Lucky Aruna - Ramblings of a righteous wren!

Closure!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Fri, 25 Feb 2022 14:25:00 +0000

Today I unfriended two Facebook friends and felt the most maudlin mood sweep over me.

Unwittingly, without any warning, my eyes turned misty, threatening to spill over with tears that always tell a tale.

The first was an American 'friend' with whom there had been no communication after the point of "making friends on Facebook. " Her name cropped up as it is her Birthday today. I went to her wall and saw no activity on it for a few years. 

Her profile picture is of a pretty little girl standing by a wooden plank wall in a manicured garden.

Is it an old picture of her? But the photo does not look dated. Is it her daughter?

My thoughts travelled to the uncomfortable zone in relationships however distant or disconnected they may be.

The zone of concern and inexplicable connectedness.

Is she well? How are things with her? Is her family fine? The girl in the picture,  is she alright? She must have grown by now!

As I hit the 'unfriend' button, my final thoughts were woven with a tiny prayer seeking the person's wellbeing.

Is that an off shoot of Social Media? That we are forging new relationships,  building bridges over rivers we will never cross!!

The second friend also entered the present moment through the Facebook Birthdays notification.

And this remembrance was tear-jerking, pulling at my heart with a certain kind of ferocity.

We had not met in person but had made promises that some day we will.

But we e-met (and that's a thing now), spoke several times,  liked and commented on each other’s posts and pictures like friends do.

Sometimes we chatted late in the night. At even beyond the witching hour; at 2 AM or 3 AM when the world around us had fallen silent.  Like old friends do! Were we each other’s 3 AM friend,  at that time when our lives were intersecting?

Yes, we would have met at some stage. But her life had different plans. It had to finish its cycle in this form, walk with the angels for sometime,  before acquiring a new shape and avatar. 

Somewhere out there in the realm beyond! Or perhaps somewhere out here in our very immediate,  in our very proximal,  as a beautiful flower or a fruit laden tree. For she was a very pretty woman,  with a warm heart and such fine green fingers that created magic from the soil!

No I didn't wish her a happy birthday.  I saw no point. But I stole away moments of silence; as I travelled within to remember her, to hold a little requiem for her, to think about the rich life she had led - of meaning and purpose.

I took away a few lessons from how she had lived, made mental notes,  folded them neatly and stored them in a crevice of my mind. 

Hopefully, those leaves will not lay forgotten and will be peeled out when I need them the most.

But for now I unfriended her. Like shutting off the door to a section of my past. 

She died almost a year back. Her ashes had been immersed in the holy Ganga soon after.

Today, I buried her physical form. Even if figuratively,  the act just had to be performed. I have held my personal wake for her.

She will cross my mind several times,  I know. We have many common friends.  The crosswires of communication will happen.  Old posts will be resurrected.  And then there is the feature of old memories!

She will come to my mind. She will pay me a visit each time I will cook the recipe she shared, every time I will rework on the landscaping of my gardens, on every occasion when I will recall the virtues of meditation that she would extol for me.

But more than anything else, she will remain alive - in spirit - in some corner of my heart like friends, past and present, do!!

Pictures courtesy - Google Images

Priyanka, you pretty, little, flaky fake thing!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Mon, 24 Dec 2018 13:26:00 +0000

Picture courtesy - India Today

First the disclaimer - Not every criticism is a sign of envy or jealousy or racism. It is many times a differing opinion, a statement anti yours, and a comment from the other side of the fence. Grow up, Priyanka!

You’ve got to believe me when I tell you that there was a time, almost till recently, when I really liked Priyanka Chopra. I thought here is a smart, intelligent, good-looking career woman, whose ambition knows no bounds and whose heart is in the right place with all the causes she wishes to espouse.

I opined what a fantastic example and trajectory Priyanka has set for her fellow actors and for the young ones around. If you can dream it, you can achieve it. I felt my chest swell with pride in how our desi girl bridged the divide between the east and the west.

I said aloud what a role model she is becoming to both the millennial jet set and the aspiring youth that resides in the small towns and the hinterland, watching her every move to pick up valuable goals.

To be fair, for some time she did impart those YouTube-worthy lessons. I could hear the background voice saying, ‘This is Priyanka Chopra and this is her Masterclass’ followed by her annoying, girlish chuckle.

But with what she has done with her marriage-related celebrations, on more scores than one, she has rung the death knell along with the wedding bells on the sense of adulation I accorded her. Of course, the storm has been brewing in my little cup for some time but with the most recent spate of things, the final nail has been jammed.

Let me explain!

Priyanka Chopra has finally revealed her true self to us showing to us how deeply pseudo and how terribly fake she is. She hid behind a veneer of acts she pulled around ‘I am a hapless, little, brown girl making it big in the Wild West against all the odds.’ She pulled over the thick blanket of instant fame with stories about how she had now become a Hollywood A-lister and was being feted by celebrity interviewers from Fallon to Kimmel, with the exception of the stern Ellen Degeneres.

Priyanka made us believe that perhaps it was Ellen who had been unkind, unwelcoming, rude, biased and maybe, just maybe racial towards the brightest star from the subcontinent to shine over the western sky. But on hindsight, I think Ellen Degeneres caught on to Priyanka’s cunning much before we have.

The Hypocrite

On Diwali, she made the environment-uncaring folks feel very bad about themselves. She exhorted the virtues of going green and cracker free to the mass air raiders. And for greater measure and effect, she coughed into our screens, told the world how she is asthmatic and how the said climate boors should not burst any firecrackers, if not for themselves and their loved one then at least for her sake.

But, come her big, fat Indian wedding, and what does she do! Yup, light up the Jodhpur sky with such intensity and gusto as if she wanted the noise and the spectacle to reach LA.

The Animal Antagonist

When she acquired a pet, Priyanka went to town telling all how she loved her pooch and how much of an animal lover she was.

I guess she was and not is anymore. Wanting to show off the Indianness to her firang beau, Priyanka made one of her biggest blunders. She fattened up her wedding drill enlisting elephants and horses, which actually throws her back into the dark ages; given that every informed person is shunning the use of animals for such activities including personal circuses.

In fact, people within India, even a handful of those from traditional backgrounds, are banning use of the ritualistic “Ghur-savari” grasping how traumatizing and troubling it is for the horse with all that noise and clamour.

But Priyanka gave two hoots to it all and to make matters worse, brought in even the “gajraj” to do the song and dance. PETA is absolutely right in calling her out and must follow through with the slapping of a stringent case against the offending heroine.

The Fashion Victim

Despite getting her act right most of the times, Priyanka got her style quotient so hugely wrong on the biggest days of her life. The powder blue, sequined suit she wore for one of the earlier functions was so commonplace that even a girl from an isolated island would refuse to wear.

And what can I say about the aqua green sari with cat eye glares she is seen wearing in her post-wedding pictures! She is dressed up like the Indian maiden of the 40s going to a game of Bridge with the bored wives of the English officers in a British-ruled cantonment.

She has made similar faux pas in some of her other appearances, chiefly among them – the b**b flashing jacket at a Kimmel show, or the checkered, sleepwear she wore when she showed aamchi Mumbai to Nick for the first time, or the grey metallic dress she put on at the Global Education & Skills Forum in Dubai and the extra balloony light blue pants and shirt she put on for one of her recent air travels and so many more.

This is a lesser crime, but since Priyanka is in showbiz and boasts a big and renowned international team of stylists and buyers whose sole business is to ensure that the actress is always turned up to her nines, it takes major proportions.

If Priyanka did not make such a hu-hah about her appearances, her burgeoning and expensive wardrobe, the celeb-stylists on her payroll and so on, then her ho-hum moments would have been absolutely fine just like for the rest of us.

The clay Goddess of Gracelessness

On one hand, Priyanka puts on an act of being really mature and responsible and on the other shows how deplorably debased she can be.

While still wanting to appear overboard, she will drop canny hints in her media outings, which have the propensity to snowball and create more news around her. It may be a clever ploy that she has got onto but it lacks grace, manners, and principles.

Take for instance the insta video she released of her singing in the rain with cousin Parineeti when she first brought Nick Jonas to India.

There are scores and scores of great rain-inspired songs that she could have sung while getting drenched in the drizzle but guess which one she chose – “Tip, tip barsa paani,” replete with risqué moves; in a possible throwback to her days with Akshay Kumar.

On The Dirty Laundry show, she brought along a jacket of an ex-boyfriend that she has held on to and kicked up a huge speculatory storm in India, literally having dragged a piece of her dirty linen in public.

On an episode of Koffee with Karan, she opens up about another, now married ex-boyfriend.

The thing is, whether it is the east or the west, it is okay to talk about your past, but you must be mindful that it does not have ill ramifications for others involved, especially when you are a public figure and everything you say or do is recorded and played back by eager fans.

You cannot drag people from your past only for the shock value or for spinning your PR wheel. In matters such as this, the high road is always the better path to take.

But not for Priyanka Chopra! She will use anything or anybody to keep the media mills running. Perhaps, not a cougar, but Priyanka has definitely been abominably catty in all this.

Legally Brown

Priyanka has played the brown card to her benefit umpteen times.

On good days, she calls herself the Brown Barbie. She even does an Elle Woods replay complete with a toy pooch, telling the western world what a blonde can do, a black-haired, brown-skinned beauty can do better.

Because Priyanka is aping what the American celebrities do on their turf, the western media seems to lap it all up as thus far, Indian-International celebrities have just been themselves when out there and not put on a cloak and a charade.

To my mind, it is a silly way to try and assimilate in a different culture. When you reach a certain stage of eminence, you hold on to your roots while imbibing the new influences with open arms. You amalgamate; you do not ape.

On bad days, Priyanka uses her brown card to show how a poor, little, hapless, traumatized, bullied, racially discriminated brown girl has won the western world, in spite of all that she has endured.

