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The Master recorded a half century of centuries yesterday. However, it was greatly and I mean greatly soured by India's heavy defeat by South Africa at the Centurion. On the fifth and final day, however I was bemused by Sachin's approach as he did not farm the strike and led Sreesanth and debutant Unadkat to the slaughter and before time it was all over with Tendulkar remaining unbeaten.

Great achievement but remembered for the wrong reason. Long live the Master.
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The oppressed is history

A stupor-inducing drama that lacks insight

You can't help but appreciate Gowariker's approach to film-making. Earnest, honest and his constant homage to the Motherland. However, like an overbearing parent, there is this constant tendency to overdo the businesslike demeanor, that is like to only look and be smug about the overall percentage scored by a severely welted boy but ignore the gaping hole of a D grade in History.

Because as a history lesson, this movie gets an A but on the character front it scores an unremarkable F. The movie talks about a lesser known revolution that is based on a book - Manini Chatterjee’s Do & Die: The Chittagong Uprising 1930-34. The opening scenes show a group of boys playing football on a dusty field before the British usurp it in their typical manner. So they contact Surjya Sen, a local schoolmaster who they think because of his connections with freedom fighters might help the boys get their tract back. However Surjya has bigger plans and enlists them for a bloody revolution of stealing arms and money from the English.

The story-telling here is so simplistic that during the course of the training of the young ones, a scene is played where they are explained what chloroform is and what a musket of a gun is. Lots of time is wasted on showing the enlistment of the greenhorns.

We know what the filmmaker wants us to feel - that how can one man be so heartless as to lead such youthful baby fat pouting boys like lambs to the slaughter. But for that he doesn't give us one opening into boys'families. What do they feel like? What are they leaving behind to undertake such a huge sacrifice. In a similar scene, when Kolpona donates her jewellery for the cause, we dont care. We never saw her in a fashionable attire before to actually feel her loss. Most frustrating is the lack explanation about who is Surjya Sen. Is he just a school teacher or does he have more flesh to himself. He is the leader of this war, what about his perspective? The entire first half is dotted with such brain-dead sequences.

It is the second half that springs to life mainly because, the movie has metamorphosed into an action flick. The daring robbery, the escape from certain death and persecution and the inevitable manhunt and martyrdom is because of jingoistic reasons always stimulating to watch. After a while though that too loses its sheen as Gowariker in his usual style does away with all subtleties and goes for bombastic drama.

Deepika cannot act period!. There is something so unnatural about her. And it might not be even her fault. Even when clad in the dullest of dullest khaki sarees, she looks like she might have landed from a Manish Malhotra Mahatma's austerity themed show. She is just too upscale to fit the part. Abhishek does what Abhishek does. Hams, shows the occasional glimpse of an acting gene and then settles for the average to mediocre slot on the acting scale. The best of the lot is definitely Sikander Kher with his brooding looks looking apt for the role. The teenagers who play the young revolutionaries are infact very sprightly and bring about a sense of earthiness to the proceedings.

KHJJS is a highly soporific drama that drives one to grogginess with its mundane dialogues and uninspired acting. The Chittagong Uprising is better served by remaining in our books alone.

Rating : 1.5/5
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Mercy Killing

A film that was supposed to make us cry oddly turns out to be a conflict-less tale

Fans of SLB will immediately recognize the jaw dropping art-design, the bird’s eye view of the elaborate sets and the use of lighting to convey the moods of various characters. Ethan Mascarenhas(Hrithik Roshan) is a quadriplegic confined to his wheel chair and his house that is falling apart like him. In his life before a debilitating accident, he was a magician. He is now attended to by his spunky nurse Sofia (Aishwarya) and supported by his lawyer friend Devyani(Shenaz Patel) and to whom he one day petitions of his wish to die by euthanasia. That forms the central idea of the film.

The film’s strength lies in the way the narrative juxtaposes the limp present of the illusionist with his more agile past. Be it his photographs scattered around his bedside which is now his permanent residence or the discussions between the two women in his past that incessantly touch on the topic of his glory days or in the vignettes from his own memory that are flashed from time to time. The appositeness of the sequences can’t be doubted. A signature Bhansali moment arrives in the form of Ethan’s mom’s funeral when he breaks into a song. Very well done and we have located the eccentric in Bhansali.

However, the film in these moments is devoid of the melodrama that would have us crying our heart out for the hero.Yes we know he used to be a great magician, yes we know his close relationship with his mother ( a constant premise of all Bhansali films of the hero being close to the mother) But the peripheral characters never evolve from where they began. Who is the nurse? Why does she do what she does? Who is the lawyer, what role has she played in his life? Then there is the apprentice who just appears out of nowhere serving no particular purpose to the main theme of the movie. And because of these factors, the entire setup feels hollow despite being mesmerizing to look at.

Another drawback of the film is its highly functional soundtrack(composed by SLB himself), a serious letdown after the track record in Khamoshi, HDDCS, Devdas and Saawariya. Also the sequences in the latter half stick out like a sore thumb. Even the boy Omar who comes to learn magic, is not shown learning let alone mastering the art. .

While not exactly a revelation, Aishwarya is utilized well for this role with the plucky tight-lipped, heavily lipsticked but caring nurse and her little jig at the club shows that while her looks might be on the wane but her dancing skills remain as good as ever. Shenaz Patel is excellent as the lawyer-friend. Aditya Roy Kapoor who shouldn’t even be there is just about adequate.

Most producers only want to show his brawn but there lies a very capable performer in Roshan Jr. Hrithik, as the immoveable hero proves to be the savior of this film. (The symbolism exists in the constant references to God, the statue inside his house, his unshaven face and hair that make him look like Jesus. He delivers one of his finest performances and keeps us thoroughly engaged with his eye expressions and tongue in cheek comments.

Guzaarish is inspired and in some scenes downright lifted from a variety of foreign films, but after a slew of loud and clunky movies this year, Bhansali’s effort is a welcome relief, if only it had more thump to it and was not paralyzed to its chair like the crumbling protagonist……..

For a hilarious review on the film please see Guzaarish from the Vigil Idiot.

Rating : 2.5/5
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An omelette made from Emu(the Aussie bird) eggs, is reportedly sold in reputed hotels in Mumbai at rates as high as Rs 5,500 and is very much in demand. A Surat farm is among the main suppliers of the eggs of the exotic bird.

Read more from the Times : Emu eggs served in Mumbai
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The brake pads on my Civic gave up on me at 28,000 miles, almost 7K miles too early. I don't know why, but it probably has to do something with the fact that I live in a hilly area. and have to brake constantly... not sure. The screechy sound from my tyres put my head in a spin. After asking a few service centers, not a single one was ready to do it under a whopping $200.

Ultimately, I had to ask the Leprechaun, an engineer in my office with a great expertise in cars and he suggested doing it myself. I shopped for a pad. Purchased Wagner's ceramic pads at an even $50 and on the weekend drove over to the Leprechaun's house who has all the tools handy.

Jacking up the car, he guided me step by step and infact even did the part of the job which required brute strength. After forty five minutes, I, for the very first time in my life, had done some proper mechanical work on the car , other than the usual fixing flats. :). Felt good. If the brakes go awry, I will have no one to sue though ;).

The service center people called me up the next day asking whether I was bringing the car in, i might even be eligible for a special offer and I replied , Take a Brake buddy, I have done it myself. A Big thanks to the Leprechaun.
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Was having a romantic overdose for obvious reasons and I spent the day watching two rom-coms from this year.

Cool's Gold

Stunning chemistry between leads can't save the movie from just scraping the bottom of the romantic chest.

A minor accomplishment of I hate luv storys is the obvious chemistry between the leading pair. Jay(Imran) and Simran(Sonam) fill every frame with a youngish charm and color that is terrific to look at in the beginning but begins to look and sound gaudy as the movie progresses because it is painted on a wafer-thin canvas of a script filled with banal dialogues.

