My name is Kong

You have to hand it to King Khan when it comes to self indulgence. As opposed to regional cinema where its common to come across larger than life figures who rule the roost, 'Bollywood' is mainstream, with the audience being diverse, and yet this man creates epics with the focus being who else but 'King Kong' himself. Its grand in sweep, scale and melodrama, with slickly packaged aspects of social life in India every second person gets misty eyed about: elaborate weddings, kids coming of age, nostalgic parents etc. You may cringe, but hey, Khan sells!

anda pav

If you need to see evidence of entrepreneurship talent in India, look no further than the humble anda pav (omelet wrapped inside a bun) dished out by enterprising men with fast hands. The stretch from CST to Gateway of India is dotted with stalls with modest setups including no more than a kerosene stove, a few utensils and of course dozens of shiny eggs and buns wrapped in plastic. Almost in a single motion they crack eggs open, mix ingredients, fry the concoction and before you can say 'McDonalds' you're staring at a piping hot honey & yellow wrap, to be gulped down in a couple of munches. These are a valuable source of food on the move for millions of commoners who otherwise would have been left with a bad taste in the mouth with prices established eateries charge, not to mention the money it brings to these men with initiative who are left to fry their own eggs.

just roll over and die

Stand up comedy is a difficult art. People who are scared of public speaking should try and crack a joke on stage. The moment between delivering the punchline and the audience response is when the performer lives and dies a hundred times. Few things can be more embarrassing than a joke falling flat on its face. Thus, as an insurance policy, some comedians fall back on what I'd like to describe here as 'potty humor'.(doesn't sound very funny, blame my limitations with the language) Crack a few on various stages of human bowel movements and you're sure to raise a few laughs, appealing as it does to that scatological element in most of us. The act at the KGAF on Saturday saw Nitin (who's claim to fame is that he's from Dubai) found a Frenchman's head to poop on. Apparently its funny when the French ask to take a dump. Granted they are very sophisticated and all, but they still have their rear end with a very important use for it. It all ended with him appealing to women to roll over and play dead after sex, echoing what men think about a post coital yap session. Ladies, please understand, after all that foreplay and the act itself, all we want is a good smoke, and not a verbal postmortem! Nitin's thoughts, not mine!

the play from hell

A bad play is like a bad date; its difficult to escape from (especially in cramped auditoriums where a hasty exit may attract disapproving glances) just like a sense of propriety may prevent you from bailing out of the latter. The chemistry sucks in a bad date, just like in a clumsily produced play and there was no dearth of ham handed dialogues and contrived situations in 'Sometimes' at the KGAF. I felt the scriptwriter needs to work with the language for at least a decade before even mounting another effort at writing a screenplay in English. There was no flow, the choice of language was jarring, humor, if any was forced; I could go on but as with all bad dates, one should move on, with a sense of gratitude for the good ones whose value is magnified when contrasted with these disasters!

Bad Bush

Another day at the KGAF, another book launch, only this one had the audience in splits. Anubhav Paul of 'Loins of Punjab' fame has written his latest 'mocumentry' into a novel - The President is coming. The prose is crisp and his sense of comic timing is superb to say the least. Sample this - White House spokeswoman announces President Bush looking for a young Indian, reporter asks how young? Spokeswoman hesitates 'It's not like that'. The satire genre is really taking off with young Indians willing to laugh at themselves. After all, if an entire generation of IIT/IIM grads (of all people!) are willing to write about mediocrity and sell lakhs of copies, acquiring a sense of humor must be getting fashionable!

P.S. - Sunshine Boys was watchable, but a little drawn out. Watch it for the tarty nurse. Nothing like some shapely legs to spice up the humor!

Hold my hand

All of us have come across it sometime or the other. Some people probably find it touching. I belong to the group which finds it revolting. I mean what; did you not grow out of it while growing out of braces and plastic potties? In case you’re wondering, its couples holding hands in enclosed, cramped public places and making a show of it. Don’t get me wrong here; I’m neither a prude nor a member of the Ram Sene, since what I’m talking about is not casual handholding which most of us have done. It’s the gingerly held, I’ll-lead-you-out-of-this-crowded-mess-just-watch-your-step type grip. It’s almost always led by an ultra chivalrous male followed by a whimpering, simpering dame, a real incarnation of Wordsworth’s Lucy poems. They’ll put puppy love to shame. I wonder if the caring male escorts his lady love into the loo as well. But then again this is a family blog.