I have a problem with this; as it really belittles and minimizes the real issues faced by people who have really suffered, yet made it big.

Priyanka’s version of Me Too

I cannot get out of my head the image of Priyanka in her starchy mauve, school-marmish outfit and Japanese World War torture shoes when she attended the Royal wedding. I have already ranted about how she missed one great opportunity to do so many right things in one stroke instead of trudging uncomfortably in a funny looking fascinator and her strait-jacketed look (https://www.dailyo.in/arts/priyanka-chopra-fashion-fail-meghan-markle-harry-wedding-royal-wedding/story/1/24325.html).

Watch her innumerable America videos and you see her behaving like an American Millennial or actually a starry-eyed teenager. “Oh, the ‘raench’ life!” “I luurve cheeseburrrgers.” “I kaen’t even make tea.”

Oh, look at me I am a Disney princess. And then she gets dissed by Ellen for not getting the royal wave right. Phew!!!

In her quest, Priyanka is fast losing grace and gravitas. Look at how Anushka and Deepika have conducted themselves. Priyanka is in such an evolving/devolving transformational mode that she is losing touch with her real self.

Priyanka just seems to be posing and getting her acting right even for her personal moments even if they are shot and photographed. The other two star couples have been more candid and kept the individual element alive despite being big names. For Priyanka, the world is her stage and she must role-play with newly acquired mannerisms, laugh, body language et al.

Here’s my reco to you, Priyanka, for major Me Too goals – get a star named after you, or even an orchid. Get Nick Jonas to buy you a symbolic piece of precious land on the Moon. Get countries like France, Germany and England to decorate you with medals for your significant contribution to the world of Arts and Literature. Better still; get the Queen to confer on you the female equivalent of knighthood.

Yes, all these have been done with your industry colleagues – past and present – but these will certainly be higher goals for you to aspire to.

Priyanka seems to have shifted her fond superlative from best to biggest……

If one friend had a fairy tale, real-world royal wedding, Priyanka wanted it too. She went ahead and created a make-believe one for herself aping Lady Diana’s appearance when she walked down towards the altar.

If her industry compatriots were staging magnificent wedding ceremonies, she went ahead and planned out a fatter one, leaving no stone unturned and upturning several serious things along the way in a thoughtless fashion.

“I wanted the longest veil.”

“People will need vacations after this wedding.”

“I have been on some of the most prolific stages.” I think she meant prestigious.

She will have us told that she likes to spoil herself. That she has one of the biggest apartment in NYC or the fanciest wardrobe or the most elite team of 25 “around the world” managing her and her affairs.

Never before have successful people been such shameless show-offs. Not even the Ambanis and never the Rockefellers.

It appears she has earmarked some of the episodes that have stood out in the lives of the rich and famous and has assiduously tried to repaint it for herself. From selling her wedding photos to People magazine for a record figure to wearing a big rock that Nick shut down a Tiffany store for.

Before you start your favourite rant Priyanka, please know that ambition is not bad at all. In fact, it is very good and so much better when women are as ambitious. But overambition laced with envy and greed is abysmal.

Friends with Benefits

I am surprised Priyanka has not claimed Michelle Obama or Indra Nooyi or Hillary Clinton or Oprah to be her bosom buddies; yet!

But she has milked the Markle cow rather well, all the while as Meghan Markle has maintained class and elegance around the whole thing. It’s been a few days after the wedding, I am still waiting to see or hear about Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s personal congratulatory note to Priyanka and Nick.

Likewise with the Prime Minister of India. She turned up in a pretty frock when she met the PM in Berlin. I wonder where her dress sense was and where were her famed stylists. For covering up her attire faux pas she made it appear that she had just stumbled on the Indian Prime Minister and had been asked to join him for tea. Now really?

At her Delhi reception, when the PM came to greet the newly-weds, Priyanka’s loud laughter and flailing gestures are a class on incorrect deportment; but all in the way to show that she is on personal terms with PM Modi. All the while, her mother and brother looked quite at sea and on the fringes.

Incidentally, PM Modi attended the reception of Anushka and Virat too and one must watch how Anushka conducted herself to know how grace and decorum look on a public platform.

The King’s, err, the Queen’s Speech

In her early Quantico days, and when she had a grip on her sensibility, Priyanka had stated in one of her interviews how she had to employ a speech trainer and work hard on getting the American accent right for her show and public appearances. It was fascinating to see her learn to roll her R’s and eat up some syllables astonishingly well.

In those years, when she gave interviews in India or spoke Hindi in the US, she spoke like an Indian. And one admired her so much more for that.

But now the lines have blurred. She is letting her wannabe persona take over her completely. So, it is ‘mherridge’ she was busy with ‘def’nt’ly’ and that her choice of dresses came from a very ‘purrsnal place.’

Has Priyanka heard giants like Ismail Merchant, Mira Nair, Indra Nooyi speak? Some of them are from her industry, but none of them wanted to be something other than themselves in any manner. It is of special attention because Merchant went off to the States in the late 50s to live and work there for the next 40 years of his life. Nooyi, with whom Chopra has shared a stage, is a Yale graduate and relocated to the US in the early 80s. Finally, Mira Nair, a Harvard alumnus, shifted base in mid-70s. Yet all have kept their essence in place, including their diction refusing to fake an accent.

False claims to be the first and the best

Priyanka sealed her fakeness with her appearance on Vogue’s 73 questions and played up to the American gallery to the hilt; with dozens of stereotypical answers and affectations thrown in.

I have also watched other actors and celebrities appear on 73 questions and guess what, Nicole Kidman was as Aussie as one can be, Gisele Bündchen held on to her Brazilian roots and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley remained quintessentially English; but for our little Miss Muffet who was anything but.

There has been a big clutch of Indians who have made it astoundingly big on the global map in different walks of life. Once again the name of Indra Nooyi comes to mind. Then there have been Vikas Khanna, the irresistibly delish Chef, the uber sexy Shashi Kapoor, the powerhouse actor Om Puri, the raw charm-oozing Kabir Bedi, and the world’s most beautiful woman Aishwarya Rai; but they all have been steadfastly rooted and far less flighty about their international fame.

In fact, Aishwarya has been much more feted. She appeared on The Oprah Show twice. Did you notice how magnificently Oprah introduced Aishwarya to the western world? Now that should truly be aspirational for Priyanka.

Aishwarya has appeared with great élan on the David Letterman show, The Tyra Banks show, L’Oreal’s Worth It show together with Dame Helen Mirren, and has had Sir David Frost interview her at length.

Even in her Hollywood films. Aishwarya starred with A-listers like Steve Martin, Andy Garcia and other notables like Lily Tomlin, John Cleese, Emily Mortimer and Jean Reno. That is in just one film and she had more screen time than Priyanka’s three films put together, with lesser acting chops.

Yet, Aishwarya is far less flaky though much more irritatingly giggly than Prreee; and that is such a pity because Priyanka gives far more intelligent interviews.

When Priyanka gives her power speeches, she regurgitates what has already been said so well by the likes of Robin Sharma, Paulo Coelho, Maya Angelou and her namesake Deepak Chopra but she will have the star-struck young minds believe that it is her who is gifting them with such novel wisdom.

At one time when she first began tasting international acclaim, Priyanka showed more class, and control and appeared much more cultured but now it is a free run with no grasp on values, sobriety, poise and temperance.

And that is the sorest point of all.

Priyanka’s bio reads that she is also a philanthropist. But she was the most unkind to the animals of Jodhpur and to the air of Rajasthan’s most air-polluted city. Besides, while she had Amazon donate to UNICEF, we are yet to hear of any personal charity by Priyanka and Nick on one of their best, “most emotional” and biggest day of their lives.

Strangely, Priyanka looks like a spinoff of Olivia Culpo in Nick’s picking of her. And that looks worrisome to me.

Yet, I wish her and them well. It would be great if Priyanka strives to get a hold on her greed and insatiability and become the finest role model she is so well positioned to become.

Priyanka do not get carried away with the current media circus around you. In today’s time and age of bastardized basics and washed down values, even Rakhi Sawant – with her queerest antics – becomes the flavour of the season and rides the trend for a length of time.

In craving to be on the crest of popular culture and pop entertainment, you are forgetting that pop goes the weasel. The public has a short memory and what is popular today may fade out even before we reach tomorrow.

When we look back at the annals of cinema history, there will be several luminaries who will continue to inspire and influence. Where will you want to be then Priyanka? A performer par excellence or a wannabe who tried striding two continents but sadly allowed her ship to sail into oblivion!

There is no doubt that you are talented, good at your job and hard-working. But I am also constantly told that your PR machinery is better and works much harder.

Finally, put your troll army to rest. As we know, trolls and fans are a reflection of the personality they follow. And yours are the second worst only to Salman. All other celebrities know how to take it on the chin being in show business and seldom do their followers get downright nasty vitriolic and threatening. So choose your followers well.

Do not fake tears at the hint of criticism. Keep the brown Barbie smiling!

*******

Picture courtesy - NDTV

Romancing around Ibaadat!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Wed, 08 Aug 2018 15:16:00 +0000

A few days back there was romance in the air at Ibaadat.

So the Indian Grey Hornbill couple came swooping in, preened about themselves, perched on a terrace railing on the higher floor, looked at their reflection in the window panes, sat on two parallel branches on the giant Neem tree in the Cinpash Garden, chatted to their heart's content and flew off.

I notice that the Rufous Treepies also come in pairs - sometimes two, sometimes four.

And then there were these delightful Koels, singing the sweetest song, quenching their thirst, checking out bowls of grains, finding a sweet spot atop the tree to sing some more.

I think they chose one of the Neem trees for their short, summer home-stay - just a few days, before flying back home.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, are the male and female Koels, the Rufouses and the Hornbills.

