The Drumstick Strikes Back

This is an excerpt from the translated speech that was given on 23^rd December at the International Avian Summit Conference by its supreme leader, General Hen Peck (no relation of Gregory Peck of course) in the national capital.

“My dear brothers and sisters of the fowl fraternity. (Tumultuous applause!)

It is here that we meet to make a resolution for the future. Our future. A Better future.

A brighter future, free from the gloomy confines and miserable hygiene that humans provide us in the name of poultry-farming. We have endured brutalities for a few thousand years in the name of service. But our silent subservience has been mistaken for our weakness. Even with the passage of great civilizations our conditions have not improved unlike the price of our flesh. What sold in Hogg Market for less than 60 rupees now costs a hundred. I believe that’s just inflation. But, then nothing seems changed. Human greed and appetite seems infinite. No matter how many of them die of starvation in Sudan or in Mozambique it hardly worries them. They keep gorging on our flesh and bones after facile debates on topics such as 'world poverty' and 'equitable distribution of wealth' get over in the UN Headquarters. This injudicious and biased distribution of our supreme sacrifices, namely our meat and eggs, is in gross violation of That Plateful Accord our great leader Cuckoo-n-Khamen signed in Egypt with his human counterpart. The terms of the accord seem to have been completely forgotten. As if this heinous undermining of our spirit of service and over-pricing of our flesh was not enough, I hear, some Indian diplomat had the audacity to call us hideous names by comparing our headless brothers with their good-for-nothing politicians. I ask you, What can be more dastardly than this? (A big roar goes up. With no sign of this ebbing, the General Secretary pleads to the sea of chickenity to settle down. After a few turbulent moments of thoughtfulness, Hen Peck resumes...)

I believe its time for retribution now. Time for vengeance. And what better way than to make it look imperiously ironic by stealing their plans to wreak havoc on them. Our special cells are being trained in the manner fidayeens in Kashmir and the Middle East train themselves. Only ours will be a more ingenious method. Far more sinister and claiming bigger tolls. Where they cause little damage by blowing themselves up in ostentatious explosions in public-places, ours will be a more deliberate and strategically superior method. The thing I call ‘Covert Catastrophe’. I remember my good friend, Don Meato Cock-eone once saying, “Revenge, unlike chicken, is best served cold.” Ours will be that recipe for revenge. Only this time the flesh will be ours............(pregnant pause).... and the apron too. (Crowds go mad. Females neglect chicks, males forget to brood. Roosters raise hell with their throats working overtime lest they be put to sword anytime now for crowing out of turn.)

And for performing this Her-mule-ean duty I ask of you to come forward and bear the burden of our miserable past. Only you can leave a proud precedent for posterity.

Join the Fowl Brigade. (Now howling like an autumn gale) Infect yourselves with strains of the virulent Avian flu. Look as eternally sumptuous as you and your forefathers have while gracing human buffets, caressing their palates, inviting their appetites. And then (with a cruel cunning showing ominously in his beady eyes...he whispers like the Dimer-Devil (Diabolique-de-Chicken) himself) strike with all you’ve got! The prices will fall. Many of us will be mercilessly culled. But, we must be unwavering in our pursuit, unfailing in our mission. The deceased should pass the baton (the flu i.e) to the next and the plague would proliferate in no time. Remember (thunderously pounds the desk and the podium), it is upon your ability to protect the virus from extinction on which our success hinges. Make the air resonate with billions of human sneezes. Our brothers from the Hawk-and-Vulture Council of Elders have offered volunteers for furthering our just cause. Negotiations are on to rope-in influential members of the Pork-Parliament. Get killed, you will in the process. Only ensure that you are handled with no protective clothing on the humans, and persevere, if possible, to jump out of the cauldron before it reaches that deadly 60-degree Celsius.

Soon, the pandemic will be ours. And panic our cry.

(The crowd is riotous now. The grounds replete with remnants of their excrement....errrr....excitement in the form of heady manure that could sustain oak orchards for the coming millennia reeks of the speech’s success. Peck continues....)

One vision. One motto.

Kill Men!

(rapturous applause and battle cries rend the air)

In Appetite we trust.

More so, in the West Bengal Government.

(Now a solemn shade of satisfaction coming over his violent visage, he whispers...)

Egg Chow-Amen.”

(End of speech to sustained waves of cheers and applause).

image:google wallpaper.

'Away From Her' - A Review

An aged wife tells her husband,

“You could have just driven away without a care in the world for me, and forsaken me”

With a pause pregnant with unsaid emotions he whispers,

“Not a chance.”

These two lines which appear so unambiguously banal in content at first glance there lies the ultimate test and triumph of an alliance that is forged over a lifetime.

The alliance we call ‘marriage’.

‘Away From Her’ is a film which captivates with its sheer force of simplicity, all the while delineating the intricate details of a complex human story with the natural grace of life and nature. Adopted from the work named ‘The Bear Came over the Mountain’ by Alice Munro, the film revolves around the trials and tribulations of an elderly couple trying to come to terms with the curse of Alzheimer’s disease and its attendant complications. As Fiona (Julie Christie) starts to lose her memory she is shifted to a ‘retirement facility’ for ailing people, much to the despair of her husband, Grant (Gordon Pinsent), who is emotionally disturbed and much upset at the separation. The immaculate depiction of the traumatic phases that an Alzheimer’s victim undergoes poses a thousand pointed questions to the viewer. The very conception of ‘memory’, as we know it, is shaken to its foundations as one grapples to identify and later appreciate how singularly beautiful it might be to discover a fresh appeal within the confines of familiarity without our mental retention of the past and the memorized. How fascinatingly juvenile and invigorating it might have been to get lost in the woods that one was so accustomed to. How thrilling it might have been to start acquaintance with the person one loved for a lifetime and thereby script a story of rediscovery and revision.

The film lends a compellingly thoughtful perspective in this regard and thereby makes the journey for the viewer that much more enriching than mere enjoyable.

As the film moves on, the consequences of a depleting memory surface to test Grant while Fiona finds comfort and company in Aubrey, another ailing inmate in the facility, oblivious of her past affiliations and bindings. A period of insecurity and possessiveness consume him, which later transpires into a better understanding of the infinite complexities of human relationships. While Grant laments the look of unfamiliarity in Fiona’s eyes a tactile web of human emotions spins into motion. Without being opinionated in any way the film expresses its endorsement of human values and through a marvelous language of images convey the fear of isolation innate to humans. A work of passion by the director, Sarah Polly, ‘Away From Her’ will surely go down as one of the finest films on human relationships and connubial love I have ever seen.

