Just-Breathe-And-Reboot

2010-10-06T10:06:00.001+05:30

I am..

a jabberwocky in progress.

a slayer of thought-monsters.

a storm in a coffee mug.

love all the things that are injurious to health.

live in books and learn from the movies.

2010-09-17T14:38:00.001+05:30

From a Mountain Girl

I hope one day soon I can live in the hills for ever. I was a mountain girl in my last birth, I'm convinced of that. There is something about the stillness here, the greenery here, the tall trees and the fresh breeze that I feel so clean and happy here. The mountains stand for something, they have character to withstand a lot.... hail, snow, rain, ice, glaciers, man made encroachments but they never give up easily. They always tell a story... and always stand tall.

I love gazing at them, feeling so small in front of their imposing presence. Its good to look upto to something...

I'm glad I have the mountains...

2010-09-15T11:27:00.000+05:30

I waited all my life to be 30. I don’t know how or why but I’m convinced that I always had a hyperactive 30 ‘osome’ (is osome a word? Don’t think so. But since I want to play with the word chromosome so we’ll have to go with osome). So back to 30, yes, it’s been an obsession. One of my most favourite lines during my salad days was, “I can’t wait to be 30. I believe a woman’s life begins at 30.” Gosh, how I would go on and on about turning 30. I would scoff at all those chick lit books that treated 30 as the big Cancer or something. Heck, I was so enamoured by the magic of 30 that I even wrote a script film on it. Yeah, an 88 pager on a girl’s journey in the 30 th year. It was titled ‘Turning 30.’ I thought the script like my life will take off at 30. I thought it was destined.

Well, it wasn’t.

For when I turned 30—NOTHING happened. I did not wake up 100 pounds lighter. I did not bring in my birthday in Paris, walking on the Champs Elysee, sipping a latte as I see La Tour Eiffel turn gold in the setting Parisian sun. No, my soulmate (who I christened, Rigolo, in my 2^nd year French class, because I loved the combination of its two meanings— ‘funny’ & ‘revolver’) was nowhere in sight. We did not read out Neruda to each other. We did not fight over the Sunday section of The Indian Express. We did not plan weekend getaways to Provence. He did not make breakfast in bed for me. I did not paint a wall for him.

He didn’t show. Period.

As for my film, let’s just say, Happy Ending just remained in Courier Final Draft, point 12 in my laptop. I wrote it. And that’s that.

Not much going for 30, right! Like I said, NOTHING happened. The magic passed me by. I felt cheated, a lot hurt, very disappointed. I wanted 30 to be special. It was anything but that. In reality, 30 was turning out to be an year of full on bloody despair. It was the year when some friends started avoiding me ‘coz they could not take my “moping.” It was the year when a superstar actually interrupted an interview mid-way to tell me that “Something is wrong with you. You were shiny, happy. Now you’re dark, sad.”

Yes, my nothingness was written all over my face.

30 was the year when I acquired some new habits. How I wish treadmilling, walking & organic were these new habits. No, rather it was the habit of sleeping on the floor. Please note, I do not take the word ‘sleeping’ lightly. It’s quite a luxurious word. I’m a chronic insomniac—try as I might I can’t sleep for more than 3 hours and that too on a good day. What I was doing on the floor was not sleeping. It was more like, curling. I would just curl up on the floor and just cry. And oh man, could I cry! Honestly, that’s another ‘osome’ I’ve in abundance. I realized the strength of that ‘osome’ when I was 30.

You see, I thought I would have it all figured out by the time I hit 30. But here I was unraveling minute by minute. I was falling into such low depths, discovering such new pores where it could hurt that I felt like a different person. I did not know what I was before 30. So when people close to me told me that I’m changing, I heaved a sigh of relief. My logic: If others can sense your problem then they can help you solve it too, right? But that is not how it happens apparently.

This nothingness was wallowing me. Or I was wallowing in it. As the year progressed and nothingness became my new skin, I learnt to make peace with it. Sort of. I learnt to let a lot of stuff go--- a lot of unconquerable dreams, a lot of relationships, a lot of party invitations and other such clutter. I also let go of the idea of me, the idea of me at 30.

And when I let it go, I discovered the new me at 30. The ‘N 30’ as I called myself was not that bad.

She was quieter but still a fighter. She was wiser but still mad in a controlled way. She learnt a few lessons about people and relationships. She learnt to value the ones who did not give up on her even when she gave up on herself. She learnt about forgiveness. She learnt that you can rise even if you fall down in your eyes … it takes time but eventually it happens. She learnt that life is not a film—but that it’s a screenplay that you can write as you go along discovering it. She realized that while all her life she was waiting for the magic of 30… 30 was waiting for her. As for magic, isn’t it an illusion? So then isn’t it nothing?

If you think about it, in a way, my life did begin at 30. My year of nothingness was maybe a rest button. My only regret? I wish I had seen La Tour Eiffel. Heck, it would have just made the journey into nothingness a little bit pretty.

…. To be continued

2009-09-25T12:37:00.000+05:30

Wanted: A Story

After a long time, there is excitement at the movies. Salman Khan shows his badass side in 'Wanted' and the audience, especially in the single screens, can't get enough of this gun totting, brawny, no nonsense hitman.

Prabhudeva serves a typical South style flick with some stylised action tadka sprinkled with punch lines. Sample some classic gems that will go down in Bollywood's pulpy fiction history: Ek baar maine commitment kar di toh phir toh main apne aap ki bhi nahin sunta or the classic Tu ladki ke peeche bhagega ladki paise ki peeche bhaagegi, tu paise ke peeche bhagega ladki tere peeche bhagegi. Phew.Taalis and ceeties, people?

With 'Wanted', Salman establishes himself as the last action hero standing. And we surely need someone out there to kick some serious butt. Enough of those comedy mumbo jumbo or pansy loverboys. The success of 'Ghajini' and 'Kaminey' and now 'Wanted' is proof enough that Bollywood is craving its action fix. Interestingly, while the thus regarded chocolatey brigade (Salman, Aamir and Shahid) are going all mean and six pack-ed, the renowned action kings like Akshay Kumar and Ajay Devgan have completely renounced their days of thunder.

While Akshay is busy churning out 'Singh Is Kinng' and 'Chandni Chowk To China', Ajay is enjoying the jester's role as seen in the 'Golmaal' series and the forthcoming 'All The Best'. Maybe it's time the old boys came back to the game. Are you listening Sunny Deol?

Back to 'Wanted', it's Salman's show all the way. The film relies on his star power and like a true showman, he bares it all. It was a crucial release for the superstar who hasn't had a legit hit since 2007's 'Partner'. The success of his television game show, 10 Ka Dum notwithstanding, he's spent enough years in fickle Bollywood to know that it's the big kill that really counts and so he went out of his skin to promote the Boney Kapoor production.

The calculated gamble has paid off but next time, we would like a thrilling story to go with the thrilling lines. Salman has woken up, let's hope he doesn't hit the snooze button anytime soon.

'Wanted' had a clear edge over the other big Friday release, 'Dil Bole Hadippa'. The Rani Mukerji-Shahid Kapoor starrer strives to be a lot of things - a cricket film that talks of female emancipation - but ends up being a Punjab darshan at best. The treatment of the film is so amateurish that it comes across as a sad combination of 'Chak De India' and 'Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi'. Rani excels as the Sardar boy but sadly the film lets her down. Wish she leaves the hallowed corridors of YRF and attempt something fresh.

Rani needs new mojo. We need better films.

2008-11-09T13:02:00.000+05:30

As I Grow Older…

As I grow older I appreciate Mohd. Rafi more. Sure Kishore Kumar still sings only for me but Rafi has his own magic. And on some days, it’s he who comforts me. And I don’t feel guilty for turning to him.

As I grow older I prefer to keep my cell on silent. And even if I miss a very important call from a very important person, my world doesn’t fall apart.

As I grow older I prefer to stick to my favourites while placing an order in a restaurant. Experimentation is fine but not when you are really hungry.