Blabbering with a Babbler!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Fri, 03 Aug 2018 15:34:00 +0000

I had the privilege of having a rare conversation with a very pretty Babbler.

There was direct eye contact, as you can see; which we know is the basic etiquette amongst the civilized.

The dialogue carried on for the better part of the afternoon. He seemed to say things that must have been truly important.

A lesser being, me, failed to grasp most of it. It is at times like this when I wonder why is the man on top of the food chain!!

I am told that this yellow-eyed Babbler is indeed a rare bird, not spotted easily!

A Monsoon Brunch, eh!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Thu, 02 Aug 2018 15:50:00 +0000

There is something about the charms of comfort food, especially when it rains. Our perspicacity to enjoy the greasy goodness increases on these wet days when at other times we would ban them from our diets and dining tables.

Here's a Monsoon Brunch with Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue!

With one recipe invented and the other given a twist!!

This time I invented the Golgappa salad. Chopped dices of cucumber, tomato and onion mixed with a few pomegranate arils, spiced with salt, pepper and red chilli powder and specially seasoned with a hint of freshly made saunth were stuffed into atta and sooji golgappas and placed on top of cucumber rings. Served with tomato flowers they made for a pretty picture and tasted wonderful too.

Then I decided to give a twist to the classic Mint-coriander Paneer tikka. I skewed it with Aloo fry to give a different spin to it and served it with fresh coriander and kachche aam ki chutney.

The main course was Punjabi chole, Bhature and homemade Dahi vada.

The meal was rounded off with the seasonal offering of Mango Ice cream served on a bed of mangoes with Mango wafers as edible scoops.

Expectation vs. Reality!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Fri, 20 Jul 2018 19:20:00 +0000

Picture courtesy - Google Images

I find it remarkable that in well-kept, clean, aesthetically maintained societies, a set of people keep their environs so clean and are obviously proud of what they have been bestowed by nature and what they have created themselves.

Of all the traits, I find my countrymen lacking in self-respect the most and that explains our callousness towards everything.

There are two things, well actually four.

First, for me to enjoy rights I must also perform my duties.

Secondly, I cannot contribute to the litter, mess, commotion, chaos if I want a clean, sane Country. It is not 'THEM.' It is always 'US.'

Thirdly, I cannot be selfish and take care of just my house. Even the surroundings are my responsibility. If we can do all three then let's start talking about what we want our Government and other bodies to do.

And fourth, we need a major shift in the Indian mindset, that of wanting others - Government, Civic bodies, servants, helpers, heck even scavenging animals - to pick after us.

"Blaming others is a National Pastime. And, people don’t know any better. Lastly, until poverty is eradicated, discipline instilled, clean Indians are a utopian dream. I see the same here in Canada. Indian neighbourhoods are ghettos," avers my Facebook friend Ash Basu.

But I don't think it is about poverty alone. Though poor economic backgrounds could be more prone, with Indians it has nothing to do with wealth or education sadly.

It, I think, boils down to conditioning over generations, misplaced priorities and a larger lack of pride both in our roots and new homes we build upon migrating within the country.

We seem to lack in a 'sense of belongingness' and a "sense of ownership' big time!

Picture courtesy - Google Images

Excellence comes with effort!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Thu, 19 Jul 2018 19:25:00 +0000

Picture courtesy - Google Images

"Intorrogate" Seriously Radhika Apte?? Apropos Sacred Games.

You know that you have a pronounced Maharashtrian accent and there is nothing wrong with it.

But when you play characters, you must embody those characters, including in their manner of speech and accent.

There are speech therapists, linguistic experts, language coaches who can be easily employed.

Just why don't our actors pay heed to this aspect? What stops them from giving it their best shot?

On the other hand, Swara Bhasker was really the Anarkali of Arah - body language, speech, accent, diction, flip-flops, attire et al.
I think this is closest to getting into the skin of the character.

"Most Hollywood actors get speech training to pronounce words in accents appropriate to their roles. Why not in India? Or are the actors too high and mighty???" asked my Facebook friend Ash Basu.

I think there are several in Hollywood who do such an abysmal job too. Have you ever suffered an Ashton Kutcher for example! But any professional worth their salt would want to get this right.

"Most Bollywood actors, even the minor monkeys, are surrounded by Sycophants who make them believe they already know everything," thinks another friend Veeresh Malik.

"Audrey Hepburn took speech lessons to learn how to speak like both, a Cockney and an upper-class Englishwoman, for My Fair Lady. She also took singing lessons," says Bunny Suraiya.

"Meryl Streep took lessons for an Oz accent in Dingo and a European accent for Sophie's Choice. Dominic West learnt how to speak American for The Wire.

There are many such examples of actors who take their profession seriously, " concluded Bunny Suraiya rather well.

Picture courtesy - Google Images

Blue Doors!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Mon, 16 Jul 2018 06:48:00 +0000

I think I have some old connection or pichle janam ka saath with White walls and Blue doors!

I didn't even know just how much I was inclined towards the blue colour till I got busy constructing Ibaadat, our Delhi home. Until then, I thought I liked Pink, or to be more precise Fuchsia, the Rani Pink shade.

But with Ibaadat, and to every passer-by's delight, I have introduced the distinctive Santorini blue that is delightfully offset by the white walls. It, indeed, is a sight to behold.

Besides the ones you see at Ibaadat, here's a rather nice picture of a blue door against a white wall, from the trove of my Facebook friend Goncalo Pombeiro!

I, too, have a ‘Sanju’ Story!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sun, 15 Jul 2018 07:19:00 +0000

For my 11th, I had to shift, to my dismay and horror, to the all-girls Convent of Jesus and Mary, located in the City of Dehradun and a good 45-minute drive from the laidback cantonment of Clement Town where we lived.

But what was even more irksome was the culture shock that lay ahead of me. An all-girls school has a completely different milieu from a co-educational environment. The mindset of girls here, their body language, their jokes, their secret wishes and open desires, their way of looking at life and the world with men is nothing similar to that of girls from a co-educational background.

Since distance makes the heart grow fonder, the all-girls setting made the girls more aware of the boys, in a pining sort of way; that and the fact that we all were in our hormone-enriched teens.

Leading the brigade here was the beauteous, peaches & cream complexioned, stylish and sophisticated Seema, Brigadier Gulati’s daughter who lived in the Gun House, the most prestigious address in the Cantonment.

The ride to and from school in our giant three-ton school truck was made entertaining and aspirational by Seema’s stories and feats. Even at that age, she was one hell of a raconteur. One Monday, she got on the truck with her left hand covered in a dainty, chiffon kerchief. She began to regale us with her Sunday escapade in the Queen of Hills and her chance meeting with Sanjay Dutt at the Mussoorie Skating Rink. She talked about how he had looked dreamily into her eyes, teased her a bit, kissed her hand and signed his name on the back of it. With our jaws suspended in astonishment, she told us how she had not washed that prized hand since then. She pulled off the fabric dramatically to show the imprint that Dutt had presumably left on her hand.

In the days that rolled by, we discovered that it was a story fed on an over-appetite of Mills & Boons that Seema had dished out to us. We found out that there had been no such meeting but we also realized that Sanjay Dutt had become an MB hero for urban, convent girls in their late teens with levels of estrogen fired up.

I finally got to meet Sanjay Dutt, about two years down the line from Seema’s fictional story. He had come to Prabhat, one of the more popular cinema halls in Doon, for a premiere of his film ‘Jaan ki Baazi.’

Picture courtesy - Google Images

My mother and I had gone to see Tootsie, in the morning show that always featured Hollywood films. Just as we were about to leave the theatre at the end of the show, we met a college friend who announced to us the news about Sanjay Dutt’s appearance at the Hall for his film premiere.

Now Ma had seen and met a lot of film stars. Firstly, Dad had been friends with Sehgal ‘saab’ and I S Johar back in the day. So, Ma had seen several film shootings and hobnobbed with many stars in her younger days. At that point, I had no recollection of having met any cine star. I think this was going to be my first instance and Ma was quite encouraging.

She told me we would step out for a quick lunch at the nearby Laxmi South Indian restaurant, another Doon landmark, and return to the theatre to wait it out. The Bombay entourage was expected to arrive by 3 PM so there was not really too much time to kill.

I think the filmy party finally arrived by 5 PM but the excitement and anticipation of meeting the latest heartthrob of the Indian cinema were so high, that it didn’t matter at all. All our energy and the time we had on our hands had been spent on carving a strategy for meeting the hero.

When the actor arrived, all hell broke loose. In that state of utter chaos and pandemonium, no strategy would have worked. Jostling amongst the milling crowd we overheard that the guests had been taken to the Theater owner’s plush office. In the midst of the ‘mad-about-the-movies’ crowd running helter-skelter, Ma directed me to head up the stairs in the direction of the owner’s office.

I managed a toe-in into the theatre boss’s den. Not many girls had made past the melee of people clambering over each other to get close to the film star. As a matter of fact, I was the only female face around and was ushered in by the minders.

I inched closer to the centre of the office and got to stand at a vantage point from where I could see Sanjay Dutt clearly. He was accompanied by, among others, Gulshan Grover, who I think was the ‘Bad man’ of the film.

Dressed in a blue suede blazer and stonewashed blue Jeans the latest boy-man sensation was truly sexy. Radiant complexion with pink undertones, a green, 5 o’clock shadow and those dreamy, deep-set eyes made him even more luscious.

I don’t know how I got to be the only girl in the theatre owner’s chamber amongst a swelling group of local boys, but I caught Dutt’s attention. He beckoned me and engaged me in a light-hearted conversation. What was I doing? Did I like movies? Did I like his films? What were my interests? The sexy stud was quite the conversationalist. When he and Grover were asked to be seated, he asked me to sit with them.

