one who uses the words “True” and “Story” in rapid succession should be taken seriously.

Pat Robertson apart from the above descriptors was the guy who claimed in  James Randi’s ‘Faith Healers’ that some Protestant denominations of Christianity are home to the spirit of the Anti-Christ. He also, apparently prayed Hurricane Felix (1995) and Gloria (1985) away from the coasts of his home-state, Virginia and diverted them (with the power of his prayers of course) to New York, New England, parts of Canada and in the case of Hurricane Felix- the Caribbean, Nicaragua and Honduras  all areas,  which he obviously did not consider worth praying for. He is also the same wonderful man who claimed that feminism was “socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians,”according to a Washington Post. (I burned a bra, kissed a girl, stirred a cauldron AND I liked it.) He also observed very astutely in 1999 that Scotland was a “dark land”  (where) ” you can’t believe how strong the homosexuals are.” This also explains why, during my trip there I NEVER got hit on, or my ass pinched or hooted at, even once.

Just going on the basis of the above let’s just you and me make this crazy off hand assumption, and let the assumption be that..oh I don’t know…that he’s bat-shit insane.

So coming back to my original question: Ummmm….what?

Or to elaborate:

Why is it that the American media insists on harping on stupid quotes from crazies with a megaphone?

Huffington Post huffed and puffed till the house came down, reddit (a fantastic community of internet users that I’m addicted to), jumped on the band wagon , TPM-that had the only somewhat decent write up on it and even the Haitian Ambassador thought it was important enough to address in a recent episode of Rachel Maddow’s MSNBC platform. (The video is titled “Haitian ambassador shames Pat Robertson.” Pat Robertson knows what shame is? Amazing.).

My mother, purveyor of the finest cliches (“Tough times don’t last”, she’ll say mysteriously when I’m complaining about something, to which I promptly mumble “but tough people do”) does have a point when she tells me this.

“Nothing hurts more than the lack of acknowledgment.”

And it’s  true. Nothing hurts more than no acknowledgment from the party/person that you are directing your rant/annoyance towards. (I confess that I’ve used that tactic a whole lot, and I’ve had it used on me a whole lot more.)

So here’s my suggestion: IGNORE HIM. (Unfortunately WordPress does not allow for font size increases mid-post because I’m not averse to mid-post font size increases to obnoxious levels when it comes to putting out something like this.)

Just to recap, Pat Robertson is also the crazy old man who predicted on that world would be coming to an end in Oct/Nov 1982. He predicted in 2007, that there would be terror-style mass killings in USA. (When it didn’t happen, he attributed it to the power of  his prayers).

You can't miss it. It's on his forehead.

I’m so sorry, but a doomsday prediction puts you in crazy crack-ass-retard category. I know he’s doling it out, so what blows my mind, is the fact that were still listening.  If the media stopped giving attention to all the craaaazzzyy antics of the Glen Becks, Sarah Palins, and Pat Robertsons, they would wither away and die, because attention is what they thrive on (“The world is going to end in 1982…. naah….jk lol!”). And the more attention we give them, the more they’re encouraged to come up with crazier and crazier shit to fill up air time, boost ratings and piss us off. The media in turn, by making news stories out of them, ends up validating this nonsense. and it’s our fault as well, we’re pandering to this shit by tuning in, and very simply by acknowledging this moron. It’s embarrassing to have to be a part of the same race as those toady-looking folks from The O.C anyway, and then you add freaking Pat Robertson to the mix.

In the meantime stories like Citibank’s bid to remove all charges on any donations made to Haiti via credit card (this one too, just went up at 10:00 A.M today) and Google and Skype are offering free calls to anyone in Haiti are not getting the coverage they deserve.

And I do realize that, by simply making this post, I’m calling attention to where it does not deserve to be called. But I’ve made a pact with myself now, a media black out for Pat Robertson-any story that has his name on it, I’m going to ignore, any T.V show that makes reference to his name, I’m going to not watch. I’m done with turning my ear and giving my advertising dollar/rupee towards any moron on a soapbox.

Or as Jon Stewart put it so eloquently in his one sentence response to Pat Robertson’s remark –”Shut your pie hole old man.”

So this gem is making the rounds on facebook now.

“We are playing a game… silly, but fun! Write the colour of your bra as your status, just the colour, nothing else!! Copy this and pass it on to all girls/females … NO MEN!! This will be fun to see how it spreads, and we are leaving the men wondering why all females just have a colour as their status”

I inquired with a couple of people on facebook chat and I find out, that it’s for breast cancer awareness.

4 words. Just 4 words.

1. CHICKS

2. ARE

3. FUCKING

4. RETARDED

Now being a girl myself, I have taken offence to what I just said. But then I re-read that message and I understand why I said what I said, so I placate myself.

Do you care to find out that your sister/daughter is wearing “nothing *hee hee*” when she told you that she was  on a study date with the some guy up the street? I didn’t think so.

