Friday, February 06, 2009

"Bride Wars" - a war on your senses

Why not to watch it:
- It's mind-numbing (it's really not funny to watch two actresses of such high calibre get into a screeching craze-fest about who gets to wed at The Plaza...sorry bout the spoiler)...
- It's regressive (Kate Hudson, what were you thinking to come up with this movie for your debut as a big-screen film producer? It shows women to be obsessive dimwits who can turn crazy-manipulative over extremely stupid so-called wedding dilemas)
- It's so low on logic, it's embarrassing...its movies like this that perpetuate the myth of female craziness accompanying weddings...it talks about the apparent modern phenomenon of "bridezillas" and takes it to a whole new cringe-worthy level...

Why you can watch it (said with extreme caution):
- two great-looking ladies (Anne Hathaway and Kate H)
- well, that's it.

What is it about modern chick-flicks and chick-lit that forgive and even seem to idolise silly, obssessive, manipulative heroines?? Where are the leading ladies who can manage to get their own without being bitch-manipulative for a change? I miss them...Julia Roberts in My Best Friend's Wedding makes me want to shake her out of her flagrant disregard for her "best friends'" choices...the heroine of the Shoppaholic books is both sweet and funny but at the end of the day, she's a chronic money-guzzling machine that can only be maintained by marrying a super-rich guy...Wither "work-hard-and-make-your-own-life" girl power?

Saturday, December 13, 2008

What I've discovered in these final few days before my wedding is...

that everyone loves a bride:
- my mom has never been sweeter...gone are the "you don't do anything around the house" lectures...gone also are the "you wake up so late and take a bath even later -- ergo, you are not a 'brahmin' girl at all" lectures...

- friends are sweeter too...you can wilfully make someone get out of office on a busy day so they can help you decide on your wedding reception outfit and not be given grief for it later...

- aunts and uncles will call up and volunteer help, even the ones you haven't really spent a lot of time with, recently...you of course then mentally decide that you will be a better niece in the future...

- you can shop till you drop and not be made to feel guilty (that's of course the best part)! you of course have to be strong enough to ignore the saner voices around you who very sweetly explain what moderation means ;)

sigh...my only regret is that all the outpouring of love and tlc will normalise once the wedding is done...and even worse, i'll actually be expected to behave like a full-fledged adult finally ;)

anyway, these days i can barely keep myself from smiling all through the day in what i guess must be a very irritating way...the more practical/experienced voices around me assure me that i'll land back on earth with a terrific thud after marriage and will promptly do away with the rose-tinted glasses once the boyfriend/fiance becomes a husband...i know they're right (the thousand odd married women saying this can't be wrong!)...but for now, i finally know what bliss is :D

Friday, October 17, 2008

Pay it forward - The new twist in the tale

Being sarcastic doesn't come to me naturally. I usually stagger after taking a hit, and try to make a come-back after a couple of seconds, if at all. So, the new year resolution from now on, and for the coming new year, will be to focus on "paying it forward", so to say...

Situation 1 (that recently happened to me):
Nasty boss: (on seeing me in office again, a day after my "official" last day at work): Oh, you're back (said with nasty/patronising overtones...)

Moi: (deflated, but trying to rally around desperately): Ya, I'm back with a bang!!! (how lame can one get :( )

So, I was wondering, what would have been a good response here? Let's take a few re-takes:
Nasty boss: Oh you're back!
Moi: Yes, it's really me! Believe! (has to be said with just the right air of patronization, else one may sound like a lunatic.)

Nasty boss: Oh you're back!
Moi: I'm not glad to see you too. But hey, we don't always get what we like. Deal with it. (this one could do with some subtlety, and can only be carried off if one is reallllly pissed off.)

Situation 2 (since it's not too great for my ego to try and remember my past slights, I'm going to use a situation that happened to someone else I know...):
Friend: (confronting another female who she knows has been talking about her nastily, behind her back): Have you girls been talking about me?
Bitchy no-gooder: No, the subject is not interesting enough. (Ouchh!)

Now, I know Friend's question was a classic invitation for sarcasm. What the heck, though -- she may have dug her own grave, but should at least be able to get out of it. What could Friend have said? Let's see:
Friend: Have you girls been talking about me?
Bitchy no-gooder: No, the subject is not interesting enough.
Friend: Guess it's less interesting than your routine subject of who's upper lip is less hairy.

Friend: Have you girls been talking about me?
Bitchy no-gooder: No, the subject is not interesting enough.
Friend: It reflects very well on me if dumb coots like you don't find me interesting (well, may not be the wittiest response, but some response is better than none, huh?).

