A Race to the exit!

I usually try to refrain from reviewing movies, barring special movies, though for EXTREMELY different reasons, like Chak de and Hello (refer previous posts). It's not that I don't enjoy placing a movie under the microscope … it's just that movie is art. It is the output of a filmmaker's hardwork and I don't feel great opting for the cushy and more convenient job of reviewing them.

But, when you come across a movie that can, by no means, be termed as 'art', what must one do? After ages, I decided to go for a movie with my brother in law and my sis. We eagerly checked the papers and came across the Hindi movie Race. Hmmm … well it's a movie with Anil Kapoor in it … and Akshaye Khanna … How bad can it be? Let's go!

Even thinking about the movie makes me feel tired and weary! Those three hours in the theatre was a terrible ordeal, which I am surely not going to forget for weeks to come. What was wrong with the movie? You really want to hear? More importantly, do you have the time? Coz this might take some time …

Let's begin with the men. Saif In a movie that makes endless hours of staring at the ceiling a much more attractive option, you would expect someone like Khan to have worked on his acting skills, in between his trips to the tattoo artist's. It is not that he did not act well … It's just that I feel he could have done a much better job. Agreed the role had nothing to write home about, but he could have done something more than wear windshield-sized sunglasses, grunt, not comb his hair and … I swear I caught him wince somewhere in between! (Hahah!)

Next is Khanna. Well, if I had missed the beginning of Race, I would have easily mistaken Khanna to be acting in a sequel to Humraaz. That flashy devilish grin of his the first few times made him look very endearing … but later, when you find yourself watch him grin far too many times, you think enough is enough!

Next Anil Kapoor. I really admire Kapoor as an actor and his work in Pukar is one of my favourites. But, good God, man! I really don't think you should take up such roles, especially after your daughter made her debut in a still-fresh-in-memory disaster called Saawariya! He munches on fruits throughout the movie and mouths embarrassingly corny lines.

Next the ladies. Bipasha is ok, surprisingly. I mean, you know she is there somewhere in the movie but you wouldn't really miss her if she wasn't. Kaif's mere presence in the movie has reaffirmed my faith that if Bollywood continues to churn out more actress like Kaif, they are definitely heading for the dumps. And this because, I read in many magazines that she was the only actress who delivered the maximum number of hits last year. Needless to say, I am yet to recover from the shock of reading the news.

Now, the lady who inspired me to write this post and review the movie in the first place. Sameera Reddy. Her rcharacter was one of the worst ones I have across. No, I would like to change that. Her role is THE WORST one I have come across. She had to play a dumb assistant to Anil and was mainly the victim of Anil's 'pun-intended' jokes. Her role was a very demeaning one and I really don't know how a human being with even a shred of dignity could take up such a role. Now why I would like to emphasise this point is because I came across quite a few reviews which described Sameera's role as a 'cute and sweet' assistant!!!! Gimme a break!!!

And whatz worse? Race has been declared a hit! This is madness, I tell you!

A happy accident

When people grow nostalgic and talk about how they used to climb trees and break their bones as kids, I keep thinking to myself, "What are they talking about??" Okay, either they have terrible calcium-deprived bones or they are all making it up. Honestly, how can you always manage to get your bones fractured, your clothes torn and so on? How can the number of accidents that you have had as a child act as a measuring tool to gauge how wonderful your childhood was?
Well, I was always a careful child. I mean, of course, barring an occasional scrape or cut, I don't really remember having a major or even a minor accident. It is not that I was exceptionally careful or anything but probably God was being too kind. Even after spending a whole day in the school playground, I would turn up at home looking neat and tidy. I don't remember ever tearing a sock, losing a ribbon or any of my shirts missing a button.
I always find myself, strangely enough, surrounded by people who have had at least one major or minor operation. I mean, if it's not an appendix operation, it's an operation that has something to do with tonsils, adenoids etc etc. So when someone, for instance, steps on my feet in a crowded place, and I yelp out "Ouch! That hurts!", I am bound to get a quick retort for friends, " Yeah!? What would you know?" Anyway, I am not complaining!
Now, being a grown up, I no longer fancy about getting hurt, cut or operated on. I consider it a inconvenience — a waste of time and money. So, God could not have picked up a 'better' time to give me my first accident - a really bad sprain.
I was busy trying to catch a bus when the embarrasing accident happened. My company van was waiting for me and as usual I was running late. With one hand holding my mobile, the other my watch and my mouth the house keys, I deemed it possible to literally fly across the stairs. Of course, the next thing I remember is having landed on the ground on all fours, with my mobile, house keys and watch all scattered on the ground.Trying to ignore the sharp and shooting pain in my ankle, I boarded my bus and the rest of the day passed off uneventfully.
It was only in the evening that my walk slowly degraded into a limp. I found it difficult to move my ankle without grimacing from the pain. On reaching home, I took a good look at my ankle and was shocked to see that it had swollen to twice it's size.
My first reaction was ... excitment! Wow! My first sprain! I soon thought of devising ways to manipulate this situation in my favour. I played the role of 'the injured' to the T around my family and was soon flooded with offers to get a cup of tea, the remote control, my hairbrush and even chocolates to 'cheer' me up! I managed to put up a brave face through it all and went to bed, feeling triumphant.
The next day, I sprang from the bed and was, as usual, running late. Wishing eveyone a half hearted and quick good morning, I was on my way to the wash room when my mom estatically said "Hey you are not limping anymore!" "Huh?" And I looked at my ankle to see that a tiny bump and almost no pain! My reaction? "AW SHUCKS!"