And It’s brought all the sluts/attentionwhores out of the wood works. People that I initially thought had a brain/thought in their heads were going out of their way to out slut/out attentionwhore each other. One writes “Wine Red.” Not to be outdone the other writes “Seafoam green” and then someone writes “Gold.”I mean for the love of God, are you sitting on on FB in the fucking 70’s in a Dive Bar? Gold. Who the fuck wears a gold bra and sits on facebook? Gold.  But you know what, it’s fucking chicks- we love seeming all mysterious and cool. Not only are you not telling the boys what the color is of, but when they find out they’re going to think back to your status that said “Gold” and go,”Oh! Gold. Didn’t know Helen wore gold bras. I’m just going to have to look at her differently from now onwards.”

(If you’re a girl, reading this and have an absurd color in your status,DO NOT DENY THIS. I know you.Psshhh)

How strange, she's not on facebook. Helen is that you?

I lost an aunt to breast cancer when I was very young, and today I despise cotton candy pink of the Susan G. Komen  for the  Cure Awareness campaign. (Let me say here, that my problem is not with the foundation itself. They do important work everyday- it’s the pink, the campaign designed around it that I abhor. Also, the facebook-color-of-my-bra-status-update has not been attributed to them.) I hate that idiotic pink ribbon and the sorority girls in bouncing pony tails and  Juicy Couture track suits who ask you if you’re like to contribute to the campaign all the while, deafeningly cracking gum and smoking Marlboro Menthols. I detest the fact that  it’s made into Goddamn pink ribbons and bra color facebook statuses when breast cancer ravages the body and mind of the person who suffers from it.  Because pink is not the color of the hours of chemotherapy, pink is not the color of a masectomies, pink is not the color of painkillers and a broken self-image. It’s not fair to throw a large can of pink paint and a few bras at the pain and suffering of millions of women all over the world and think it’s all right.

I’m being told by my brother that I’m being a sour-puss, that the campaign has been hugely successful in doing what it’s supposed to do- spread breast cancer awareness. But I still remain unmoved. The overtly-upbeat tone of the message is embarrassing and the sheer fact there’s…let’s see…NOT EVEN ONE mention of breast cancer in it lead me to this rant.  Mary Carmichael of Newsweek, however,  put it best when she said:

“What we need is not a context-free reminder of its existence, but a cure, as well as some scientific clarity about how best to prevent the disease. Does anyone think the Facebook meme contributes an iota to that?

I doubt it. Even the writer of the initial promotional e-mail (or writers; there are several versions) didn’t. It ends: “It will be fun to see how long it takes before the men will wonder why all the girls have a color on their status!” That’s what this is mostly about: not cancer, but flirting. “

So yes,  I’m  complaining about is the candy-floss, bubble gum, hey-mickey-you’re-so-fine, cheerleader perception of breast cancer that the world has thanks to our bra-color-updating-friends that still leaves us with no real solutions or tangible awareness.

Justin Pierce’s Wonderella put it so beautifully:

It’s a scientifically established fact that T.V is awesome.

But to be very honest, except for the spate of reality shows that I only watch because metaphorical train wrecks are  more watchable than actual train wrecks (A not-so-subtle nod to you Ms. Sawant!) there’s nothing that can keep me watching T.V for more than a 20 minute span without wanting to turn to the loving cyber-arms of reddit.com.

Yash Raj Films (Logo)

Yash Raj Films managed to single-handedly redefine Hindi films in India and the international markets for the past few decades, so when the ads for “Television turning red” from Jan 1st made the rounds in the newspapers I was excited. From the run-away hit Kabhi-Kabhi in 1976 to 2009’s smart and very likable Rocket Singh-Salesman of the year, they have done very little to disappoint (Let’s just pretend that Tashan and Bachna Ae Haseeno never happened).  As I mentioned, Indian T.V has long since hit a wall as far as being decently watchable is concerned. I mean, Bairi Piya, really? The lead actress, Supriya Kumari has this amazing range of expressions that span from this:

"Kya? pita-ji ki tabiyat kharab ho gayi? Nahin!"- Sadness and anguish

to this:

"Pitaji ki tabiyat bilkul theek hai, ab woh Superman say kahi guna zyaada swasth hai"- Excitement and Elation

So if YRF is doing T.V, I want to see. And as usual, YRF is going all out. The line-up includes:

The 2010 Yash raj T.V line-up.

1. Lift Kara De: A reality show that has some of India’s biggest film stars making dreams come true. Three episodes into watching it, I’m still unsure how that’s happening. The last episode I saw had three people making and selling juice? Their dream is to become juice sellers? I’m not so sure how this works, but I’m not giving up yet. I will provide an update as soon as I make some sense of it. (I also forgot that I’m hopelessly and madly in love with Sharukh Khan, he’s probably one of the smartest businessmen in our country right now and on-screen, even if he’s playing himself in every movie, I freaking love him. Starring: Sharukh Khan as Shah Rukh Khan. I’ll be there. He’s so Goddamn charming!)