It was comical to see all the attention being poured over him. Miraculously, giant marigold garlands appeared from nowhere and lanky, star-struck boys elbowed each other to put the garlands around their latest deity from tinsel town.

Overly pleased with all the adulation, Sanjay beamed and smiled his characteristic Nargis-like smile with the semi-pursed lips and looked around bemusedly with his hooded eyes, that went onto become one of his trademark features.

We now know, by his own admission, that he has had 308 girlfriends and then some. But even then, I noted his slight flirtatious ways. He was all gentlemanly but he knew how to shower a girl with attention. Sanjay made me feel special, looked directly at me when we spoke, was down to earth, had no starry airs, was focused on our piece of conversation when we engaged in a dialogue and did not to the least appear flighty, snobbish and restless.

But he was naughty as hell. Not indiscreet or improper. Not rowdy or perverse. Sanjay was impish and mischievous. Playful and wicked. Even when there was enough space on that large couch, he refused to move, as I sat sandwiched between the two. Gulshan Grover smiled and pushed as much into the wall to let me enjoy some space. Sanjay teased me, pulled my leg and cracked a joke or two.

I pulled out my new autograph book that, until then, only had the famous signature of India’s Iron Lady, the inimitable Mrs. Indira Gandhi.

Sanjay signed my autograph book with his distinctive flair and large-heartedness, the traits he has come to be recognized with over time. He wrote “Love you too much,” and passed the book to Grover who signed off with a tamer message.

We laughed and talked some more. It really didn’t seem that I was meeting Sanjay Dutt and Gulshan Grover for the first time. The credit goes to them, that they made a gawky teenager feel so comfortable.

At some stage, I became conscious of the length of the evening I had spent with the two stars. And then there were glares from every nook of the room being cast my way – some admiring, many envious.

After a while, I excused myself and told Sanjay that I must be setting off. He teased me some more. As I got up from the couch, both Dutt and Grover, in a perfectly courteous and genteel manner, got up as well.

Sanjay held my hand to wish me goodbye. He asked me, teasingly, if I didn’t want his address. “Would you not want to write to me,” he prodded.

I am sure he must have had big laughs at my expense through the evening, but when I refused to take his address Sanjay was slightly startled. I told him I preferred giving him mine so that I would know for sure that he would actually wish to correspond with me. He let the most genial smile escape; he held my slightly shaking hand again, this time in promise and said he understood me well.

As I stepped onto the street with Ma, I had a small group of men following me and asking for my autograph and requesting me to help them meet the famous star. Ma and I exchanged knowing smiles as I sprinted back home being carried on light air.

That day, I found first hand why he was indeed the Deadly Dutt. It has been of personal sadness to me, then, to see Sanjay Dutt devolve to a dopey, drooping Dutt.

His life has taken so many different trajectories with experiences that have evolved him but also taken away from what he started out with – the innocence, the carefree abandon, the ease in his demeanour.

If I were to meet him again, I must remind him of his promise to write to me. The tumultuous roller-coaster life he has led has brought in altogether different set of priorities, exigencies, demands, criticality and necessities.

But having come out of his personal hell, in one piece and stronger than before, this time I think he will!

******

King of Pop, the world's biggest entertainer of all time, still stirs our hearts!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Mon, 25 Jun 2018 07:07:00 +0000

RIP Michael Jackson - August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009

I was acquainted with his music when I was in my teens. While the high point of the Convent Prom was that boys from St. Joseph's School, our brother school, were going to be there; the singularly most important part of the evening that made it so memorable was not the lanky boys in their new stubbles and croaky vocal chords, not their thin frames and cocky swagger, not even the fanciest of dresses that the girls wore. The lasting memory of that end-of-school-year Prom has been MJ’s distinctive voice that sang in a unique note and the sound that fell in its own genre like no other.

The second initiation came when I stepped into college; and a friend who was a BBC Radio regular boasted about being abreast with the latest musical fad of that time, yes Beat It, Billie Jean and Thriller. There was this mass hysteria that was fast engulfing the youth and I didn’t want to be left behind.

Once I had been indoctrinated by a gentle nudge from friends, I soon, of my own volition, got baptized into this holy sect of scintillating, never-heard-before sound. Such was the pull and drawing power of the music and the magnetism of its creator that we simply got sucked in.

The western music loving people of my generation had found a new God and his name was Michael Jackson. He was more than an enigma for us. To us, he was our musical messiah who herded us to the blessed land that lay beyond our daily trials and tribulations.

We grooved to his music at our dance parties that became so famous that they were sought-after in the Doon Valley of the 80s and early 90s. No jam sessions were complete without MJ’s albums being played to high decibels. My dancing partners and I chose Michael Jackson’s songs for our piece-de-resistance in the dance competitions which we ended up winning. Today, I would like to give credit to the music more than my alacrity and nimble-footedness on the dance floor.

Over the years, Michael Jackson’s music meant different things to me at different times. During the magical monsoons in Doon, I swayed to the lilting tunes of Ben, The Girl is Mine and Man in the Mirror. During my dancercises, I shook my body to his foot-tapping hits. Later, I marveled at the emotionality of his artistic temperament as I tuned into ‘We are the World,’ ‘Heal the World’ and ‘Black or White.’

The musical idol, who now twinkles amidst the stars, did not simply regale me with his unique beats and enchant me with his special music. MJ has left lasting impressions and a master class on life for me and a large number of people, both from my generation and beyond. Here’s what he brought into our lives -

Acceptance – We were part of this large international community of young ones who were MJ converts. We had been transformed by his music and we were his disciples following his every dance move or new release. We found acceptance for ourselves amongst our peers and a sense of unity with the global world.

Confidence – That is what he instilled in us even from across the Atlantic. We knew his songs, we tried his thrusts and shimmies and walks. And because we did all this, we were never the shrinking violets or the wallflowers who dotted the corners of the room. We were out there having fun, bringing in a lot of back-slapping bonhomie, being the heart of the gatherings – the inspired lot who in turn inspired others in our coterie. And because we were confident souls in the social circuit, we were also bold not brazen, self-assured not cynical in our other pursuits as well.

Popularity – Because we attempted to move like him, because we were in step with what was in, because we were the groovy lot that jived to the MJ beat and were well-conversant with the MJ lingo, because we were this hip set that could sing MJ’s songs backwards and could use slang such as Beat It with a lot of élan; boy, were we popular.

I will always be indebted to Michael Jackson for helping me get an image makeover from a studious bookworm to this bubbly babe whom everybody wanted to know in college. And guess what, because I regarded MJ’s music with a sense of sanctity and enjoyed it for its sheer brilliance, uniqueness and ingenuity, I did not allow my reverence to get diluted with any peer pressure. So, I did no drugs, did not enjoy tipple – a dance party mainstay, did not let my grades fall and generally remained a good girl who was popular and fun-loving at the same time.

Style - After his demise, I read in several of the obits that MJ was regarded as a style icon. My generation began following him long before the phrase was coined. We came out with our own versions of fedoras, white glove and socks, black shoes, skin-tight jeans and yes, belts. We not only cultivated this ‘MJ’ style but also had the smarts to carry it with a lot of chutzpah.

Stress –Michael Jackson’s music has been one of the biggest stress busters for a whole lot of us, even today. In my last job, at one point of time, getting to work became a nightmare. The commute to work used to be filled with dreadful thoughts of facing the hell boy at work, the only bright light being the Jackson CD playing on the car system. Willy-nilly it brought a smile to my lips, put a song in my heart, lightened my steps and proved to be more meditational and therapeutic than the entire course of Art of Living. Similarly, after a hard day’s work that stretched well beyond 10-11 hours, it was his music that helped me battle the stress.

Happiness – It can be said with utmost conviction that Michael Jackson’s music has always made us happy. Even ecstatic, at times euphoric, a lot of times rapturous but always, overridingly, happy.

If I wanted to shake myself from a state of ennui, if I wanted to put on my dancing shoes, if I wanted to beat the blues, if I wanted to stop being lazy and go for that walk, if I wanted a little pick-me-up, all I had to, nay have to do is listen to an MJ number. It always works for me. His music has that inherent feel-good quality to it that spells bliss, bright and bold.

Given the tragic life that he’s had, I wonder if he really knew how many lives he has touched positively and brought happiness to.

Talent - Michael Jackson was a huge trove of talent. He has been one of the most sensational singers of all time, his dancing skills were such that they are emulated to this day, his songwriting skills were extraordinary, his videos are legendary and above all, he was the most composite and ultimate entertainer. MJ has taught us that we, too, can multi-layer ourselves with multiple talents and endeavour to reach the zenith in our chosen areas.

Lessons of life – Finally, Michael’s iconic yet tragic life holds a lesson for all of us. Here are a few that hold a lot of meaning for me -

Little shining star Michael taught us that you can assume responsibility for your family and loved ones even at the tender ages of five or 11. You only need big shoulders and a genuine inclination in that direction.

You can face any assault to your person or mind and come out stronger. At least in the first 3-4 decades of his life, when he rode the upper crest, MJ seemed to have overcome all the negative influences of his childhood rather well. At one time he did seem to have slayed his personal demons triumphantly.

In his leaving for eternity he has left this eternal lesson with us on how not to lead our lives. Drug abuse, accusations of child molestation, several liaisons – secret and otherwise, masks & gas chambers, needles & scalpels, tabloids & glowing tributes…………. Certain things in some professions are inherent. They come with the package. But for most, we ourselves are the decision-makers.

In his death, he has shown us that this is no way to go for anyone, leave alone a legend of his stature. The choices are in our hands. Are we willing to turn the stumbling stones into building blocks, the hazards into how-tos and the turbulence & turmoil into a tryst with destiny that strengthens the spirit and lays down the path for betterment?