My 50 year old classmate!

I have an Indian driving license — something which continues to shock me to this very day. Needless to say, I never touched, let alone ride, a car after getting the license; that is, if occasional rides in male classmates' dad's cars do not not fall under this category. Anyway, when I applied for classes here, the registrar asked me whether I have a valid Indian license. Like the climax of some action-flick, I took out my license, (mind you, all in slow motion!), and showed it to her, while having the cheshire cat grin. One look at the license, and ... " Sorry, but your license is not valid. You should have had a license for at least two years. Your's is only a year old so ..." The sudden flashes of images of me waking up earlier than the stray dogs in my colony for my driving classes, fighting to stay awake while behind the wheel, the actual test and all those terrible arduous formalities did nothing to stifle my mental cries. Well, I didn't actually wanna scream out loud and be denied of the right to register on the grounds of being of 'unstable mind'.

Anyway, now I have to attend 40 classes while a two year old Indian license would have granted me the priviledge of attending only 20 and hence get the license faster. Here, the traumatic experiences of getting a license have inspired people to write their memoirs and dedicate a chunk of the book to it! As a part of the entire process, we have to attend four lecture classes — lectures that would include some interesting stuff about first aid, emergencies, traffic signals etc etc. I walked into the lecture class and was faintly reminded of my college days. Those arm chairs, which I so detested back in college, were back and while taking my seat and generally chatting with my 'benchmate', the rest of the students slowly started piling in. There were all sorts of people — young 'studs' with hurricane like hairdos, corporate executives, young brides and ... much to my amazement ... 50 year olds! What struck me was, here we all are, back in a college-like, albeit artifical, atmosphere, complete with sling bags, classrooms and projector. But for those four hours, age really didn't matter coz we all were students and some were determined to have some fun of their own.

Some habits die hard. They need not be bad ones, just habits. While listening to the lecture, there were some cheeky guys (er, men) who were playing games in their mobile phones. There were some who were diligently listening and taking down notes, all the while trying to ward of its chatterbox neighbour, in the fear of irking the 30 something ( also, may I add, good looking) lecturer. Of course, there some naughty, who bordered on irritating, ones who changed their mobile ringtones to 'Who let the dogs out' and allowed it to ring when the lecture got a tad boring. I could not help but think " Now, this is what I call reliving college!"

But all it took was the ring of the last bell, which symbolised the end of the lecture. As they came out of their building, I saw very young men and women waiting for them, who were probably their children. As, the old men handed their sling bags over to them ( which in all probablity had been borrowed from them for the day), they seemed to have relished the lecture classes for other reasons than having crossed a milestone to get the license.

It is not a child's play!

After a brief hiatus, I decided that it was time to update my blog. I
recently changed jobs and now I work as a sub editor for a well
reputed children's magazine. In my old job, my job profile included
dealing with angry clients incase I had reported or misinterpreted
some fact wrong and always keeping my doctor's name in handy by my
side, in the event of an unexpected but long overdue, nervous
breakdown!

Here, my job is pretty lax. The worst thing that can happen is a child
not being sent his prize for winning a content hosted by our magazine
on time. Dealing with 5 year olds is a piece of cake - especially
after dealing with 50 plus lava spewing professionals!! Coo the right
words and the child is rest assured that the magazine is in no way to
be blamed for the delay in sending the gift! The present job is also a
lot more creative than the previous one. We constantly have to come up
with new ideas for contests and coloumns in the magazine as ( as we
were warned umpteen times) children get bored really easily.