2. Mahi-Way: I have not seen the show yet, but the promos are fantastic. Pustiie S, has paid her dues in bit parts in television for years now. Also,I’m a sucker for any “Ugly Betty” type show. Big girls need love too you know? I will be watching!

3. Powder: I have to admit, it’s not my type of show, but the promos are slick and from what I’ve heard, people are loving it.

4. Seven: Again, just not my type of show, seems a little bit like a “Heros” rip-off. But since I was quiet into “Heros” before shit just got out of control and my brain got fried every time I watched it, I’ll be on the look out.

This one, the one I just watched that has prompted me to write this post is

5. Rishta.com: I LOVE it. I’ve not felt this way about any Indian T.V show in a while. And even though I hate using cliches like “fresh, young and contemporary” I think I’m just going to have to. Starring Shruthi Seth (Isha) and Kavi Shastri (Rohan), the show is in true YRF style, smart, funny and well-written. It’s for the first time, I think, in Indian television that promotions have extended to the new media realm with characters facebook and twitter pages. (Rohan and Isha on FB and Rohan and Isha on Twitter) In the case of Kavi Shastri, it’s also fantastically acted. A London import, Kavi Shastri has just the timing and physicality for a show like Rishta.com. I’m going to refrain from mentioning his  very sexy skinny ties and those shirts that seem to be in love with the broad chest they’re around, that make him look delectable, but oh look! I just did. Shruthi Seth, was unfortunately disappointing. I loved her in Shararat as a kid, but she left me feeling thanda-er than I’d like to have felt with Rishta.com. Her scenes with Kavi Shastri are so much fun to watch but her personal track is kind of a downer with a colorless supporting cast.  I’m wary of the fact that this could quickly turn into an irritating Isha-Rohan love story that will deter from the interesting episodic storyline. Till then I promise, I’ll be watching.

Here’s hoping that T.V remains red for a long time to come.

It’s appalling how violent we as a society have become. In the US, Cops are tasering, (I will NOT say TAZING. It’s not even a word. Come to think of it, neither is tasering. Nice to know that even though my vocabulary is going down the drain at least it’s going the urban dictionary way) everyone from family dogs to diabetics and even 72-year old women.  We even got one of the most oft quoted lines of 2007 “Don’t Taze Me Bro” when university of Florida’s Andrew Meyer screamed in protest against campus policemen, thanks to this indiscriminate “tazing” that law enforcement officials have resorted to in the past few years.

Image Source: alaphia.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-we-need-police-reform-in-india.html

In India, on the other hand, we do things the old fashioned way. Police brutality, desi style is much of a lathi ( sticks) equipped, anger laced affair. So what if we don’t have tasers?

In simple cyclical style, the story of police brutality in our newspapers and public consciousness goes in and out.

Day 1: Cops beat up civilians/Someone “commits suicide” while in police custody

Day 2: It’s in the newspaper

Day 3: Someone writes an editorial on it

Day 4: (Optional) An outraged reader writes a letter to the editor that finds print.

Day 5: Cops beat up civilians/Someone “commits suicide” while in police custody

(Come to think of it, the above cycle could be used to describe anything in India. Heartening!)

So it’s barely a shock when one reads about the recent spate of violent attacks among the civilian population. We’re just taking a page out of the book that the police have been reading for years. Monkey-see, monkey-do.

I'm not talking about these guys.

In a recent incident at Malad, a mob lynched a man while he was caught stealing. After cornering him in a by-lane, they tied him to an iron gate and continued to beat him for the next 2 hours finally killing him. The residents of the colony that lynched the man in Malad said that the police didn’t bother to take any action when they complained so they decided to take justice into their own hands. Protesters against water-cuts, apart from getting killed, have taken to breaking into the offices of officials and beating the living hell out of them to the point that Bombay Municipal Corporation’s employees are asking for police protection. (This I find ironic and hilarious- The officials want protection from the people that are the inspiration behind this spate of public violence. There is so much beauty in the world, it blinds me.) A mob dragged a woman out of her house and paraded her naked after chopping off her hair becasue she allegedly had the keys to the tap that gave water for half an hour everyday for 50 houses. They also beat up her husband.

And who can blame the people? While our water is running out, and our homes are getting robbed the Mumbai police are apparently sitting pretty doing nothing with complaints, or busy exercising their lathi arms with yet another guy in the lock up. It’s seems, more and more that the Indian justice system seems to have given up on itself- imploded under the weight of babus, courrupt cops and a public angry enough to take the law it it’s hands and dispense justice in the most primitive way possible. Everywhere you turn, everyone is now brandishing their own type of justice.