Any interesting suggestions? Do give your two cents and help the world of the sarcasm-challenged :P

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Picture Perfect

Hunted for the "lost" bag of photographs at home, the bag that contained all my childhood snaps, school, apartment ones...Finally, after looking into every nook and cranny, found the treasure...

There are snaps of every hue. Some of these I could gladly tear up, just so I don't have to see myself looking like a clown waking up from sleep with the mask on. One, in particular, is where I have held out my hair on both sides of my head, in an attempt to be funny. It worked. You can be sure I'll NEVER try that again.

Then there are hordes of snaps of my sister in a variety of camera angles. There was a time when she was a teen and so obssessed about her looks 24/7. I was the ever-interested, curious pre-teen who thought dressing up for photo shoots at home was the pinnacle of cool. So, now we have over two dozen snaps of sis, smiling her charming smile (yeah, she practised in front of the mirror for hours), in poses that we then thought were very cool. Now, they seem horribly corny but very very cute too.

There are assorted pictures of birthday parties, outings, annual days. There is one, where I am dressed in a pink shirt and red pants, all of 12 years, dancing on the stage with a girl in a yellow frock. We are dancing to the song "Khambe jaise khadi hai". I am Aamir Khan, my friend is Madhuri. Ya, I was a funny kid.

I wish there were more school snaps. I have some class photos. Isn't it incredible how goofy most of looked in our childhood? In most snaps, we kids are laughing giddily, with lips pressed together, an attempt to suppress the natural laughter that all kids strangely feel when a photographer says "Smile please".

Welllll, am I glad I hunted out the treasure. My next step is to scan all these pics, so even if some hard copies get torn or lost, the images will still be there. This is going to take time, coz my computer at home is not fitted with a scanner. I've already scanned afew, rest will happen in phases. Here's to that!

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

I Heart Suketu Mehta...

Ya, I've developed a MAJOR crush on the guy...His book "Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found" is supposed to be non-fiction, but it has all the beauty, sensitivity, and lucidity of a fictional account...I don't agree with some of his views, but there's no denying the man's awesome talent with words...his book and his words are pure Art...I think I fancy him as much as I fancy Shahrukh Khan...a review of the book is next on my list...

Friday, February 02, 2007

Guile and Chutzpah at the Marathon

Some of us (yes, me too, on rare occasions) beat a hasty retreat after doing something cheeky, hoping no one will notice. Like when someone jumps a queue and then slinks away hurriedly, determinedly ignoring the heckling cries from those behind him/her. But some brazen it out. Like my sister’s boss.

Just recently, the man took a bit of a chance and then showed unabashed chutzpah and ingenuity. The case goes that this seemingly staid man, who I shall call Mr. A, had participated with the rest of his staff in the Mumbai Marathon held recently. On the said day, the man decided to walk it out instead of run. Which is perfectly okay. Not all of us have the need for speed. But after a few kilometers, some of the more athletic members of the staff, who were running, were surprised to see this man actually ahead of them!

The mystery was uncovered after the marathon: At one point, participants had to take a U-turn to return to the starting point. Most runners studiously went around the bend. That’s when one of them saw Mr. A quickly walk across the road divider, neatly skipping the whole effort and time of going around it!

But wait, the monkey of the story is yet to come. After taking the short-cut so smartly, what did Mr. A do? Did he guiltily walk on as fast as he could, hoping to evade notice?? Did he look here and there sheepishly, or smile nervously at his sleight of hand, er, foot?? Oh no! The man was cool. Super cool. He stopped at the side of the road and did some light “warming up” style exercises, in the manner of someone dead tired of running. As my sister narrated his antics in disbelief, I couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s clever/childish audacity. Looked to me like he was wasting his time at the firm. He’d have made a fantastic politician!

Thursday, January 25, 2007

My History of Histrionics and the Puzzle over Pink

Was chatting with my Granny today. Noticed (not for the first time) how dramatically she talks. As she narrated what her distressed sister (who is around 70) said on the phone, she dropped her voice to sound like someone close to tears. Then, as she told me her response to her sister, her voice picked up in strength. I couldn’t help thinking she would have made a fabulous actress, or at least a fabulous voice-over artist. She has an artist’s soul (she is a Fine Arts grad), not to mention, a penchant for histrionics, although she never uses it in a bad way.

We all have a bit of the drama king/queen in us. Some of us more so. I, for one, am usually quiet. But when I talk, I talk very animatedly. And if it's a subject close to my heart, I get transformed into a lump of energy, gesticulating wildly with a near-crazed, animated look :D Now I know where that comes from!