The major accomplishment however is that it explains why most bollywood rom-coms(or atleast the Yashraj and Dharma productions ones) are heading south - the sense that they are trying to be uber“cool”. This display of blatant coolness is everywhere with Jai turning Jay, a man who dresses in formals addressed as uptight and mocked endlessly. The foundation of the story is trying to be cool with Jai continuously scoffing at the idea of love while Simran who works as an art director on a romantic director’s(smoothly played by Sonu Sood) set lives by that very notion.

The problem is first time director Punit Malhotra doesn’t invest in the relationship much at all but unremittingly throws dialogues from old hindi movies in a ridicule laden sentiment via Jay’s character. He could do well to take a few tips from Imtiaz Ali, the man whose earthy love stories and the transition from non-committed to emotional attachment is written in such a relatable way that one feels that this might exactly be an encounter in the everyday life of two people in a relationship.

Imran Khan who has a limited reservoir of acting, is at tremendous ease in the bouncy sequences that dot the first half but comes nowhere to winning our heart in the second half. IHLS is almost an extended and bare-bones version of Aamir-Preity Dil Chahta Hai track. And that is why, he didn’t need to look further than his accomplished uncle’s portrayal of the cool Akash and his feelings and that too in a ditto scene in DCH, the one over the telephone where Aamir describes his lost love to his Dad. Imran's performance is no where as wrenching.

Sonam is perfectly cast but how you wish she was more fleshed out(physically as well, she is taking size zero to negative) as to her history with her “perfect” boyfriend, what makes them click as a pair in addition to the hasty story that they are childhood buddies. She is as always pleasurable in the light hearted scenes but is very raw in settings that need a bit more heart.

Sometimes, I say take it easy and try to enjoy a romantic film on its surface alone but even that is hard with this film. I hate luv storys , which even in its spelling of its title challenges grammatical syntax in order to be cool, tries promisingly in the beginning to ridicule the concept of love, but ends up mocking its own self.

Stranger than fiction.... and fact

An amateur drama masquerading as a movie

Anjaana Anjaani starts off with the protagonists on a bridge ready to commit suicide. In a hastily assembled back story, Akash(Ranbir) invested a lot of money in a particular venture only to see the market crash and go bankrupt. He meets the equally depressed Kiara(Priyanka in a pseudo vivacious role) who is there for another reason shown to us during the course of the movie.

The beginning portions do show the maturity that has slowly crept into Siddharth Anand’s direction ala Kjo’s KANK and I thought this will be a light hearted tear-jerker worth analyzing. But after that promising start , Anjaana Anjaani is unique in its texture that there is nothing to dissect. It is as if the production team came up with a check list that read

Trendy expensive wardrobe despite hero-heroine being penniless – Check

Great locales – Check

Music – Check, 2 club songs, 1 road song, 1 mellow song.

Screenplay – Check...Gay jokes, underwear underwear, hooking up with a hooker , yeah we do have some idea of a screenplay. And we can always figure something out as we go along. And oh yes, tribute to previous Yashraj movies in many scenes.

Character history – Check , errr….Not needed, ok a little bit put in. Make them orphans, lets make it easy on ourselves.

Original Script – Hmm… Yashraj we have a problem.

There is no script to speak of astonishingly. And whatever is dished out on the screen seems more juvenile than Dennis the Menace. There is not one character that makes us root for him or her. Every situation, every dialogue comes up as a cropper. It is quite frustrating that here was a great opportunity to explore two flawed people coming together on a road journey, but the chance is wasted and everything seems a contrivance.

Priyanka who enthralls us with her mini-dresses is equally mini in the acting department not helped by the fact that the character is so poorly etched. Ranbir is a zombie who seems to have sleepwalked on to the wrong set. He lacks commitment.

Anjaana Anjaani is a fatuous travelogue of sorts with the music being the only thing going for it. At the end of the movie, how you wish the film, would have ended right at the start with the two leads jumping to their conclusion to spare their own anguish as well as ours.

The music is awesome in both the movies, however it is all in vain. :(

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Winter is almost upon us as it has already started to snow in Minneapolis. This was a photo I took from my house one early autumn morning, a couple of weeks ago. Bye bye fall, welcome winter

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President Obama's 3-day visit to India was more business-oriented than political. For the sake of diplomacy he paraphrased India's concerns over Pakistan and the constant US aid to our neighbor. by saying that a stable Pakistan is better for India. However what he means and US foreign policies in the past have always meant that a stable Pakistan is a good counter force to undermine India's speedy development. An unstable Pakistan right now is too busy handling its own issues and not able to concentrate on spreading terrorism in India. Here is to our armed forces and intelligence men who have kept danger at bay despite the constant threats that we hear everyday.

Also it is interesting to note that while his fellow Americans pronounce Pakistan as P[æ]kist[æ]n as in cat, Obama says Pa:kista:n as most Indians would say it. Hmmm... yes I know, totally jobless I am.
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Oh well this isn't a movie review but while we waited for our Golmaal show to start, we went and sat in the hall which was screening Due Date that stars Robert Downey Jr and Zach Galifianakis, two people on a cross-country road trip.

Being directed by the director of Hangover, Todd Phillips, one could almost feel the movie suffered from a hangover of "The Hangover". It was good for a while before humor just turned nasty. I like Galifianakis's deadpan style of humor but I thought Downey Jr. was in the wrong movie. Will watch the rest on DVD.
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The consonants in the title might be the same but the range of emotions I went through in the first Test between India and New Zealand was contrastingly different.

Usually I am all excited about an India series but this time led to my behavior towards this series was apathetic to say the least. Even before the series had begun, I was looking forward to India's tour of South Africa later this year haughtily dismissing the Kiwis as minnows and ripe for a good trounce. However, when i woke up on the fifth day, I expected a "meander to tame draw" headline to greet me but it was famously Chris Martin who was featured on Cricinfo's first page . I was a worried man, ruing my views on the Black Caps. At the end of the day I was a relieved man, with Bhajji finally showing his batting abilities and the ever dependable VVS on the other side to guide India to safe shores. Although, it sounds gross but the fact is that the Kiwis made me eat crow :P

P.S. I think India will thrash New Zealand in Hyderabad. Bachcha log these kiwi boys :D
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*ing : Ajay Devgan, Arshad Warsi, Kareena Kapoor, Kunal Khemu
Tusshar Kapoor, Mithun Chakraborty, Ratna Pathak,, Shreyas
Talpade, Johnny Lever, Mukesh Tiwari, Sanjay Mishra,
Vrijesh Hirjee and Mukesh Tiwari

Directed by : Rohit Shetty

Three's a crowd in..

Rohit Shetty’s 3rd film in his Golmaal trilogy. It starts off with what has become a trademark Rohit Shetty opening shot – dramatis personae introduction in a mêlée of colors positioned in a physics defying position. Not that we need any introduction, as the audience is very much familiar with all the buffoons in the Golmaal world.

The plot is once again inspired from old Hindi films, a couple of English ones and mixed with a clever dollop of nostalgia. The main story revolves around Pritam (Mithun), a widower and his three sons Madhav(Warsi), Laxman(Khemu) and Lucky(Tusshar) who due to business rivalries cannot see eye to eye with Gopal(Devgan), his brother Laxman(Talpade) who are actually the sons of Pritam’s ex lover Geeta(Ratna Pathak). The ex-lovers situation is uproariously executed in a Hindi film spoof and Mithun Da reprising his disco dancer role. Daboo(Kareena) tries to get the old couple together but in the process has to convince the whole family to live together.