Maara-Maari has ceased to be a cocktail juice on an Udipi restaurant menu for the folks in Mumbai and is now just another thing to do to keep our law and order.

New York Post says "FUCK IT" to actually working on a headline

EDIT EDIT SUPER AWESOME EDIT: I’m so glad that deep down inside I’m a metrosexual dude and therefore spend an obnoxious amount of time on Esquire.com becasue John Richardson just wrote THIS. “WHADDYA MEAN OBAMA HASN’T DONE ANYTHING?” (http://www.esquire.com/print-this/obama-timeline-110309)

I was one of the people feverishly wielding a debit card by my computer, donating to the Obama campaign when he was running against McCain in 2008. The thought of 4 more Republican years was not scary anymore. It was tiring and embarrassing.

“God is here, and he’s black” I thought to myself gleefully. Simply the thought of Sarah Palin scratching her head while she tried to finagle a spot on the podium to make a concession speech after the defeat of the Republican party that November night made me want to make a smoothie out of puppies, pixie dust and sunshine and drink it all down . The America he was going to inherit was, no doubt,  up shit creek with no paddle, and there he was, on the banks of the creek with not only a paddle, but a tall glass of lemonade and a sun umbrella!

And what a campaign he ran. Mobilizing a generation, going viral and Obama girl-ing all over the internet- he was a rockstar, a celebrity, but most importantly he was the voice of reason and hope. There were standing ovations and meeting halls reverberated with 6 syllables for months: “Yes-we-can” and “O-Ba-Ma.”

America, fed up of the mortgage prices, soaring credit, unemployment and the corruption disguised as “capitalism” and “freedom,” had been listening and had finally spoken.

And now, as Drew Western of commondreams.org points outSomehow the president has managed to turn a base of new and progressive voters he himself energized like no one else could in 2008 into the likely stay-at-home voters of 2010, souring an entire generation of young people to the political process.”


What happened? The “honeymoon period” is over, but is the relationship already on its way out? I, for one, am not in the mood to break up. I’m not ready to declare Mr. Western’s “Pretty Speeches, Compromised Values: Leadership, Obama style” as true. Not while, Obama’s toothbrush is still by my sink and the towel that smells like his soap is still hanging at the back of the bathroom door.

Western’s arguments against my sentiment are strong-

“(Obama’s three big issues are) a laissez faire style of leadership that appears weak and removed a failure to articulate and defend any coherent ideological position on virtually anything, and a widespread perception that he cares more about special interests like bank, credit card, oil and coal, and health and pharmaceutical companies than he does about the people they are shafting.”

His reproach to the Wall Street fat-fucks to “be nice” led to nothing and foreclosures are still more common than dust bunnies. The Health Care debate was a joke. In the greatest country in the world, grandma should not stand in front of a death panel, but God help us if our sickness and unemployment eat into Insurance giant’s profits. And credit card rates have, in some cases, quadrupled. No wonder we’re a jaded generation.

But Copenhagen was not his fault.

The simple fact that I’m wondering why I think Obama should still be trusted, is dangerous, and indicative of the fact that I might soon join the demoralized mass. But I’m biding my time in this relationship yet. The Guardian’s Mark Lynus’s brilliant article on the unbelievable events as they unfolded in Copenhagen might be one of the reasons. He describes Obama’s unfortunate position-

“Obama needed to be able to demonstrate to the Senate that he could deliver China in any global climate regulation framework, so conservative senators could not argue that US carbon cuts would further advantage Chinese industry. With midterm elections looming, Obama and his staff also knew that Copenhagen would be probably their only opportunity to go to climate change talks with a strong mandate.”

Something that blew my mind was this (Sorry for the long quote, it’s well written and shocking, so I just had to)

To those who would blame Obama and rich countries in general, know this: it was China’s representative who insisted that industrialised country targets, previously agreed as an 80% cut by 2050, be taken out of the deal. “Why can’t we even mention our own targets?” demanded a furious Angela Merkel. Australia’s prime minister, Kevin Rudd, was annoyed enough to bang his microphone. Brazil’s representative too pointed out the illogicality of China’s position. Why should rich countries not announce even this unilateral cut? The Chinese delegate said no, and I watched, aghast, as Merkel threw up her hands in despair and conceded the point. Now we know why – because China bet, correctly, that Obama would get the blame for the Copenhagen accord’s lack of ambition.

China, backed at times by India, then proceeded to take out all the numbers that mattered. A 2020 peaking year in global emissions, essential to restrain temperatures to 2C, was removed and replaced by woolly language suggesting that emissions should peak “as soon as possible”. The long-term target, of global 50% cuts by 2050, was also excised. No one else, perhaps with the exceptions of India and Saudi Arabia, wanted this to happen. I am certain that had the Chinese not been in the room, we would have left Copenhagen with a deal that had environmentalists popping champagne corks popping in every corner of the world.”