Anyway, in other news, my friend called me a “pink person” some days back, while describing me to someone. They were talking about my visiting card, which is still work-in-progress, and which has a dash of pink in it. Since then, I’ve wondered what constitutes a “pink person”.

The media would have us believe that pink represents all that’s candy-floss and "Barbie-dollish". So, my question is: does pink only stand for vacuous "bimbo-ism" and not sensible feminity? Does it mean that if you love pink, you’re someone who will draw the ire of hard-core feminists??

Be that as it may, I love pink.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Musing

Have there been times in your life where you’ve badly wished there were someone to guide you? There have been some such times for me, times when I’ve felt totally lost and badly wanted advice. What do I do in such cases? Do I talk about it to family or close friends? Sometimes. But even with them, there are some things that you just can’t talk about. Some things where it is actually more aggravating to try and talk about it…so what do I do then?? Well, I plod on, hoping I’m doing things the right way…And if I make mistakes, well then, there’s no way I could have known that before-hand, is there??

One thing I’m learning is that you are only answerable to yourself…Coz people will not always understand your unique situation the way you do. And they will not always give you the right advice. So, do what you must do, and don’t pay too much attention to those who don’t approve. If they care, they’ll understand. If they don’t, they can take a walk.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

An Irony and a Paradox

Was reading an article on Rediff.com about how to avoid spam in your inbox. At the end of the article, there were comments by readers. Ironically, ALL comments on that page were complaints addressed to Rediff to clean up their ISP act! Readers cited instances where Rediff sent multiple spam mails to users on a single day and also the irritating pop-ups that are a given every time you log on to this otherwise wonderful portal. Couldn't help but smile at the irony. Rediff, of all portals, decides to educate us about spammers (the article does have some good tips, check it out here) and yet this portal is the one with MULTIPLE spam pop-up ads. (I'm a Virgo. I like having minimum possible windows open at any given time!)

Moving on to a curious paradox. The other day, I happened to say "Never say never" to a friend who was insisting that a certain thing would never happen. Though she was pacified after some more pithy words from me, since then I've had long internal debates in my mind as to how a phrase as pithy and nice as "Never say never" is actually paradoxical. I mean, to someone who says "Never say never" the clear retort would be "But you just did!" So, I've now come to the conclusion that this lovely phrase is actually flawed. Hrrmpph. The correct way to say it would be "ALMOST never say never!" or "be careful not to say never" or something just as silly and boring, but more, uh, correct.

Paradoxes and ironies sure spice up life!

Friday, January 12, 2007

Short Story: About a Girl

She sat on the steps, one hand supporting her chin. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. What she did know was that Dashrath, her brother, wasn’t coming. Yet she sat there waiting for him. D was her life, her big brother, father, friend. Their parents were dead. The two of them stayed with their uncle and aunt. Their uncle provided for them in every material way, a fact Dash always pointed out to her when she started complaining about the indifferent behaviour meted out to them otherwise. Like today. Today was her birthday. Had it not been for Dash, nobody would have known.

So where was he now, she wondered, but not very much. If he didn’t turn up in the next few minutes, she’d know what had happened. He must be dead. They all left you, one way or the other. Her mother had died when she was seven. Her Dad became a lost soul after that and died a year later. Since then she had been preparing herself for the worst – the death of her brother, her only living family member. No death would ever catch her unawares again. She’d be prepared for the worst. And so she came to dread each day. Said good-bye to her brother with a heavy heart when he dropped her to her school on his bike. Told herself not to expect to see that warm smile again. She was too young to wonder if this wasn't a strange way to live. It was the safe way was all she knew.

The trilling of a bicycle gave her hope. She craned her neck and saw Dash hurtling at full speed towards where she was sitting. She gulped when he came to a standstill near the steps. He took one look at her screwed-up face and grinned, “Not again! Don’t tell me you thought I had gone and got myself bumped off, you little doomsdayer!” She looked at him and suddenly smiled. She couldn’t help it. Her brother knew her well. They went on their way to their apartment.

They are busy talking. Have they noticed the bus coming their way in full speed? God knows. One hopes they have.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

They never say “Bye”!

