Archive for August, 2009

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Cheap books


2009
08.31

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I attended the Delhi Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, and noted that the diversity of the madding crowds transcended class, community, religion and nationality, unlike the usual suspects at the Crosswords and Oxfords of the country.

One stall in particular was bursting at the seams with voracious readers.

Was it Penguin? No.
Was it Sage? No.
Was it Katha? No.

The name of the stall: ‘English Novel – Rs 25/- only’.

One man emerged triumphantly with 50 books (yes, I counted) in a plastic bag, most in mint condition, and in hardback.

As I tried to get a foothold into the stall, an elderly gentleman asked the man in charge of collecting the moolah, with disbelief,” Yeh zyaada sastha tho nahi ho gaya (isn’t this price a tad too less)?”

I picked up politically incorrect Bill Maher’s New Rules. I would have fished for some more, but there were two many armpits in my nose (akin to a Mumbai local), and the couple in front of me looked like they weren’t going anywhere for the next decade.

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Woman power in Delhi


2009
08.29

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My first impression of woman power in Delhi is this -– it can get violent!

Whilst waiting to collect my baggage at the airport, I saw a woman sporting high-heeled shoes, fitted top, tight jeans and an urbane, upper class air. A band of uncouth-looking males hovered dangerously close to the lady, on the pretext of also waiting for baggage.

Trolley loaded, she attempted to make her way out of the swarm. But they continued to hover, whilst she proceeded to kick them in the shins with those killer heels.

Then recently, another useless creature attempting to cop a feel, brushed past by my pal, Delhi girl Beeps. Before he could sigh with pleasure, she rushed towards him and started slapping him violently. Her brother stood about 200 m away, and felt rather pleased at the spectacle of a wee girl beating the crap out of a fella’ with such fury. Little did he know hat Supergirl was in fact, elder sis. On realisation, this ginormous boy who is for most parts, a gentle giant, did some slapping of his own. It was one of those rare, sublime moments of sibling unity :)

Then, just a few days back, an unsuspecting eveteaser had the misfortune of teasing my very sweet-looking colleague S. She stood next to her friend’s car, whilst they fixed a flat tyre. “Usne mujhe aankh maraa (he winked at me),” she said.

Suddenly pretty girl metamorphosed into Catwoman. She took out the spanner from the boot, walked boldly up to the perpetrator, and started slapping him violently. Pretty soon, her male colleagues joined in the fun. The two chaps made like a tree and vanished.

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Back to books


2009
08.27

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For a longest time, browsing the Internet furiously, replaced reading a book (hard copy), at leisure. But by a necessary quirk of fate, my Internet connection was out of service for six hours at a stretch, this week.

I picked up One Hundred Years Of Solitude, which had been sitting neglected, on my bookshelf all of seven months, and I could not put it down for the next seven hours.

I lapped up 228 pages like a voyeur on the loose, and then it was time for bed. The story of the Buendia clan is both thrilling and disturbing, and I wanted to plough through it, all night. But the more I read, the more eerie I felt. I finally put down the book, but the colourful, eccentric, willful characters in the book appeared in my dreams.

Fernanda, Piedade and Jose – these are the name of characters in the book as well as of relatives, house servants and village folks, back in Goa. So, I felt a strange familiarity, by virtue of our colonial ancestry. A little girl arrives one fine day, wearing a scapula around her neck. I stopped wearing one many years back and I had almost forgotten the existence of this sacred thread, worn by most Roman Catholics in Goa.

The mention of Guajira, which refers to an Indian tribe (from Cuba me thinks) reminded me of the song Guantanamera, which features ‘Guajira in the chorus. The word may have different meanings in the book and the song, yet, it transported me to an anecdote from pop’s younger days. A musician would gaily mispronounce Gauntanamera at weddings and dances. “Gone Through The Mirror”, he sang, instead.

I also remember old tailor Santan who would come round to my aunty’s (or was it my grandma’s) house, to sew for two-three days at a stretch. He had his own rendition of the song; “Santanamera”, he would sing, feeling extremely pleased as he saluted himself, hummed a few notes, and proceeded to whip up a frock with a frill, a boat neck and darts, in 20 minutes.

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Corny answers to corny questions


2009
08.25

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My barefoot ‘n’ preggers friend Maya who fancies herself as being a gypsy in her previous life, has tagged me, and now I have to take this very corny quiz. But what the hell, here goes! Corny answers for corny questions.

1. What is your current obsession?
Can’t confess in public! Let’s just say that this week, my obsession finally turned into reality. It’s now time for a new obsession.

2. What is your weirdest obsession?
When I was younger I wanted to be thin. Now, I just want to be healthy.

3. What are you wearing today?
An abstract print top from AND, denim, a silver ring in the shape of spiral, and a secret smile.