And lest it sound like I’m making excuses for Obama, I’m not. But Copenhagen was ruined by nothing else but filthy politics. Our new pollutant for the day ladies and gentleman-politics. And another loss for the Obama camp. And that’s where his problem lies- in a bid to keep everyone happy, Obama has made no one happy.

What the world needs now from Obama is plain and simple COJONES. It’s sad that America saw 8 years of cojones from Bush with a pittance of brains, and just the opposite from Obama.

Your nation is at war, your economy is ravaged- What are you going to do Mr. President? And can you do it soon, we have a relationship to save here?

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I saw “What’s Your Rashee?” last night, and save for the bazillion songs and very forgettable music, I really enjoyed it. The script was kind of funny and Gujrati theatre veteran Dilip Joshi is always a pleasure to watch.  Priyanka Chopra was surprisingly competent in her 12 avtaars and the art direction was quiet stylish (I really liked the opening credits). Harman Baweja was unfortunately uninspired. I actually like the guy. He’s not ugly, can totally dance and is definitely not the worst actor in the industry *cough* Arjun Rampal *cough.* I’m guessing that his uncanny resemblance to Hrithik Roshan might have something to do with it.  Literally every single time he came on screen Niharika turned up her nose in distaste and declared that he was copying Hrithik Roshan. Yes, I do agree that taking a picture of Hrithik Roshan to the plastic surgeon and saying “Uncle, I want to look like this” might not have been the best idea but you can’t hate someone for a bad plastic surgery decision when our Sanjay Dutts and Salman Khans have had enough work done to barely be recognizable as human beings anymore. What Baweja Jr. needs is some more acting training, and I think he might just have it I him.

Thank God I leave all my music decisions to Nick. My taste is kind of non existent and I don’t have the time or the inclination to spend time on lastfm.com to look for new stuff. I’ve never actively sought new music out. Till before I met Nick, I was still listening to Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer. I normally end up listening to the same song on loop for a month, and cannot stand the sound of it again. And somehow, at least for me, music becomes such an olfactory experience- just hearing the opening strains of a song instantly takes me back to the first time I heard it. Two summers ago, Nick’s family had invited me to spend the weekend at a beach front vacation house on Long Beach Island. The weather was a mix of nasty and fabulous, and Nick and I spent the entire weekend walking on the beach, going to rained out street fairs and visiting light houses.  “You are invited” by The Dismemberment plan was the soundtrack to that wonderful weekend, in that wonderful place, with that wonderful person.

I got it in the mail one morning

There was no return address

Just my name in gold leaf on the front

There was no time or location

There was really no info at all

No date, no time, no place, no RSVP

And it said

Chorus:

You are invited, by anyone to do anything

You are invited if you really want to go

You are invited, for all time

My knowledge of music, just like my taste, is kind of non-existent. I wouldn’t know what genre it would fall into, but the lyrics definitely are in the ‘rock my socks’ category. It makes me realize how much of our limitations are a product of our own internal censor. That club is too cool for you, that girl is way out of your league, your ass is way too big for that dress, and you’re definitely not smart enough for that job. But then imagine the simple idea of the invitation, of being invited by the universe at large, to go to that club, to ask out that girl who seems out of your league, to get your ass back in shape (or just wear that dress irrespective of the shape of your ass, and own it!) and to give that job a shot without prejudging yourself. It feels empowering and liberating.  I like being invited, by anyone to do anything, and be whoever the hell I want to be.

I will also confess to being a Beach Boys fan. “God only knows” gives me the warm fuzzies like a smoothie made out of teddy bears and sunshine, puppies and rainbows.

Back to listening to some more music me thinks.

I am normally gripped by the fancy to watch a movie once every month. This is crazy because I grew up watching first-day-first-shows of almost every Hindi movie ever made. It had translated in to being a long line outside Lowe’s theater on 31st and 2nd every Thursday night to watch the first-night-first-show of every Hollywood film that happened to be running there when I was in New York.  (I saw ‘All about Steve’, there, I said it) So the fact that I’m watching one movie a month now that I’m back in India, and that includes all my T.V time, is fucking insane.

Last month, I had the fortune of finding a 1:00 p.m. showing of Wake Up Sid that I enjoyed thoroughly and have been smitten/stalking Ranbir Kapoor since then. (Wait till I get my hands on you Ranbir!) The cinematography by veteran Anil Mehta was breath taking, lyrical and gentle. Bombay will never be the same to anyone who has watched the movie.

This month, I called Niharika, eager to watch Kurbaan. I don’t much care for Kareena Kapoor or Saif Ali Khan and the hype around their ‘on screen chemistry’ had already annoyed me to epic proportions, but reviews mentioned that there was an attempt at some sort of discourse on terrorism, I really wanted to see what Bollywood thought of terrorism. But Niharika saved me Rs. 80 and need for a barf bag at Saif Ali Khan’s and Kareena Kapoor’s ‘on screen chemistry’  (What? It’s like watching Skeletor and Jocelyn Weinstein make out.)