While still a college student I used to love reading. I did my
graduation from a college where you could find everyone's noses buried
in a book 24/7 - before classes, DEFINETELY during classes and after
classes - to well past midnight. On the eve of an exam, reading a
novel is one of the best prescribed remedies for the panic attacks
that paralysed us then. A close friend and voracious reader once told
me that she was so into a book that it was only when she saw the
rising sun tht she realised that she was up the whole night reading
the book. I personally found it a beautiful story but unfortunately,
it failed to strike the right chord with my lecturers coz my friend
was busy trying to catch up on her sleep during class hours! Her
rather loud snores evoked giggles and wide smiles from our classmates
and subsequent long and cold stares from my lectures. This silent and
omnious drama came to an end with a loud and angry thump on the table
by my lecturer - hence putting a brutal and quick end to my friend's
peaceful sleep.

But with work, I had to forgo my habit of reading. Now in my new job,
reading is as important as even coming for work! So I rushed to the
nearest library and began a membership. So that part of the job is
taken care of. But the most difficult part of my job is writing the
lyrics of the latest English songs. Apart from an occasional Bryan
Adams song or something catchy, my knowledge on the subject is
disgracefully limited. So something that would ordinarily take one 15
minutes, I take more time than that, surfing the net, finding out the
latest songs by Rihanna, Matchbox 20 ( my initial reaction on hearing
the name was - MATCH BOX WHA????) 50 cent etc etc. In an effort so
save some face, I asked my boss whether I could write lyrics of some
old songs like Simon and Garfunkel, ( and this time, it was her turn
to go WHAAA??) whose songs are really timeless, meaningful ( and a lot
easier for me to search !!!). This plan was obviously vetoed as we
don't really cater to 60 something year olds..sigh!!!

Now after hours of searching the net, I do know Rihanna's under my
umbrella song, Mandy moore's wild hope song and much more. So at the
moment, after getting the hang of my new job, its like second
childhood for me by being in touch with kids constantly and it feels
GREAT!

blistering weather.. and facts!!

Ok I am confused. Right when I thought that the heat in Dubai cannot get any worse, it’s like a smack right on the head! With the official ‘ vacation’ time drawing a close and people scurrying back from their vacation spots, the weather cycle seems to have hit the pause button as summer seems to be having no intentions of moving on and paving the way for it’s much more popular and well liked compatriot – WINTER.

Bearing the tag of being an NRI is one which has to be borne with the perfect mix of humility and patriotism. Humility, because you have to be prepared to listen to statements like “Wow!! So you may not be used to buying anything Indian eh?” and counter these with answers that drips with modesty. The moment you commit the grave mistake of showing your pals a new gadget that you bought from the Gulf, rest assured you will be asked how much did it cost ( rupees wise) and your normally slow brain when it comes to currency and conversion is forced to work at a rate that will even please Einstein! And post - conversion, if the cost that you had spent on your new gadget adds up to a forbidding amount, again be prepared for raised eyebrows which actually imply “Man how rich are you??”

Now this is a tricky moment. If you thought that the best reaction that will help you to squeeze your way through is by smiling and admitting that it did cost you quite a buck, you might as well clear your throat to start singing Akon’s ‘ I am so looonneellyyy’, with all your friends long gone. Instead the best reaction would be to feign ignorance and guilt for buying such an expensive gadget. This will reaffirm the faith of your ‘loved’ ones that you are indeed a modest and very Indian NRI.

Towards the end of my course, as expected I was bombarded by questions about whether I would stay back in India or come back to Dubai. When I admitted to the latter rather apologetically, many were truly nice enough to give me very informative and on - the - spot -worked - on speeches about ‘brain drain’, ‘being patriotic’.. well you get the picture. Here’s where the must - have element of patriotism just might come in handy.

I guess what I am driving at is that gone are those days when people used to scramble on top of each other to get a visa to the Middle East. With the IT boom in India, many can boast of fat pay checks and not even having to spend a wandering thought to going abroad to earn their livelihood. Suddenly, everyone is talking about the wonder that is India. But what makes my forehead crumble is that admist this new found wealth, many do not realise that in the 80’s and 90’s, a set of youngsters had to leave their loved ones and country, in the hope of a better future to the Gulf. They have immensely contributed to the accumulated wealth in India. So why the step motherly attitude towards them?

PON ONAM..

It’s onam again. Being in the college hostel for the past five years, Onam was all about giving our mundu nariyaddum to the laundry guy a month in advance, make reservations for lunch in restaurants, take a zillion snaps, getting them developed and putting them up in our respective hostel rooms ( either framed or with the walls of the room serving as the frame by messily sticking them there) under the caption ‘Me and the gang on Onam’ or something on similar lines. It was also about going to bed on Onam eve with hardly containable excitement, and thinking for the 100th time why God had not gifted you with longer hair just so that you will fit the image of the perfect Malayali girl!!