From the performances, Devgan just can’t crack it at comedy. He is pretty wooden and I think Shetty just picks him up for representing sanity in this mad atmosphere. Arshad Warsi, Tusshar Kapoor and Shreyas Talpade are the main rib-ticklers while it was great to see Johny Lever back in form. His two cronies Vrijesh Hrijee and especially Sanjay Mishra whose way of spelling was just hilarious also liven up the already frenzied air. Perhaps, the more interesting aspect (for me who prefer humor to be more subtle than slapstick) of the movie was Kunal Khemu’s idiomatic dialogues which packed a nice little punch of their own. Kareena is for the glamour but goes through the motions well. Mithun and Ratna Pathak Shah are good.

Overall, the fun remains until the jokes and acts begin to get repetitive but neither the film claims nor expects to be some logical device. Total Paisa Vasool. Watch it for timepass but I just hope no more Golmaal movies are in the pipeline.

Rating : 2.5/5

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*ing : Leo DiCaprio, Marion Cotillard, Ellen Page, Joseph Gordon-
Levitt, Tom
Hardy, Ken Watanabe & Dileep Rao

Directed by : Christopher Nolan

The stuff that dreams are made of, not quite..... because

There is a thing called watching films because of the simple pleasure involved in watching them. But seeing Christopher Nolan’s Inception, gives you watching a video game feel. Audiences claim that it bends your mind but looking at its action sequences I thought it bends gravity more than the mind.

Dom Cobb (DiCaprio) plays a corporate thief, whose métier is dipping into people’s minds when they are asleep, He and his team infiltrate people’s dreams and steal ideas. Their new assignment involves a client Saito(Ken Watanabe) wanting to “plant” an idea in a target’s (Cillian Murphy) mind in order so that he can break up his business empire. This is easier said than done because the mind always knows the genesis of the idea, explained to us by Arthur(Gordon-Levitt),a team member. So an extra team of specialists is assembled with world-designer Ariadne (Ellen Page), identity forger Eames (Tom Hardy), pharmacist Yusuf (Dileep Rao) who each in turn explain their fortes and impact on a dream to us.

But these dialogs are added in the narrative in a very instructive manner. Hence the sequences become verbose and go on for too long and I felt I was always waiting for the big jaw dropping sequence that never arrived. What happens is by the time you are digesting the overload of information in the previous sequence, a new action sequence comes along that leaves the attention divided and our verdict on the scene’s astuteness, if any compromised.

Nolan is a clever director and dares us to think that something might be wrong in the set up. There is no doubt about the novelty of Nolan’s ideas especially the dream inside a dream conceit. The problem then with the film I have is not with Nolan’s idea but his ultimate script that is tethered by his own mechanical way of thinking. Dreams are after all dreams, abstract, moody and weird. Then why, do we ask that these expanses of mind and the characters to whom they belong to are not explored further, made more colorful or vivid(case in point Tim Burton) but instead culminate in a succession of action set pieces stacked one over another that could be readily found in an expensive potboiler.

It isn’t helped by the fact that, Nolan right from his Batman Begins days hasn’t yet learnt the art of choreographing actions scenes and the same problem is on display in Inception. Some of them dazzle like the bending of Paris or the city of cards SFX but most just fizzle out in a muddle of harrowing movements across the screen.

Leo DiCaprio is painful as the humorless protagonist(for no apparent fault of his) while the others are just there because they are a team. Not one from the cast of Gordon Levitt, Tom Hardy, Ellen Page or Dileep Rao stays on the screen long enough to register an impact. The only performance worth watching is from Cobb’s beautiful but estranged and scary wife Marion Cotillard but she too is his projection or so it seems.

Look, Inception is not bad. It is entertaining as long as it lasts but the bottom line is that with a lack of peripheral character development, the movie feels unsatisfactory almost scolding us to observe something “deep and unusual” in what is after all just a heist movie with not one but 3 time clocks ticking. It just gets too cool for its own good. People who think that ,they would find something more profound, with the help of multiple viewings, must be dreaming.

Rating : 3/5 - Unsatisfactory

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Jithe mi jaate, tithe tu diste,

Hawaat tujhe sugandh pasarte,
Manaat tu majhya dhyanaat tu…
Chaaro dishaanat tu hich tu

Dedicated to "the Nu" from the song "Nana chi taang" from the movie "Khatta Meetha"

For those who are not familiar with "the Nu" click here. And do not worry, you will be in the same boat as me. I am also not very familiar with her, multi-faceted personality that she is.

For those who want to know about Khatta Meetha, it is just one more in the Akshay-Priyadarshan series of comedies but frankly it is too tedious to write a review. Priyadarshan needs to reinvent rather than recycle his old Malayalam movies.

If you still don't get it then "tyacha nana chi taang"
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What is common between Dev.D , Wake Up Sid, Admissions Open, Aisha and Udaan? Answer:

The man behind the music of the above films launched his career just a couple of years ago with Aamir(film) and he is already my favorite - Amit Trivedi. It started with the strangely unique but arresting "emosional atyachaar" and he has delivered hit after hit which include Wake up Sid's mesmerizing Iktara voted as 2009's listener's choice best song of the year.

His sounds are unique, youthful, rocke-ish, accompanied with some great arrangements in such a way that most instruments he uses seem so clearly heard and even more cleverly introduced into a sequence. His music is definitely something you won't classify as filmy although he did go a little mainstream with Aisha at the expense of sounding like Vishal-Shekhar but even in Aisha, he had his usual trademarks when the music soared with the melancholic Lehrein and the soothing vocals of Anusha Mani. One has also got to listen to low key films like Admissions Open , especially the songs Meri Rooh and Roshini. My current favorite is Udaan, an admirable movie with a thoroughly enchanting score. From the rock dominated Kahaani, folk rock in Naav, sitar and harmonica interspersed within rock elements in Aazadiayan and finally ending with the poignant piano based theme, Amit Trivedi delivers the perfect note to capture the mood of the film.

3-4 movies in the pipeline. Really looking forward to some more of his work. Awesome, keep it up Amit Trivedi.
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A 2-0 whitewash of the Aussies in cricket and a fantastic end to the CWG games with India coming in 2nd place with 101 medals , capped off a great week for the host nation. The icing on the cake being the spectacular closing ceremony and thereby setting a high benchmark for the games in Glasgow. Bravo! as the Australian and New Zealand media put it.
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I traveled to Lancaster County Pennsylvania which is famous for a community called the Amish. The Amish are a denomination of Christianity who believe in simple living and refuse to accept modern convenience. That would mean, they don’t use cars, phones, computers and don’t watch the telly. So quite obviously, they do not use electricity. They tend their own farms, are experts at growing tobacco and quite inherently are good with woodwork.

Once you enter the town, immediately one gets to see horse droppings everywhere as the Amish only travel by buggy. And we caught one to give us a ride. Our driver was a young girl named Rachel and she allowed us to take a photograph of her (which is prohibited but some allow it). On the 3 mile long ride along Amish farmland, we came to know that if you see electricity cables running into a house, that would be a modern Amish household. The electricity would have to be powered by propane though. There are also Amish schools that are run separately but tourists are not allowed to enter one.There is a measure of discipline in children, and they are used to helping the adults on farm which is quite contrary from modern American kids who just play the Xbox all day and are protected by American child laws in regards to obedience). But the Amish are not exempted from any US laws. They pay taxes and follow rules just like the rest of the nation. Also it was surprising that Rachel knew everything from Ipods to social networking but would not use them even if she could.

The Amish house (left) is like any other modern house. They visit supermarkets and buy all modern food just like us. Some other aspects were, that a white cape on the head would mean she was below 30 and was single. Men have to wear suspenders. And we were shown a variety of dresses both men and women have to wear as they progress through the years.

It is quite mind boggling that this community that lives right in the heart of modernity is not lured by it. There are some who defect and try to live a normal life but then are ostracized from their own society once they take that step. They may only come back if they perform penance in the Church.