Why is it that people shown talking on the phone in Hindi/English films, always end their conversations abruptly? They NEVER have a proper “signing off”…most of the times, they don’t even have a one-word “Bye” kinda signing off…On the other hand, here is how my phone conversations with my friends end…in ascending order of warmth/friendliness…

Least warm, but friendly convos:
Moi: All right then, Bye
Friend: Bye

Warm convos:
Friend: All right then, bye
Me: Ya, buh-bye. Take care
Friend: You too…talk to you soon/See you…
Me: Yep. Bye. Take care (again)/See you
Friend: Have a good day…
Me: U too! Take care…

Super-warm convos:
Friend/Me: All right then, you get back to your work…I’ll get back too…
Me: Yep
Friend: take care
Me: u too
Friend: Talk to you soon/See you
Me: Talk to you soon/See you
Friend: Hope you have a good day…
Me: U too! Take care…
Friend: Good night!/bye
Me: Good night!/bye

Wow! Am I the only one or do screenplay writers need to catch up with "real life" phone farewells??

Monday, December 25, 2006

Bombay: The City of Dreams in a Sea of Apathy

Recently, a former classmate met with a road accident. When some of us went to visit him in the hospital, his sister lamented that no one had come forward to help her grievously-injured brother...This didn't surprise us at all. After all, we've all heard this before. People die/fall/get raped and few come to help...So, how come our people come out in droves to help out if there is a flood, or if there are blasts, but completely ignore the isolated individual deep in trouble? How come there are tales of extreme heroism from these same people in the time of wide-spread chaos, but when it comes to ONE individual needing help, he/she is generally ignored?

Get this, I've always felt a deep pride in our city, a city that lets people achieve all their dreams. You want to become rich? Want to become famous? Want to start a new life? Don't want people meddling in your life? Want to forget things and start afresh? Bombay is the sure-shot, guaranteed solution for the above-mentioned issues.

Our city is known the world over for its professionalism. But I think this one quality that helps us do our business so impressively is also the trait that causes us to hurry about to our work when someone clearly needs our help. I mean, how can you think of helping a person on the street when it could mean getting late for office where tons of work and a cranky boss are waiting for you. Naah, we all have too many better things to do instead of trying to save the poor sod on the street who, who knows, may even be a mafia guy, God forbid! Sometimes, I feel bad that the very pace that is contributing to the growth of the country is also responsible for us turning into apathetic insensitive unthinking souls.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Scarlett and the Horse Whisperer

Managed to catch a part of The Horse Whisperer when it was showing on TV (was it on Zee-Studio?? HBO?? don't remember!) the other day...although I couldn't catch the whole film, I still feel compelled to write about it...Scarlett Johansson plays a very young girl crippled in a horse riding accident. Her performance was moving, amazing, beautiful...I could keep going...because while watching her get angry one minute and cry the next, you feel as if you really are watching a girl facing the prospect of living her whole adult (and teenage) life as a cripple.

But the film is not just about her...it's about her horse, which is as badly affected by the accident as she is. It's about her mother and father, who are not sure if they are going to last as a couple...and it's about the brilliant but human horse whisperer...I liked the story of the film (later researched about the film on the net, haven't read the book), the way it manages to tie in so many plots in one single track...lots of emo and lots of courage...my kinda film!

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Workaholics Anonymous

The other day, my friends and I happened to talk in passing about the brother of one of my friends. This guy is a complete workaholic and works on saturdays and sundays too. One friend said it was very presumptuous of this man to think that his company couldn't survive without him, that his company was totally dependant on him. She didn't say this cattily at all, coz all of us respect this man. But I have myself been at the receiving end of comments like these from catty colleagues. And I think people who pass such remarks completely miss the point.

I was a workaholic. Currently though, I believe that I still work hard but also spend time on leisure with people who matter to me. But I do remember the time when I gave work all my time and energy. And it simply was NOT because of the notion that my company could not survive without me. It was because some of us really do find a lot of fulfilment in work...so much so that we sometimes neglect other things in life, which is wrong of course. But that's hardly because of the egotism some people would attribute to us.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Love's Young Dream...

...were Hussain and Tina yesterday on the TV show Nach Baliye 2...The two danced on a dreamy romantic number - Bahon ke darmiyaan...It was beautiful! Tina is not a great dancer, but she does seem to understand instinctively what a dance needs...and she compensates with the sincerity in her performance...compare this with another couple Hiten and Gauri. Gauri looks so indifferent in every episode you wonder why the two bother to grace the dance floor at all...anyway, the show has put on some wonderful performances...one that comes to mind was the one that had Manav and Shweta do an Indian classical dance...It was amazing...and very very creative! But my vote goes to Hussain and Tina - they dance well and seem like they're made for each other.

Update: On December 18, the grand finale of Nach Baliye 2 saw Hussain and Tina win the contest...Hmmm, don't the words "I told you so" sound very musical :)

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Gone with the Wind: My Thoughts on the Book

Spoiler Warning: Characters described in detail, with a detailed summary of the book.