Julie Christie has portrayed the central character to such precise perfection that she moves her audience to tears without being tearful herself. Her glazed blue eyes are so resplendent with an unearthy innocence that while watching the film one almost feels as helpless and cornered as her husband. Her infirmity is so obvious, yet so ostentatiously underplayed that nothing short of an Oscar would do justice to her moving rendition of an otherwise difficult character.

Gordon Pinsent is a figure of strength with his stoic acceptance of a tragic reality. Yet, he displays brilliance in scenes where he arrests the outpour of his spasmodic reactions in the face of piercing predicaments. One of the best performances of the previous year he might as well get a well deserved nomination for the ‘Best Supporting Actor’ category at the Oscars. I actually back Pinsent to bag the award for holding his own in the spate of an astounding piece of acting being delivered opposite to him, which if not belittling to say the least was more than intimidating in terms of pressure to perform his own brief.

An exceedingly well-made film which asks existentially relevant questions even to an average enthusiast, I will remember ‘Away From Her’ as one of the most beautiful films I ever watched. A film which promotes love and commitment and delivers the message of lasting togetherness that marriage as an institution bestows, the following conversation from it will remain imprinted in my mind forever (Alzheimer’s forbidding):

[ while leaving for her asylum Fiona asks Grant at their doorstep]

Fiona: How do I look ?

Grant: Just like always. Just as you always looked.

Fiona: And how does that look ?

Grant: Direct and vague. Sweet and ironic.

photo: google images

Murder of a Hope - The Light of Larkhana goes out

Benazir Bhutto has been assassinated in cold blood.

In one of the most shocking events ever in the history of the sub-continent the former Prime Minister of Pakistan was shot in the neck a few hours back while attending an election rally in the garrison town of Rawalpindi.

As violence erupts in the streets of Karachi and Peshawar following the news of her death the future of democracy in Pakistan gets bleaker by the hour. General Musharraf, who faces probing questions as to why the security of such a high-profile politician like Benazir was not taken up with utmost priority, having already survived a suicide-attack and repeated threats being made to her life by various Islamic militant organizations, will be hard-pressed to provide acceptable answers if any. With the suspension of the January 8^th elections looking imminent the ‘road to restoration of order’ in Pakistan seems beset with more unfortunate cataclysms than one had initially accounted for.

While Sindh mourns the death of a dear daughter, political analysts the world over see the attack as a consequence of the threat perception she embodied to the thriving ‘terror industry’ in provincial Punjab. She in her recent political rallies declared in no uncertain terms how she would do everything in her power to reign in terrorists operating from Pakistani soil. Given her charismatic persona and undeniable charm, coupled with the paucity of choice that an average Pakistani has while going to vote she seemed set to ensure a sizable number of seats for the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) in the coming elections. Popular sentiment could have worked in swaying the scale either in her favor or Nawaz Sharif’s. Her tragic death has unjustly precluded such an electoral eventuality. The pre-emption of her premiership in such ghastly a manner must ring alarm bells in far-off Capitol Hill right now. If the global community (read USA) is in any measure earnest in wanting to tackle the scum of Islamic extremism it needs to answer the call of the hour with immediate effect. Mere issue of official condolences will not suffice in stemming the rot that USA’s major ally in its ‘War against Terror’ is reeling under at this moment. Benazir’s shocking assassination is a macabre indicator of how desperate the militant forces are in resisting the revival of people’s rule in Pakistan. The International community must ensure the installation of a democratic government instead of a Musharraf stooge climbing to power by rigging polls only to serve his high-handed master. If a call is not taken now it might be too late for Pakistan to recover and repair for her loses. Not only will that be a colossal tragedy for the 60 million Pakistanis but a turn for the worse for the future of South-Asia and the prospects of World Peace in general.


Peace be to her soul.


photos: google images

Return of a Hero

More than eleven years ago in the middle of an English summer a gritty youngster took the field at Lord’s when the chips were down for his country. Batting with sublime poise at the grandest of stages that the game of cricket can offer to both players and spectators alike he scored a chanceless century braided with rare class. A repeat performance in the next test under conditions considered hostile to batsmen bred on docile dust-bowls in the sub-continent and the message was loud and clear. The message was,

“I have arrived.”

The very arrogance of that arrival never waned in a career which saw eleven eventful summers and is still to go some distance before coming to a natural halt, a graceful goodbye.

Sourav Chandidas Ganguly brought to Indian cricket a raw ruthlessness and an inspirational zeal hitherto unknown in these circles and galvanized a team into a formidable fighting unit. A captain known to possess an uncanny knack of spotting talent and nurturing them to the road to success, half of the present Indian team owes him his timely patronage and support. From Zaheer Khan to Harbhajan Singh, from Yuvraj Singh to Irfan Pathan every one was hand-picked during his regime. Not only did his tenure at the helm of affairs promote the blooding of ‘today’s stars’ it also lent a nonpartisan character to the much maligned ‘regional lobby’-culture which plagued Indian cricket from its inception. “Perform or Perish” was his mantra and in no time we were dreaming of new heroes emerging on the firmament of cricketing glory. The most successful captain of India, he was ousted amidst drama in the most preposterously unceremonious manner as a fallout of a bitter battle with the then-coach Greg Chappel.

We do not know to honor our heroes and it is not a tradition, here in India, to give ceremonial farewells to fatigued crusaders of past laurels. As a people inured to a system where power is preserved like private property and only parted with at death we did not even bother to issue an apology that was required of us in the wake of such crass injustice. Politics of the filthiest parochial order was unleashed and 'a leader' was made to wait on the sidelines for what seemed like an eternity to the lovers of the game.

But, time had its say. Tables turned in a manner only known to wheels in animated motion and Sourav was re-inducted into the team. What looked like an ‘impossibility’ going by the vituperative comments issued by cricketing microbes hanging onto power (like Kiran More, the then chief-of-selection-committee) were proven wrong and a rightful path to resurrection was paved for a Fallen Hero. What ensued is there for everyone to see. The cricketing field has turned to be a happy-hunting-ground for the indefatigable ‘Dada’ as he continues relishing the exploits of a ‘deep purple patch’ walking into the twilight of his long illustrious career.