It is also quite amazing that such a community has thrived in America, “the Nile river delta” of innovation and technology. They sometimes refuse medical treatment calling it the will of God. But luckily their youth is sensible enough to not take everything conservatively and every Amish household does have a telephone (outside the boundary of the house) in case of life-threatening emergencies.

Ah !what a simple life. Interesting. Let me "tweet" about this via my "smart phone". :)

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And finally a century of posts and I thought I would share something personal and write about somebody special. And that would mean that there has been a curtain call on my days of bachelorhood(sweating profusely, head spinning and hands begging for mercy)

A cry for affection, a play with fate

A predilection for the cultured, a fondness for out of state

And the response :

She was genial, sober and delightful

Her demeanor calm and speech insightful

Yes ladies and gentlemen, the results are out and turns out they are pretty, quite literally. :)

Call it my penchant to find a partner from a different background or my attraction for a “I don’t take shit from anyone” attitude. Also hostels maketh the man, in this case a woman. A considerable amount of time spent in the melting pot of Pune has provided the perfect recipe for a young , independent and strong minded individual. She is originally from Gwalior so the cricket fanatic in me also saw this an opportunity to be associated with “the master” as it was at the land of Tansen, that the little champion scored the first ODI double ton :P :D.(yeah you guessed it right, she is gonna kill me for this)

The followers of this indulgent blog might know her as the STG, her previously coined term. (She has made me apologize to all the nonsense that I had written earlier, damn I am already listening to her). Everything in my life does revolve movies sadly. So in typical style the STG has been rechristened. The STG from now on will be known as “The Nu” which is quite obviously inspired by Uma Thurman's “the Bride” in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill not that she brandishes a sword and knows Kung-fu. However "the Nu" is much more skilled in other kinds of warfare what with her candy-eyed looks, her candid views and a feisty attitude to match. It is deceptive, the perils of which I have already begun to experience.

Yes, bakre ko kabhi na kabhi to halal hona hi tha. Wish me luck. Part 2 when the wedding bells toll.

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The CWG opening ceremony heralded the arrival of a new India. All doubts about India's ability to host a major even were laid to rest in a glittering show of culture, sports and fireworks. There will always be room for improvement but as the old cliche goes "Rome wasn't built in a day". Coming to the games itself, India has hit the ground running with the shooters and grapplers snaffling up the gold in their respective events. Here is to India winning much more.

And winning that too from impossible situations seems to be the norm for the current Indian cricket team, ranked as the no. 1 test side in the world, as they showed some great determination at Mohali to beat the rampaging Aussies by a thrilling margin of 1 wkt thereby retaining the Border Gavaskar Trophy. The heroes of this chase were VVS Laxman, Ishant Sharma and useful cameo by "the master". It felt sweet revenge after the farcical events that had occured in Sydney couple of years ago. What comeuppance for the Fab Four(oh dada why did you have to retire) People talk about replacing the older generation with new and upcoming cricketers but when the old men are performing so well, why touch them. Vangipurappu Venkatasai Laxman is the master of the 2nd innings. His 2nd innings(3rd or 4th in a match situation) scores from the past 18 months read : 124*, 61, 51*, 69*, 69,103*,73*. That is a stunningly mind-boggling average of 275. Whaddaplaya!! .

This is the golden generation of Indian batting and India deserves every inch of that no. 1 spot. Hope Dravid, Sachin and Laxman never retire.

Go India Go !
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India is in the centre of attention once again.

First the Ayodhya verdict, which thankfully has passed on quite peacefully and once again proved that democracy still lives on in good health in a country that is plagued by population problems. There was peace advocated in the Jummah sermons, while the victorious group has quite rightly demonstrated a controlled felicity to what has occurred. PC, the man famous for irresponsible statements has broken the habit of a lifetime by announcing something sensible on behalf of the Government. Kudos to the Judiciary and the powers that be, who have handled this with foresight and some would say proper neutrality.

Second, India and Australia are playing a test series(the Border-Gavaskar trophy) which is reason enough to be exciting if only it wasn't that short. But come to think of it, we might not even had a series in the first place and instead would have been pointlessly following seven inconsequential ODIs across the length and breadth of the country. It will be interesting to see how Dhoni and Raina adjust their game to the longer version after the heady high of winning the Champions League.

Next up are the Commonwealth Games New Delhi, a true proud moment for a nation that has made giant strides and takes one more leap of faith by hosting a global event. Despite all the controversy surrounding the event, I am really looking forward to this one. The pictures (wrongly,enviously and foolishly pointed by the naysayers as CGI) that are being released belatedly by our crappy media are spectacular. The facilities look world-class and showcases the might and influence that India now exercises in the world. Afridi, the ball muncher has made another ill-timed dig at Cricket India when he would be better off taking care of some urgent issues in his own team. Reminds me of the old Onida commercial - Owner's pride, neighbor's envy. Can't wait for the opening ceremony on Sunday.

On the personal front there is something special coming up after a week. Hopefully that will culminate in a delightful weekend and reignite the spark that has been missing for a while. Also Navratri starts next week which sends Jerseyites in a dancing frenzy - non-gujjus included. After leaving India, I have hardly felt, let alone celebrated Garba and Diwali or any other major Indian festival with enthusiasm. It just doesn't feel right here. But with autumn beginning to show its colors literally, the leaves beginning to say farewell to the trees before rustling to the ground, the heavens opening up more often, and the cooler refreshing weather, the timing is just about perfect to indulge in some heavy duty cultural activity.

Is it a good time to be an Indian , you bet it is.. and always will be.
Ray
While browsing through Cricinfo's page 2 Doppelgangers on the night of 29th August, I saw their take on Dickie Bird, the eccentric English umpire and Stephen King, the famous American author(Horror genre, Shawshank redemption, green mile etc). It was almost midnight here. I felt like doing a bit of reading on King so I opened his wikipedia article. And what do I see, Stephen king born 1947 , died August 30, 2010. I wish I had taken a screenshot. I was quite shocked especially as the clock just chimed 12 am. I made numerous searches for breaking news but there was none , even on his official website. The article was back to its original form after 10 minutes and I fell asleep peacefully. Eerie I say. Apt time for a quote from his own works :-

"That wasn't any act of God. That was an act of pure human fuckery." - Larry Underwood, The Stand
Ray
Directed by : Maniratnam
*ing : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya rai Bachchan, Vikram, Govinda, Ravi Kishen

A visually beautiful but emotionally flimsy and abstract tale.

**Warning: Spoilers ahead**

Maniratnam always paints his movies prettily in visual terms and in the footsteps of some great Hollywood storytellers, uses his environment and weather to great effect. He does nothing differently here. Take for example scenes where Ragini(Aishwarya Bachchan) kidnapped by Beera(Abhishek Bachchan) is calling out to her husband stranded on massive lake with just shards of rock randomly strewn all over the place. The empty echoing voice and miles of nothingness speak about her helplessness and impossibility of a rescue. However, the beautiful scenery(Santosh Sivan) goes on for too much time without any character evolution other than that of Beera.

Raavan inspired from the great Indian epic is intriguing from the very outset (despite the choppy and might i say poor editing) that underlines that SP Dev (Vikram) like Ram, the upholder of Law or Dharma is out to nab the infamous Beera and Sita-ragini only serves to be a collateral here. This immediately transports us back to the 1982 underrated Amitabh-Dilip Kumar classic Shakti where the young Bachchan, agonized at this father’s indifference to his own kin while performng police work pushes him on to the same path that his father has been eradicating over the years. The conflict was phenomenal, the dilemmas awe inspiring and the performances applause worthy.