MJ has taught us how to treasure all that one accumulates not by the stroke of luck but by the dint of one’s hard work. That he dithered it all away in his later years, should come as a sharp reminder to all of us, when we tend to get smug and snooty about it.

Michael Jackson, with his choicely penned lyrics and thoughtful words, urged us to look at the “man in the mirror and change some of his ways.”

He has shown us how talent and hard work can prevail over the biases. How the gifted and the genius can win over the prejudiced. With the global and incomparably huge recognition that MJ has received in his lifetime and so much more in death, he has overpowered the bias of colour, creed, race or religion.

In his musical prowess, his inventiveness, the sheer mastery over his craft and his uniqueness, Michael Jackson has taught us all to strive for excellence and aim for the stars.

And because he had it all before he lost everything – family, fortune, fame – Michael Jackson, in his tragic, untimely death, has taught us how not to squander away the reputation built with the building blocks of inspiration, perspicacity and sweat.

With his fan base and hysteria surpassing that seen for the likes of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll or the People’s Princess, Michael Jackson filled our hearts with love for him and adulation like for no other, just by the magic of his music and the brightness of his brilliance.

Michael, we miss you. I am sure you rest in peace, now that you are in God’s embrace, far from the world of ghouls and ghosts you created for yourself!

*******

Picture courtesy - Google Images

Note - The article first appeared on Daily O on 25th June 2018

https://www.dailyo.in/arts/king-of-pop-michael-jackson-moonwalk-music-icons/story/1/25099.html

Self before Gender; Country before Self!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sat, 16 Jun 2018 07:55:00 +0000

OK, I will address the elephant in the room.

Since when is adhering to a country's cultural lay-downs seen as misogynistic and regressive towards women?

Given all the Indian hypocrisy, aren't there different rules for both men and women in terms of attire, socially acceptable behaviour, sexually inclined conduct in public and so on that we'd like foreigners visiting India to adhere to? Similar patterns and expectations are found everywhere else in the world.

Would it not have been more mature and large-hearted and bigger minded for Soumya Swaminathan to keep her sporting spirit alive and play for her country?

Isn't country first, self second?

Also, playing in a country as a player from another country, in both places where gender issues thrive and women are considered second class citizens, would have been a far bigger win.

What's a mere headscarf to cover a head that encases a magnificent brain!

Social media may keep the issue alive for some time but history would have remembered Soumya more as a winning champ than as a girl who refused to wear a scarf.

While I do understand where Soumya is coming from, I think the examples that women should set must have a larger scope, deeper impression and more profound influence.

Picture courtesy - Pinterest and Elle

Amitabh, Priyanka, Vidya, Sushmita, Ranbir, Ranveer, Aishwarya, Alia - So who is your favourite public speaking Bollywood actor?

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Wed, 13 Jun 2018 16:15:00 +0000

The art and skill of oratory do not go hand in hand with the profession of acting it seems. There are scores of actors who light up only when the camera comes on. When asked to speak in interviews or at public forums, there are actors who turn out to be damp squibs and as scintillating as the night sky during New Moon.

Yet, put them in front of a camera, put on the arc lights and they shine out with their histrionics and very impressive oeuvre of high drama and finely nuanced performances. Names such as Ajay Devgn, Ranbir Kapoor, India’s first Superstar Rajesh Khanna, even Akshay Kumar come to mind. Aamir Khan, who I feel approaches his work like a genius and transforms completely for every role, fails to impress when at the podium. Shahid Kapur manages to pass muster but he still has to fine tune his oratorical skills. Ranveer Singh, true to the image he wishes to cultivate, hams it up everywhere. Shahrukh Khan appears laboured when attempting to be serious; while during a normal interaction he keeps it down to artlessness with his plain speak.

The Shahenshah of the Indian film industry (he despises the term Bollywood), Amitabh Bachchan, stands torso, shoulder and head above most people before his time and now. The sheer magic of his rendition that is tailor-made to suit what he is mouthing – from poetry recital to a public discourse to an interview, his voice modulation, hell just his voice which is iconic in its own right, his fluency in any language he chooses to speak in, the diction, the attention given to pronouncing each word just the way it is meant to be, the effortlessness even if he may have practiced day and night; Big B’s skills with the spoken word are legendary. He has set a fine example for generations of people and has had people from his own fraternity follow and learn from him. From Rekha to Anushka, Amitabh Bachchan has been emulated by many.

That brings me to the moot point. Why aren’t all or most public figures good public speakers? Remember Rajiv Gandhi? And how, over time, he just had to pick up the threads and put enough effort into coming across as a passably moderate speaker! In direct contrast were leaders like Indira Gandhi and Atal Behari Vajpayee who had people eating out of their hands by the impeccable prowess over their public speaking.

Just as with political figures, with film stars too, I am quite confounded to note that most of them do not live up to their public personas each time they open their mouth. I seriously wonder why it is so when they have innumerable opportunities and sizeable experience to hone the skill and practice the form. Because, as an offshoot of their profession, whether they like it or not, they will always have to speak in public; then why don’t these highly public figures train themselves well and better their performance in public with every opportunity! Public speaking is an integral component and perpetual pressure of their profession that they cannot turn away from, yet many of them stay abysmal in their presentations.

The Hollywood film, The King’s Speech, imparts a fine lesson on the whys and wherefores of the significance of Public Speaking, taking it back to the time of King George VI. The future king had to hire a speech and language therapist who not only rids the royal of his stammering problem but instills confidence and interest for oratory in him.

The ordinary folk like us resort to practicing on family and friends and using the good ol’ ‘speaking in front of the mirror’ technique, but the influential and famous have the easy option to hire trainers, therapists, speech companions to come out in flying colours when in public.

I have been closely watching the artists from my gender to see how they fare, once again marveling at those who hold the torch high and grossly displeased with the ones who just don’t get it right, after all these years and such wonderful opportunities.

Sadly, only a handful of Bollywood heroines are good public speakers; if you can call them that.

I think, of the entire lot, Priyanka Chopra is the most impressive. She has a slightly higher cerebral quotient than most, speaks well and lucidly, has a command over her talk capsules, keeps the audience engaged and interested, appears knowledgeable and molds herself well to suit the platform she is on - in India, in US, in Bangladesh. Yes, she does come across as fake and put on many a time, but even at that moment, she manages to ensnare and entertain the audience that she may be addressing. And that is a win-win.

I also like Vidya Balan a lot. In fact, I like Vidya Balan more than I like Priyanka Chopra. She stays rooted, appears sincere, connects with the pulse of the audience, is shorn off any pretense or frill, is intelligent, and knows when to inject pleasant peals of laughter even when dishing out a sharp pill. My only grouse - she makes very few public outings.

One of the rising stars, in more ways than one, is Alia Bhatt. In spite of what she went through - public ridicule-wise post her lack of GK on Koffee with Karan - Alia lets confidence and composure sit well on her petite shoulders. She is upfront somewhat - it is a mere fraction of what her father Mahesh Bhatt is known for but she will soon learn her lessons from her illustrious Dad. And there is this sense of honesty about her - you know the kind which says like me the way I am - that is quite endearing.

Readers of a brief Facebook post I wrote on this subject urged me to consider Kangana Ranaut. If anything, she has been extremely admirable for her turnaround. The fortitude with which she fought off her lisp, the manner in which she taught herself to speak in good Hindi and English, the way she steeled her nerves to come across as stable and confident, if I were to give a The King’s Speech award then I would give it to her without batting an eyelid.

Some of the readers have also suggested the name of the fabulous and fabled Waheeda Rehman. Whatever little I have heard of her, she has come across as a true blue Bollywood royalty, with grace and gravitas, with excellent enunciation and a voice that feels like silk on skin. But I have heard very little of her to talk about her at length with regard to speechmaking.

Amongst the worst ones is easily Hema Malini. It is even more shockingly exasperating because Hema Malini has refused to get her locution right in spite of having worked in Hindi films for almost all her career span. Also because, once again, she chose a very public profession of Politics for her second innings! Yet the woman refuses to train herself, learn to speak clearly and coherently, attach importance to such things as flow and punctuation and pronunciation. Completely unmindful of the audience she continues to hyperventilate and let the sound of her voice crash against our ears each time she utters a word.

Then there is Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. I mean come’ on now! An international beauty queen, a global icon, an international cosmetic brand ambassador and someone who has had a million high profile opportunities thrust upon her - such great platforms that any girl would die for; yet she is such an earsore to listen to. In fact, each time she opens her trap and is sitting on a panel, I literally have my heart in my mouth for fear that she will make a fool of herself in that august gathering. Aishwarya is a good tutorial on how not to speak in public. She must realize that her excessively punctuating, silly giggles do not save her from her lackluster performance.

As a matter of fact, I have always been scared for Aishwarya. From the time she began appearing on David Frost to David Letterman to the more recent Oprah Show and her myriad outings in Cannes. In 2018, yet again all she did was giggle uncontrollably, latch on like a teenager to Dame Helen and speak her favourite, oft-repeated ten lines, “Pleasure is all mine. It will remain a special memory. Incredible interest in our cinema. I get asked about my experience. We are very, very privileged and very very honoured. We have a rich body of work. Thank you for embracing us and our work. It is always fun to return to Paris, LA….Y’all are so loving.”

While the French film director Lisa Azuelos was all meat, Dame Helen Mirren all grace and good content, our dear Ash remained as shaky and flimsy like a piece of jelly floating on her imaginary cloud of Bollywood Queenhood. Will somebody please tell her that a bunch of adjectives and interjections and very-verys liberally sprinkled with giggles don’t necessarily make a great speech.

The other offender is Jaya Bachchan, who is actually a master class on how to antagonize people. With her anger management issues, bad, rude behaviour, haughtiness and despicably condescending attitude, Jaya is like a raging bull let loose in a China Shop.