Plot
Gone with the Wind is an American civil war novel that chronicles the life of southerners before and after the war, through four main characters—Scarlett O’Hara, Rhett Butler, Melanie Hamilton and Ashley Wilkes. Before the war, the southerners were a mostly wealthy community, with vast acres of land and plenty of black slaves. The American civil war changed this way of life forever and an entire civilisation was “Gone with the Wind”.

Principal Characters
Scarlett O’Hara: A beautiful, young, impetuous, southern girl, much pampered in her wealthy father’s household. She’s a compulsive and unscrupulous flirt. Then the civil war happens and everyone becomes equally impoverished. Scarlett now has a chance to find out if she has any genuine fire in her belly that will make her one of the few to rise again from abject poverty.

Rhett Butler: A maverick, he is practical to the core and hates sentimentalists. He’s an absolute charmer when he wants to be. He’s in love with Scarlett, who is in love with someone else. He’s there by Scarlett’s side in the worst of times, but never openly declares his love for her, not even after they finally marry.

Melanie Hamilton: The girl who marries Ashley, (Ashley is Scarlett’s secret love). Scarlett hates Melanie, but circumstances throw them together. Scarlett slowly grows to love Melanie’s quiet bravery and generous heart. Melanie loves Scarlett, her brother’s widow. She sees and hears no evil where Scarlett is concerned. Her steadfast loyalty slowly melts the hatred in Scarlett’s heart.

Ashley Wilkes: A suave, wealthy southern intellectual, and Scarlett’s first love. He loves and marries Melanie, but lusts for Scarlett. When the civil war is over, he finds that he cannot reconcile himself to the new world order, where slaves and masters are equal and all must struggle to make a living. His lack of drive puzzles Scarlett, who realizes only at the end of the book that she and Ashley were never meant for each other, being as they are as different as chalk from cheese.

Gerald O’Hara: Scarlett’s short, bluff father. He has “the heart of a lion and the temper of a bee”. He is a self-made man. The genteel ladies of his house are his pride. Scarlett takes after her spirited and impetuous father.

Ellen O’Hara: Dignified, generous, efficient and calm, Ellen is the matriarch of the O’Hara household. Scarlett strives to be perfect in her eyes. Ellen is the quiet strength behind everyone in the family, and the only woman Scarlett loves.

Summary and Review
When I first read this novel years ago, I was in a rush to finish this humungous book. The haste, I now think, did not let me fully appreciate the book for what it is—a very fine study of human failings and courage. Thankfully, I re-read it recently. The book goes much beyond a staid study of that era. It delves into the failings and the heroic in man, with war as a backdrop and humour as the instrument.

At the start of the book, we are introduced to the main character—Scarlett O’Hara. Rich, capricious, and astonishingly savvy about making men dance to her tunes, this 16-year old is also very impulsive and non-analytical. A spoilt brat, she wants every man to love her. When her first love Ashley announces his engagement to Melanie, Scarlett is confused and from there starts a life that she never dreamt would belong to her. To make Ashley jealous, Scarlett gets married to the shy and very young Charles Hamilton (Melanie's brother). Then the war breaks out and Charles gets killed. Scarlett, already bewildered about her own hasty marriage, now finds herself a widow and the mother of the child of a man she barely knew.

Rhett Butler, a maverick who enjoys spitting society in the face, knows that Scarlett is in love with Ashley and tries to make her see that the she and Ashley are not meant to be. But Scarlett clings to her notion that Ashley loves her and they will one day unite. In the meantime, the South is close to losing the war, and Scarlett is forced to flee back to her parents’ home. When she reaches there, she finds her mother dead, her father senile from the shock, her farm burnt by the Yankees, her slaves gone, her sisters gravely ill, nothing to eat and no money left. A grim battle to survive begins. She vows to never let go of her land, come what may. To this end, she even unscrupulously marries her sister’s fiancĂ©e, takes over his business and starts a greedy pursuit of money.

This is the early post-war time, where former slaves are running wild, with a need for vengeance on their former masters. The era sees the rise of the Ku Klux Klan, a gang supposedly meant to protect white women and children from the black community. The novel gets biased in some areas—Scarlett is frequently shown thinking of her black workers as lacking in intelligence. But she is in tune with the period the novel is based in, when all whites thought the same, although terribly unfairly.