bang and a whimper

A para is in order for the mauling we received at the hands of the springboks (or is it proteas now?)in that great national pastime of ours: cricket. We should have seen it coming, with Ishant chucking oranges at Nagpur and Harbhajan seriously considering using his middle finger, not for letting people know what he thinks of them but as his spinning finger. (Last heard Sree had nibbled at bhajji's forefinger, with a few appams). Our batters thought it was still IPL and that Steyn had only four overs to bowl; before they could complain to the umpire they had their stumps cartwheeling all over the place, poor things! Poor Wriddhiman got drafted as a stumper then picked as a batter and finally replaced with another keeper, all this when the selectors kept harping that all they needed to do was to bolster the batting. Maybe he should consider taking up hockey; with the experience of this episode and the state of affairs of Indian hockey, young Saha might just be made the captain of the squad! Last heard, undertakers were supervising the track at Eden for the next test and a plan is in place to experiment with Bhajji opening the batting with Viru. To that effect the Indian team management has already slipped a cd of bhajji mauling Sree into Dale Steyn's room.

Cloak and dagger stuff

What's worse than being left in the clutches of sadistic foreign agents if you're a spy? It's getting fucked by a terror kingpin while gathering dope on him and then realizing that the cute lover you left behind, and for whom you agreed to be on such a lunatic mission in the first place, was playing you all along to 'recruit' you. I should probably get a cd of this movie, just in case if I feel too cynical about life I can run this movie by me. Compared to its bleakness, even a doordarshan news reader would appear to be like little miss sunshine. That's 'Secret Defence' for you, with the French secret service, Al-qaida and what looked like a global reunion of various Middle Eastern nationals all denouncing the west and ogling at bikini clad beauties on television at the same time. Caught it today at KG. The French are never too far away from getting loads of action, seemed to me.

'The Diary' a play premiering today was quite heartwarming. The comic timing was spot on and the play itself was crisp. The lead actor got a little carried away however during the curtain call, as he quickly pecked at the cheek of the lead actress. Chemistry was definitely not restricted only to the stage!

physician, heal thyself

Before I mention today's events, a quick glance at yesterday: Caught Akiro Kurosawa's masterpiece 'Ran', an oscar winning period drama. Was struck by its grand sweep and scale. The cinematography was breathtaking to say the least. Attended a panel discussion on 'City Writing' which had Amit Varma as one of the participants. Good insights into how Bombay or any city for that matter plays a role in the narrative.

Tuesday at KG kicked off with 'City in heat'(Spanish)about a cafe in Buenos Aires which serves as a rendezvous for a group of friends. It had some hilarious moments like three people about to consign a friend's ashes into a lake wondering if he could swim, and arguing about the (dead)person's fate when the ashes are pecked at by ducks; would he become duck shit or a roast at someone's dinner table?! The movie had a deft touch in the way it brought out nuances in the relationships.

The piece de resistance was the play 'The Laboratory'. An intense effort, it managed to shock and sway the audience with its plot about corrupt pharma companies exploiting desperate people in developed countries to test their drugs on them. Characters like a young girl aspiring to be a doctor with an alcoholic father and a dying mother are used to build up to the central message of the play. The use of dual narratives to depict both past and current events make the play fast paced and gripping. The cast was awe inspiring with veterans like Tom Alter and Dinyar Tirandaz. The compact auditorium meant that you're only a feet away from the stage. The result is the explosive impact the intense scenes have on you. A great day topped off by beer with friends at Sports Bar and dinner at Bade Miyan's.

hookers and rockers

Second day of workshop. Apprehension mixed with anticipation. Lurking fear of my writing sample being mocked at. Yet, the prospect of learning more keeps me riveted. I verbally summarize my writing sample, culled from a short story I've been working on. Feedback time. Manage to acquit myself; structure is pronounced, description quite vivid, definitely readable. Am quite glad to break for lunch on a high. I celebrate this with a guava, laced with black salt.

An interesting exercise happens post-lunch. Exasperated with some of the participants' obsession with planting prostitutes as characters in their writing projects, we are asked to script a dialogue between a brothel madam and a prospect, in the form of an interview. The results are less hilarious than you'd think. We are, as a consequence, told to steer clear of hookers and focus on less exciting characters in the future! I promptly make a note.

The workshop ends with a general feeling of hope. Everybody feels better equipped in their quest to swing the next Booker. We are all grateful to Anita, Manisha and Annie for their patience.They have dispensed some valuable tips, and have refrained from tearing their hair out at our ham-handed effort. My head feels lighter after being relieved of sundry misconceptions.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere outside at the Amphitheater was electric with 'Full Moon Rising' belting out some soul stirring stuff. The city's swish set was out there in full force, strutting their stuff. I love the way young girls in Bombay experiment with their sartorial style: gay abandon is what comes to my mind. Lets be grateful that this is probably the only city left in India where people can express themselves, and not have to look back over their shoulders for menacing middle aged baldies turning various shades of saffron.