Discourse on terrorism aside, I bet you’d like to see the ‘on-screen chemistry’ between this:

I am Saif Ali Khan. Hear me roar.

and this:

Nahin, Bebo MAIN Bebo

I didn’t think so.

Now, you have to be living in the Himalayas, to miss out on the pre-release promotion for Paa. Amitabh Bacchan was organizing private shows for every body- from members of the Indian cricket team, to his driver’s children, there were the interviews with the characters from the film with the ad rag, Bombay Times- but it never reached the irritatingly feverish pitch that Kurbaan had, so when Niharika suggested Paa, I agreed.

A promotional poster for the film Paa

Good idea, me thinks, because the film was exceptional.  R. Balki of Cheeni Kum fame managed to make and write  one of the best movies I have seen in a long time.  From the performances to the cinematography everything was just right. Paa is the story of a young couple, Amol and Vidya’s untimely separation due to an unwanted pregnancy. Amol encourages Vidya to abort the child which she does not and raises it, Auro on her own. Auro and Amol meet by coincidence 13 years later when Amol is a successuful politician and MP and Vidya is a practicing gynecologist. Auro, suffers from Progeria, a disease that causes accelerated physical aging among infants. (So patients may only be 12-13 but their bodies look and work like that of a 70 or even an 80 year old). The fact that Amol does not know that Auro is his son forms the crux of the story.

And because no one has ever accused me of brevity, I’d like to go more into detail on my thoughts about Paa.

The Performances

Amitabh Bacchan: Starting off with the baap of the movie of course- Amitabh Bacchan. I have long maintained that Bacchan is not a “super star”. He’s an actor. I have a disdainful opinion of the word “super star”- It means nothing. Superstars need idiotic press coverage to stay in the limelight. For eg. “Preity Zinta moves bowls, plates feel left out.”Actors, on the other hand,  like Amitabh Bacchan can stand aside and let their work speak for themselves–because no amount of private screenings and character interviews will ever be able to do justice to his performance in the film. In Paa,  Amitabh Bacchan is at what I’m hoping is not the zenith of his acting career. Of course the make up and strong vision by the art direction team helped. Bacchan disappeared into the character of Auro. I would forgive his Lal Badshah’s and Boro Plus endorsements based solely on his performance in the film. I never understood what the hell the hype around him the superstar is, but I will be reverently bowing down my head to Amitabh Bacchan, the actor, every time I think of this performance.

Abhishek Bacchan: I have a love-hate relationship with Abhishek Bacchan, but no one has managed to remain constant in my heart more than he has. For every Dhoom and Dostana there’s a Yuva and a Paa. And in a movie with performances of the  bring-the-house-down variety from Amitabh Bacchan and Vidya Balan, Abhishek Bacchan has not received his due.  Junior B is back, in a big way. The scene in which he watches Auro sleep and breaks down is undoubtedly one of those moments when you are reminded of the fact that this man is the offspring of  two of the most prolific and popular actors in the short history of Hindi cinema.

Vidya Balan: She’s fucking gorgeous. Let’s just get that out of the way, because I’m constantly thinking about it, to the point that it distracts me from her performance. Her transition from the sultry and naive grad school student to the no-nonsense yet gentle and caring mother over the course of the film is natural, and the transition phase of a woman determined and resolute to keep a child that is not wanted is heart wrenching and beautiful. Vidya Balan bode her time with Kismat Konnections and Hey Babyys. I would love to see her do some Indie work (Even though the Indie film industry in India is regrettably small to the point of non-existence), so she can just keep churning out fantastic performances, one after another.

The Script

I have to admit that the salty-sweet Cheeni Kum did not leave much of an impression on me. I will be going back to watch it and might even post about it. The true hero of the film, Paa of course was R. Balki. His generous yet measured approach to the script and film left me satisfied and yet greedy for more in true “pet bhar gaya magar niyat nahin bhari” style. The universe of Paa is simply beautiful and poetic. It is a world where there are no mean kids making fun of the protagonist for being different and no one stands at the roadside to gape at anyone. I have to admit, that I was prepared to see a couple of scenes, at least, where Auro gets teased for being different by a bunch of cruel, taunting kids. I’m glad the preparation was in vain. All the issues of different-ness are dealt with and out of the way allowing the focus to remain on the cultivation of a relationship and its conclusion. On every level, just like the title suggested, the story was about a father-son relationship. The fact that the child was sick, was happenstance and did not take away from the film but added beautifully. Thematically tight, relentless and yet surprisingly gentle, Paa is a late night ride in a dark forest, a walk on the beach by the rising sun,  and a view of the stars as you sit on the roof when the power in your house goes out. I will of course, as you might have inferred, be watching the film again, but I did notice some themes featuring more prominently than the others- of time, of expectations and most beautifully portrayed, what it means to be human and what, on the most biological level is the reason for our existence.