4. What are you listening to right now?
The clickety-clack of my laptop keyboard and some very distasteful music courtesy my next-door neighbour.

5. What’s for dinner?
Depends on where I am eating, tonight.

6. What’s the last thing you bought?
A mojito

7. Which language do you want to learn?
Spanish/ Portuguese

8. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
New York City

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Austria

10. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
A very luxurious spa treatment.

11. What are your must-have pieces for summer?
My mantra for summer – less is more.

12. What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?
A chocolate brown pair of party shorts, with a lace trimmings.

13. What do you do when you “have nothing to wear” (even though your closet’s packed)?
Use my credit card.

14. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?
Wearing granny underpants with a slim-fit pair of trousers. The secret weapon my dears: thongs.

15. Give us three styling tips that always work for you.
Well-fitted clothes for your body type, a good haircut, smell good.

16. What’s your favorite quote?
I sleep around for pleasure. In business, I use intelligence.

17. Describe your personal style.
A mix of this ‘n’ that.

18. Who do you want to meet right now?
The Indian Government, to give them a piece of my mind!

19. What is your favorite colour?
Green ‘n’ blue, not one without the other.

20. What is your dream job?
Jazz vocalist who jetsets around the world, and hobnobs with those who play ‘n’ dig jazz.

21. What’s your favorite magazine?
Harper’s Bazaar, Business Week

22. Which TV character can you simply not tolerate?
The annoyingly anal ones in the average American sitcom ‘n’ Indian soaps centred around kitchen politics.

23. Who are your style icons?
The thirty-something magazine editor in Lipstick Jungle.

24. What are you going to do after this?
Eat lunch

25. What are your favourite movies?
Back To The Future trilogy, The Departed, Sound Of Music, Fiddler On The Roof, Guns of Navarone, The Wizard Of Oz, Gulaal, City Of God, Ocean’s 11 trilogy, Band Of Brothers,

26. What inspires you?
Nature, people, music, tragedy, cinema, poetry, global events, nothing, anything, everything.

27. Coffee or tea?
Mojito!

28. Pet peeve?
Suck-ups. Killjoys. BBBO (bad breathe, body odour)

29. What do you think about the person who tagged you?
She makes a very loyal friend, a quirky mom, a bold, compassionate woman with a child-like zest for life and all its complexities.

I tag couch potato, merril and malini to take it on!

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The Dilli Way


2009
08.18

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It has finally dawned upon moi — trust no one, and be nice to no one, unless you have good reason to. You can be polite of course. But nice…I would ask you to wait a wee bit before extending niceties to the average Jo.

Even if people seem nice, ask yourself very objectively: are their sucking up because I am cool, rich, powerful or attractive?

I have seen suck-ups at work, masterfully taking their art to another level, and those on the receiving end feeling pleased as punch one minute, rude and ruthless, the next .

It’s almost as if people don’t have faith in their own ability to be interesting or successful. But of course, you can’t hold any of this against people, because as the good Lord once said, ‘Forgive them for they know not what they do’.

But there is a silver lining. If people genuinely like you, expect the world from them.

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Kaminey Ki Jai


2009
08.15

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I would definitely like to sit through Kaminey, all over again. This flick paces itself at the beginning, gains momentum and climaxes with a mighty crescendo. Most critics have discussed that the film is reminiscent of Tarantino’s style, and how old Bollywood wine of two brothers in arms, is edgily recast in a new bottle, and yada yada yada. The performances, music, dialogues were par excellence.

But what most people seemed to have missed – and this was instantly picked up by my pal Himi – are the subtle but electric homoerotic vibes between Charlie and Mikhail, right from the moment they commune with joy after discovering a cocaine-filled money-bags guitar, to grooving in a nightclub in psychedelic lighting, to Charlie breaking down in tears when Mikail is shot, to the finale when Charlie flirts with dropping guitar, drugs and potential money bags, into a raging fire, but finally succumbs only after spotting Mikhail’s corpse, stacked in the front seat of a jeep, but not before letting off a grief-stricken howl.

Maybe we are reading too much into this relationship. But then, maybe not. Bollywood tends to shout from the rooftops when making movies about gay people, and what you have is cliché, humour in bad taste, and brazen publicity stunts. But if our hunch is true, we must applaud the director on this subtle coup.

After a lousy morning of too much food, too little sleep and too much surfing, the film proved to be a great watch, and lifted my spirits, completely. Folks, you gotta watch it.

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Meryl Can’t Dance!


2009
08.12

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I finally watched that terribly tacky musical called Mamma Mia! starring Meryl Streep in the lead role. The lady has won several Oscars, but dear lord, she cannot sing!