As I grow older I’ve come to abhor loud music and parties want me to run away to Ranchi.

As I grow older I go for the story and not the title.

As I grow older I’ve become alarmingly possessive about my Sundays. One Sunday every week is My Day and nobody can own it.

As I grow older I’ve come to realize that the only relationship that truly matters is the one I have with myself. Rest all is learning. This one is eternal.

As I grow older I miss my home even if I go out only for three hours.

As I grow older I’ve realized that everything is NOT about me and yet everything IS me.

2008-03-08T13:55:00.000+05:30

W THE PEOPLE

STOP. Please. If I get one more text message or email that wants me to celebrate my womanhood, I swear I’ll gag.
Enough guys! There’s no need to be so sensitive and thoughtful for this one day. It’s no big deal. Frankly, I find the whole idea of having an International Women's Day preposterous. No, really, if we were to take this March 8 business seriously then by that logic does that mean that the rest 364 days are reserved for men? Double gag!!
The fact is that I don’t need a day to celebrate my tribe. I’M THE CELEBRATION… everyday and any day.
In fact I feel there should be a day to celebrate the men! Poor guys are just so left out in the race. Be it the boardroom or the bedroom, women have completely taken over and how! Of course this is only the urban India we’re talking of. In rural India, the situation is grim, very grim. Women there neither have a choice nor a voice. They are just numbers and most often treated as child bearing vehicles. These women are the real Ms Indias---the real survivors, the true women of substance. But since Archies and Hallmark can’t sell their cards to them, their faces and stories go unrecorded.
If we need to have a W Day then these are the real poster girls. But like me they don’t need a celebration. What they need is just an acknowledgment. So don’t text me on a particular day to salute my spirit for I’m saluting theirs!
Hope that’s ok, man?

2008-03-05T17:49:00.000+05:30

By George

The other day I got chatting with a stranger at a new coffee place that I’ve just discovered and just fallen in love with. The Latte there is to die for and so is the good ol’ Cappuccino… but that’s for another day. Anyway this stranger asked me quite strangely, what do I do for a living? I rattled off my job title, the name of the organization and waited. He didn’t get it and curiously asked me AGAIN, “So what do you do.” I smiled and replied, “I write. Mostly.” He smiled back.
On my way back home I was thinking about the stranger’s smile (wholesome and infectious) and my response that earned me that. Like him I also think I gave a perfect answer. The title, the money, the power, the clout--- all is rendered meaningless if the ‘I Write’ doesn’t feel right.
The same night I read a story so well written that I did a happy jig in my flat and whooped with delight, all by/for myself. It is pure pleasure reading the Time magazine cover story on George Clooney. Rarely does one come across a perfectly told story like this. Pure pleasure. That day I rediscovered my job, all over again. One day I hope to write like this.
Read on… and then tell me how amazing it is.

GEORGE CLOONEY: THE LAST MOVIE STAR

By Joel Stein (With reporting by Amy Lennard Goehner)/ Time Magazine

George Clooney wasn't supposed to say yes. A reporter interviews a movie star at a restaurant or a hotel lobby or an office, with his publicist lurking in the corner, ready to cut off any vaguely interesting questions. But to come over to my house for dinner? That's a trap no sucker has ever shoved a famous foot into. Partly because there are so many unknowns—you're stuck alone chatting up the family while the reporter cooks, you accidentally let slip a cruel joke about a wedding photo, you somehow use the bathroom wrong—and partly because who the hell wants to spend Saturday night stuck at some dork's house eating undercooked lamb? Would Gwyneth Paltrow come over? Johnny Depp? But George Clooney said yes, of course, why not, sounds fun.

Clooney was the only star who could have said yes, because no other star wears his celebrity so easily. Nominated for another Oscar for Michael Clayton, Clooney has managed to become this era's leading man without ever conveying the sense that he takes the role seriously. "He's a throwback to what movie stars used to be," says Grant Heslov, who has been friends with Clooney since they met in an acting class in 1983 and is now his partner at their new film and TV production company, Smoke House. "You see him and you think, Wouldn't that be a great life? He seems like a man's man. He seems like you could meet him at a bar and have a chat with him and it would be easy. And all of that is true." Sid Ganis, president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, says no one works an Oscars event or the red carpet like him. "Clooney is a kind of exception to the rule of celebrity aloofness. Gregory Peck was that way. Totally open.
Unabashed. You've got to be not afraid," he says. No other stars are as unfreaked out by their own celebrity, since, like most politicians, they want it either too much or too little. And it's that ability to be constantly not afraid that makes women love him. "As they say in England, he is up for it," says Michael Clayton co-star Tilda Swinton. "That means up for pretty much any fun you can think of. He has a way of daring you—which, for those of us who cannot resist a bit of a laugh, can be irresistible."
Still, this was going to be uncomfortable, this reversal of the natural guest-host order. Three years ago, Clooney invited me to his huge Los Angeles house to interview him, and he was exactly the host you'd expect: relaxed, honest, easy. Four years ago, when I left a message with his publicist to set up a time to talk to him, he simply called my voice mail and left his home number. In the summer, at his six-house compound in Lake Como, Italy, he throws nightly Algonquin-style dinners featuring such guests as Al Gore, Walter Cronkite and Quincy Jones. "He's an excellent host," says Tony Gilroy, director of Michael Clayton. "He's really smart about figuring out what people need and want. Are they hot? Happy? Cold? Thirsty? He has that ability to bend himself to the space he's in and instantly adjust to the group he's with." So I wondered, Can George Clooney possibly be a guest? Or is that just against the natural order of things? And what would I even cook? All his assistant would say was, "He'll eat whatever is cooking."

It's 6:45 on Saturday night when the doorbell rings, a little late. Clooney hit traffic, his assistant called to say, on his way back from visiting his girlfriend in Las Vegas. He's wearing faded jeans, black laced boots and a zip-up sweater, and he looks less like a movie star than a normal, un-Botoxed 46-year-old unmarried guy coming over for dinner, but he also looks like he's excited to be here because wherever he is, George Clooney's also there. He hasn't brought any wine, and I worry that this guesting thing is just not going to work out. I offer him a glass of red, and he suggests that we sit on the couch, and soon we're talking about real estate, and it's fine, and next thing I know, he's getting a tour of the house. A tour of the house? The man owns a mansion in L.A. and a 15-bedroom villa in Italy! Why don't I just show the Oscar-winning actor the tape of me in my high school production of Bye Bye Birdie? But he's nailing this guest role: "I love old houses like this." "You kept the original stuff." "It's nice to have a guest room." "I love the arches on the shower." I'm convinced that this is just a normal Clooney Saturday, that he spends his nights Charles Kuralting around L.A., knocking on doors, eating whatever's cooking and chatting about politics. Within 15 minutes he made me feel comfortable in my own house. Which isn't so easy when a giant celebrity is over for dinner.
It's becoming clear to me already that somehow this guy, even in my house, really is a movie star. Maybe the only one we have now. There are plenty of huge box-office draws (Will Smith, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Ben Stiller, Adam Sandler, Johnny Depp) and even more famous celebrities (Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Lopez, Lindsay Lohan), but no one besides Clooney is so gracefully both. After an actor achieves media saturation, there's actually an inverse relation between fame and box-office receipts: people aren't going to pay for what they can get for free. "There are so many media outlets and this enormous suck on information about you, it's hard to maintain any kind of aura of specialness and mystery about the work itself, which is trying to be other people," says director Tony Gilroy. "It was a lot easier to be Bill Holden than it is to be George Clooney." Or as Clooney says, "Clark Gable wouldn't have been Clark Gable if there was Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight."
His strategy for being a movie star is pretty simple, if counterintuitive: he makes fun of himself. It's the by-product of every successful person's strategy, which is to figure out what the other person is thinking. "Before they could kill me on Batman & Robin, I said, 'It's a bad film, and I'm the worst thing in it.' You try to defend an indefensible position, you'll look like a schmuck. The guys I dig don't do that. Look at Winston Churchill. He said, 'These are our shortcomings. Now let's get past it,'" Clooney says. He thinks that's all Cruise needs to do. "I talked to him the other day, and he's a good egg. There's nothing self-serving about what he's saying. He has to turn it into a way to make fun of himself."
Clooney also preempts situations that might earn him ridicule later. So he has either turned down every gift bag he's been offered or has put them up on eBay for charity. "I've been smart about that. Rich famous people getting free s___ looks bad. You look greedy. And I don't need a cell phone with sparkles on it," he says. He sends handwritten apology letters to the directors whose scenes he ripped off in the movies he directed—Mike Nichols, Sidney Lumet, Sydney Pollack. He drives an electric car and a Lexus hybrid but won't be a spokesman for the environment because he flies a private jet. He feels passionately about Barack Obama but refuses his pleas to campaign for him—other than an introduction in late February in Cincinnati, Ohio—because he doesn't want it to backfire into a Hollywood-vs.-the-heartland attack. And he downplays and occasionally jokes about his problems, which include a bad back and some short-term memory loss he sustained when working on Syriana, quiet. "I know what pisses people off about fame," Clooney says. "It's when famous people whine about it."