Time

Time could almost have been a protagonist of the film. From the first meeting of Vidya(Vidya Balan) and Amol (Abhishek Bacchan) under a large clock (I’ve been unable to place where that is though I spend a bit of time on the Oxford University Campus. Yikes!) to the scene in which they go ’round round’ when both their  watch adorned wrists come together as if almost adding up the time they both wish they had with their dying son, making it more. The youngerAmol and Vidya ended up going different ways because careers had to be made, lessons had to be learned, there was no room for a baby in their relationship, the timing was just not right.  Even the nature of the disease that Auro suffers from is about the warp between time and a human body.
Expectations

Weather it be from politicians who are expected to be pure and therefore wear only white or Mr. Arte’s (Paresh Rawal) expectations of Amol, his son or even a woman, who cannot be unmarried and pregnant, expectations weigh heavily on the protagonists. I found myself re-thinking my own expectations and perceptions of a lot of things after this movie.

Man, as an animal

I was reminded after watching Paa, of the most basic reasons for our existence, on the purest, most biological level. Cutting through all our desires of self actualization and the cloak of expectations, standards and pressures, we are animals. We were born to procreate, to produce more of our kind, that is our purpose. Our ancestors realized this when they write “Be Fruitful and multiply” or why most Hindi T.V serials, when a married couple enters, the resident old character/person normally says something along the lines of  “Phallo Phullo.” The scene where Vidya, quietly points out to a patient who is too busy to have a child  and yet is suffering from some sort of a problem gynecological in nature, that her body is giving her the signs that it’s time for her to have a baby is indicative of this theme. A man and a woman’s body goes through the changes it does, because we are meant to phallo phullo. The scene between Amol Arte and his father at the hospital when he finds out that Auro is his son is heart wrenching and eye-opening.

(This is not verbatim, but as I remember it and it’s in English. It’s still freaking awesome though)

Mr. Arte: (To Amol) The media has gone crazy over the fact that you have this illegitimate child. They want to ruin your career. What you must do is tell them that it’s all a lie and that you were just feeling pity for this dying child which is why you stayed by his bedside all night.
Amol: Why are you saying this Dad?
Mr. Arte: Becasue you’re my son, and I love you and if anything comes in the way of you and your wishes then I want to stomp it out.
Amol: Auro too is my son, and I love him and if anything comes in the way of him and his wishes, I too want to stomp it out.
And it’s as simple as that, the need to protect your offspring, the simplest, most rudimentary biological impulse.  It’s just that, man, being what he truely is, an animal.

I’m going to try and convince my mom to watch the movie with me, even though I’m quiet sure she won’t be interested. Or will be making phone calls through the film.(She’s one of those)

There’s a whole political subplot that I’ve not made any mention of and I hear that the movie, when submitted to film festivals across the globe will be cut. I don’t mind that though, Paa in it’s most basic, visceral form, is still  a beautiful film.

Simply because this made me LOL, and becasue I'm three years old. I heart photoshop.

Post November blues

November has been, pretty much the most eventful year of 2009 so far. Well, there were other eventful months to be honest, but none of them that I would think of as eventful in a good way.

The play that I had been working on I am an Emotional Creature with Mahabanoo and Kaizaad Mody Kotwal (Poor Box Productions) which was written by Eve Ensler premiered at TATA theatre at NCPA Mumbai. We also did a few shows in Bangalore, my first visit to the city and then Nicholas came to India for the first time in his life. I did some stand up at Blue Frog through Weirdass Comedy’s HAMATEUR night.

Now I’m back to mornings of watching the dog getting his hair clipped and standing around making faces to agitate him while he is given a bath.

Eve Ensler is hugely popular in India. Her Vagina Monologues took  the nation by storm. Also produced by Poor Box Productions and the indomitable Mahabanoo Mody Kotwal, it has played in almost every major metropolis in India. It has inflamed politicians, infuriated censors and is still playing to packed houses almost everywhere.  So Eve’s next script I am an Emotional creature came with high expectations attached to it.

We were selected after a two-week long workshop process, and we finally became a cast of 10 who I think did a damn good job. It felt good to act with people who are in a good place in their careers because it makes me feel that I too will be all right, and out there in this  world, there is a spot for me too. The reception to the play was also pretty good. Bangalore audiences, I found out are more attuned to drama. People were bawling at the end of most of the monologues. I am an Emotional Creature, much like Vagina Monologues, is a series of monologues, told from the point of view of different girls from all around the world. What the play aimed to highlight was the fact that being a girl, is a universal experience, and no matter what the situation or dilemma, girls are a resilient albeit emotional lot.