A real shocker on my list of bad speakers is the very polished and Swiss finishing school sophisticate Simi Grewal. Even with most things working in her favour - great looks, great body, great dressing sense, good exposure, good command over the language - yet when Simi speaks it has the vibrancy of a somnolence-inducing sedative. And the overly sweetness, well it will raise the blood sugar levels even in the non-diabetic.

Rekha, the quintessential Amitabh Bachchan acolyte and copycat, regardless of her inherent charm, the aura she has created for herself, the fondness for languages she displays when she speaks, the beauty she exudes, has not left a mark. She has carried out her Bachchan fetish too far, almost to laughable limits. And has forced herself to stay stuck in her Umrao Jaan courtesan character, which is good only for certain times, but on others, it becomes a tiresome caricature.

One lady who had everything going for her - intelligence, voice, presentation, body language, the sheer presence, her aura, her sexiness - and held a lot of promise has sadly lost the plot and gone downhill. Sushmita Sen used to be ravishing, riveting and razzmatazzy at one point. Now she orbits around Mars unhinged and stays in a place that earthlings don't wish to visit.

Before the detractors tell me to let the poor actresses be and the trolls come tumbling down to brand me as judgmental, let me explain why it is essential for public figures – politicians, business leaders, film stars – to be good public speakers. The first reason is obvious – they are in a very public profession and get to be in front of the camera and mike almost every day. With such exposure and with such opportunity, it beats me to think why would they not wish to present their best foot forward.

Also, more than politicians and business leaders, it is the film stars that are the most followed and emulated. Their fan following is huge and their influence extremely deep. What a fine example they would set in the minds of the young and the impressionable with their exemplary attributes, public speaking being one such essential trait.

Some actors are thankfully already setting great goals for us here. Tune back to Bachchan and tune ahead to Benedict Cumberbatch, Sandra Bullock, Will Smith, Wentworth Miller, Taraji P Henson, Sylvester Stallone, Peter Dinklage and Jim Carrey – the last two for their absolute magnificence and magnetism – for irresistibly profound tutelage and lasting inspiration! Watch the YouTube video on the Top Ten Speakers from Filmdom to see what I mean.

Mike drop!

******

Note - This article first appeared on Daily O on 13th June 2018

https://www.dailyo.in/arts/priyanka-chopra-alia-bhatt-ranbir-ranveer-bad-speech-bollywood-actors/story/1/24834.html

Picture courtesy - Google Images

Kitchen hack - Re-heating a Pizza Pie!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sat, 09 Jun 2018 11:38:00 +0000

Firstly pizzas should not be reheated. They must be had oven fresh; that too made in a wood-fired oven.

But we are not always lucky and have to resort to ordering take-aways.

In such cases, there is a right and wrong way of reheating the pizza pie. The wrong way, of course, is to put it in a microwave and heat. All that does for you is make the base saggy & soggy and the cheese lumpy.

The right way is to put the slices in a pan, sprinkle some drops of water around it, in the empty spaces, cover the pan with a lid and heat it on the stove for some time.

The pizza slices heated thus have crisp bases, almost oven toasted and the cheese cooks and melts in a proper manner.

Try it and let me know.

The Coppersmith Barbet, crimson-breasted Barbet!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Fri, 08 Jun 2018 11:44:00 +0000

"Like other barbets, they chisel out a hole inside a tree to build their nest. They are mainly fruit-eating but will take sometimes insects, especially winged termites. The call is a loud rather metallic tuk…tuk…tuk (or tunk), reminiscent of a copper sheet being beaten, giving the bird its name. Repeated monotonously for long periods, starting with a subdued tuk and building up to an even volume and tempo, the latter varying from 108 to 121 per minute and can continue with as many as 204 notes. They are silent and do not call in winter."

- Source Wikipedia

Why do you need Godmen?

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Wed, 06 Jun 2018 21:09:00 +0000

Please tell me why do you need a Godman - sort of a sleazy middleman - to get to "your" God?

Last night I was reading saved articles from the January 2018 issue of TOI and chanced upon the news on Virender Dev Dixit, another in the long line of ugly and evil Godmen. HIs devotees donated to him their hard earned money, their own selves and put their daughters in his service. The maniacal chap was known for Gupt Prasad under the garb of which he raped nubile girls.

It shocks and troubles me to think just how blinded can we get, in the name of fear, insecurity, hope for a better tomorrow, more wealth, better health and so on; so much that we bury all logic and reasoning and blind ourselves with ill-placed faith, often in meaningless rituals and harmful people.

The long list of devilish Godmen who keep raising their ugly head and have followers from every strata of society proves that we continue to be foolish and self-harming in the name of our belief.

Once, on our return from Rishikesh to Delhi, we met an NRI family during the pit stop. What attracted me to them was that they had their driver seated with them for lunch at the same table, enjoying the same fare. Since it is still not a common sight in India, I got talking to them.

While the man was gentlemanly and polite, his wife was ill-tempered, curt and rude.

Anyway, during our conversation, we got around to reasons for our travel. They were visiting Rishikesh from Seattle to spend some time with their Guru. With genuine interest, I quizzed them as to what did they seek from the Guru. The cantankerous lady made a face and retorted, "Well, he guides us and brings us closer to God."

More astonished by the minute, I asked again, "But why do you need a Guru for that. You can have a dialogue with 'your' God all by yourself. Why a middleman?"

Le Husband, upon seeing the situation get somewhat tense, mumbled quick goodbyes and pulled me in another direction.

Many years back, a few of Daddy's colleagues began to follow the legendary 'Kali kamli wale Baba.' They began cajoling my father to join the group on their weekly/fortnightly visit to the Baba's Ashram.

My Dad was a spiritual man but not given to too many rituals and blind faith. He believed in having a conversation with God, in the time he kept aside for 'dhyan' but shunned any communion practice or herd mentality towards religion. And I think he had a strong dislike for Babas of any kind.

Kali kamli wale Baba at Allahabad, I am told, was a genuine man who did not show any interest in wealth or display any other kind of greed or lasciviousness. During his darshan, he showed all kinds of tricks - walking on white sheets with mud-soiled bare feet yet leaving no mark, pulling out hot jalebis as prasad from his empty black blanket that he wrapped his bare body with and so on.

He became fond of Ma, who went more for the spectacle and tamasha and the Baba's congeniality than anything else. Each time Ma went, the Baba would ask for Dad and Ma would have to make one flimsy excuse or another.

POne time, at the behest of Issar Uncle, Dad's close friend and senior and Ma, Dad went to meet the Baba half-heartedly. The Baba gaugedPicture this, laughed on seeing my father and said, "PL you are one fine man, but very stubborn. I know that you have no faith in me, but we can at least be friends."

Ma used to tell me that Dad would join the group of friends infrequently on their Ashram trips. But the Baba and Dad struck an uncommon friendship, man to man, devoid of religion, faith, benefits et al. and the Baba showed respect and displayed his fondness for Dad knowing that here was a man who met him as a self-sure being and sought absolutely nothing from him.

I don't think Dad or Ma would have ever stepped into the lairs of Asarams of the world. And they made sure, we grew up with our heads clear and with no place for fear and false faiths.

If you really believe in God, or whatever divine force you assume it to be, then no bad energy will be able to draw you towards them.

Moreover, the divinity does not need any bribe or tip or via media for you to be in step with it!

Picture courtesy - mydigitalfc

When you like somebody.....

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Wed, 06 Jun 2018 12:04:00 +0000

When you like somebody and when you don't!

Long back I read a very nice analogy - and to paraphrase it - If you like somebody then even if they topple a bowl in your lap, you will not mind it.

But if you do not like them, then even the way they hold their spoon will offend you. And I see it happening with me and others all the time!

No??

Picture courtesy - dreamstime.com

Killing the demand! Saving life, ours and theirs!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Tue, 05 Jun 2018 11:56:00 +0000

Because circuses, mostly, have been banning the use of animals; because there are fewer takers for Elephant rides, and there is a huge outcry from activists for using elephants at temples; I reckon the greedy human will not resort to breaking the spirit of the baby elephant. That's still something to cheer about.

If we kill the demand for things that are not rightly ours - Ivory, Crocodile Skin bags, Camel skin shoes, the Rhino horn, the Fox fur and so on - we will learn to live and let live.

Picture courtesy - World Animal Protection and Reuters

Types of people in our lives!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Mon, 04 Jun 2018 12:05:00 +0000

There are basically three types of people in your world - real and virtual. Those who are empathetic towards you and feel for you and with you.

Then there are those who are apathetic - who couldn't care less about what goes on in your life.

Finally, there are the antipathetic - who will never wish you well and would rather send off negative energy towards you.

There are friends and then there are "friends."

In today's Social Media hijacked world, we have friends who follow us, like all our posts or comment at the drop of a hat. And generally, live out the overblown version of armchair friendship.

Then there are friends who will rally around you each time you fall down and will rush to lend a hand should you be in distress.

I hope my Karma attracts more of the latter. And I wish to be one such friend to others too.

Life is like that. But at least we know who to align ourselves with, who to expect what from and just who to ignore!

Picture courtesy - Creative Teacherette

Good touch, Bad touch!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sun, 03 Jun 2018 14:58:00 +0000

Photo credit - Google Images

In the climate made reception-ready and responsive by the collective energy of #metoo, please teach your children - girls and boys alike - the difference between good touch and bad touch.

For little girls, it is extremely important to tell the good from the bad and to raise hell even at the slightest hint. In patriarchal societies like India, a lot of effort must be made to take the shame out of the circle of the victim and plant it at the door of the accused.

Little girls must be told that danger lurks everywhere - from the closest of quarters to the farthest - from an oft-visiting Uncle, a favourite cousin to the School bus conductor, a teacher; further on to a passerby, a man met casually at a mall etc. etc.