The conflict in this movie is of a different breed and that is not to preach about communist issues as the Laal in lalmaati might suggest or as Mani's movies, usually harp about nor it is about proving the epic in a wrong light(a major reason for its non-performance at the BO is people are making a direct comparison). The more pertinent issue at hand is how the uncivilized, so savage and violent in their methods they might be, they are no more different than the people who make the rules. The men in khaki torture and kill behind the legislative curtain as Dev is shown murdering an unarmed man. The movie's bottom line is the victory of the vile over the virtuous captured amazingly well by Gulzar's as always mind blowing lyrics in Thok Di Khilli

The dilemmas and the situations however do not appeal at first glance and that is because the director has opted for the non-linear style of narration here. Beera is the demon and we are supposed to hate him. But how, they never show his brutality. And you wonder if this was all left to the intelligence of the audience as everyone is well-read about the epic and there is no need to explain Beera's exploits to us. And right at the interval our sympathies change hands like Ragini's as we are informed of the wrongful deeds of the police against Beera's sister in her marriage. It is a clever twist in the narrative and despite being predictable, it is not lame.

But this is where the problem lies with the film. After the revelation, Ragini's uni-dimensional character is so dull(partly due to her own performance, see below) and perfunctory that it is hard to fathom what she sees in Beera regardless of the plot points that attempt to paint him, in white literally. She at one point justifies her husband's ruthlessness as part of his job. So her transition from antagonistic to sympathizer despite lasting the length of the movie never hits us hard. And from a very minuscule scene and song we also know she has a great married life so it is quite surprising that after the daftly executed polygraph scene she just chooses to leave her husband abruptly. The scene is devoid of any emotion or reason when an entire marital scene could have been dramatically played out. Compare that to Amitabh in Shakti and he was a mere child whose mind was all the more impressionable and you know the mature Ragini's turnaround is very unconvincing.

The performances are a bit of a mixed bag. Aishwarya is very screechy in the beginning. A little more restraint as the movie progresses saves her performance from being a complete disaster. Vikram has a raw deal and he only needs to scowl, bark orders and ruthlessly eliminate criminals. The character is not well etched. Govinda as Sanjeevani(the Hanuman equivalent) is adequate.

When one plays a negative character who is the main attraction of the film, there is a fine line between crowd pleasing and off-putting. Heath Ledger played the Joker with aplomb while Saif Ali Khan was so good in his Langda Tyagi makeover that you felt from the bottom of your heart that this man is so despicable. Unfortunately for Abhishek he stays more on the unappealing side. In the role of a canonized criminal, Abhishek has his moments in the sun. His titular character is the best written and Bachhan jr. tries hard to live up to all the hype. He succeeds in a few scenes, but is not able to crack it in most. He is not able to bring out the menace or evil that one needs in the role of someone who is a terrorist. He is almost ike the good guy here. For inspiration, he just had to look at Ravi Kishen as Beera’s younger loyal brother who creates the effect of barbarism to maximum effect without once going overboard.

Musically, the movie is good. Rahman provides a vintage score but background music leaves much to be desired. Also the placement of songs is poor as if they had to be there only for commercial reasons.

In the end despite, all my cynicism, Raavan is an imaginative retelling of the Ramayana and worth a watch once or at most twice because of the breathtaking photography, but falls short of that memorable threshold.

Rating : 3/5
Labels: 2 comments | edit post
Ray
I was in Boston for the weekend to enjoy the soccer games with Sky Trooper. And courtesy a friend Miss IA, we got two passes to watch the Donkey show at the American Repertory Theatre located in Cambridge.

The Donkey show is basically Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream adaptation set to a disco musical background. So we had this dance floor in between where we could groove away to some great 70s hit scores while the play was enacted all around us. It was an amazing experience and some brilliant imagination and creativity was on display. Loved it :) If the Bard was alive he would have enjoyed it immensely.

http://www.americanrepertorytheater.org/events/show/donkey-show
Ray
Contd.. from previous post

Experience is a contrary little quality to have because it counts for nothing when you meet women. As I float through this agony of an arranged marriage, I am already losing my patience. And just when I thought I was getting good at this stuff, my inability in talking to women touched new levels of incompetence not seen since Ajantha Mendis played carrom ball with the supposed best players of spin - the Indian cricket team. As they had no answers to the Moratuwa magician, I was speechless in front of the Butterscotch Bombshell.

The Butterscotch family had invited all of us to their Bandra flat. Uptil now I had spoken to them myself all the while because I wanted to meet the girl alone but they insisted the safety and security( their wording) of home while I told them ,up, close and personal was my preferred modus operandi (my wording). Needless to say they didn't call me after that and directly communicated with my parents to accompany me to their house. Crap!

So Mom, Dad and I went to visit them. Eerily the location turned out to be just behind Globus, the mall where I had met the STG. As we got down from the rickshaw, my mother noticed my anxiety and asked me if I was alright.
‘You have been meeting so many girls, why are you feeling nervous she asked?’
‘Well, its not the meeting which is making me nervous. It is that part when the “so many” girls that I have met turn up at the same location.’

As we entered the Scotches' household, they all stood in a circle like those Roman soldiers in the Colosseum. In the center was Grumpy Scotch, the kind of man who reminded me of my equally grouchy neighbor in Surat who as of June 2010 still sustains his living by selling all the tennis balls I had hit in his backyard as a kid. I once used to think the only way to get revenge would be to marry one of his grand-daughters who would inevitably inherit some balls. But the bastard has not only refused to bear females but also refuses to die peacefully.

So back to Grumpy here, who had a permanent scowl on his face. His wife, Smiley Scotch seemed the traditional Sindhi woman who I was sure, after years of cooking, cleaning and bearing children for Grumpy must have definitely developed a bout of osteoporosis. It was she who spoke first
'Welcome to our humble abode. We were wondering why you had gotten so late,' Smiley Scotch spoke in a polished accent.
‘It was the traffic and also the rickshaw-wallah took us through a different route without explanation,' Dad replied
‘Oh, yes their predilection for impertinence...these autowallahs of today sorely lack the benevolence.

Wow,I thought cool Shakespearean Daadimaa, like Agatha Christie's famous grandma detective Miss Marple. I considered asking her if she solved crime cases in her pastime.

After that we were introduced to the girl's parents, Lanky Scotch- tall, dark and balding and the aptly named Loud Scotch whose normal conversation volume was at a decibel level for deaf people. The interior design of the house was excellent and inescapably the conversation veered onto this piece of real estate right in the heart of Mumbai. I meanwhile kept a good eye for the girl and/or food. Neither unfortunately was to be seen.

The snacks made an appearance first. Aloo tikkis, ragda pattice, dry naashta etc. This time though in the presence of everyone I stayed away from the food although it was extremely tempting especially those mozzarella fritters. Besides Grumpy was making survival difficult with his constant stares. The girl was finally given a shout by Loud scotch. The girl didn’t emerge immediately. We waited a few seconds for the suspense to open. And then she came out and like an animal caged for many days, she arrived with a feisty gait and threw herself in between grumpy and smiley on the sofa. She wore exactly the same pink dress as she had adorned in her profile pic.

‘This is my daughter Ver….. ’ Lanky started to announce
‘Pinki,’ I blurted out. Luckily it wasn’t that loud.
‘What , you said something,’ Lanky asked
‘Er….Tikki , Tikki....umm..the aloo tikki is nice,’ I said grabbing one from the plate. Good thing he didn’t question the fact that how could I comment on the tikki without even having eaten it.
'She is Veronica, all of 24' Grumpy scotch completed for Lanky but was clearly pissed at being interrupted.

Veronica Scotch, what about that, like the spoilt rich girl in Archie comics. She had put on a little bit of makeup to camouflage her acne. And what did I hear, 24. Like those miraculous Pakistani cricketers who aged one year in 5 years , this seemed to me like a blatant lie. For example did you know that famous speedster Waqar Younis is still only 29 and he retired 7 years ago at the peak of his powers and also despite the fact that he made his debut in 1989. In a seemingly reverse age disorder, Veronica looked like a high school student but to confirm my doubts I had to look at her properly but with Grumpy breathing down my neck I couldn’t make quick observations on her. Someone had to get him out of this room.