It may look as if he is an effortless movie star, but he has actually given the job a lot of thought. He's not manipulative, but he is calculating, following the rules he learned from his family. When his aunt Rosemary Clooney went from being on the cover of this magazine to seeing her fame burst because musical tastes changed, she battled depression and took pills for much of her life. He knows random luck will eventually take fame away, just as random luck made him a star. If NBC had put ER on Fridays instead of Thursdays, I might have had Jonathan Silverman over for dinner. And while Clooney didn't get famous until his 30s, when ER hit, he had kind of always been famous because of his dad, a popular news anchor in Cincinnati. "From the moment I was born, I was watched by other people. I was taught to use the right fork. I was groomed for that in a weird way," Clooney says. "You give enough. You play completely. You don't say, I don't talk about my personal life. People say they won't talk about their personal life. And then they do. And even when the tabloids say really crappy things and it pisses you off and you know it's not true, you have to at least publicly have a sense of humor about it."
He's just as calculating about his career choices. "He was offered a stupendous amount of money to continue to do Roseanne," the sitcom he was on for 11 episodes, says his dad Nick Clooney. "I was thinking he could build a little nest egg and maybe acting would pay off after all. He said, 'No, I'll be in a cul-de-sac. I'll be that guy, and that's all I'll be.'" He pitched sitcom pilots and dramas and eventually won an Oscar nomination for co-writing the original screenplay for Good Night, and Good Luck. He makes sure to not get stuck in one character or type of film. He has a Joel and Ethan Coen movie coming out in which he plays an idiot (as he did in their O Brother, Where Art Thou?), and he's working on a movie about the founder of est and a comedy about the 1979 Tehran hostages who escaped. The next movie he directs and co-stars in is Leatherheads, a screwball comedy about pro football in the 1920s that comes out April 4. "After Syriana and Good Night, and Good Luck I was offered the Richard Clarke book and every issues movie," Clooney says. "I didn't want to be the issues guy because if the issues change, you're done. The Facts of Life is a good example. If you're a young heartthrob—which I never caught on as—those fans not only abandon you, but they're embarrassed to have liked you. It's the same thing with issues movies. I want to just be a director."
He is good at slipping into many different worlds, even the one in my kitchen, where he is pouring in the egg mixture while I add the hot spaghetti for the carbonara. He reaches over and stirs the bacon, grabs a string bean from the pot and eats it. He is mad guesting, Olympic-level guesting. He's been over for two hours, and it occurs to me that the smooth bastard must have turned off his cell phone before he got here. When I leave the table to check on the lamb, he puts extra bacon on my pasta. He's doing impressions—Pat O'Brien confusedly reporting outside Clooney's Como villa, expecting Pitt and Jolie's wedding (Clooney had bought $1,500 worth of flowers and 15 tabletops as a prank on gossip reporters); James Carville denigrating John Kerry's campaigning skills; Daniel Day-Lewis doing John Huston in There Will Be Blood.
We're deep into a second bottle of Barolo when Clooney cuts into his rack of lamb, and, oh, there would be blood. This is why a star wouldn't take this invite, wouldn't be here, staring at a red-raw-inedible piece of meat. He says it's fine. I grab it, put it in the oven but forget to turn on the heat, so when I take it back out, it's just as raw. Fine again, he says. I put it back one more time. He takes more pasta and salad. Rattled, I drop the salt. "Throw it over your left shoulder," he says. "That's just bad mojo. You know it, and I know it." He may not believe in religion, but luck, Clooney has learned from his family, cannot be messed with.
One person Clooney will mess with—the thing he keeps coming back to the more we drink—is what a massive loser Bill O'Reilly is. It's an irrational feud because every time O'Reilly gets to be as important as Clooney, O'Reilly comes out way ahead. But Clooney can't help himself. He keeps talking about O'Reilly, and the little traps he's set for him and how thrilled he is when he falls into them. It's as if Clooney loves O'Reilly because he gives him permission to be an irrational 8-year-old. Maybe that's why anyone loves O'Reilly. But he is also the anti-Clooney, donning a public persona, one that's humorless and incapable of self-effacement. It's as if someone created for Clooney his own Elmer Fudd.
One of the things O'Reilly has taken issue with is Clooney's involvement in the crisis in Darfur, saying it's reverse racism from someone who didn't care about the Arabs being killed by Saddam Hussein. Clooney got interested in Darfur in 2005 after the campaign for Oscar votes for Syriana and Good Night, and Good Luck made him feel dirty. "You're campaigning for yourself. To compete for art," he says. His dad was also dejected and angry after losing an election for Congress, and Clooney had been reading about the lack of attention being given to Darfur, so the two went on a trip to Africa to shoot footage. Clooney wasn't able to get into Darfur until late January, when the U.N. said it would give him an official title. "I have a U.N. passport. It says 'Messenger of Peace' on it. It's very cool," he says.
The Darfur organization he helped found, Not on Our Watch, has given away more than $9 million. But now, just three weeks back from having a 14-year-old border guard shove a machine gun at his chest, after recovering from malaria, after helicoptering out of N'Djamena, Chad, in a sandstorm three days before the rebels sacked it, he wonders if his critics are right, if this scheme to use celebrity to bring attention to the world's plights isn't, if not vanity, at least striving after wind. "I've been very depressed since I got back. I'm terrified that it isn't in any way helping. That bringing attention can cause more damage. You dig a well or build a health-care facility and they're a target for somebody," he says. "A lot more people know about Darfur, but absolutely nothing is different. Absolutely nothing."
He feels his advocacy is not even accomplishing as much as his family did during the embarrassing Christmas day trips his dad would arrange every year, when they would show up with gifts for a family who wrote to his dad's TV station, asking for help. Now he wonders if it is better to give money and get out of the way, as he does when he gets off Highway 101 at Laurel Canyon Blvd., where there's always a person begging for money. "You think, This is a $20 light. So you hope to catch the light. And then you feel guilty for hoping to catch the light," he says. "People say, They'll buy booze. Fair enough. They need it." Clooney, having helped knock off two bottles of red and two bottles of dessert wine—all after drinking heavily in Vegas the night before—is not one to deny someone else alcohol.
It's past midnight; we're both pretty buzzed. He's telling me how he wakes up every morning at 5:30 to the hoots of a giant owl and how he climbs into his hot tub so he can hoot back, mesmerized by nature, like Tony Soprano and his ducks, when this alarm starts shrieking. Clooney, not a man of inaction, especially in a moment of crisis like this, stands on my dining-room table, unscrews a panel in the ceiling and, finding nothing, makes me go outside and carry a huge ladder with him up two flights to my garage upstairs—where he climbs into an area I've never dared go, crawling along the beams with a screwdriver between his teeth. Finding nothing, he climbs down, knocks the dirt off his jeans, blows the dust out of his nose, rinses his hands and returns to the table. The shriek starts again, and Clooney thinks for a few seconds, ducks down and yanks the carbon monoxide detector out of the outlet. "Either it needs a battery," he says, "or we have six seconds to live."
At 1:30 he gets up to leave. He tells me that the next time I have interviewees over for dinner, I should trick them by passing his house off as mine, maybe with some hired servants, smoking a pipe, pretending journalism is something I do as a lark, separate from my silver-mining interests.
As he leaves, I feel as if I failed. In seven hours, I wasn't able to find a part of Clooney different from the one everyone already knows. As he retreats in his movie-star car to his movie-star lair with his giant-owl sidekick, I feel pretty sure he never separates the public from the private. It explains, at least, why he sucked as Batman.