From leaving lasting lessons imparted little by little in the course of a day to showing by example, Ma made sure I grew up with a steely spine. Ma and Dad brought us up in a way that one grew into a strong woman, able enough to protect her own rights, sensitive enough to what could be wrong for either sex, strong enough to chin up and give a good fight and sensitized to gender equality to the extent of giving space and respect to both men and women.

When I was very young, I must have sensed how Ma brought in barriers where required, sent out chaperones or stood guard herself or asked Dad to step in where the need arose. When I grew up to be six and seven and eight, she would tell me not to sit on laps of uncles if so invited. She explained to me the different types of hugs or hand-holding or shoulder patting or a peck on the cheek and so on.

Another time, I was in college in Doon. One fine morning I was taking Ma to the Sub Area Command to take care of an official task. The timing matched with that of the labour force that sets foot outside at that hour to seek work. We found a group of rowdy young labourers speed up with me on their bicycles while I zipped on my moped. One of them, the most villainous of the lot, brushed against Ma's legs as she sat pillion behind me, attempted to tease me wildly and gesture profanely. Ma told me to put the brakes in time to stop the erring lad too, caught him by his collar and gave him a resounding slap across his right cheek, then two. She then, in the sternest of her voice, reprimanded him and put the fear of God in him.

I marvel at how Ma dealt with all this, in her time. She put me in a co-educational school, made sure I had a healthy equation with the boys and girls, yet she was always guarded about how I could be exploited. Today I feel so deeply indebted to Ma for all this.

Years later, a similar scene played out with my niece at Dilli Haat. I made sure the lascivious lout who had touched her inappropriately was caught in public and that the niece got the satisfaction of delivering instance justice by slapping him as hard as she could.

My parents' lessons stood me in good stead even at my workplaces when faced with a male colleague who wanted to play dirty in office.

With little boys, one has to be more mindful and teach them lessons on two levels. The first that they cannot be perpetrators of such abuse and damage to women. That it is morally, principally and ethically wrong to take advantage of the other sex. Further on, it is unlawful and of criminal intent to engage in any foul practice towards women.

The second aspect is to teach the boys about the bad touch that they may face themselves. And we know that boys face it too. And that they may, due to social conditioning, find it even more difficult than women to open up and share their trauma.

Several schools these days are picking up on the "Good touch, Bad touch" initiative. But of course, like in most cases, the most important lessons are imparted at home.

Sow the right seeds. Make the soil conducive and fertile at home. Nurture the young plants such that they grow to be giant trees that will always give root to a healthy society.

Man vs. Cockroach!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sun, 03 Jun 2018 12:24:00 +0000

Before starving to death, a cockroach can live for nine days without its head.

And, aided with arms and ammunition, man thinks he has power.

Picture courtesy - Google Images

India the land of great divides!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Fri, 25 May 2018 13:54:00 +0000

India by Kaci Felstet

India is a land of great divides and sharp dichotomies.

It is so rightly said, whatever may be true about India, the very opposite is also true!

What do you do with a country - which was/is special in so many ways - but houses people that are hell-bent on eroding it to the core, at so many abysmally low levels?

Why are WE pushing our country backward?

Why are those - (expectedly in a minority) - who want to make a positive change silenced, not supported, not encouraged?

What and how much - personal and societal pain, anguish, corruption, crime, ravaging of the moral fabric, loss of values, falling into the depths of depravity - will it take before WE all say no more!!!!

Ahh-India to India to India-ahhhhh!!!

A village classroom in the Indian hinterland by Karuna Dayal

Why can't we cast the caste system out? It is high time we did!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Thu, 24 May 2018 16:05:00 +0000

I am really upset with my lot!

Every single day, there is something being done to a Dalit or a woman or another being that can be exploited.

Why are we continually sliding back?

And what does caste mean, anyway, in today's times? I am a Kshatriya and my husband the highest level (uchch koti) of Brahmin. Does that even mean anything now? Back then, it defined people's professions and from that drew out the offshoots of their planks on the societal ladder!

But now?

And still, we continue to carry on with our hatefully abominable acts!

How will we explain our actions to the next generation? To the world that may be watching us? Heck, how do we address our Karma?

And when does the reprehensibility stop?

Photo courtesy - Google Images

Peekaboo!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Thu, 24 May 2018 14:59:00 +0000

No words needed!

Pictures here are, indeed, worth a thousand words!

How Priyanka took the wrong carriage to the Royal Wedding!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Tue, 22 May 2018 16:09:00 +0000

Photo: Courtesy Mimi Cuttrell/Instagram

Priyanka Chopra is, without doubt, one of the more sartorially sensible film stars from the Indian film industry, and now the American TV. Even in several of her US public appearances, Priyanka and her stylist mostly get the style quotient right. She is always dressed out in her best, whether in Indian, regional Indian or Western choices, showcasing her finest attributes.

However, at the Royal Wedding the lilac Vivienne Westwood natty outfit did little for Priyanka Chopra. It made her look more stern, stiff and school marmish; and with that fallen lapel design, she came out looking more busty than required. Haute couture, heck, even off the hangar well-designed dresses are meant to accentuate facets that we are less endowed with and play down those that we carry amply about us. A sari, for that matter, scores remarkably on either front.

The day dress Priyanka chose, however, failed her miserably.

I put out my unfavourable opinion of Priyanka’s ‘Royal Wedding’ look on Facebook and I had friends pouring in to share what they felt about it. Sadly for Chopra’s stylists (and she does have a huge team of 25 people to mind her every moment), most of the people commenting on the post agreed with my opinion.

One actor friend who is involved with theatre said to me, “She looked like she was going to the Royal Ascot race and not to the Royal Wedding.”

Another Milan-trained Art &Design expert friend, who has been involved in prestigious projects like the Commonwealth Games, said, “There is nothing wrong in wearing western outfits but this outfit certainly didn't do justice to the lovely artiste. Besides, trying to be like ‘them’ Priyanka had a chance to stand out of the crowd and be different. Unfortunately, she looks awkward in the Westwood outfit.”

A Banker friend based in Washington DC was unsugar-coatedly blunt and gave her broken-down-to-the-bone analysis saying, “I’d put her among the worst dressed. Simply no imagination. Overstuffed top. Poorly fitted skirt. The hat did not suit her. It made her face look round. The lipstick was the wrong colour for daytime, nor did it go with her clothes. What possessed her to go with Vivienne Westwood? You’re so right; she looked like a school marm.”

A mainstream media writer who is an expert on art and style too was as put off as me and mentioned, “She makes you think of an émigré Indian auntie from the 1960s trying to 'fit in'....and with so many fabulous, un-bling Indian clothes to choose from!”

Photo courtesy: Team Priyanka Chopra

Now here's the thing. Less physically blessed women like me or Oprah or so many others who do not have the most ideal height or physique or sexiness have to worry a lot about what would suit us. Or rather, would we suit this or that!

But not quite Priyanka Chopra! She can carry off most things with so much panache. In fact, Priyanka wears both Indian and western outfits with such élan that she instantly becomes a role model for a million fashoinistas around the globe.

So what went wrong at Meghan - her friend's wedding? Especially when Priyanka could have the world to choose from and knew about the grand occasion for so long, longer than most common folk!

She could have worn a fusion wear from the likes of Abu Jani & Sandeep Khosla, Rohit Bal, Sabyasachi Mukherjee or even Prabal Gurung, Ritu Beri or Rina Dhaka, made in rich Indian fabric, embroidery, design and style.

I am also of the strong belief that Celebrities should be with a Conscience and do their bit at every opportunity. This was a big one for Priyanka Chopra. I am all for letting people be. But these things should and do come from within. In fact, it is very Maslowian to start thinking of bigger causes (your people, your country, the world, the Universe, the Earth) once we have covered the first few rungs of basic needs, security, social relevance, wealth, fame etc. on Maslow’s Pyramid. As a matter of fact, a handful of celebrities, even from the world of cinema, have set wonderful examples on this point for us to emulate.

And for that, I really admire Oprah Winfrey in spite of what her detractors would say. The global Queen of Media has used her earlier highly successful and watched eponymous Show and not missed most opportunities to talk about race, women, health, weight, rape, inclusion, global warming, organic eating and a zillion other things. So here’s the ‘heart hashtag’ I’d like to see in most people of high influence - #CelebritywithaConscience.

An old colleague, completely in dissonance with my Facebook post and quite irked by the whole discussion said, “She is an Indian who is famous and attending the Royal Wedding on a personal invite. Priyanka is not leading the Indian Olympic squad and does not have to represent India in her clothes or anything!”

See, that’s the point. Priyanka didn’t have to and she did not. But she could have. She had one hell of an opportune moment to play her India hand and put Indian fashion and fabrics and design sensibilities and Indian fashion designers on the world map. That would have been one hell of a service to her country of origin.

Incidentally, Priyanka Chopra is an Ambassador of Assam, the wondrous North-eastern State with so much to offer. Here was her chance to show off the rich textile and design heritage of this remarkable State; on a world platform with billion eyes glued on to the Ceremony. What a great endorsement that would have been!

A friend from the North-east shared my sentiment and commented, “We have brilliant fashion designers in Assam who are designing fusion dresses with our Assam silk and other fabrics. She could have even worn our mekhla sador to showcase our rich culture and heritage.”

A very erudite and wise Delhi University Professor friend, whose opinion I always value, had this to say, “Let's cut to the chase. She looks sloppy. And almost grateful she made the list. And so she went with the Astor look. Muga or paat (Assam) with an Indian designer at work would have been so much more chic. So in it and also so sublimely confident!”