Scarlett’s second husband gets killed in a skirmish, and Rhett this time asks her to marry him before circumstances prevent it again. They marry and Scarlett starts indulging in the lavish and wild lifestyle she always wanted. She gives birth to her third child, her first from Rhett Butler. Butler adores the girl. Father and daughter are very close. In this time, however, the distance between Scarlett and Rhett increases as Rhett realises Scarlett still loves Ashley. Then one day, their daughter dies in a freak accident and Rhett is heart-broken. Scarlett cruelly blames him for her death, and this shocks him even more. He soon loses interest in living and grows more and more distant from Scarlett. Meanwhile, Melanie is dying. After her death, Scarlett realises that Ashley only loved Melanie all along, and that in pursuit of Ashley, she did not see that Rhett loved her and that she loved him. She tries to confess her feelings to Rhett. But he is far too disappointed now to revel in the confession. He tells Scarlett they can never be together again. When she asks what will become of her love for him, he nonchalantly tells her he doesn’t give a damn. This marks the end of the book, with Scarlett clutching to the hope that tomorrow is another day and she will once again win him back.

The book tellingly highlights some of the injustices of that era, especially the plight of women in those times. Mitchell points out how girl was expected to be dependant and coy to win a man, and then had to suddenly become the epitome of efficiency after marriage, when she had to run a household of relatives and slaves.

However, the book has been written with a clear Southern bias. Mitchell talks about the different ways in which the South and the North looked at slaves: the North fights the war supposedly to free the slaves, but the Yankee/Northern officers and their wives won't have anything to do with the blacks themselves and view them with suspicion. While the South, which employs slaves, trusts the blacks and knows them to be loving people. But Mitchell completely ignores the atrocities that were committed on the slaves by their Southern owners. She paints a rosy, albeit feudal picture of a South that employed black slaves, but seemingly treated them indulgently. The injustices the slaves had to endure have been completely glossed over.

But all the while, Mitchell's witty humour never fails to entertain, even as it brings about the pathos in a situation. Particularly, in the scene where the shallow Scarlett, very young and newly-widowed, longs to go out and party, but society's rules forbid it. So when she waves out to a merry group from her window and is reproached for it by her aunt, she gets into a wailing fit. Melanie and her aunt are contrite and think she is grieving for her husband and try to console her, but Scarlett wails out louder, frustrated that her sorrow at not being able to have a good time is being mistaken for a widow's pain!

After reading the novel, you find that the characters of Scarlett, Rhett and Ashley are all too human, with their penchant for making mistakes, being arrogant and being too weak, respectively. Scarlett is unscrupulous, but also an untiring soldier battling for herself and her family. Rhett is the arrogant, street-smart rogue, but he's also the man who loves and loses. Ashley is the philosopher who correctly understands his own failings and those of others around him, but is unable to overcome them. Melanie alone is the one with few vices. This is a volatile and heady novel, and also deeply satisfying - Mitchell’s perfect gift to the world.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Dad's the way it is...

I am one of those "mad about movies" people...I lovvvve the feeling I get when I am in a theatre and the lights go off and the film titles begin...There is a rush of excitement, like a kid would feel when watching his/her first film in a theatre...no matter how many films I watch, that feeling has stayed with me...I have gone around telling friends about this, hoping someone would give me that look of complete recognition that said "Hey, me too!"...but that has never happened...they just politely, and sometimes confusedly, nod...

Then one day, I went to watch a film with my Dad after a very long time...just Dad and I...as we settled down in our seats, we both inhaled deeply and relaxed and waited in awed anticipation for the action to start...as I looked at Dad's face in that moment before the film began, I saw the same feeling I used to get. I realised here was a twin soul! How could I have missed it?! And then I remembered the countless times in my childhood when my Dad had forcibly made me sit on his lap and watch a film that I was otherwise too restless to watch. He would tell me about the next scene and the next song and he was a terrific story-teller (although years later, I rebelled against the forced viewing!)...Needless to say, I grew up to be just like him - mad about movies.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Short Story: First Crush

Hamlin Irani, world-famous violinist, was often asked what got him interested in the violin. A beautiful music teacher, he would say smilingly. It had been quite an eventful day, when he had first met her...

Hamlin woke up groggily as his mother jerked him awake. He stumbled through his breakfast in a drowsy state. It was raining heavily outside. He walked towards his school, looking up at the grey but beautiful sky and thought how little the people on the road appreciated nature’s beauty. He was one of the few who observed this, HE was a true artist, he thought smugly. But he had been looking up, when he should have been looking down, at the rain-beaten road. He slipped and fell in a muddy puddle. Shucks, god had painted the true artist’s shirt with nature’s colors.

Hamlin walked into the school building. There was a small crowd near the notice board. The football team list! He ran there and shoved his way to the board through the crowd. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H…no Hamlin this year too, no surprises there. Chris Almeida had been selected. Oh how he would gloat. Hamlin walked off disgustedly.