Then two nights later I get a chance to run the experiment again. My wife and I figure we'll check out the sushi place Clooney said he's been going to for 15 years. When we walk in, there's only one occupied table, and of course it's Clooney, his girlfriend, his assistant and a friend he met the first day he moved to Los Angeles. He's unprepared for me, out in the open, vulnerable. But he yanks over a table, puts it next to his, tells us what to order, hands us food from his plate, shows us photos of him and the other guy at the table with Keith Richards, reads the cheesy lines he's just been faxed for his Oscar presenting, fights for the check and generally hosts the crap out of us. Clooney is a movie star not because he's overwhelmingly electric or handsome or fascinating. After two very fun nights, I can tell you that he really isn't any of those things. George Clooney is a movie star because he's happiest when he controls how everyone around him feels. Because that's what movies do.

2008-02-27T19:45:00.000+05:30

Apples and Wine

The Man-In-My-Head sent this to me in my email. Now he wants me to put it up on my blog. I told him that there is no need, since the contents of this piece is not really rocket science. But our man here is adamant and since I can't have a temperamental man shreiking inside my head I decided to follow his orders. "Sometimes", says The Man-In-My-Head, "you gotta hear it again and again so that you believe it again and again. "
So once again, hear and believe, all ye women folk out there! This one is for my tribe....

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.
Now Men.... Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

2008-02-25T19:36:00.000+05:30

Deja Do

One hundred and seventeen days. That’s the gap between my last post and now.
It’s been a whirlwind, these past 117 days. Lemme try and recap: I quit my job, got a new job, quit that job and came back to the old job. Phew!
In this to and fro business, I also happened to bruise some pretty important egos, lose touch with some old colleagues, make fast friends with new colleagues (some even shed tears when I took the exit route) only to lose touch with them, made a “non straying” pact with Godfather, worried my parents sick, worried Godfather sick, worried myself sick with my apathy but FINALLY I think I HAVE got a grip on myself and my work situation!
Like I joked with a friend, “Maybe, just maybe, The Third Eye (go figure!) is my marriage.” After all isn’t a marriage about common vision, common values, common beliefs and comfort? It’s a nice sounding theory, no? Fits well. Sounds cool. Trying it out. Let me see how long I stick with it?
Till then, there is another story to be filed, another deadline to be abused and then respected and another story to be filed.
Sometimes even if you turn the page, life throws up the same page once again, only this one has a different design!
Maybe that’s the fine print.

2007-10-31T11:12:00.001+05:30

Love Actually

According to Joseph Francis Tribbiani (better known as Joey), actor (extra) ordinaire of Friends fame, " The rule is when two actors are actually doing it off-stage all the sexual tension between them is gone. Okay? So as long as it's hot onstage you got nothing to worry about. It's when the heat goes away, that's when you're in trouble."

Now we don't have to take Joey literally but maybe he has a point. Everyone is amazed at the crackling chemistry between Kareena Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor in Imtiaz Ali's Jab We Met. Considering their past screen outings in Fida, 36 China Town and Chup Chup Ke was totally thanda, this film is almost a renaissance of the Shahid- Kareena pairing.

It's difficult to remain objective about Jab We Met. Though the film stands tall on its own merit, the off screen drama of the lead pair's romantic lives somehow takes center stage when you are viewing it or discussing it. I watched the film with a bunch of friends and all of them went "Aw, they are so sweet together. Why did they break up?" Er, well, I must tell you that before the break up stories the same friends (and many more) were of the opinion that Kareena and Shahid don't have 'IT' on screen. So how come they have 'IT' in Jab We Met?

Kareena has a logical explanation for her shifting chemistry meter with her ex. "Contrary to popular belief that Shahid and my pairing didn't work in all our previous films I want to make it clear that before Jab We Met, we were never really paired together. This is the first romantic film we did together so if someone has to judge our chemistry then they should judge it only in this film," she says. It's up to you whether or not you buy Kareena's theory, I'd rather buy Joey's.

It's almost tragicomic. When they were together they didn't have 'IT' and now when they have broken up they've become the newbie poster couple of mint fresh romcom genre of Bollywood today. Sigh!

2007-10-04T12:09:00.000+05:30

Someone wrote this for someone I know.... I like it so thought will share....

Wake up to a dream you had
make it real with some one you loved,

Wake up to the feelings you shared,
after all he was not that bad.

Wake up fresh every morning in his arms,
enjoy the warmth n comfort all night.

Wake up to a morning cup from him ,
and ask for more every now and then.

Wake up to the stupid guy,
he makes mistakes all the time,
but he listens to all your advice .
And you can slap him all the time.

Wake up to the kisses behind your ears,
gentle touches all over you,
wake up to the same passion you shared.

And if all this was not enough,
ask him for all you want him to do,
my guess is he will do any thing for you,

Wake up to the old guy, whose life is you.
Wake up please !!!

2007-09-02T19:34:00.000+05:30

Sometimes.....

Sometimes I feel like shouting....
Sometimes I feel like crying....
Sometimes I feel like kicking....
Sometimes I feel like moaning....
Sometimes I feel like whimpering....
Sometimes I feel like fighting....
Sometimes I feel like conquering....
Sometimes I feel like surrendering....
Sometimes I feel like everything....
Sometimes I feel like nothing.

2007-08-02T10:32:00.000+05:30

For Sanju sir…

“Hey 29, happy birthday to us,” he said on the phone when he called me on Sunday.
Though his voice lacked his trademark crackle yet it was Sanjay Dutt alright. “I’ve just finished with the puja, how are you celebrating,” he wanted to know.

It was 29th July__ our birthday__ and just like the past few years, Sanju called to wish me. He also wanted to know if I had gone to a particular astrologer that he had recommended to me when we had last met at his Imperial Heights apartment. “Arre, why haven’t you gone till now,” he chided me. “He’s really good. I’ve already told him that you’ll be coming,” he said.

Really, I didn’t want to meet the astrologer but since he has been so insistent I told him that I’d surely make an appointment. This made him happy. “Good. I’m telling you he’s very good. Till now whatever he has predicted for me has come true,” he gushed.

The eternal optimist that he is, he believed anything good that anyone told him. He was pretty kicked about this astrologer because he had predicted that he would be rid of his “terrorist” tag. And since last year, the TADA court acquitted him of terrorism and conspiracy charges in the 1993 Mumbai serial blasts; Sanju felt he was on the right track.

As to why he was so insistent that I meet up with the astrologer is because of yet another prediction. “You know what, he has predicted that 2008 is going to be a fantastic year for all those who are born on July 29. He predicts a golden year for us,” he gleefully told me in our last meeting. Seeing the skepticism on my face he joked, “Arre even if it’s a fantastic year for you and not me, I’ll be happy. Kissi ka toh achcha ho. So take that look off your face,” he laughed.

He could joke about it but the spectre of the verdict was always looming over him. All these meetings with astrologers and temple visits proved that he was tensed and apprehensive about his future. Like he had confessed to me once, “There are days when I get up in the middle of the night fretting about my future. And then there are phases when I think things are getting better so I must work a little harder.”

Maybe it was the success of Lage Raho Munnabhai__ a film that catapulted Sanju back in the top bracket___or just an epiphany but Dutt did take a reality check. He dropped anchor in an otherwise windswept life, kicked the bottle and went on a boiled-food-only diet. Gone was the man known for his mercurial temper and skirt chaser reputation. He even made peace with his daughter Trishala, who stays with her aunt in New York. His father, Sunil Dutt’s death was a huge jolt and mellowed him further. That’s when he stopped being the baba that he always was perceived as and became the big brother of the family.