On the personal PR front too, Priyanka lost out here. A dress decision around what is being suggested above would have easily got her favourable reviews and given her so many media pegs to talk about both in Indian and International media. The stories and sub-stories around her ‘Royal Wedding’ breathtaking attire that also underlined her rooted allegiance would have stayed alive on the networks and in people’s minds for a long, long time. So, it is sad also to see her PR machinery miss out on this media relations opportunity that had potential to become a huge talking affair.

A friend who used to work with the International AIDS Vaccine Initiative had a similar opinion. “I agree with your point on being Indian, being creative and while maintaining your newly acquired international avatar ensuring you remain a brand for your roots,” she added.

In direct contrast to Priyanka’s decision, there were four lovely women turning heads, catching eyeballs, enjoying media presence and gathering appreciative glances and feedback with theirs. Activist Suhani Jalota, the founder of Myna Mahila Foundation, attended the royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle along with her foundation members - Archana Ambre, Deborah Das and Imogen Mansfield. The four women, in their rich colour palette and fabrics from the Indian design house ‘Raw Mango,’ looked heavenly and stood out amidst the very A-list crowd that really turned up in their very expensive and designer best.

Photo: Suhani Jalota

Priyanka could have asked her Stylist to think out of the box and plan out a fusion wear with which she could have donned a hat or a Fascinator ably; if that was the deciding matter.

You see, Priyanka does not have to try to fit in anymore. From what I see on YouTube, she is the Darling of the Indian media and has maneuvered around the American media extremely well, with most snippets on her coming out as complimentary. Many more people recognize Priyanka internationally now, so the pressure is off her somewhat, then what it was way back in her Boston days or even when she started out this time in the US of A.

Though Priyanka looked more feminine and much nicer at the Reception, sorely the Indian feel was again missing. And I think, somebody like her is just in that enviable position to clinch the 'awesome' India card, each time we have the world watching one of us.

Photo courtesy: Team Priyanka Chopra

Unfortunately for Priyanka, who normally handles her Celeb avatar very well, there are several people commenting that this time she showed a “wannabe White mentality,” and I guess they are not farther from the truth of the matter.

Finally, we all know Meghan Markle is a friend of hers. We know it because Priyanka has said it enough times, at every given or ungiven opportunity – to Jimmy Fallon or Kimmel or countless other hosts, on her Instagram page and wherever else she could plug it. Now I want to hear Meghan rant about that a bit.

Photo courtesy: People Magazine

One friend hastened to share with me TIME Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People series in which Meghan Markle chose to talk about Priyanka Chopra. Well, that is Meghan – 1 and PC – perhaps 100 to put a scorecard to it.

See, even Oprah Winfrey, Posh Spice, the Suits clan, Meghan Markle’s other fellow cast & crew, Amal Clooney were all there, but we do not see or hear any of them milk the Markle cow so much.

Priyanka Chopra’s PR team has done some good work for her around the Meghan link with the American media. Let's put it to rest and allow Meghan to be a private person that she will yearn to be now!

******

Note - This article originally appeared in Daily O on 22nd May 2018 -

https://www.dailyo.in/arts/priyanka-chopra-fashion-fail-meghan-markle-harry-wedding-royal-wedding/story/1/24325.html

When we wrote letters!

noreply@blogger.com (Aruna Dhir) — Sun, 20 May 2018 15:49:00 +0000

There was a time when writing letters was a highly sensory experience. First, the setting had to be right. There had to be a nice, wooden work desk, with its various accouterments, on which we placed our forearms and put pen to paper.

If the bed was our position of preference then the cushion had to be sturdy enough to bear the weight of the pad and our indentations on it.

And if our luxuriously lush lawns were places where we parked ourselves to pen down the epistles, then the rug had to be in those bright, pick-me-up colours and had to be placed under the shade of a Frangipani tree with its richly perfumed flowers lying scattered around the rug. The time of the day had to be right and the breeze had to be controlled by the One Above - not too maniacal as a breeze can get and tamed enough to keep us cool.

We paid attention to all the small and big things that formed an integral part of our letter writing ritual. And yes, it was a sensuous undertaking, involving at least four of our senses, that of sight, smell, hearing and touch!

The showmanship unfolded from what we wrote on to the tools we wrote with. From onion skin, floral-scented paper, that made a faint musical rustle each time we let a thought travel from our head to its surface! To the grandly-nibbed, gold-coloured fountain pens first, followed by ballpoints with the right point size to let our handwritings stand out; once the fountain pens phased out to live only in our memory banks. Writing with the pen gifted by Dad was of special significance and was reserved for very special letters that were written around our little successes and laudable achievements.

The envelopes had to be just right too. Like a piece of livery, they had to suit the occasion. Formal, plain, long whites for official mail; floral, pastel-coloured ones for mon amours; one with cartoons for friends or family; rimmed, embossed ones with a nice sticker to hold their backs for important contacts.

We even gave weightage to our handwriting and grammar and spelling. A lot was at stake there!

Since writing by hand is a slower process, and can take the mantle of an art form - we first thought then wrote and we let thinking happen at its own pace.

There was something almost sensual and romantic about writing with one’s hand. There was the patience of a lover in drawing the thumb and the index finger in a rhythmic motion as against the staccato pounding of a noisy keypad. The certainty of strokes and the precision with which each word was ended and a new one begun and between that, the same word continued through with the smooth movement guided by the wrist, as opposed to pressing tabs, skipping a letter or typing too fast thereby inevitably misspelling and then hitting backspace on a disembodied machine. Oh, the complete ho-hum and charmless fare of typing as a sharp and ungainly contrast to writing in longhand with a fluid motion of the hand, as if to paint a rich tapestry with words!

The passion play of ink on paper, the masterfulness of penning down a legible script - your script in your style of writing and not just picking out of a documented font appears like a badge of honour today.

The ability to draw out neat and pretty cursive with looping tails of a 'g' or 'y', the emphatic dots on 'i' and 'j', the definitive strike out of a 't', the curling up of an optimistic 'a', 'c' 'd' or 'e' - there was drama in each alphabet and poetry in motion in the whole sentence.

The lost art of longhand writing has made us miss out on the pleasure of seeing a good piece of handwritten script and pen craft - an art we are losing out to time, machine and thinning out passions.

When I was working with Archies G&G Ltd., as India’s first and only Creative Writer whose name was put on the Greeting cards, I went crazy like a child left in a toy store. The range of Letter pads and envelopes available was mind-boggling. There seemed to be one for every occasion, every mood, every equation and every emotion. Just a look at them made us want to write a letter, whether there was anything to write home about or not!

I don’t know about you, but for me, music formed a huge backdrop in the letter writing process. If it was something officious or of occupational importance, then Eye of the Tiger or even Mozart lent the right beat to my hand movement and to the spirit behind the writing. If it was a note being written to a boyfriend then Richard Clayderman came to my assistance to fine tune my mood. If it was a joyous note to a friend then even Jerry Lewis did the trick as I let my words dance on the festoon accented notepad.

There were also the so-called dark ages in my letter-writing life when I played Munshi to my Mother and wrote all the bureaucratic stuff on her behalf. Those, as we know, are never fun things and bear us down with their self-assuming importance.

It kind of came full circle for me, when I was appointed on the Change Agent Team with a mandate to relaunch and re-position The Imperial as one of India and Asia’s finest hotel. As the Brand Management Lead, I was also responsible for carving out a Brand Identity for the re-positioned hotel. It involved creating new collateral, merchandize and stationery among a host of other Brand Image paraphernalia.

I had a field day feeling and caressing swatches of paper, playing around with fonts, zoning on background designs and textures, developing gold embossed stickers with the Hotel insignia to seal the envelopes so as to develop a heavenly range of letter/notes writing equipage for guests who enjoyed the effort that went into creating the premium collection and carried the lot with them for future use. I like to think that perhaps the finesse of the paper trappings brought back the love of letter writing in these folks.

Our letter-writing act, if you recall, always came with a lot of theatrics. If a mushy note was being penned to a beau, we had to make sure that no one was around to see us write those sentimental lines or hear our fiercely pounding heart, loud enough to bring the roof down. If we were penning down a formidably formalistic dispatch then we demanded complete silence. If a letter was being mailed to a relative then we wanted everybody to pitch in with a family message or greeting making it a compositely familial affair.

Receiving a letter brought in an avalanche of emotions to engulf us. There was so much joy in getting a letter by snail mail. There was the excitement of the Mailman ringing the bell at the Gate to announce that he came bearing stories on sheaves of paper from a dear, distant friend.

When my poems began to get published in Target, Jetset and other magazines and when my Archies cards made an appearance on the Archies Gallery shelves countrywide, I began to get fan mail. And that put me in an altogether different orbit.

Then there were letters from friends in Kerala and Patna that I loved to receive. But the most watched out for were big, fat letters from my American friend Clayton Cornell who wrote such lengthy reams and sent me stickers and tinsels and cartoon cutouts that getting and reading his mail was like an occasion in itself.

Finally, posting letters was a routine that came accompanied with caution, ceremony and convention. If an important communication was being sent out, enough warnings were given to the carrier to ensure safe, smooth and stable delivery of the envelope either in the mailbox or at the General Post Office. The carrier was told umpteen times to not lose the envelope or drop it or ruin it by a freak accident as it contained matters of high importance.

During my JNU days, I remember matching my time of posting a letter to a person of special interest with the pick-up schedule of the Mailman. That meant standing around Godavari hostel and drinking countless cups of tea to kill time while positioned near the red box and patiently waiting to see the khaki-clad man of the moment wheel in on his bicycle.

A note sent from the phone or desktop or iPad, a message sent over SMS or WhatsApp will sadly never have the sense of romance, thrill, satisfaction and excitement of a handwritten letter!

At one of the places I worked in, we were gifted the limited edition, blue stone encrusted Mont Blancs. Just to resurrect the beautiful pen – a piece of art in itself – I must zero down on a deserving person to write a handwritten note to, with the subject to match.

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