After the snacks, Veronica and I were “allowed” to sit in the room with each other. The room had the typical teenage girl look pink walls, heart shaped stickers on the mirrors and pink bedsheets with tiny cartoon characters on it. Quite surprisingly there were no posters of John Abraham and also no soft toys. I had a feeling that they were stuffed inside that huge cupboard they had in the corner. She sat on the far post of the bed while I was on the other side.

‘Not your room surely?’ I said
'Nope its my cousin sisters. I live in Dombivli. Hey, I am not a teenager, you know I am doing my masters, no?’ she said with confidence as she sensed I wasn't taking her seriously
‘Yeah, I would love to see your engineering books,’ I said
‘Why?’
So that I can see them at full price on Amazon since they would have been untouched anyway, I thought to myself smiling in the process.
'Why are you smiling?' she asked obviously thinking I was a retard.
'Just for a brush up perhaps,' I said simpering like an idiot. ‘So… I guess you must be the typical Mumbai girl?’ I tried to change topics, not knowing how to start further conversation with kids.

‘Nooooooo...that is so misrepresented,’ she disagreed. His elongated cry of disaccord was so dramatic, as if the issue of Ayodhya had been raised in parliament . ‘Now what is the typical Mumbai girl I ask you?' she said
I stared blankly.
'I mean how would you define a Mumbai girl? Mumbai girls are supposed to be these fashionable haughty types who don’t care about other people, materialistic in their behavior and generally give a air of being so bindaas. But this is where I want to correct that misconception. I mean look at me, my parents don’t allow me to go out at night, I have never been to parties. I really haven’t seen anything in my life. You know the traffic in this city. Outsiders tend to think haan yeh ladki to aisi hogi, aur aisa karti hogi but really who has the time. I have my studies to do, I can’t travel easily.’

‘Wow,’ I said at a complete loss of words. Talk about misconceptions cleared in a detailed way. It was akin to asking for the meaning of a name and getting to know that its origins actually lay in Norse Mythology, and that how it then travelled through Western Europe and finally made its way into our English vocabulary because the Bloody British had decided to build their silly empire at the expense of non-white people.

‘And you know, people think that I carry a lot of attitude and they just go by the looks…’
‘Yeah, what meets the eye,’ I said breaking her off nonchalantly before realizing I was implying exactly what she was saying. Oops, there I go again

'Chhe...you don't understand, look at me look at me’ She waved me off like a teacher reprimanding a student as if she was a veteran counselor for a thousand bad relationships.

Maybe I didn't understand but I complied to her second request and looked at her as she beckoned with her arms. Her hands were so thin that I thought they were made of sugarcane. Her hair was tied into ragged curls that fell over her shoulder. And she kept on biting her lower lip for some reason. And yes for the third time in a row, I spotted the mole , hidden nicely on the inside of her wrist. She wore big pink loops for earrings. Ok too much looking , lets listen to what she has to say and she always did have something to say.

‘Usually people like to think that girls bitch about each other. But trust me, I have this group of friends , the five of us who have been together since… I don’t know when.’ She said looking up to the ceiling scrunching her face to remember. I wondered why all the effort. It couldn’t have been many. She was only ten years old after all.
'So you are not Machiavellian by nature?' I said
'Machi ..what?' she asked twinkle eyed.
'Nothing, it is a psychological term,' I said. For the record I scored a B+ in psychology. i was a certified psycho in talking worthless things.
'Oh ok, I should read more stuff. Anyways let me tell you one of the incidents,' she started.
'Sure,' I said.
'But be warned, once I start talking, I might not stop so tell me if you are feeling bored , ok? Because if I start from one topic , I move to another one and I will not even know about it'. Now she tells me. 'I keep on blabbering anything while I can see that you think and say things,’ she said tilting her head.
'I am not aware of any other way,’ I countered
'Huh,'
‘Continue,’ I egged her on. I was thoroughly enjoying myself here.

Hearing this she sat upright and adjusted her sitting position so that now she sat cross-legged and leaned on the pillow. There was a light switch behind that pillow. She leaned a bit too heavily and turned the lights off. Oops, she giggled. She flicked it on again. The excitement on her face was very tangible. I looked at the hour hand of the wall clock from the side of my eye and prepared myself for some information overload.

‘Ya , so one of these guys started to bad mouth one of my friends. He said she was like this and liked to go out with certain boys..blah blah and when I came to know, I went to him and lambasted him. Bechara, he won’t be talking about any girls anymore. I doubt whether he would be talking to girls anymore’ She laughed wildly as if she had vanquished a demon from this earth.
And then she talked and talked and talked.

The hour hand moved to 8 and some girl in college who had learned martial arts had accidentally knocked out her own boyfriend. He now addressed his current girlfriend by his ex girlfriend's name. Talking about knocking some sense into him. At the stroke of 9, I looked up again and shockingly Veronica was still speaking but in Morse code.

After a few minutes, I looked again and astonishingly I couldn't see the clock anymore. She had flicked the stupid light switch again. And then at that very moment,the door opened and loud scotch walked in. F***in hell, what to do now. I immediately got up from the bed and started to walk towards the exit.
'We were just ending our chat,' I said to answer Loud Scotch's suspicious expression.
'Bye Veronica,' I said waving to her at the far side of the bed.
Ok, nice talking to you Ray,’ she smiled.
‘Nice listening to you ,’ I replied as I tried to squeeze past Loud Scotch who stood like a sentry on the door. I had this sudden urge of tickling her and with a whole lot of will, I kept my hands to myself.

The journey back to Surat allowed me to gather my thoughts.

Veronica was cute no doubt and as she claimed she did not like lying and backbiting. Not to take a misogynistic view of this people but it was hard to imagine Veronica would maintain all that innocence once she had moved out of her comfort zone. She had grown up completely (very doubtful that) under her parents' shadow and her folks had provided for everything. But when she would have to fend everything on her own, would this happy, giggling, bubbly, chatty female become one hell of a gossiping, indifferent socially aggressive bitch who would shun other females in her path. Although, I think it wouldn’t happen and maybe I underestimate girls but would she be able to handle the responsibilities of a household. Uncertainty hangs in the air over that. I know everyone matures eventually(unless it is me) and grows up but some need more time.

So that folks ends the story of the three damsels. Three girls with so much to share and so much to see. Which one I chose? One or none?
Ray
Contd from previous post

Perspiration without effort. Yup... energy researchers should take Mumbai's humidity factor as a model of efficiency. Even if you were to stand in one place and yawn, sweat will still form and eventually trickle down your face and go into your mouth leaving a salty taste. Yuck!
Moral of the story : Don’t yawn while sweating !

But that can’t be said of the girl I was about to meet. Before meeting her, I had communicated with her via emails. The spies who were lazing off in Goa and one of them in his own office had gotten to work. Ultimately though they had come up with zilch(an unprecedented failure) . The girl was from a relatively small city in North India and the network didn’t have many sources up there , infact just one, who unfortunately had not left his house in seven years, so didn’t know anyone other than his postman. Strange! So I decided to address this girl as the small town girl or STG.

After some feverish exchange of smses, we decided to meet at Globus in Bandra at 12pm in the afternoon. I reached late but she wasn't there yet. I decided to sneak into the shop before she reached so that when she arrived, I could start my bordering on the psychopathic pastime of surveillance. I didn’t know what to expect. There are many north Indian stereotypes out there the prominent ones being loudmouths, showoffs, heavy accessories and apparel colors that would be claimed to have been picked from the rainbow just to outshine the next door neighbor.