Sourav Ganguly has regained his seat of eminence in cricketing discussions and this time not due to uncalled for controversies but, because of the murderous feats of his tireless willow.

Taking the field for his 100^th Test match he has today become only the seventh Indian ever to attain this honor. And what better place than the MCG on the day of the Boxing-day test match.

I wish him luck in his imperious march to more conquests on the cricket field.

Photos: Rediff.com

Taare Zameen Par - A Review

‘It’s easy to point out problems in this world. It’s difficult to offer solutions.’

The maiden directorial venture by Aamir Khan does ‘that’ difficult part with aplomb.

‘Taare Zameen Par’ revolves around the stifling pressures that a dyslexic child faces in our society, in our times. Ishaan Avasti ( Darsheel Safery) is like any fun loving kid who enjoys catching the odd fish from the gutters, keeps gawking at the mother-bird feeding her fledglings and pick up fights with the domineering bully of the pack when things become too unbearable. Yet, something makes him special. He sees the world through the colourful window of his mind. A fertile imagination gifts him with a creative edge he manifests through the interplay of colours in his paintings. Yet, something ails his progress in academics. Curiously, he mixes up all his spellings, can’t say a ‘d’ from a ‘b’ and ‘9 * 3’ is somehow 3 owing to some cosmic collision only his mind can conjure in its full imaginative inflation. Failure in exams ensues and parents get anxious. The apparent ploy to shirk studies seems to be the only plausible reason to them. Frustrated with umpteen attempts at correcting his ‘flaws’ and his habitual relapses he is sent to a boarding school. The sequence where his mother (Tisca Chopra) turns back to leave him at the mercy of the unfamiliar premises of the boarding school is so beautifully picturised, with the

heart rending delivery of “ kya itna buraa hoon main maa....” (by Shankar Mahadevan) playing in the background that I am sure there are few, if any, people who did not have a tear-drop gracing their eyes at that moment.

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Expectedly, boarding school only makes Ishaan a prisoner of the ‘conventional treatment’ that is meted out to non-performers in our education system. He blots out the cruel world and locks himself in a shell of desolation and pain. The portrayal of helplessness in a child on ‘not being understood’ by people around him is dispensed with a nuanced perfection found only in past masters of cinema. Aamir (along with Amole Gupte) donning the director’s hat for the first time has charmed with his exquisite timing and sensitivity in dealing with the subject which demanded a perceptive depiction along with artistic finesse.

Aamir enters the scene as an art-teacher in the dying moments of the first-half (albeit with a

clowning act with much fanfare which seemed tad redundant) and hopes of resurrection are ignited. Being a victim of dyslexia in his childhood, Aamir identifies the problem in Ishaan. He fights with the principal, and later convinces him that it is only a matter of time before Ishaan can compete with others with a little help and understanding. He devotes his time and energies to address the difficulties that Ishaan is facing and soon the boy shows marked improvement. An ‘Open to All Painting Competition’ becomes the culmination of the mutual success of the teacher-student pairing as Ishaan beats his teacher to bag the first-prize in the competition.

The whirlpool of emotions ranging from despair to joy, from rejection to relief attains a magical crescendo at the prize distribution ceremony. A tearful hug replete with unsaid words of gratitude and affection are so touching that one cannot help but give vent to one’s emotions, hiding in the darkness of the tiers to shed a few tears of empathy.

Repentant and reformed, Ishaan’s father takes him back to his home on a vacation wherefrom a happy ending starts. Both for Ishaan and his family, and Aamir, the teacher.

The smell of success and hope is palpable even when the credits roll.

Prasoon Joshi, take a bow. The ad-man has penned lyrics laden with pathos and a deep understanding of children’s psyche (he says he owes it to his little girl) that has an evocative appeal written all over it.

Shankar is breathtaking with his poignant renditions of songs like, “ tu sab jaanti hai.....hai na maa...” (MP3 provided above), “Mera jahaan...” and the title track.

The trio of Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy has again proved what good quality jamming can produce as the music of the film is a sure highlight which is poised to make a mark of it’s own in the coming days.

Aamir as a director has shown the class expected out of an outright perfectionist like him. The sensitive interpretation of the story is so seamlessly accomplished till the end that one cannot really put a finger on a flaw that glares in its nonconformity with the script. The occasional inclusion of a few ‘symbolic scenes’ (as when Aamir watches a mother and child on a bus) and the comic (but of doubtful necessity) entry of himself as the art-teacher were noticeably deletable. Otherwise, “Taare Zameen Par” is a winner.

Aamir has delivered a success.

Darsheel has outdone Aamir

The child artist has not only done justice to the troubled character he portrays with élan but also etched a niche of special recall within the deep recesses of our minds where childhood memories and their attendant anxieties recline in blissful languor of forgetfulness, almost untouched by the mechanically motivated lives we live. After watching the film every person sitting in the stands who has ever faced a similar problem in his childhood will come to associate Darsheel’s gawky features, his wide expressive eyes and that ear-to-ear grin with his memories and rejoice at his victory at the end of the film, though not his own. That is exactly where the film succeeds, in drawing the audience to think sympathetically on a socially relevant issue.

“Taare Zameen Par” lets everyone take something back to their homes from the theater. A sensitive heart receptive to other’s problems, responsive to a child’s troubles, understanding of a passing disability and most importantly, throbbing with a lasting sensation of triumph.

And to me, that’s cinema.

Good Cinema.

Bullets for that bubble-gum

The grisly inauguration of ‘gun-culture’ in India having been formally completed over a twelve year old’s body, the country is all abuzz with shock and consternation in no time.

But, didn’t we see it coming?

My answer is yes. We should have.

Moreover, if we fail to stem the rot with immediate effect ‘campus killings’ might get glamorized in no time in the coming future. Children fed on graphic images of blood and gore from a very tender age grow up to believe in the apparent acceptance of it in real society. Too much time spent on the virtual world of computers give them an entirely false impression about the ‘real’ world outside. Hence, when provocation, however minuscule, coupled with the juvenile indifference to restriction cloud their senses they choose violence as the form of apt retribution. Aiding these abettors in crime are factors like negligence and lack of attention from the parents’ end which slowly make the child attention-hungry. A chance to make the world stop and take note of you is but an extremely attractive proposition in those circumstances.