It was about going shopping in advance for D day to T Nagar (a prominent shopping area in Chennai) in groups, all the while on the lookout for matching bangles, bindis, and earrings. When ordinarily we would brush the mere thought of wearing something Indian on a daily basis as ‘inconvenient’ and ‘ uncool’, we girls were on the lookout for fresh jasmine flowers and chandanam to adorn our foreheads. A blessed handful of girls who knew how to tie a sari with minimal supervision and equally minimal safety pins were all of a sudden much in demand and on Onam morning it was a hilarious sight to see these girls, looking terribly harassed, hopping from one room to another. When normally we would not even spare a thought to anything other than our assignments, project work or the latest movie to hit the theatres, we suddenly find ourselves thinking about Indian mythology and explaining to our friends from other states about the story behind Onam and Mahabali. And most of all, it was about sashaying down the streets of Chennai, revelling in the numerous stares of people who were nice enough to stop and stare with open jaws reaching the ground and their tongues rolled out like a red carpet!!

That was five years back and a lot has changed since then; which does not mean that life has become lacklustre. For what it’s worth, I still have those photographs, whose white flipside once bore the faint yet elegantly written ‘Konica’ across it. But now it is replaced by big ugly patchworks of paint, which stands testimony to the fact that these pictures were once put up in a hostel elsewhere and marvelled at by a group of giggly girls. Now though that hostel seems to have disappeared, the room number 32s, 42s, 56s have gone, and the group of giggly girls have been replaced, these pictures, which are now buried deep under the layers of my attested certificates and resumes, are still taken out lovingly, but this time only to reflect the image of a lone face, blissfully lost in another world.. another time.

So everybody, A VERY HAPPY ONAM TO U ALL!! Lets pray for a world where violence is something of the past. ‘ Treat the earth well; it was not given to you by your parents;it was handed to you by your children. We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.’

A WEEKEND AT THE MOVIES

As a fitting tribute to the past week of agonisingly long hours at the computer and extremely wide yawns that can grant any willing soul a peep into your entire oesophagus, I decided to dedicate my weekend to a back to back movie watching session. So I carefully sketched out my weekend by giving a chunk of my time to sleeping and eating and minimal time to socialising, cleaning the house and anything that involved getting up from the couch. The two movies that I chose as worthy of my valuable time and attention were the Malayalam film ‘ Hello’ and ‘Chak de india’

I am gonna waste no time in talking about Mohanlal. If you are a Malayali ( you need not even be remotely interested in films) then rest assured, you know him. To say that I felt like shooting up to the ceiling of the theatre and come back dead, would be an understatement. With Mohanlal in a role that has nothing new to offer, a new actress ( Parvathy something ) who can put a piece of wood to shame when it comes to emoting, and Jagathy who is thoroughly wasted in the movie, I sunk into my seat for a more comfortable position and had a very long and nice nap.

Next came Chak de India. Though I am a Shah Rukh fan, I never really considered him as a good actor. I was always in awe of his larger than life existence, where he is a chain smoker and no one really minds and where he has a back injury and suddenly everyone starts to care. From the time Chak de India was in the news, I could not help wondering what made a movie about hockey that centres on 16 girls appealing to SRK. According to me, what made this movie interesting was that the movie was all about the 16 girls and did not portray SRK as Vijay/Raj who serenades Kajol/ Rani/ Priety in the Swiss Alps for a long overdue change! Main characters like Vidya Sharma ( played by Vidya Malvade), Komal Chautala (Chitrashi Rawat) , Bindia Naik (Shilpa Shukla), Balbir Kaur (Tanya Abrol) , Preethi Sabarwal ( Sagarika Ghatge) and Aliya Bose ( Anaitha Nair) did a great job. I especially loved the scene where all the 16 girls report for training. The unique personalities of the girls were introduced almost immediately to the audience and had also succeeded in hinting at issues like people from the Far East (like Mizoram) being treated differently in their own country and people up north failing to realise the difference between Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. Though I am not sure whether this movie will help in reviving hockey in our country, I did get a clearer idea about the sport. And btw it looked like a really difficult sport to play than cricket – or does it look like that only on screen?? To sum up, Chak De India came at a time when family entertainers in Bollywood were a priced rarity. Chak De won’t have you cast frequent nervous glances at your already disgusted parents, in the fear that a steamy scene may add to their already erratic heart beat and sky high blood pressure!

So here I am, back to work and dreaming about the upcoming weekend …