Watched 'I always wanted to be a gangster', part of the film fest at KG. Think the French take their effort at self-indulgence a little too seriously. There is only so much latitude you're going to get if you let your plot go nowhere, even if you're French.

Black horse neighs

Starting today, I'll pen down my experiences at the week long Kala Ghoda art festival. A Calcuttan who has suffered annual diarrheas of expos and fests, I thought I'd seen it all, but the initial glimpses blew me away. Bombay, really is streets ahead of other Indian cities in such festivals precisely because of fests like KG. I'll not spill all the beans in one go. Instead I'd provide a daily brief as events unfold.

Attended the first day of the 'Writing to be published' workshop. Organized by the authors' forum Caferati, the workshop provides tips to wannabe authors with a mint new manuscript in hand but little idea with what to do with it. I myself had no professional 'schooling' in the subject and gained quite a few valuable tips first hand: length of a short story, how to analyze your own work, packaging yourself to publishers etc. The workshop was also addressed by Amit Varma of India Uncut and My friend Sancho fame. He proceeded to demolish almost all starry eyed notions of making one's livelihood as a writer in India. With the economy booming more and more people are being exposed to the works of Indian authors writing in English and hence an emerging aspiration to contribute to the numbers of this tribe. While most will crash and burn, the upshot is that interest has returned to reading, even though it's death knell was sounded not long back by the advent of television and twitter (in that order).

The printed word still has its charms.

May the force be with the young brigade!

romance in the badlands

Do you judge a book by its cover? Do you let the title of a movie lead you to or away from theatres? Ishqiya may be a semantics googly but it’s the best Hindi movie I’ve seen since Kaminey and incidentally, both come from the Vishal Bharadwaj stable. The man has since moved on from being a Tarentino wannabe; the characters are clearly fleshed out in their many dimensions. Balan is superb in essaying her role as a vulnerable seductress as she plots her way to revenge. She is foxy, sexually manipulative and steely; her smoldering on-screen presence manifesting the hurt and turmoil inside. Naseeruddin Shah is brilliant as expected, although I thought he looked more of a poet than a fugitive. Would romancing a sensuous widow be your top priority when demented gangsters bay for your blood?! You decide...Arshad Warsi’s character is like a loose cannon; he thinks with his groins and will bend every tenet of morality to live another day. He is glib, libidinous and is unhinged when rubbed the wrong way. Even the supporting cast delivers in reinforcing the themes of deception and betrayal. After puking through a deluge of McDonaldised assembly line Bollywood productions with hackneyed plots and slap-them-till-they-guffaw punch lines, this earthy drama is like a whiff of fresh breeze. It moves seamlessly from the comic to the sinister and has a background score to match. There are some caricatures, like the warlordesque but senile don who pursues the uncle-nephew pair, but these don’t rankle, they only reinforce the movie’s cynical air. Yet it’s not despondent; the elderly man’s ham handed effort at romance tugs at the heartstrings. There is redemption, as the woman is revealed to have schemed for love, not lucre and the hustlers return to save the day, driven by their hazy idea of what happy domesticity is, which even includes breaking wind and defecating by the riverside...

Watch this movie, if only to hear the duo argues about matters of the heart, as Babban (Warsi) challenges Khalujan (uncle) , ‘Tumhara ishq ishq hain aura mera ishq sex?’

adolescence comes of age

The creator of Holden Caulfield is no more. True to the character he created, he was convinced that the world around him was ‘phoney’ and hence shunned attention, becoming a recluse. Without belaboring the point of how ‘Catcher in the rye’ has been a rite of passage for thousands into adolescence, I’ll dwell for a moment on the simplicity of his prose. It was essential for the kind of book that he set out to write to be cognizant of the impatience of youth. J.D.Salinger’s matter-of-fact style of writing captured the angst of the precocious Caulfield like no other. As a feature writer puts it, it was as if an adolescent discovered that his autobiography had already been written: by J.D.Salinger.

sotto voce

Can e-bay create a category for this? Marketing tomes talk about fulfilling needs and wants...in that order usually. There is no doubt that it requires ingenuity to figure out complex wants and this young lady has certainly taken the cake! You may find this morally repugnant, but you cant deny the keen mental insight the person has into the human psyche. That she had to resort to this to pay her university fees is perhaps stretching it; such creativity should be rewarded with a tuition grant at the very least. Maybe, a noble rationale had to be conjured to compensate for what most would find outrageous. That is however, a topic to be discussed another day. Meanwhile, chastity belts anyone?

hopping mad!