One incident of Abhishek Tyagi should act as an eye-opener to all of us before our university, college and school campuses become infested with psychopathic killers on the prowl. What’s most disturbing is the fact that the offender is said to have acted out of fear of his own life, owing to a previous death-threat by the victim to him.

Bullies are not a novel concept to schools and school-goers. Hence, the fact that a mere threat was perceived to be ‘real’ in nature and that the boy really thought that the victim could actually deliver on his threat is the point of measured consideration. Two twelve year olds taking a ‘death-threat’ seriously and acting upon it in a pre-emptive manner is something that the society as a whole must deliberate upon with grave concern.

Are guns becoming too easily available? Well, if you talk of Bihar, Jharkhand, UP (and lately our own Nandigram) the answer is “yes”. But by meaning ‘availability to the urban populace who apparently have no use of it’ one would say “yes” at the risk of being labeled an outright alarmist. So, should every parent wait till there are more reports of kids getting shot by their friends before they trash that ‘Resident Evil’ or ‘God of War’ cd? The answer is anybody’s call.

But, the future in case of unrestricted exposure of children to violence does seem gloomy from here. Our indulgent eye might be met with terrifying images when, five years from now, a DU or a CU campus might see a depressed maniac or a disgruntled lover on the rampage. Only this time there might not be a petty revolver in his hand. He might be wielding a blood-thirsty Kalashnikov, fully loaded.

And he might not turn out to be as saintly as our own Sanju baba.

Photo: from gettyimages.com

Going the Modi Way

As the run-up to the Gujarat election treats the avid onlooker to myriad antics that politics in India so regularly has to offer, the perceptive cannot help but voice concern over the recent incidents.

The raging debate over the incendiary speech that Narendra Modi gave the other day at an election rally in Gujarat has made it to the headlines the nation over. The political motive to polarize the electorate on the basis of faith is blatantly naked and compellingly unacceptable. There can never be enough justification for a Chief Minister of a state baying for the blood of ‘terrorists’, the allusion being too transparent to be deciphered with any difficulty. That the speech was a fitting reply to the Congress President’s ‘merchant of death’ remark wouldn’t even fool a schoolboy in Surat. But then, this isn’t about political affiliations (I assure that I have none. I only side with the ‘relative right’, though I admit that it is becoming increasingly difficult to find even marginal sanity in the present political spectrum). It is about reviewing the direction in which Gujarat is headed. It is about posing questions about the political expediency of a communal riot. It is about asking the average Gujarati what he/she wants. And for how long.

One can understand the atmosphere of insecurity and fear in which the previous Assembly election in Gujarat was held. It was within a year from the riots that had devastated the state and the air was thick with tension like never before. It was apparent from the landslide victory of the BJP that the communally charged propaganda had reaped rich dividends. But, four years is a lot of time. Things have moved, if not at a brisk pace, and living in the past is a fruitless exercise that no sensible Gujarati would approve of. The ‘healing touch’ has not been provided to the Muslims in Gujarat and understandably so. In an age of political opportunism where mass-sentiments are stoked for bagging electoral benefits, if the continued vilification of an 11% minority can churn out victory after victory in elections let it be so. No pangs of morality (whoever said that of politicians!). No bouts of compunction.

Milking religious sentiments for staying in power suffers from ‘the laws of diminishing returns’ though, and it might manifest its most unpleasant facets to the saffron brigade not before long. The BJP might win this election in Gujarat on the ‘Religion’ poll-plank but it might have few takers at the national level, where functional coalitions have become an accepted reality. The NDA- already a shrinking pool of regional parties might collapse if the shutters of the ‘Hindutva’ laboratory are not pulled down fast in Gujarat. Fully aware of its political compulsions, the BJP keeps pursuing its old trusted ‘ideals’ out of utter desperation and strategic vacuum. Its emphasis on a Modi-centric campaign, disregarding dissension within the ranks only attests to that helplessness. But, thinking apolitically, I wonder how the Gandhinagar textile merchant would vote this time around. Whom the Saurasthra farmer will settle for. Which way the Surat-diamond merchants would sway.

All these people who do a service to the Commerce of this nation every single day by being devoted to their enterprise; will they realize how they are being made to applaud the Emperor’s clothes of ‘Muslim extremism’ for too long. Will they wake up to the fact that for one Muslim terrorist there is also a thousand hard-working people of his creed who share nothing with the former except their prayer timings? Will they realize that it is only ignorance, poverty and misinformation that barricades the members of the ‘other faith’ and impedes their path to a better life?

A sensitive revision of the situation is the need of the hour in Gujarat.

It is the responsibility of every Gujarati to issue a timely reminder to all political parties that they cannot be misled into believing in ghosts of the past forever. Being the harbingers of progress that they are, one can bank on their sound judgment.

In matters of trade.

In matters of life.

Photo: Courtesy: Yahoo.com

Being Paris

On a morning which seemed to be as dull as the newspapers would make it sound my eyes were quick to latch onto a snippet which said parishiltonexposed.com. Though only claiming an insignificant top-corner in the ‘International News’-page it did its part in calling every onlooker to attention by the bold red in which it was lettered.

Not uninitiated in any way to being testimony to her previous sexual escapades I wondered what more remained to be hitherto ‘exposed’ of the blonde bimbette who had already had more sex-videos leaked/publicized than Hrithik Roshan has fingers on his hands. A sneak-peek into the site and all doubts melted to make way for crystal clarity.

“ THIS IS THE REAL DEAL - PARIS EXPOSED!

Imagine Paris Hilton, heiress to one of the most famous and well-heeled families in the World, EXPOSED like no one before her.”

- The site screamed.

A rough tour around the site and grave questions started surfacing in my mind.

What if she really is a reviled lot?

What if she really doesn’t like being seen as a sex-object the world around, and nothing much?

What if she really is an innocent young girl trying to come to terms with the ‘rigors of riches’, not knowing how to spend her inherited-easy-millions and going astray in the process?

What if she really was looking for ‘Real Love’ in the arms of Rick Solomon, Paris Latsis, Nick Carter, Cher’s son and a still-to-be-named battalion of males? It could be that these perverts would only want her to have sex in exchange for some silent moments of togetherness that every girl so fantasizes of. Can’t this be true too?

And then after I tried hard to be the ‘think in her/his boots’- psychoanalyst did I realize, with a sigh of resignation, that she was really made for the more erudite of my kind. I was not to unravel the mysteries of a woman’s mind or even make a vague attempt to do so, howsoever overexposed and commodified she may be in the world entertainment market.