The worst song in the film, is most definitely Streep’s rendition of The Winner Takes It All; she wails like a banshee and gesticulates so wildly to long lost love (Peirce Brosnan), it’s almost embarrassing! At this point, I must say that Brosnan looks his usual drool-worthy self, but dear lord, he must not burst into song, either.

70s costumes were funky, not  frumpy. But here we have just frumpy. And the dancing…pure indulgence, as Simon Cowell might say, mercilessly.

Anna Seyfroid is a favourite and she’s brilliant in Big Love as a troubled Mormon girl who struggles with dad’s bigamist lifestyle, but in this film, the girly avatar just doesn’t fly.

The cast bursts into song at the drop of a hat, but even though I shall love Abba songs eternally, the music sequences in the film, besides being mostly terrible, seem very forced, unlike in ‘Across The Universe’, a musical trubute (and work of art) to the The Beatles.

Well, save for a song by Christine Baranski, who sings about being seduced by a younger dude as she is being seduced by a younger dude. She plays Streep’s fiesty middle-aged cougar friend, who has had four  hubbies and several plastic surgeries.

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Talibanisation Of ‘Gone With The Wind’


2009
08.11

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I finally watched Gone With The Wind, once again after more than a decade. I spent many waking hours devouring the book during my school days, in the quiet confines of the one and only loo at our flat in Darsait (Oman).

Pop highly disapproved of my hogging precious loo time, to read those ‘novels’. Incidentally, the cousins from my generation in mom’s side of the family have a penchant for spending many hours reading in the loo and under the covers in torchlight at night, whilst everyone in the household is asleep.

So, we watched the movie once again, on a DVD by BIG entertainment (that Zee brand).

Well, guess what? All the most passionately charged scenes between Scarlett O’Hara (of the 16-inch waist) and Rhett Butler were edited out of the piece!

It reminded me of the one and only Oman TV, the lone channel available in Muscat during the 80s, before satellite television changed our lives. When the hero makes love to his leading lady, we would get to see a video grab/ photograph of flowers, usually roses.

And coming back to censorship in today’s era, damn you BIG.  Talibanisation of this classic is in bad taste.

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Sunshine @ The Living Roo


2009
08.10

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Sunshine and I partied at this little hole in the wall known as ‘The Living Room’ at Hauz Khas Village in South Delhi.

It has a vintage-boho chic vibe about it; you have an old grandfather’s clock in mint condition standing right next to the bar on one hand. On the other, you have abstract paintings adorning stark walls. The decor does not seem very choreographed and could pass off as the work of creative minds that were low on cash but high on resourcefulness and good taste.

TLR does not play any Bollywood music or rock (thank heavens!), but a convenient mix of all my favourite music genres – jazz, retro and house — with some live trumpet thrown in by a musician who swishes in, does his thing with gay abandon, then makes off to the bar, until he feels the urge to do this thing all over again.

The bartender is a very friendly hippie who possesses a good memory for people and their poison, and surprise, surprise, a personality, too.

An ISB alumnus stood in a corner, nursing his beer, eyeing my very agile dance moves on the floor. Once in a while he would edge closer towards us, not quite knowing how to get my undivided attention.

He had a neat set of dimples, yet, I suspect that beneath the Ivy League (Indian version) trimmings, he’s a simple, non-sophisticate who needs some lessons in the art of talking to a girl. Sunshine had no mercy for the unsuspecting fella’, and was in fact eyeing a very skinny-looking intellectual sporting skinny jeans and a tortured look, who most certainly prided himself on having a dark side.

Before I could scope him out for the sake of sunshine, the skinny intellectual vanished. Sunshine is hopeful of meeting  him the following week.

A Punju gang of uncles and aunties, who were celebrating someone’s bday randomly offered us cake, and sunshine obliged by stuffing himself. Then some more random people introduced themselves, and sunshine was very keen that we invite them home for an after party, because one of them took his fancy.

Despite the friendly overtures, when I actually did the inviting, the girl made like a tree, one chap followed her, and the third fellow declined, looking very alarmed. The things I need to do for sunshine, all of 23, and terribly sloshed.

The next morning we returned for brunch, and I had bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, coffee, mixed fruit juice and brown bread with mint-flavoured butter @ Rs 275.

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The birth Of Marry Diniz


2009
08.05

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The birth of Marry Diniz

The birth of Marry Diniz

I recently sent mom a bouquet of yellow roses through an online gift delivery service, on her Bday.

The bouquet was accompanied by a personalised message from yours truly.

My mom took a picture of the message and e-mailed it to me.

Hold your breath…I have been christened once again…as ‘Marry’!

Maybe there’s a subtle message in here. Chuckles.

Also, Patience was misspelled as ‘Pation’s’ and Lassie became Lassia. I have since then asked the company to compensate me for this shocking inability to copy two lines of English, correctly.

Mrs Arora from Indiafloristonline.com, I am still waiting!

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