This article really raised my hackles. One would think kangaroos were found only in Australia, but the number of 'kangaroo' courts the hindi heartland spawns really boggles the mind. Lame jokes apart, the law of the land has really been made an ass...shotgun justice anyone?

dusk by the sea

The evening was as laid back as the morning I'd spent. What else is to be expected at a place which is yet to be shackled and made machine-like by the demands of time. Where its difficult to distinguish between periods of the day unless you are transfixed by the sight of an orange blob slipping beneath the ocean and realize that dusk approaches. Where the tops of the casuarina trees dance sinuously in the gentle breeze, as if beckoning you from a distance. Where there is space to do your thing, for I saw a pony-tailed artist, squatting on the sand, sketching the abandoned trawler. Local revelers draw patterns on the sand using their fingers, maybe more secure in their belief that these spontaneous bursts of creativity will endure for a while in these deserted sands. Even the sea seems to tolerate these transgressions into its realm; its waves lap harmlessly, inches away from the 'sand art'...

Thankfully, dusk here does not bring with it the gaudy lights and the cacophony of sounds one associates with popular haunts. Instead, its a gentle transition: the darkness gradually envelops the place. Its almost eerie. The water catches the orange glow of the setting sun and is luminous while the abandoned boat casts a ponderous shadow over the dark sands. Scattered kids scurry about, making the most of the dying moments of the day. Its one of the few few beaches I've seen where the water, the sand and the human silhouettes are in complete harmony.

chronicles of a lone drinker (on holiday)

Search for wine shop. Pick brand and size to suit budget and palate. Wrap bottle in black plastic. Walk back, quick steps, conscious of excess baggage, nonchalant looks. Bottle safely deposited in room. Check for sufficient quantity of chilled water (dubious origin permissible) in battered plastic bottles. Remembrance of post-drinking hunger pangs past. Quick glance into wallet...thin finances...hail the versatile egg! The humble roti and the saviour egg, aromatic in foil...radiant smile of victory. Seal cracks, glass tinkles, liquid flows...all in sonorous melody. The drinker reclines, the world at his feet...

Chow time!

Lunch was authentic Malvani fare. Hotel Annapurna is a well kept place and casts an inviting look to roving souls rendered ravenous by their trek along the shore. Fried sea fish has been a revelation to me in this state; The sharp, salty tang beat the crap out of freshwater fare which Bengalis are used to. (This is strictly a personal opinion though). I'm quite taken by how a request for fiery fare always signals the arrival of 'Kolhapuri this' or 'Kolhapuri that'. I've not read widely upon the subject but the fact that Kolhapur is a culturally vibrant centre known for Marathi cinema and cuisine does surface in my memory. In my nearly two years in the region (even though my forays beyond the cosmopolitanism of Mumbai have been scarce), I have come to appreciate Marathi culture as vibrant and colorful. Its not understated and the buoyancy is unmistakable. This may have something to do with its large coastline. Resembling the tagline of a popular brand of alcoholic beverage, the sun does get into the spirit!

Having tucked into the liberally spiced and almost threateningly reddened mutton Kolhapuri and munched through a fried Surmai, I could find very little wrong with this world. The bright sunshine and the sea breeze had already given me a thorough working over; it needed little persuasion after the night long bus trip as it is. Having lulled myself into believing that I've discovered the place and would return triumphantly, I trudged back to the lodge...and let my delusional mind drift away...

My trip to Guhagarh

Guhagarh: aptly I thought described in a travel website as a 'one horse town'. Its one of the few places which still retains its idyllic flavour and is yet to be overrun by the ravages of cheap commercialization that soda pop tourism brings in its wake. The entire (town?) can be covered in 10 minutes flat on foot. Here I get a glimpse for the first time of rural Maharashtra and I must say its charming. The lodge caretaker eyes me with suspicion; a dispute with a drunk, reluctant to pay up tourist fresh on his mind. I haggle with him over the tariff but keep in mind his easy to rile sensibility. The fellow rewards me by providing a worn out hand towel and a glass tumbler...as a special concession. The small joys of life...

The beach is quite inviting; for starters, its not an eyesore. The snack shacks are in keeping with the modesty of the place. What is striking though is a sizeable (forty feet in length as judged by my limited spatial skills) wooden trawler abandoned smack in the middle of the beach. Washed up by a demonic wave to its sandy grave? Perhaps. The corpse with its rutted deck serve a purpose as a backdrop for photo-ops. The casuarina grove lining the beach is perhaps the crowning glory, literally and figuratively. This is my first glimpse of the Konkan coast and I wonder how many more of such gems exist. Its no tropical paradise; teeming hordes of loud, littering tourists ensure that in India. However, if solitude is your drug, this place packs a punch