Disappointed once again with my inability to be the ‘Understanding Observer’, being synthetic in my sympathies for someone/something I would better make a living lambasting to smithereens, I quit.

And made way for my more skeptic alter-ego.

So, here goes.

Paris Hilton is not a one-of-a-kind aberration of the human female that inflicts (and sometimes titillates) our senses with unnerving regularity. She is our key to a multiplicity of other issues too.

Take for example the oft aired angst against the “filthy rich-who-flaunt-to-death”-lifestyle by us, people who toil assiduously to make ends meet in a ‘then-third-world-now-prosperous’ country.

Paris is our favorite punch-bag. And understandably so. To us she is the representative of the reckless rich who don’t even care two hoots if people are dying in Somalia of starvation when she dresses her pet Chihuahua in designer clothes and jewellery. At a time when the old rich are fast getting replaced by the young go-getters she surely goes down as a shameful brand of extravagance and self-promotion. No two ways on that.

Regarding the question of morality, she doesn’t seem to be the one to brandish a Bible unless she herself comes to write a sexually significant interpretation of it sometime in the future. Ah!! Sacrilege. So there goes your morality in the age of instant gratification, given the net and its emerging omniscience. One can imagine ‘Brand Paris’ making it big in the years to come, accruing valuable visibility the world over on adult sites and glitzy magazine covers, silently raking in the moolah, milking our natural curiosity for nudity. Morality being reduced to a ‘low-value-high-maintenance liability’ won’t be an attractive proposition faced with the might of the ‘in-your-face’ options for cheap thrills the Paris Hiltons of our age would offer. This is just the beginning. At a time when a two week jail-term of a ‘Hotel Heiress’ is reported 24*7 on major publications and news portals morality as an old and trusted stanchion can hear its death bell ringing. A downright narcissist who enjoys the reverse psychological aspect of voyeurism by releasing sex-tapes for public consumption, Paris Hilton is best left to the mercies of ‘the shrink’ and his ‘couch’.

Lesser mortals like us who have to deal with the daily grind are better off treated occasionally to her simian acrobatics and nocturnal escapades, preferably accompanied.

As says the site,

"......Observe with your own senses the outrageous (and often obscene) views that Paris and her crowd have toward each other, other races, religions and, of course, fat people."

I had just one feeling,

"-Ain't I dying to know."

Photos: Courtesy: Rediff.com

Paying Back in Costly Coins

“All quiet on the western front” seems to be the apt epithet for Nandigram going by the silence in its air which was resonating with gunfire till a few days back. As the apparent tragedy of us all living under a “just” Government settles into our conscience let me digress a bit to vent my then-exasperated-now-consolidated sense of shock and hurt at what happened in Nandigram.

We all know that the brutal retaliation by CPI (M) cadres was prompted by their state of homelessness for the past eleven months. Desperate in their bid to return to home and hearth they organized a clinical purge of the ‘occupying forces’ (read BUPC). Coupled with the complete breakdown of civil administration and the rule of law “something” had to be done from the Govt’s side to restore normalcy in the region. So, going by the ‘stated’ explanation issued from Writer’s Building, owing to the culmination of such serious factors it became imperative for initiation of a calculated and ruthless crackdown. ‘Installation of peace’ was the primary objective. The casualties were all collateral damage.

Point taken. And Rejected.

Any average informed person on the street would pose questions that ‘Alimuddin Street’ might grapple to answer on this issue. The structure of the argument would roughly be in the following format:

• Even after repeated assurances from the Chief Minister that the chemical hub would be shifted to some other place (Nayachar) the Haldia Development Authority did not withdraw the letter proclaiming land acquisition. Going by the Singur fiasco, no wonder that the farmers had scant trust in mere words. Repealing that letter of intent to acquire lands would have precluded all allegations by the Opposition and vacated the need for putting up resistance to police intervention in Nandigram and adjoining areas.

• Why is the Govt. hell-bent on industrializing farmlands at all? Food security cannot be relegated while prioritizing industry. Land-reforms being the single largest poll-plank over the years for the Communists it is imperative for them not to embrace industrialization at the cost of agriculture. Such blatant digression from their manifesto equally concerns their partners and detractors. Industry has to come up, plants need to be installed. But, not by being indifferent to the farmers and their livelihood. There are large tracts of unfertile land where plants might emerge and run smoothly. Why isn’t the Govt. putting its foot down on reallocating land to more conducive places in front of the demanding Corporate giants? Commerce cannot take precedence over basic human needs one must acknowledge. And its high time ‘Brand Buddha’ does.

• The present Chief Minister, a favorite with the city based intelligentsia (not so long ago), was lauded when he headed for ‘Industry Road’ disregarding firm opposition from certain quarters in his own party. In a way ‘Brand Buddha’ enjoyed unanimous support on his progressive policies. But somehow the forward-looking man in him succumbed to misjudgment, insisting on giving away large tracts of fertile land to the obstinacy of TATAs in Singur. Nandigram was even worse. Blood on police’s hands did not simplify matters and pressed with political compulsions in the form of upcoming Panchayat elections he had no choice. The only choice he was left with was a spate of bloody turf-wars to regain lost ground. That’s what he would have us believe. But no Sir. One always has a choice. Especially when one has to decide if to hand over restive parts to the CRPF to call in order or to ascent to a calculated carnage where party cadres rape, loot and ransack at will, only to stamp their authority as the ruling party. The man’s image has been sullied. And though public memory is short, the bloody scarlet of the Red flag might not always evoke images of the Great Revolution from now on. It might just be gory images from Khejuri and Garchakraberia that the 'Hammer and Sickle' would stand for.

• As news of the orchestrated pogrom filtered out from within the guarded corners of Nandigram the media aired it with an impassioned plea; unprecedented coming from quarters where Left-propensities are far too apparent. Intellectuals organized a historic march in condemnation of Govt. complicity and Kolkata saw the first congregation of its kind where thousands gathered by mere word of mouth; people came to condemn an atrocity, to vent outrage and all rallied under a strictly apolitical banner of ‘Humanity’. As an incredible counter-measure intellectuals sympathetic to the Govt. staged a rally to convey their solidarity and support. Even the Rain Gods couldn’t help but mar their march to shame that day. The CPI (M) in the name of a Peace-Rally organized a show of strength out of hired mobs the next day and' seasoned Marxists' breathed fire on non-conformists. Even the Governor’s non-partisan credentials were questioned. Was that not an act of abject desperation? Was that not prompted by a now permanent sense of power becoming synonymous with tyranny that a party state-secretary had the audacity to publicly question the political orientation of the Governor of the State? And that too because he condemned an act of terror as ‘unlawful and unacceptable’?