I was loitering around the aisles when a white top and denim clad female called my name out and tapped me on the shoulder from behind.
‘Are you the STG?’ I asked turning around. Ofcourse I knew she was the same otherwise no girl in her right mind taps me for any reason. She was comely and despite the western outfit her simplicity stood out. We exchanged pleasantries and I found out that she had been in the mall for the past half an hour. It made me feel guilty to keep a beautiful girl waiting but atleast she had her best friend to accompany her - shopping.

We boarded a rick to the sea facing part of town. I was looking out of the auto when she touched my arm and showed me the Arabian sea glistening on the right.
'Oh yeah , nice,' I said instinctively moving my arm away. As soon as I started taking in the reflections of the Arabian Sea, she tipped me on the hand again.
'And that is SRK's house on your left,' she said. Tingles of excitement ran through me which were more from her touch (not that those light knocks were unwelcome) than at the sight of the Baadshah Khan's abode. Thereafter I maintained a foot's distance from her at the back of the auto then that made us look like passengers sharing a ride rather than two people who had met up to decide more serious things in life. We reached our destination located at the downhill slope of the Bhabha road right under SRK's nose oops I mean Mannat.

As soon as I got down , the Rickshaw guy gave me this most sheepish look. “Lady business eh?’ his eyes seemed to say. I felt like pummeling him but violence wouldn’t have been appropriate especially right next to the home of India’s most romantic starlet.

'CCD or Barista?' she asked me. I looked at the two adjacent cafes. "A lot can happen over coffee" screamed a sign from CCD. I remembered going to CCD with a female a very long time ago. We had kept staring at each other's faces for quite sometime. The only action if you could call it one was leaning forward and sipping our drink. 3 hours and 200 rupees later, we waved goodbye wondering whether 180 minutes of silence and sustained gazes qualified in the Guinness book of world records for longest futile, ineffectual eye communication.

‘Barista,’ I announced enthusiastically and opened the door for her like the gentleman I really wasn’t. And as expected the next second I was back to my old ways. While she walked in front of me, I took stock of “the figure”. Hmm…not bad, I said to myself making a mental note to myself to join some gym later. Her hair was cut short and tied into a fancy hairstyle. It looked cool. At the back of her right arm there was a tiny mole, that ever enamouring pigmented growth on our not so perfect bodies. I wondered if it was a symbolic STOP sign like saying "Stop looking at my a** you dog."

‘Where do you want to sit?’ she asked
‘Huh,’ I said caught napping. I looked around, and seeing that there were just 5 tables in total(this barista is smaller than my boss’s cabin) , I thought it was a silly question but you don’t tell that to a girl , not much less to a pretty one.
‘Let’s take this one,’ I said pulling out a chair noisily. There was just one couple in the store who sat in the right hand corner. The girl was laughing incessantly. Oh! the delusion of that first relationship. The Barista barista came over and handed us the coffee menus. She didn’t pick hers up. I went through mine going through some mouth watering images. The Black Forest Blast caught my fancy and I ordered one. The STG ordered Irish Caramel Frappe in a practiced tone.

The waiter arrived and slammed the nutritionist's nightmare on the table. I attacked it with my usual disdain for etiquette. Calories floated in descending order on my drink. Whipped cream drifted on top of the ice cream that swam on top of the chocolate that floated on top of the coffee. A four-layered titanic that was about to sink into my stomach. Meanwhile, the STG neatly took her spoon and started to consume small portions of her drink.

“So your dad is Sindhi while your mom is a Jain?’ she asked while she stirred the contents of her frappe.
I looked up from the drink. Whipped cream stuck to the side of my mouth and a little bit at the nose. An appropriate question would have been, is your dad a caveman and mother a clown? I took the napkin and wiped my face.
‘Yeah, you can’t choose your parents, can you , you are stuck with them for life hahahaha.. ,’ I laughed but instantly regretted it the next moment. My laughter faded away faster than Merrill Lynch’s debtors had in the recession as the expression on her face never left. Did she not understand what I said was just a joke or did she feel I was insensitive. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt but reigned in the pathetic gags.
‘You know I also have many friends like those, half this and half that,’
‘Oh ok,’ I said feeling like a genetic experiment all of a sudden.. What was she here for - a hybrid human hunt.

We talked about many things, about her coming to Mumbai so far away from her parents. Basically I was trying to ascertain her comfort away from home. People in smaller cities tend to be relatively more attached to their families and the idea of living alone depresses them.

‘I’ve gotten used to the idea, yaar’ she said not so ebulliently. But the more I spoke to her, I got the feeling that she was very honest about all the usual questions. Her English came with a slightly heavy dose of Northern Indian accent which I have never been able to relate to instantly since my friend circle has for most part been South Indian. Only after a while one gets used to it.

The conversation then moved to hobbies and other small talk.
‘You know, I can sing and dance very well,’ she said
‘Is it?’ I said contemplating asking her to a little jig right there preferably on the table. I can't dance for nuts myself. I have the proverbial two left feet having to wear flip-flips instead of flip flops (Sorry PJ).
‘Ofcourse, what do you expect from the land of the greatest singer India has ever produced,’ she said with a slight stamp of authority. Greatest singer eh. I hope she wasn’t referring to Himesh Reshammiya. Ofcourse not, Himesh is from Bhavnagar. What was I thinking?
'Who?' I asked
'He once sang in the royal court. That's all you need to know,' she said. For the moment I was on a need to know level.

Intermittently she would stop to pull her top from the back so that the neck line wouldn’t plunge. After living in the US, for quite some time now, ogling at them new york women, I have learnt the art of self-restraint. I decided to concentrate on her eyes. She had dark circles underneath them. A sudden elation grew in me. Had she already spent sleepless nights thinking about me? Especially that photograph where I pranced around like Sallu bhai in 2 deg Celsius temp with a talebani beard , loaned sunglasses and a bead necklace around my neck. The total value of all the accessories on my body must not have been more than three dollars.

Occasionally when she would laugh, she would tilt her head 17 degrees from the vertical to look up at the ceiling and then tap the table lightly with her left hand. I felt like putting my hand there but I had torn up my own invitation to the "soft hand touches" party by acting strangely and staying out of striking range in the rickshaw.

‘I’ve got bored of this place,’ I said. ‘Do you know any other place we can go to?’
‘Well lots of people walk here,’ she said pointing towards the sea where the sun was on its last legs. Wow time had passed quickly. ‘This is the famous bandstand, ,’ she said, her tone feeling particularly happy about her educating me about Mumbai’s famous romantic landmark.
‘Yup , you mean the infamous one where the couples….,’ I winked . F*** I did it again. Did I tell you, I am a complete idiot? Never mind. Well, now you also know now I am a complete perv as well.

Like the women of the early 1900s who would run away with blushed cheeks at the first sight of their father discussing marriage, she went pink in the face.
‘You are so direct,’ she giggled and tried to avoid eye contact. Yes I am direct , I am a direct example of how not to talk to girls.

We took a rick back to Linking road where to save ourselves from the incredible heat, we walked right into Shopper’s Stop.
'What are you looking for?' she asked. Someone like you, I felt like saying. Instead i clutched the first piece of clothing that hung from the stand. It was the Men in Blue team India Tee.

‘Eeew , will you wear that? Is that your choice?’ she asked as if I was holding a mini-skirt.
I was crestfallen. I was Indian and crazy about cricket , why wouldn’t I buy an India Tee shirt. Don't be scared Ray, tell her that calmly.
'Yeah, good quality, Nike and all,' I said trying to sound defensive.
'Alright yeah.' She didn't have much of a response. She looked sad as if she wanted redesign my clothes.

We window shopped for the next fifteen minutes. Women can shop in any state of mind. sad or happy. Before leaving we decided to meet for lunch the next day.