After his acquittal in the TADA court, Sanju was hopeful of getting a lenient verdict in his conviction under the Arms Act. “I’m prepared for the worst. I have to face whatever happens but I have full faith in the judiciary of the country,” he told me on our birthday.

When I asked him what is the best gift he has got for this birthday, he said, “The only gift I want is my freedom. Just pray for me, 29 that I get it. I’ll never ask for anything more.”

Well, the long arm of the law doesn’t usually unwrap a birthday gift.

2007-08-02T10:24:00.000+05:30

Same Difference

Last Sunday I turned 28. That’s two more to go before I reach the magical 30 mark__ a milestone I’m awaiting since I believe that a woman’s life truly begins at 30 which as my mom tells me is the new 20. Anyway since birthdays are all important to me I decided to you know… just list a few lessons I learnt in the year gone by. (Posting this at the risk of getting caustic comments about “my shortcut ways” from The ZS and The TP…ah, well, I can never please them so…what the heck!!!)

I’ve learnt that good friends never call and ask if they can come over, they just arrive unannounced at an ungodly hour with coffee and ice cream.

I’ve learnt that hot chocolate tastes better if you put a dash of coffee in it.

I’ve learnt that whenever I get excited about a new author that I’ve discovered I end up being sorely disappointed with his/her next book.

I’ve learnt that if it takes you apart then that’s not love because love puts you back together.

I’ve learnt that there are two kinds of men: a man’s man and a woman’s man. And I’d rather know a man’s man.

I’ve learnt that if I insert a straightened paper clip into a tiny hole that is located on the front of my computer’s optical drive, I can extract a stuck CD or DVD.

I’ve learnt that I can safely block a few people on my gtalk and be happy.

I’ve learnt that LIGHTHOUSE can’t even make black coffee.

I’ve learnt that people who insist on asking what gift I want for my birthday never give me what I asked for.

I’ve learnt that an eye contact can sometimes speak more than a thousand words.

I’ve learnt that if someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to, it doesn’t mean that they don’t love you with all they have.

I’ve learnt that I can never lie to my parents.

I’ve learnt that you can never put a premium on people.

I’ve learnt that while men are better at building castles in the air, it takes a woman to build them with brick and mortar.

I’ve learnt that the difference between running a team and ruining it is the ‘I’.

I’ve learnt that a mere mention of the word ‘shopping’ is a cure for my chronic insomnia.

I’ve learnt that while everyone wants to be unique it takes a greater degree of self-assurance and courage to be normal.

2007-07-09T21:12:00.000+05:30

One (Not So) Fine Day (Part 1)

I was having one of those ‘So no one told you life was gonna be this ways’ kinda day. My job sucked. The fridge was empty (and so was the bank account). The relentless rains wouldn’t let up. LIGHTHOUSE was in the hospital and The-Man-In-My-Head was giving me the silent treatment. On top of that, I discovered a lizard in my small room and on top of that that, my insomnia was acting up (if insomnia can do that—act up, I mean)!

“Really,” I spoke aloud to The-One-Who-Can-Hear-Me-But-Who-Has-Been-Quiet-For-So-Fudging-Long, “could I please get another life?” Silence from his side too. Great! Now all I needed was a plane crashing in my garden apartment and then I would definitely be on the Hindi news channels.

But every dark something has a silver something and in my case my dear friends The Zing Singh (ha ha!) and his wife, The Tarapur Princess (hee hee ha ha!!) acted as the cloud lining. “Snap out of your crabby mood,” ordered The Zing Singh. (Ha, as if I ever listen to him!) “Come on to the BBQ Nation and we’ll feast on the kebabs,” said The Tarapur Princess.

I really wanted to wallow in my look-at-me-I-am-a-disaster wave. But she did say kebabs, right? So poor little me waded in the liver deep water and reached the appointed place at the appointed time. And what do I see? Mr and Mrs Zing Singh are nowhere in sight, it’s still raining and the fudging place has a waiting line that extends from the slips to the boundary line i.e. if it were a cricket pitch! “How come? Its not even Saturday night,” thundered a hyper mother of three right in my right ear. My reflexes kicked in and I lost my footing. And I fell down----- clothes, bag, specks, hair and all in the leptospirosis friendly rainwater. “Oh ho,” said the smallest one of the hyper pack. (Yeah Oh! and Ho!)

After warding off the helpful waiter who in his well-intentioned eagerness almost pushed me back in the eeky water, I managed to get up. By this time two more families had positioned themselves in the queue. And of course the entire queue and some of the diners were staring at me… and the queue. Now if only they (the diners) wouldn’t do that and instead focused on eating, there would not be a queue but what the heck!

“Look someone’s phone is in the water… and look it’s ringing,” a fellow queue mate’s shriek broke my mental funk. She was right! There was a funny little Nokia thingie in the water blaring Just Chill Chill. Wait a minute! I have the same ring tone… and the same looking phone too. Oh my gosh, that is my phone! And it is ringing! I dipped my hand in the puddle just to hear The Zing and his missus telling me that they are some 20 minutes away and that I must get a table. (Really now!!)

I didn’t expect anything better since in the past Mr and Mrs Zing have famously invited me for lunch and then woken up at five in the evening themselves. The best time to meet them is Saturday night. That’s when The Tarapur Princess is really in form and can (almost) finish a bottle of wine. I just love her when she does that. As does The Zing Singh.

Nyways back to scene, I waited for some 15 minutes or so until the same overeager waiter came up to me and took me (FINALLY) to my seat. Once inside the restaurant I managed to elicit the same response. Everybody (yeah everybody) stared at me. To be fair, I must be looking a sight with wet hair, shoes, bag and clothes. But it would have been polite if I didn’t cause such a stir. But since I wasn’t writing THIS script it wasn’t my place to complain (or swear). So off I went and took my place at the table right in the center of the restaurant and waited for The Zing Singh and The Tarapur Princess. And waited. And waited.

Finally they arrived. The Tarapur Princess looked sheepish while the Zing Singh just wanted to know if the AC was working! I had had it by then and was just about to shout when I saw HIM enter the restaurant. And I stopped. And I watched.

(To be continued)

2007-06-23T15:27:00.000+05:30

Tell Me Why

I've some pretty pertinent questions after watching some of the recent films. Maybe the film-makers can enlighten me.

Why don't children in films have names anymore?
The little boy and girl in Ta Ra Rum Pum were referred as Champ and Princess throughout the film even in the most emotionally laden moment of the film when daddy Saif Ali Khan is hurt in a car crash. As for Sexy, the kid in Cheeni Kum, she is totally from another planet. She gives love advice to a 64 year-old man, watches adult movies and what's more even tells the 34-year-old girlfriend of the old man that her beau is sleeping with her, all innocently of course! Guess, director Balki deserves kudos for totally reinventing the role and scope of a child artiste in Hindi films but I would have liked to know her name. I mean, you just cannot have children named Sexy, Princess and Champ. They are not horses and dogs for god sake but children!

Why are so many films being shot in London?
My heart bleeds for Filmcity. Bollywood's best-known shooting ground is facing stiff competition from London. Nearly 40 Bollywood films were shot in London last year and the figures only seem to be on the ascent in 2007. Salaam-e-Ishq, Namastey London, Cheeni Kum have already been there, done that while coming up attractions like Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Goal and Speed are also all London centric. Seeing Salman Khan do Tenu Leke in Trafalgar Square in Salaam-e-Ishq was very nice but why do we have to see Zayed Khan and Tanushree Dutta do the same jig at the same place. Time our film-makers showed us something we haven't seen. Right now, we are suffering from London fatigue.