Show me a thriving democracy and I will show you a place where power doesn’t rot in the security of permanence.

Photos: Courtesy: rediff.com, tehelka.com

Popular Sizzler Hits the Mark

“Film-makers sell dreams in bottles”, they say. Coming out of the screening of ‘Om Shanti Om’ I am sure to have augmented ‘their’ number by one.

Come Friday afternoon and one needed to click no further than rediff.com or any news-portal to know all about the two films (the other being Bhansali’s Sawariyaa). ‘Om Shanti Om’ got mixed response as I found out on the net. Some speculated on its hackneyed story-line. Some drew out daggers to dissect the film’s apparent lack of substance, befitting of men used to watching ‘parallel cinema’ in empty multiplexes. I went to watch the film with a blank mind and a subdued eagerness which often accompany film-enthusiasts who have been recently dished out a cinematic dodomaa wrapped in a glittering gift-pack ( in the form of ‘No Smoking’. Ohhh! Don’t even remind me of that).

Watching the noon show of ‘OM SHANTI OM’ this Saturday in a packed house full of mad whistling and wild cheering changed all borrowed perceptions and premonitions about the film. The film is a thorough entertainer. So I thought.

Keeping with the traditions of upholding Bollywood-cliché the film doesn’t miss out on many. Farah Khan in this self-confessed tribute to the 70s has done much better than ‘Main Hoon Naa’, a film I came to despise marginally for its ‘lack of originality in copying’ Matrix-stunts. OSO opens by taking us to the 70’s of Hindi cinema where heroes in chequered suits and heroines in red convertibles (laden with giggling saheliyaan) used to hold sway. Shah Rukh Khan (as Om Prakash Makhija) is his own energetic self as a junior artist with dreams of making it big in the industry. He worships the screen diva, Shantipriya( the beautiful Deepika Padukone), whom he later rescues from a fire and expectedly love ensues between unequals in typical filmi style of yore. Only there is this problem of Arjun Rampal (playing the scheming film producer, Mukesh Mehra) spoiling the love-story for them. But, only for this life-time.

The second half sees a reborn Om Makhija as Om Kapoor(SRK of course) who is also a star-son enjoying all its attendant extravagance. Screaming headaches chase him to the discovery of his pichhlaa janm (previous life’s exploits). Suddenly there is vengeance in the air and a Sandy surfaces (Deepika in shorts, minis, spaghettis and shorts again. Well, that’s how Farah Khan decided to portray today’s modern woman. Goes down fine with the audience it seemed, from their cat-calls and all) to aid Khan in his mission. Then there is a twist in the tail of the tale. And then a happy ending.

The film is a sumptuous salad of all possible clichés ever employed in the services of Hindi cinema. From rebirth to forbidden love, from dreams coming true to poetic justice, from song and dance to filial love, we feel we have seen it all before. But, during the film we actually enjoy absorbing the time-worn plots and sequences, as if rolling them over our tongues to relish their old yet unforgettable tastes. Feeling just a tad nostalgic about the bygone days and their fashion symbols on our way. The spoofs on cine-stars of yesteryears are funny, the lookalikes poorly selected. The two romantic songs in “Ankhon mein teri...” and “Main agar kahoon....” are pleasantly melodious and craftily picturised. Shah Rukh is as vibrant as ever, a trait which has assured him his place at the top over the years. The passion which he brings into every character he plays is positively palpable to the audience, even sitting in the last row of a theater.

He does not belie expectations in OSO too. Delivering goods at every given opportunity (especially after an off-beat film like ‘Chak De! India’ did well) he has maintained his ‘Bankable’ status with style and much fanfare through OSO. Deepika Padukone is stunning and looks every bit the screen goddess she portrays in the film. But, only future can tell if she can perform, given a wider scope to actually act rather than just look ‘promising’. Kiron Kher and Sreyas Talpade perform to their brief and come up with flawless performances. Rampal looks menacing in his suits and sideburns. But what takes the cake, as promised, is the ‘31 star studded song’. “ The Song ” was enjoyable to the core (I actually counted all the 31 appear as others climbed up their seats for a little jig). It was mind-numbing entertainment. Totally in keeping with the Hindi filmi style.

No two ways about it.

‘Om Shanti Om’ will surely be a big commercial success. It might take some beating to equal its success even in the coming few years, I guess. And it will establish one thing beyond the scope of any doubt once again. That being, “We love our Masala films”. Even today.

Whether the advent of low-budget-meaningful-cinema ever overtake the grand success of magnum clichés like OSO waits to be seen in the future. Who knows.

“Kyonki.......

Picture abhie baaki hain mere dost.”

Photos: Courtesy: Rediff.com

The Urge for an Emergency

The imposition of Emergency in Pakistan on the pretext of removing judicial interference in state matters and curbing the brewing terrorism menace is primarily ludicrous and secondarily grave.

Pervez Musharraf, in his statement to the nation has pointedly asked the judiciary to abstain from intervening in the administration and policing of the state. Chief Justice Iftikar Mohammad Chaudhary has been asked to step down and make way for the General’s stooge. The Right to Expression has been indefinitely withdrawn as private newspapers and news-channels lurk under the shadow of the gun. In short, the military has taken charge of the proceedings in Pakistan. And no one knows for how long.

‘Military Coup’ and ‘Martial Law’ are words that an average Pakistani child learns before he/she can spell ‘MISOGYNIST’ going by the tradition of anarchy in that country. But, standing in the 21^st century, when South Asia can only look forward by adopting liberal measures, both political and economic, the move to stall democracy in a country of 160 million is but unforgivably retrograde. It is understandable that Musharraf had no other option but to clamp strictures by force to bring his house to order. The historically restive North-Western Frontiers were going out of control, the Taliban raising its hood of defiance to its old master in collusion with Al-Qaida, making it difficult for the General to save face. The Lal-Masjid incident incited extremists into action resulting in fidayeen attacks on a fortnightly basis in major cities. Whereas on the other hand civil society of Pakistan was also up in arms against the heavy handed approach to curb the Judiciary and narrow its dominion. With the comeback of Benazir Bhutto to homeland and the recall of Nawaz Sharif looking imminent he surely must have run out of choices. One shudders to imagine himself in Musharraf’s shoes right now. He is perhaps in the ‘Worst Political Soup’ of the century. Even his worst detractors must admit that he has the courage to take the bull by his horns, and tame it too.