He saw his friend Maya walk in through the school gate. He hid behind a tree quickly. It would be fun to startle her. He peeped out after a few seconds. Now she was near the bench. In ten seconds she’d be here. He grinned to himself and waited. 8, 9, 10…there was a sound near the tree. He leapt out with arms sprawled in the air and screamed “YAAAAAA”. The thin old Mr T fell back with a scared cry. “Oww,” he yelled in agony as his old back hit the ground. Hamlin, genuinely contrite, bent forward to pull him to his feet. The old man shoved him aside roughly (the old boy sure was tough for his age, Hamlin thought) and got up. He hit Hamlin on his behind with his walking stick with energy, once, twice, which the boy tried to duck unsuccessfully. “Uhumm”, he pressed his lips together tightly to suppress a groan, for fear of being seen by the whole school. “What the devil is the matter with you, you juvenile idiot? When will you boys grow up?” screamed Mr T. Hamlin tremblingly told him he thought it was someone else. Mr T walked off in a huff, muttering he wished his walking stick had a pointed steel edge. Not a very good start to a day, Hamlin thought morosely.

Meanwhile, Maya had disappeared. He wondered idly if he’d get a chance again to irritate her that day. The day stretched on. The only good thing about the day yet was that it hadn’t got worse. That is, if you didn’t count having to see Shiva on the second bench dig his nose and wipe his fingers on his trousers. And then it happened. It was the Music period. They were waiting for a new teacher. They didn’t know yet who that would be. He hoped it would be someone nice - he liked music. As the class waited in lazy anticipation, a vision swept in. Dressed in a cool turquoise flowing robe, over some slinky trouser. Golden hair piled up, with a few lose strands. “Hi, I am Nyla Jackson, your new Music teacher. I’m from England and today I’m going to teach you the basics of the violin, my favourite musical instrument.” In that moment, Hamlin would have agreed to learn to play anything. Anything, as long as this glowing creature would be teaching it. And that’s how it had started. All because of Ms Jackson, his first crush.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Rozi’s Art of Looking Busy (Convincingly)

Have a very sweet and scatterbrained pal, Rozi. Rozi is one of those laidback souls who completely go with the flow. I've always had the feeling that if God were to grant her a wish, it would be too much of a bother for her to think of one. She'd instead ask him to give her whatever he saw fit. And if God were a mischievous entity and suggested spending a day as a man with a pub-hopping urge in Afghanistan, I suspect she'd agree sagely to that too.

But Rozi's most noteworthy peculiarity was that she'd do as little work as possible in office. And yet, when the girl would walk around, she'd make sure she had a harassed look (defense against more work). She'd fling one hand over her eye and drag it slowly down her face in an action that signified a poor, overworked soul, wiping her tired face. This sight always cheered me up. Here was someone who had perfected the art of beating the system. Sometimes, she would get versatile and talk very softly, like she were dying of exhaustion.

After observing her in awed appreciation several times, I decided to try this myself. But I soon realized it takes practice and genius to perfect an art like hers…Coz when I wiped my face in slow motion, my boss thought I had gathered grime from a lack of bathing...when I spoke softly (thinking it would shame even the most heart-broken Greek tragedian), my boss got irritated and said I was mumbling like a dimwit!

Anyway, for those of you inspired enough to try out a few "Rozisms", lemme quickly tell you a few more tricks she used: when your boss asks you how much work you have on your plate on a day, you NEVER give the correct answer…multiply the actual words you can think of with 25, and then talk fast without pausing about all you need to do that day (and that week/month…or year, if the boss is a particularly bad listener).

When you have more than one project on hand, announce it to everyone and anything (yes, even to the flowerpot next to your PC. That way, people pity you and let you off the hook). And wear baggy clothes. It makes people think you've lost weight from all that working. If this helps, bless Rozi, giver of light and wisdom!

Friday, September 01, 2006

When my Mum thought Priyanka Chopra was an "Executive"...

Mum, you're a gem :)

Was walking up and down my home, through the rooms...taking a break and doing some light exercise at the same time...the songs on Zoom were playing in the background...and then the song "Kehna hai...I love you for what you are" blared on tv...my Mum, who was sitting right in front of the tv and looking on intently as Priyanka Chopra and Akshaye Khanna exchanged lovey-dovey looks, suddenly turned to me and asked, "Does Priyanka Chopra play an "Executive" or something in the film?"...This question would have confused me if it had come from someone else...But having spent a lifetime with my Mum, I am now something of an expert at interpreting circuitous conversations (at least with her)...so, I patiently explained to her that when Khanna crooned "I love you for what you are", he meant he loved her "as is"/for what she was inside (yeah, right ;)/for herself...and not for her money/status!! phew...