I have to admit, I was not a fan of the Vagina Monologues. Entirely too much vagina in it if you ask me. I mean, we don’t have men walking around talking about the smells and taste of the penis poetically, even in Mills and Boons it was always known as something like the ‘member’ or at best his ‘manhood’

{Member (noun)

Meaning: Penis

Usage: Mick Jagger tried to enlarge his member by letting bees sting it/ His throbbing member responded to her heaving bosom and inviting eyes.

Manhood (noun)

Meaning: Also, Penis, maybe a nicer way of saying Penis than say, I don’t know…member

Usage: The light of the candle shone on her heaving bosom, and his manhood sprang to attention}

[EDIT: Does it seem like I've used the words "heaving bosom" too much in this post already? You're right, I have]

For men it never got as nice as  “love mound” or “honey pot.”

Everyone was very upset when one day in a skirt, on a swing, Oprah gleefully yelled “My vajajay is showing.” Why ,they ask, did she not say “My vagina is showing”? For the same reason that we don’t expect men to say, “My penis is so itchy”, before scratching their balls in public.

I am an emotional creature though is nothing like Vagina Monologues, had a lot of people imagining it to be a follow-up, which it was not. One of my favorite monologues was “The Thing about my Nose” performed by Gunjan Bakshi, about a 16-year-old in Iraq who is forced to get plastic surgery on her big nose by her parents because they think that “(she) will be a princess now.” But she loved her large nose, it gave her “history and mystery. It inspired (her) with wicked ideas.” My favorite performance, undoubtedly was Dilnaz Irani’s “Hunger Blog.” The text is sort of sparse, but Dilnaz created a whole character and story out of it. After having seen her explore every facet of the text and character very diligently during rehearsal, it was very satisfying to see her find herself on stage as an actor. (I was backstage during the Bombay performance, so I didn’t know how it went on the day of the show.)  The reviews were varied with Pragya Tiwari of HT Cafe bashing it for all it’s worth ( It’s not online unfortunately), iDiva being much, much kinder.

As the cast of the play, we had the fortune of meeting Eve Ensler, who came down and watched all of our performances. And her public image is EXACTLY the same as her personal one. The warmth she exudes is exceptional, the way she speaks is riveting, and her experiences and work have set her apart from the rest of the world in unimaginable ways. I remember sitting across the table from her at her hotel in Bangalore and knowing that I was in the presence of someone who had taken what she had done exceptional things, and will continue to do so. I was a little bit in awe.

In the process of course, I ended up making friends with 9 other wonderful girls, one wonderfully chocolate faced assistant director, and a mother-son duo, who share the kind of relationship that Rohinton Mistry’s character’s so plaintively long for.

Nick’s visit to India was amazing. I had an itinerary for every hour of our trip, one that was thrown out of the window almost as soon as he got here. There was too much hanging out in front of the T.V, over a beer and at a movie to be done with him, that I had rashly neglected to include in the itinerary. In his two weeks here however, we did manage to spend 5 days in Goa, 3 in Panchgani, go to an Indian wedding, get mehendi tattos (his, of a naked mermaid who has one arm draped carelessly across one boob, on his right arm, has given him the rash of a lifetime. Yes, I forced him to get it, yes I feel guilty) and rediscover each other. And of course my funny-yet politically correct-honey kept most of his observations about India to himself except “You guys are basically on the look out for a reason to start dancing all the time, right?” I had to respond with a guilty “Yes” before running off to dance to “chunari, chunari” in the middle of Pooja’s living room where everyone else had already been dancing for the past hour or so.

I am glad he came because I was reminded of how wonderful, kind, caring, gentle, patient and funny he is. This may will sound super corny, but even after years, I cannot believe my luck when it comes to having him in my life.

HAMATEUR night at Blue Frog was fun.  First off, kudos to Vir Das for being generous enough to give a platform to so many young people. Second off, he is a man after my heart because no one I know has managed to create such awesome puns from his own name in the history of awesomeness.

Vir Das’s show is: Walking on broken DAS

Vir Das’s comedy troupe is: Weird Ass (Say it quickly and it’s Veer-er-dass)

I like it. Keep it coming guys.

Of course, Mumbai audiences are more attuned to humor. Make me laugh or get off the fucking stage really. And as anticipated, poop/fat/facebook/Gujju jokes rule the roost. It’s all right though, in Mr. Das’s own words ” Nothing like a good song about STD’s.” We will grow as an audience I hope. We will. Sourabh Pant, another member of the troupe was also up there adding to the whole awesomeness of the night. He was there if any of the HAMATEURS wanted to run the material by him and his feedback was thoughtful, intelligent and helpful. It didn’t hurt that he was cute in a “who-me-?-oh-I’m-just-this-damn-nice-all-the-time-anyway” kind of way.

I’m looking forward to December, the end of 2009 is going to be great. I’m ready for things to start going very,very well.

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