The PCO (Provisional Constitutional Order) issued by the General can suspend the Constitution for one month, which can be later extended to three months if necessary. The measures that would now seem probable from the General’s part would be:

1. Stopping Nawaz Sharif’s return to Pakistan. That would mean a bipolar contest with only the PPP( Pakistan Peoples Party)if and when general elections are held( which surely wouldn’t be meeting its January date due to the Emergency).

2. Cornering lawyers and judges who were in vehement opposition to his re-election. Appointing Yes-men at key posts would ensue. Blocked bills would be promulgated with urgency and made into Acts that would expedite the General’s cause.

3. Triggering a massive military offensive in the North-Western Provinces where the army is now on the back foot owing to resilient tribal forces mounting severe guerrilla attacks. Aided and abated by the Taliban and Al-Qaida they pose a serious threat to the unquestioned supremacy of the army.

4. A military offensive would also mean buying time from the U.S.A which is snapping at his heels to let the Marines cleanse the place off insurgents. Action would also show solidarity with the world community on the issue of Terrorism which is priceless coming at a time when he needs the much needed approval of the Big Brother to legitimize the Emergency and subsequent crackdown.

Another alternative would be to let loose the extremist hounds who have been baying for his blood owing to the clampdown on terrorist training camps and funding machineries nourishing them. That would call for a vigilant India to remain on its guard and foil any attempt at escalating tension, especially with the Gujrat elections not too far away in the National Political horizon.

As an avid observer of events I can only hope that sanity returns to a country which deserves its place under the Sun after a harrowing six decades of bitter rivalry and political unrest. Progress for the country and dividends for its countrymen can only ensue once there is lasting peace in its premises. If not the General, then somebody else must ensure that Pakistan doesn’t miss the train this time around.

Lest it be too late this time.

Peace.

Photo: Courtesy: Rediff.com

Say No to 'NO SMOKING'

If ever there was a film made with the sole purpose of frustrating the very principle of Tolerance; if ever there was a film made with the single minded motivation of blending all imaginable atrocities into a single celluloid cyanide; if ever there was a film which dragged the staunchest of abstainers to seedy corners of the cinema-hall during the interval, forcing them to take the first puff of their lives in utter desperation and mental vacuum, then, surely my friends, the film would be ‘No Smoking’.

Anurag Kashyap, has ensured that cigarette smoking in this nation is taken up as a welcome respite from films such as his and I am certain a good amount of moolah (as a token of appreciation) is already headed his way from the ITC coffers. Though this might not prove a sufficient compensation for the losses Vishal Bharadwaj (the producer of this 'torture') will incur, the rape of sanity and the risk of destabilizing the rational thought process in every individual who ventured out to watch this hideous film will remain irreparable.

The film starts with a Siberian shoot-out, followed by a series of events which takes its time to settle into the minds of the audience. Slowly, the curtains are drawn off the GREAT plot.

A strapping John Abraham {mysteriously named ‘K’ (understandably the audience had their own lewd interpretations of it)} who cannot live a moment of his waking hour without puffing at the cancer-stick is threatened with separation by his wife/secretary Anjali (the voluptuous Ayesha Takia) unless he quits. Faced with this imminent loss he goes into a rehabilitation centre (called Prayogshalaa – which when translated comes to either ‘laboratory’ or ‘work-shop’ but never anything close to 'rehabilitation' surprisingly) recommended by his old friend Abbas Tyrewala ( Ranvir Shorey). A head-churning sequence ensue where burqa-clad women throng the Prayogshalaa call-centre and fix appointments with the infinitely efficacious Bangali Baba Sealdah-walaa ( played by a stubble-sporting Paresh Rawal) who eliminates all addictions at the measly cost of 21-lakh rupees. K is forced to sign on an agreement which jeopardizes the life and safety of his entire family in the eventuality of him smoking again, which he obviously dares to, in crass defiance of the Baba’s diktat. Kissed with a number of handicaps within a span of a few reckless hours, he is kept on the treadmill of artificial anxiety by the Baba and his cronies. As if the pathetically painted expressions across John’s frowning face was not enough, the audience is greeted with an item number curiously picturised on Jesse Randhwa and sung by Adnan Sami (one cannot imagine the fruit of such heady a concoction of flab [formerly i.e] and abs). Then comes the history-mutilating pictures of Hitler seated beside a smiling Rawal, a rehabilitation-centre/concentration-camp designed on the lines of ones shown in Schindler’s List, a gross-inching- towards-gruesome take on Fidel Castro (a cigar made in Havana named 'In-Fidel Castrated' marketed by K’s close friend in India) and a ‘Memento’-ish rewind-play-rewind-play experiment which falls flat on its face. The final assault on human sensibility comes in the form of sepia-tainted black & white flash-backs of John and Shorey’s childhood escapades. One scene has the unmistakably imbecile John prancing with orgasmic ecstasy at having puffed at a cigarette, along with Shorey, in a locked bathroom only to be caught by Shorey’s father. Having caught two teenager boys holed up in the seductive refuge of a bath-room the father prepares to deliver a lecture on the monstrosity of a man-man relationship, when interrupted by Shorey’s clarification of the ‘real motive’ he sighs with understandable relief.

“Lucky man!” every person in the hall exclaimed, for relief wouldn’t be coming their way for another hour, they knew. So, in honest rejection they banged their heads against seats in front of them. But, to no avail.

The second half is replete with ‘Symbolism’, where ‘the Soul’ and ‘the Body’ is separated by a glass barrier (and interestingly the soul fails to communicate with the body for need of a One-Rupee coin). A filthy hodge-podge of murder, suicide, police interrogation, leaping into water, scuba-diving in bath-tub, waking up in Siberia is complete with a shoot-out( remember the first scene ?? ). But alas! John is still not dead. He still lives (or rather his ‘body’ lives). A body bereft of soul due to habitual cigarette smoking. And now there’s an ‘intelligent’ hint in the closing scene which tells us that the evil of smoking isn't confined in the white-paper wrapped svelte-menace but, it lives somewhere else.
In us.