My Mum thought she was probably someone very successful to make Khanna say he loved her for what she was! Hmmm, never thought my Mum was ambitious, but this seems to indicate otherwise!

But she finally got it, and then couldn't stop giggling at her own "joke"...Mum, you're a Gem!!

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Fountainhead - My Thoughts on the Book

Today I’m going to review the book that I’ve always avoided reviewing. Fountainhead has always left me with ambivalent feelings. When my friends ask me about it, I answer cautiously. Do I love the work for Ayn Rand’s genius characterization? Or do I hate it for its extremist and cold perspective on mankind? Though as I think harder now, I think it’s a little bit of both. I like the book because it IS brilliant; but i ALSO think the book is an extremely arrogant, cold take on life and its players. Let me elaborate.

Plot Summary
A poor and brilliant architect, who refuses to compromise on his principles, must battle poverty, credit-snatching colleagues, rejection, slander, manipulation of a devious but popular journalist, and finally imprisonment, to achieve his freedom to live and work in his own way.

Principal Characters
Howard Roark:
A brilliant but poor architect, and an individualist. He is the man who believes his work talks for him. Too bad then that the world is not fair and people will take credit for whatever they can. He goes through a lot of struggle and rejection, but later makes it big. This is his story—how the individualist fights the credit-snatchers and devious people. The book, though, does not talk about the childhood of its protagonist at all, besides a few lines thrown in. I thought this was a serious oversight. We are not told how or why Roark becomes what he is. Rand does, however, delve into the childhood of some other characters, and rightly so.

Dominique Francon: The Yin to Roark’s Yang. Unlike Roark though, she is born to a rich father, a famous architect. She despises her father for his utter lack of passion and conviction for his work, and his greed for wealth (but continues using his wealth). An individualist herself, she’s also extremely arrogant, beautiful, and an art-reviewer famous in her own right.

Gail Wynand: One of the negative characters in the book. But as another negative character (Ellsworth Toohey) points out, he is less evolved in his power hunger. A Publishing Czar, among other things, he is used to having his way. He is ruthless, manipulative, and extremely vindictive. Falls in love with Dominique, totally and for the first time, only to find that she is in love with Roark, who is by then his best friend.

Ellsworth Toohey: For me, this is the most brilliantly concocted character ever, and also the scariest. For Toohey is power-hungry, just like Wynand. But unlike Wynand, Toohey is subtle. He goes about controlling people in an apparently innocent but effectively deadlier way. He is intentionally poor, but has his tentacles in all major organizations and communities. Everyone sees him as an Expert on Art and a selfless do-gooder. But the scariest of his principles is this: he believes that all genius must be nipped in the bud, because genius can think for itself and influence people, and hence cannot be controlled. So to kill genius, he calls it mediocre or downright bad. Since he is seen as an authority on Architecture, he actually manages to pull down Roark’s genius (for a while) by this strategy. Deadly.

Peter Keating: The weakest character in the book. Peter is the shallow and untalented charmer. He charms his way through school and office, making Roark do his school assignments first, and later his office assignments too. (Roark works for him apparently for money to survive, but given his ideals, he should have resisted.) But one day, Keating’s luck runs out. He marries Dominique out of lust and greed and breaks the heart of his longtime sweetheart. Marriage to Dominique shatters all the deception he has built around himself. He is forced to confront what he is—a pathetic weakling, who does not mind trading his wife’s body for a prestigious assignment. From then on, Keating becomes a wreck, eaten by his conscience, till even his over-ambitious mother regrets pushing her son towards something he was never meant to achieve.


The book is very intense and very opinionated. Rand’s philosophy is that people who are talented and work hard must always guard themselves from people who want credit without the toil. That’s true of course. But the way she goes about telling this truth is what fills me with ambivalent feelings. Roark, for the most part of the book, comes across as devoid of feelings. He rarely says what he thinks (except in the end, when he is on a roll), so we don’t know if the man is human at all. The warmth in this character, the humanness, is just not there. He is a genius and an ethical boss, but that’s it. His one strong emotion is his love for Dominique, though even that is a little weirdly portrayed (the first time they make love is when he rapes her). Similarly, Dominique is intelligent, but hard. She looks down on everybody, including her father, yet does not mind using his wealth. There is a hypocrisy to this character that Rand could have done without. But for the most of it, you just can’t argue with Ayn Rand’s genius for realism. The book is humungous, but gripping. And all said and done, she does seem to write with passion and conviction, highly valuable qualities for a writer.