Why do most of Ram Gopal Varma films have a green hue?
You can't miss it. Ram Gopal Varma has been carpet-bombing the television channels with promos of his version of Sholay. While the world wants to know how Amitabh Bachchan does a Gabbar Singh, I want to know why is the film bathed in green? Ramu did that in the Khallas number in Company also as well as in Naach, Jungle, Shiva and James. Does he have a huge sci-fi fixation or what?

Why is Konkona Sen Sharma always the girl who discovers a gay?
It happened to her in Page 3 and then again in Metro. It's a common Konkona moment now: Konkona enters her boyfriend's house only to find it empty. She looks here and there and then goes in his bedroom or a guest room and finds out that he has been two-timing her and that too with a guy! When it happened in Page 3, it was a novelty but when it happened again to her in Metro it's a yawn. Well to be fair in Metro she also learnt that her boyfriend was two timing her with her boss so maybe it was a double blow but still why only Konkona?

Why is Kangana Ranaut getting stereotyped?
And then there is the Kangana Ranaut specialty. She has done only four films but already she's become a pro at the drunk-depressed-slightly ott-suicidal type. There is a similarity in her roles in Gangster, Woh Lamhe and Metro. All these depressive, suicidal roles must be taking quite a toll on the poor girl's mental health. She needs reinvention and fast.

Why does Upen Patel bare his chest?
Why oh why? He's just three films old and we've already seen too much of Upen Patel's chest. And we are bored. If he's trying to imitate Salman Khan then somebody please tell Upen that Salman started flaunting his chest much after flaunting his acting abilities in Maine Pyar Kiya, Baaghi and others. Upen needs to tone down and keep his shirt on.

2007-06-13T17:42:00.000+05:30

Confessions, confessions, confessions…this time aboard an-almost-about-to-crash AI 120

However close the bond is, there will come a time in your life especially when you are all grown up and living in another city, that you and your mom will prefer different brands of tea.

I’ve learnt that some men will even fake a heart attack to get out of shopping.

This is for all the women travelers: always carry talcum powder on a trip. You just never know when and for what you might need it. And while you are packing the essentials, do pack the nano and the mac. Familiar gizmos always instill a sense of comfort.

Some beasts remain just that: beasts. No magical kiss from Belle will change them into hunky men. Sigh!

Success is the new name for greed.

Eating out is the new age oral gratification.

When newspaper headlines are dominated by Paris, the heiress turned jail junkie and not the eternal city then you know you are indeed living in troubled times.

Going by the weirdoes I attract, sometimes I feel that the title sucker.com is inscribed on my forehead.

Sometimes a stranger’s smile feels like the very best homecoming.

I think I can live my life in a hotel suite as long as room service, house keeping, laundry and maintenance service are available 24/7.

My secret fantasy: to buy my comfort faded green suede sofa in Marriott’s Reflections bar.

You can play endless rounds of truth or dare but at the end of the day, only one man can make your heart flutter…always.

2007-05-18T10:50:00.000+05:30

Some more Confessions:

Apparently some people really liked my midair confessions so what the heck, I decided to dole out some more. So....

· Sometimes it’s not what you say, it’s how and when you say it.

· Living is tiring, period.

· Some childhood lessons really live forever. I participated in a debate when I was in class VII. I still remember the topic: Your decision, your happiness. Fourteen years later, I realize the meaning. So who says school isn’t important?

· Read this one somewhere which sums it all up for me: “The trouble is that while few believe they can perform brain surgery, nearly every living soul believes they can write. If only they had the time and opportunity.” Ha, if only!

· Buddha says even your deadliest enemy can’t damage you as much as an unguarded thought. Hmmm.

· Acceptance is the greatest gift you can give yourself.

· The greatest courage is to show up.

· Words express passion. Kissing confirms it.

· Doing nothing sometimes hurts more than doing something. Life doesn’t come with a guarantee, which is just as well, because most guarantees are bullshit.

· After a while, all places look the same.

2007-05-10T14:19:00.000+05:30

Mera Wala Superhero

You can't miss him. Right at this moment, he is doing his superhero-giri at a theatre near you. Fearing Spidey's indestructible super powers at the BO, Bollywood decided to play it safe and refrained from exposing any of its heroes to Spidey's might. Save Gautam Ghosh's passport to the festival circuit, Yatra, there was no mainstream Hindi release last Friday.

Seeing Spidey's clout at the BO set me thinking which of our heroes can play the role that Tobey Maguire has stamped as his own. Sure we do have our own Hrithik Krrish Roshan but what intrigues me is to find out who from our current crop of actors can play the original three super guys: Spiderman, Superman and Batman.

So I spread the word around to a few of my male buddies who have grown up on these superheroes and after much debate, deliberation and guffaws, I managed to pull of some pretty interesting casting decisions.

Bollywood Superman: Akshay Kumar
Because Akshay can easily switch between a geek and a superman type. Translated, he can strike the right balance between being the apple-pie good boy and look equally convincing when bashing the baddies. Also, he has the right profile to carry off the suit and the side parting won't look too bad on him.

Bollywood Spiderman: Saif Ali Khan
Because Spidey needs to be both funny and nerdy. Saif just needs to mix and match his Dil Chahta Hai funny and frothy self with a touch of dark from Omkara. Also, Saif has the right boyish appeal and the body type to pass of as a desi Spidey.

Bollywood Batman: Hrithik Roshan
Because Hrithik is quiet and mysterious just like Batman. And as he showed us in Krrish, with his quiet intensity he can be the extraordinary guy with ordinary powers. Also as seen in Dhoom 2, he can also be quite a master of disguises, which is a Batman specialty.

Phew! That's my super 3. Now I'd like to know which one of our Bollywood heroes make up your list.

2007-05-02T10:26:00.000+05:30

Good Shot

Here are a few of my unforgettable on-screen moments based on some recent releases:

The one with the 7 helicopters and Manhattan skyline: I don't know why the audience rejected Jaan-e-Mann. I quite liked the treatment of the film especially debut director Shirish Kunder's storytelling style through the medium of a song. Yeah, it was quite Broadway and that's what stayed in my mind. But another image just refuse to leave my mind space and that was when 7 helicopters were used to spell out New York. I think it was a fantastic gimmick to depict that the action has shifted to New York. It created an impact and was nothing short of a spectacle. No wonder they call it showbiz with the emphasis on show!!

The one where the Big B plays footsie with Lolita: It was the defining moment of Ram Gopal Varma's Nishabd. A 60-year-old man (Amitabh Bachchan) is having dinner with his wife and his daughter's friend (Jiah Khan). Everything seems routinely normal and polite except the fact that the daughter's friend is an 18-year-old vixen who is naughtily playing footsie with her friend's father who can't control his laughter. Both the protagonists portray just the right balance of sexual tension, awareness, mischief, fear and delight of the forbidden. This one crackles with energy!

The one where Ash n' Abhi are in bed: The mock fight that Abhishek and Aishwarya indulge in that scene in Guru successfully dispelled all those about their thanda on-screen chemistry. The scene adds just the right touch of intimacy, fun and comfort. Everybody in the cinema hall had a smile on their face when the actors were playing this one out.

The one where Rishi Kapoor has the last laugh: The entire rugby sequence in Vipul Shah's Namastey London was masala entertainment at its best. Taking it from where Lagaan left, the scene successfully evoked humour and patriotism. Didn't we all cheer for Akshay and his army to defeat the goras in their game and on their turf? Now that's kitschy! But the
piece de resistance was what followed after. Rishi Kapoor's unbridled laughter at the dinner table when he's reminiscing about the great victory is a great touch. And when Akshay and Katrina join in the laughing binge (the latter does it quite grudgingly) the scene is stamped with that something special.

The one with the pigeon: The scene where a blindfolded Amitabh Bachchan in the garb of Eklavya aims to separate a ghungroo tied to the leg of a flying pigeon is in my opinion the image of the film. The impact, in one word, is breathtaking. Everything works in the scene: the background music, the camerawork, the art direction, the performances and the direction. The dramatic effect of the sequence is made even more riveting when the ghungroo gets stuck on a ledge. Vidhu Vinod Chopra shoots the scene like a ritual especially when Eklavya is required to get into the pool to catch the ghungroo . It's like a painting!