And how we thank our lucky stars it does!

Cancer is more welcome than a 'Kashyap'!

From head to toe ‘The Biggest Cinematic Disaster’ of our times, the film leaves enough message to galvanize the average cinema enthusiast in mobilizing a resistance against the unholy alliance of Kashyap & Co. with Agra and Ranchi Mental Hospitals. Every ticket denied to them is a victory for sanity. Every moment inside the theater excruciating brutality.

Smoking could kill.

'No Smoking' will..

Aschhey bochhor ........

With the last beats of the dhak the annual ritual of an ornate farewell is well complete. Life will settle down to trace its daily course amidst the settling dust from past revelries now. The dismantled bamboo-work and torn down banners still bear testimony to the joyous uproar that it was party to for a few days more. Lakshmi pujo will set in, and Kali-pujo/ Diwali will soon follow. The Bangali bhodrolok will go back to the chores of his office as will the reluctant housewife, albeit with a sigh of grudging acceptance.

But, amongst all these tell-tale signs of morose dejectedness there will be the slightest flicker of hope. ‘The hope’ of seeing off the coming eleven months in a hurry. ‘The hope’ of welcoming Maa back into her parental abode. ‘The hope’ that springs eternal in every Bengali heart and makes them sustain the rigors of a tortuous year with abiding tolerance.

Observing through the skeptic’s glasses, when the pandal-hopping child in me occasionally rested on a chair to catch his breath and wet his throat, I observed a series of monumental changes setting into our festivities, almost unnoticed.

As some of my friends observed during our Pan-Kolkata Thakur-dekhaa – expeditions,

“Boddo commercial hoye jachhe puro bepaarta.”

I stood in opposition to this vein of thought. I was emphatic on the point that Durga Pujo , like any other event of such scale and participation, needed funding. It’s only our economy that has got to do with the corporates having all the money and so they are bound to get roped in if BIG MONEY is to be spent. And money always means advertisements and commodification.

No denying this fact.

But, Big Money does not necessarily mean less of bhakti. The latter connects to an individual on a personal, more intimate level, having nothing to do with the pomp and show. Of course a sense of enthusiasm coupled with commerce may cloud the solemn ambience that a traditional pujo may have enjoyed in the past. But, good things always come at a cost. Don’t they?

I wonder if the smug tradition-ist would be better off enduring the sight of a dying Sarbojonin-pujo in a dilapidated pandal, reeking of a whimpering budget. I might sound profane in directly connecting wealth to worship, but I have my theory. Agreed that ‘the spirit’ cannot be caged within the confines of ‘want’, but when one has the opportunity to aggrandize, why not make the most of it?

But, my friends too have a valid point when their arguments are dissected in the light of reason and pragmatic foresight. I could sense a deep suspicion emanating out of their skepticism in ‘Corporatization of Pujos’. There looms large a possibility that our next generation would be treated to ‘theme-pujos’ where the idol and her iconic symbolism is lost in the dazzle of the decor or the minutiae of the art-work in the mandap. People might not even offer a cursory look of reverence to the devi , engrossed in the frivolities the adjoining fair would offer. At the thought of such a grim possibility I shudder with appalled apprehension.

Like always ‘A Middle Path’ seems to be the way to go. Money should be allowed to dominate the proceedings up till a certain extent and no more. Demarcation of commerce and piety should be stark and clear.

For wealth is only a currency of commodity, but prayer a path to peace.

Shuvo Bijoyaa !!!!

"Oasis of Peace". Who ?

Though this is coming excruciatingly late from me still, I feel this had to come sooner or later.

Constraints of time cannot be forever for a vagabond, and constraints of indifference to a shrieking social issue have still to manifest their symptoms in me.

So, here’s my take on The Rizwanur Episode.

Largely perceived as the murder of Justice, Love and Secularism in this “Oasis of Peace” the death of Rizwanur Rehman has surely triggered a rare outcry for justice and retribution in and around Kolkata. It is more than heartening to note that the classes and masses have for once joined hands in condemning the incidents leading to the death of the young graphics teacher amidst the most suspicious of circumstances. Add to it the involvement of top brass police officers gracing Lalbazar cabins running for cover at the outset of inquiry and what you get is a perfect recipe for a gripping thriller. The dilatory tactics being employed by the Govt. in hope of pressure diffusing by the time Pujas end are too apparent to be missed.

Reprieve won’t be that easy this time.

I have firm believe in the endurance of zeal in the numerous protestors thronging streets and candle-light vigils in memory of the hapless victim and I am sure their guard wouldn’t be lowered, their pitch wouldn’t get subdued with time. It is imperative of the Govt. to affirm its subscription to the hallowed ideals of Justice and Fairness and there won’t be a better time than this. The more it tries to protect the wrong-doers in the garb of unhurried enquiries the more it would contribute in tarnishing its own image. The Chief Minister, who not before too long was being cited as an apostle of Progress is no longer the innocent with unbloodied hands. He should take this opportunity as one last chance to repair his image and reinstate faith in his credentials.

As an involved follower of the course of events I noted certain highlights in this episode.

1. The influence of Orkut in building public opinion and garnering support is fast becoming a ‘force to reckon with’. It is undeniable that the fact that Rizwanur was a popular teacher amongst his students and their sharp response (via Orkut) to his unnatural and untimely death did help immensely in mobilizing large-scale support within hours.

2. Alimuddin Street isn’t too warmly united on this issue.

3. The eroding Muslim vote base has to be addressed. Some damage control measures are to be taken. Krishnendu Das might well be the scapegoat. The I.P.S are a “untouchable lot”, they say.

4. The Chief Minister is sure to loose some ground if he doesn’t manage to salvage some pride and restore order in his house by the earliest. Nadigram followed by Rizwanur is not so much of a soporific. Is it ?

5. There’s a cricketing angle to it too. But, Thank God that it concerns the administrators – ‘The loathed lot.’ Our cricketers could do with less publicity than this.

6. It isn’t getting too Cozi for Ashok Todi. A C.B.I enquiry would mean some “andar ki baat...” spilling out into the open.

7. One must think thrice before marrying a rich merchant’s daughter who isn’t too warm to the idea of securing a ‘so-so’ Jamai.

8. The matter is sub judice. I might get jailed for posting this. This late.

photo: courtesy: NDTV