The one where Eiffel Tower was in the background: I love the way Farhan Akhtar shot the introduction sequence of Shah Rukh Khan in Don. The whole attitude of the film was reflected in that little montage when SRK is on the phone, in his cool black car, while the Eiffel Tower is blurred in the background. The message was clear: Paris and Eiffel Tower were just incidental, Don had much more important things to do than moon about the most romantic city of the word. I liked the arrogance and attitude in the shot.

The one with unhinged disco ball: This one makes the mark for its sheer absurdity. I can't recollect the last time I saw a film with a more bizarre climax. Suneel Darshan's Shaka Laka Boom Boom was touted as a desi Amadeus but the film ended up as an unintentional comedy and that too of a pretty low order! I mean, can you imagine a disco ball falling on the protagonist's head as the conclusion of a film? It was hilarious, especially the demon dance in Bobby Deol's mind that followed soon after. People actually write this kind of stuff, shoot it and expect us to enjoy it? Sigh!

The one when Raima's saree came off: This one shot of Honeymoon Travels Pvt Ltd when Raima Sen's saree comes off when she's on a parachute is symbolic to the core. There she is, the free spirited Bengali housewife enjoying her freedom in the sky without bothering about her saree. And there on the ground, is her conservative Bengali husband ready to burst a blood vessel because he can't bear to watch others see his wife in her petticoat and blouse. The scene brings out the contrasts between the couple so effortlessly. Good fun!

2007-04-26T12:01:00.000+05:30

Confessions of an idle mind aboard a very noisy IC 863:

Always pack your comfort tee, pajama or slippers even if you are going away for a day trip.

You can never have the perfect job or the perfect haircut in this lifetime.

If you are a Plus sized woman with a good smile then ‘cute’ is a word you are gonna have to make peace with.

Baby talk is not sexy. Especially in bed.

Younger brother is the only person you can take criticism about your looks (read weight) from.

Indian Airlines will always get delayed.

Love means having to say you are sorry all the time.

Mc Dreamy is a television creation. He does not exist in real life.

You can never outgrow your childhood crush.

If you can’t talk about it, you can’t fight about it and fix it.

Life is not a screenplay.

The wedding vows ‘for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health’ should actually be for parents and children. Face it, only parents are going to love you, have you and hold you for worse, when you are poor and sick!!!

When your first love comes back, you want to call his wife and gloat.

Baileys rocks, vodka is temporary.

A man never takes a woman seriously who lights his cigarette.

If Calvin (of the Hobbes fame) were to meet you in real life (read in the form of a potential boyfriend) you would want to run a 100 miles.

If Mr. Darcy were to meet Elizabeth in today’s time, he would not make the effort. She will prove to be too high maintenance, you see!

Cary Grant is never going to ring your doorbell.

Sometimes life can be described in one word. Especially if that word is coffee.

2007-02-02T01:53:00.000+05:30

Bonjour....

I know, I know, its been a while... My adopted parents gave me a good sounding tonite so I know its been more than a while. Well, since I never want to disappoint them, I'm dashing off something I wrote recently. Its about Shah Rukh Khan in his new avatar as the host of KBC. Wrote it for my newspaper but not everyone I know and love reads my paper (come on, guys subscribe now!!!!) so am rehashing it here....
Hope this will make M& S happy!!!

Enjoy....

King and I

'Confident' is now 'pakka', 'lock' turns into 'freeze' while 'I want to hug you' is the new way of saying 'I want to quit'.In case you missed last month's blockbuster television splash, thisrefresher course of the new Kaun Banega Crorepati (KBC) lingo willcome in handy. After much ado about almost everything, Star Plus served the thirdinstallment of its mega show. And like the earlier versions, this one was also only about the host with the prize money and the contestants serving as mere background noise.

Ah, the host! Since the big announcement of the big change, the big question on everybody's mind was could HE fill the Big B's big shoes?After Monday night's debut, we can safely say that Shah Rukh Khan knows what he's doing out there on the psychedelic sets of Crorepati. Yes, he was slightly nervous (he fiddled way too much with his tie),over eager (massaging the neck muscles of the contestant was not really required) and really excited (after a while, the high fives became a little too much).

And yeah, in the beginning, he was trying too hard: not to be like Bachchan, that is. You could see that he wanted to wring his hands the way Big B did during the opening lap but he restrained himself not to do that. He also refrained from saying the famous, Deviyon aur Sajano instead opting for his own version of Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls. But five minutes into the show, SRK settled down quite well and managed to erase the shadow of his predecessor with his unique brand of nonchalance, humour and spontaneity.

If Bachchan made KBC momentous, then SRK has made it more entertaining. If Bachchan's KBC was one hour of good television viewing then SRK's KBC is a big television event, the kind that you can enjoy over a pizza and coke.Amitabh Bachchan is awe-inspiring. His powerful personality and that deep baritone can be quite intimidating if the person in the 'Hot Seat' doesn't know his business. With SRK, there is a comfort zone. He's like the friendly stranger at your neighbourhood Barista with whom you can share a smile. So, the new KBC is much more relaxed.

What works in SRK's favour are his special 'people skills' and his cheekiness. Only SRK can call Gugilla as Gugs. Only he can do an unrehearsed Bengali rap, uncaring whether or not he gets the diction right.In his true blue entertainer avatar, he goes all out to please the gallery. He even makes his sponsors happy. The Computer ji has nowbecome Compaq da (Its not merely a coincidence that SRK endorses Compaq). By giving personal details like, "Sometimes I end up writing Love Shah Rukh on the cheques thinking I'm giving an autograph," he 'smade the show and himself more special and accessible.

However what he needs to do pronto is to cut out the Bluffmaster inspired promo video and do away with the tie or go for one that is better knotted.

Sure, we miss Big B but the King has his own charm. Give him a couple of nights, a couple of weeks and he'll stamp the 9-10 slot as his own.Who knows maybe he'll dance to Chaiya Chaiya on the next show? And won't we like that.

2006-07-31T16:14:00.000+05:30

The Unforgettable

For all those who wanted me to write about HIM! (Trust me, there were lots of u!!!)

It's a profile I dashed out for a magazine recently... Brickbats, bouquets, comments, Oh-iamme...bring it all on!

Here it is....

When Salman Khan walked out of the Jodhpur Jail clad in ganji and jeans, a top Bollywood actor remarked, "Look at him. It seems as if he's coming after a work out session in Gold Gym."
Khan's rival didn't intend the statement as a reproach. It was an affectionate acceptance of the way Khan chooses to live his life.

Mahendra Singh Dhoni didn't take off his shirt when ICC declared him as the Number One Batsman in the World. But Khan did a shirtless dance on the rooftop of his Bandstand home when he was granted bail.

In the normal course of his stardom, Khan shies away from media. But on this instance, all big and small television channels were granted candid one on ones. "That's because bhai wanted to thank his fans for their unflinching support in his hour of crisis. This was the only way he could reach out to them," says Khan's close aide.

Fair enough. All his sound bites reeked of genuine wonder and gratitude to millions of his supporters. But if you were expecting any explanations then obviously it's the wrong Khan you're tracking.

Close friends confess that though Khan took the verdict of five years imprisonment in his stride, he was really disturbed. But he decided not to show it.

Over the years, Khan's personal life has been dotted with many crimes of passion. The black buck incident apart, Khan is also fighting a hit and run case as well as the reputation of the worst boyfriend in the industry. His soap opera-ish dalliance with Aishwarya Rai is the stuff that Bollywood gossip rags are still thriving on. It's been six years and Rai has milked the I-Was-Salman's-Victim story to the hilt. But Khan chooses to keep silent.

The same law applies to everything that goes wrong. "While I'm doing something, I give it my 100 percent and once its done, it doesn't matter. I've always believed that nobody can break me because nobody made me," is his binding belief.

This insouciance is both, the most frustrating and fascinating aspect of Khan. His public demeanour suggests that he likes being the bad boy. It's almost as if Khan thinks of himself as a Springsteen like rock star who lives hard, parties hard and doesn't owe anyone an explanation. The swagger, the shirtless antics, the exasperating Southhall-meets-Manhattan-meets-Bandra accent and no explanations given: are all part of the Great Salman Khan Star Packaging.

Good friend Sushmita Sen takes up for him. "When people say Salman is the most misunderstood guy around, they're right. But Salman doesn't want to do anything about it. He says that if you've got to explain yourself, then the relationship doesn't have anything going for it."

Obviously he applies the same yardstick with his fans also. Till date, Khan has never told his side of the story. Ask Simi Garewal and Karan Johar. Garewal has been trying to get Khan on her Rendezvous show since the last three years. Johar used all his showbiz charm to get him on his couch for Koffee With Karan. But the Khan maintained that he has nothing to tell.

If it's an image then it suits him just fine. The obvious proof is the whopping box office returns of his movies. "Most of Salman's movies earn their recovery in the first three weeks itself because of the thumping initial he commands," says trade analyst Amod Mehra.

And because he is aware of this staunch fan base, he can afford to take the I-don't-give-a-damn stance. Mahesh Bhatt feels Salman is the endearing bad boy. "He has a vulnerable charm and people like his recklessness. They feel he is a badmash bachcha but since he's so charming on screen, he gets away with it," says Bhatt.

Nobody can blame Khan of being publicity conscious. He is every showbiz image consultant's worst nightmare. Yet he enjoys tremendous goodwill within as well as outside the fraternity. He has a reputation of being a friend's friend.

From giving free physique building tips to Hrithik Roshan in the beginning of his career to helping colleagues sell their movies at the cost of his name, Khan's generosity is well known. Recently, he helped out Revathy, Saawan Kumar Tak and Boney Kapoor with special appearances in movies like Phir Milenge, Saawan: The Love Season and No Entry respectively.

To Khan's advantage, he directly works on his audience. He patronizes the St Anthony's Old Age Home in Mumbai and makes sure that the proceeds of almost all his stage shows go there. Fellow actor Govinda vouches that Khan has a heart of gold. He narrates how Khan played saviour to an unknown accident victim a decade ago. "I was driving home quite late on a rainy night when I chanced upon an accident victim. I was debating what action to take when I noticed that Salman had also reached the place. Immediately he took charge. He assured me that he would take the boy to the hospital. He really took care of the boy," he says.

"Jis insaan ke dil mein itna dard ho woh aisi koi bhi galat harkat nahin kar sakta (A man with such a heart can never do anything wrong)," says Govinda.

In January, his car hit a school going girl. Khan took the girl to the hospital and dropped her home. The next day, he presented the little girl with a brand new bicycle. And no, he didn't call a press conference to boast his Good Samaritan act unlike most of his colleagues.
Khan gets away with most of what he does because he has never projected himself as larger than life. He's almost nonchalant about his celebrity hood. He cycles to work, walks his dogs, Myson and Myjaan on bandstand every morning and conducts his meetings at Barista. There have been instances when he's taken auto rickshaws to make a quick dash at the Subway outlet in Linking Road.

If Aamir Khan has acquired an image of an intellectual and Shah Rukh Khan as the quintessential middle class boy who became a youth icon, then Salman's USP is his absolute commitment to live life on his own terms.

He refuses to believe that he's a hero. "There are no heroes in this world. There are just human beings who are reacting in the right manner in non-ideal situations," he declared in a rare interview.
Those who know him say that he goes through life as an observer. There is an aura of detachment with everything that happens. He's never thrown a bash on a film's success neither does he runs to the cleaners if he's implicated in any scandal.

Sen says, "Over the years, he's really mellowed. He's gotten in touch with a part of himself that was always there. He's learned not to react to anything. In his personal life, he does everything for others and where work is concerned, he doesn't take it seriously and works only for himself."
No wonder he told a TV channel that though he was mentally prepared for a long haul in jail, he contemplated a jail break when he learnt of his mother (Salma)'s ill health post his verdict.
Now he's off for a series of stage shows. In the meantime, he's already sent a cheque to the Jodhpur jail authorities to construct better toilets.

The stuff heroes are made of?

2006-07-12T14:10:00.000+05:30

Allez Zizou!

“He smiles like St Teresa and grimaces like a serial killer.”

So said rock singer Jean-Louis Murat about the greatest conductor of football in the world, Zinedine Zidane.

Everything that has been said about the maestro is true.

If they say he’s the greatest footballer of his generation, they aren’t wrong. If they say he is in the same class as Pele and Diego Maradona, they are right. Yes, he has the grace of a dancer and the agility of a panther. For me, Zidane is a bald poet. Born with a sublime touch, he can do anything with the footy- tease, cajole, dominate and mock! He is football’s Pied Piper.

The world’s most complete footballer of the past 20 years, Zidane is an attack-minded midfielder like David Beckham, but unlike Beckham he can thread the ball through the middle of the field and his goal-scoring record is higher. He mesmerizes defenders with a repertoire of skills that range from drag-backs and flicks to cheeky little passes.

He is a wizard. And like all genius, Zizou has a temper too.

Yeah so he head butted Italian defender Materazzi. And yeah, maybe this cost Les Bleus the cup. If reports are to be believed then the unrefined Azzuri had it coming. Apparently, he taunted Zizou by calling him a “terrorist.” That’s a clear-cut racial slur against Zidane’s Algerian aka Muslim origins.

Nah, I’m not condoning Zizou’s outrageous act. It would have been best if he had ignored the idiot Italian and shown him the finger by lifting the cup. That would have been the best reply not just to Materazzi but also to everyone who approves of sledging.

But then Zizou too is human. He reacted on the spur of the moment. While the rest of the world will forget the incident soon enough, Zizou will have to live with it for the rest of his life.

Clanking with every honour the game has to bestow, Zidane is also burdened with the almost insupportable weight of France’s expectations. Go back to the era of 1998 when graffiti and rap songs declared “Zizou President” and the Algerian flag flew beside the French tricolour in the Champs Elysées. Just last year, he topped a newspaper poll as “the most popular Frenchman of all time”.

“I am not Zorro,” he insisted time and again. But for the French he will always remain a latter-day Joan of Arc. Why blame them? We all expect too much from our heroes. Maybe its because there are such few contenders of that tag.

Bet it must be hard being Zizou right now. God knows whether he’s an angel or a demon but he’s damn good on the field. Somehow if Zizou is on the field, you know he will do everything to win it. And for a soccer fan that’s what matters.

It’s ok Zizou. I know that sometimes, somethings can’t be explained even when understood.

2006-07-12T14:02:00.000+05:30

I Choose To Be….

Jean Paul Satre’s loaded- “Je suis mes choix” (translated, I’m my choices) has always intrigued me. Every so often I find myself meditating on Sartre’s wicked choice of words.

Last night I ended up having an uber deep discussion about it with The-Man-In-My-Head. In case I forgot to mention, The-Man-In-My-Head has led quite a ahem, colourful life. He likes to say that he’s played the game on his terms.

He supplies a lot of such one-liners. Over the years, I’ve developed a pretty solid statement-detector. Now I can easily make out when something has to be stored in memory and when something has to be rejected out rightly as pure bullshit!

Anyway, this isn’t about him. It’s about choices. Without going into the non-interesting parts of the conversation, let me just re-tell a very ahem, “interesting” part of HIS speech.

Brace yourself. Here goes-

“I believe a great many people are born writer or artist, and die without ever realizing it. Books go unwritten, paintings unpainted. The fortunate ones are those who discover what they were meant to do. I might have been an excellent soccer player; I might have been an excellent writer. If I’d tried to do both, I’d have been no more than mediocre. I chose not to be mediocre.”

Pretty loaded, right? But pretty nonetheless. Don’t know if you identify with it but last night, this was just what I needed to hear.

Everything is about choices: What you want to be? Who you are today? How are you feeling? Who you want to be with?

Rest all is mere technicality.