Next day :

Not since one of my friends had given me an entirely unnecessary 5 km walking tour of Gurgaon, I had never walked so much for finding an address. I was criss-crossing the roads of the Bandra-Kurla complex dodging autos and lorries. This was where her office was. Plush buildings were positioned opposite to slums. "Near" Citibank she had told me but near Citibank actually meant that Citibank was the closest famous office. A small matter of a kilometer and a half away from her own workplace that too in 45 deg heat. Poor me!

I waited with relief in the air-conditioned lobby of her office building. 10 minutes later, one of the lift door opened and she walked through the lifts. She apologized for being late and told that her boss would need explanation so she had to give him some cock-bull story for the time-being. I was used to this, being the quintessential non-existent fictitious individual.

We lunched at Pizza hut. I told her that if I selected her, it would take me close to a year to get her to America.
‘Yeah, yeah you don’t worry I know,’
‘Ok thats good. Its not like getting from your small town to Mumbai,' I said
'Hehe, you are funny,' she said. I feigned my laughter not quite comprehending where actually did I make a joke.

‘Good, so you decide and have an answer for your parents. Give it a good long thought,' I said for the sake of parting words.
‘I am a risk professional , don’t worry about that,’ she said shaking her head from side to side. Wonder what that meant. For example where I would stand on a risk chart for single women looking to get married. Taking the two axes as probability(P) and risk impact (R) :-

a) Loyalty - I had oodles of it. I have been eating the same brand of biscuits for the past twenty years.
P( of changing loyalties) : 2% ; R : Low

b) Stability - As far as I knew, my mind was in the right place. It didn't work at times but I never really do anything extraordinary in life anyway. Oh yes I do have a job offered to me out of pity ofcourse.
P(of losing my mind) : 30% losing my job : depends on Obama , R : Medium

c) Reproduction - You don't want to know. Long story
P(of producing cute sindhi-hindi-northie jain babies) : 100%*(See note) ; R : Low

d) Hobbies - Writing, basically capturing mindless nonsense on paper
P(of leading an interesting life full of new challenges) : 60% ; R : Low with qualifications (BS on blog to be monitored )

e) Extra-curricular skills - I can drive at 60mph on a 20 mph road.
P(of enjoying a stress free life) : 1% ; Risk : High

Overall result : Low risk person, who can be twisted and manipulated to be ridden as a donkey in later life.

And that was the end of that. The girl was cute, well mannered, caring and family oriented. And most of all , I have to say , for some darn reason , she seemed impressed by me - yup no small thing that. I would even go far as calling this an epoch defining event considering that, I at most have the charming skills of a porcupine. That said, there was always this hint of naivety that lurked in all her replies. It is a good and a bad thing but she was eager to live life and that was important. But of even more importance was , that we got along very well like friends. I had found a friend but was there a wife hiding somewhere inside her? I just don't know the difference. Would the STG become a BCG (Big city girl) ? Time to dwell...

Next up is the third and final candidate after which it is decision making time. Till then... stay single.

* - Doctor consulted on this. He has no previous experience in medical science and is more interested in the sport of ping pong. It was this fascination with "balls" that I felt like approaching him for expert advice.


Ray
Contd .. from the previous post

And before you diabolical diabetics jump on the words Mishti, no this isn't an encounter with the sweet kind but a bold, confident young city woman - Miss T.

She arrived with her parents on a hot and sweltering day in Surat after my parents had invited them to our place. She wore a loose fitting light yellow salwar and had her dupatta draped over her head. Made her look like the homely girl I had expected. (Boy was I in for a surprise). Eventually, after some small talk , our parents left us alone, the moment I had been eagerly waiting for but hardly knew what to say. The spies had quite reliably established that , Miss T was a bubbly cheerful person , talkative yes but not those boring types who kept on yapping about other worldly things. I was looking forward to this.

But five minutes into our so called “left-alone” session, hardly anyone had spoken. She was looking down on the floor. I knew she liked Garfield but absolutely nothing witty came to mind and I sat quiet looking at the scar on her forehead. If the room were a tourist map, then the fan, AC , even the dusty carton in the corner would have been marked as a point of interest instead of me. In such situations my eyes usually wander and settled on a pimple just below her neck. It reminded me of Carolina, a girl we had in our batch who had this round sizeable pimple in the same spot and we named her "Push button to talk" Carolina. I wondered if the girl sitting in front of me operated by a similar mechanism. It was akin to getting the front seats of an opera and finding out that the tenor had a bad throat. Damn , me and my absolute rubbish thoughts.

“The main thing is compatibility,’ I said not making a particularly insightful statement.
‘Yup, true’ she said drumming her right hand on the chair. We then talked about a few more things but for some reason the conversation remained subdued. We were meeting for the first time , so I was trying hard to keep an open mind. But her piercing look was increasingly giving me that zebra locked in a lion enclosure feeling and after some time my mom's call for lunch made sense of the saying "saved by the bell".

Me being me is never content. I met her in Mumbai next where we decided to dine at Angethi's in Vile Parle. She came and stood outside the Mcd’s outside the station(the restaurant was located on top of the fast food chain) and immediately started to dial her cellphone hardly waiting to have a look around. A hint of impatience …maybe or just good old discipline…couldn’t say. I swooped in like James Bond with an intention to slightly astonish her. :P
‘There would be no need to trouble your fingers, darlin’ , I am here already’ . Why don’t these dialogues occur to me at that time. I settled for the safe “Hi, good evening”.

We were seated on a corner table when madam T called the waiter and complained that the music was a shade too loud and asked him to reduce the volume. As that did not happen , she requested that we change tables which we did. The foolish waiter then gave her the ala carte menu while he shoved the liquor menu into my hands with a sheepish smile. Damn you guys I thought , I am trying to make an impression here. Was I doomed, not completely. We chatted on the menu a bit and ordered an appetizer and main course.

I don’t remember all the conversation now but it was healthier than the one we had at my place. But there were a few extremely strong opinions expressed and the probability of an ego clash in the future loomed large. Would she be adjusting or just plain dominating. Hard to say. The food arrived and I let my mind get distracted.

‘Would you like anything to drink ?’ the waiter asked the both of us. He looked at me expectantly. The wine menu still lay near me.
‘Yeah , just a sweet lassi, anything for you Miss T?’
‘I will have an iced tea,’ . The drinks couldn’t have been more different or ironical. The drinks arrived promptly. One was dark but clear while the lassi although white was foggy.WTF, concentrate idiot.

‘So...have you tried alcohol?’ I ventured. Girls usually say no in the beginning and act all girly but they all usually have tried something or the other in their school days. A female friend of mine had got so drunk on a vodka that we framed one of our friends(who was also piss drunk) by putting her in bed with him. Needless to say, they woke up with a massive guilt "hangover".

‘Yes, and I like it very much,’. She deadpanned while letting her hair loose and tying it again. I caught a glimpse of her earrings which were different from the heart shaped ones she wore in Surat.
The chair under me almost slid , ok well not that dramatic but the candid answer to the question did make my eyebrows twitch a little.
'That is good,' I said having no idea whether to praise or reprimand such insouciance.
'But although I enjoy its taste,' she said squeezing and playing with the slice of lime in her tea, 'I usually fall asleep within two drinks.' She smiled for the first time since we had arrived.
'Oh yes,' I said. 'Well good for you, I usually start uttering crap when I am two pegs down, sometimes some ugly truths.' Damn! I had spilled too many beans here. Pull back Ray, pull back.

The food arrived and we ate in silence and the loud music that we were away from, assumed pole position among all other sounds in the room. We talked about a few more things during which I came to know that she was a recent convert to vegetarianism because of her spiritual beliefs.
'I used to eat anything under the sun,' she said staring at me making me insecure as if she had suddenly changed her mind and if I was next on her plate.
'Hmm,' I said as I tried to tear a piece of the rubbery roomali roti which had the consistency of well....a rubber. 'Good thing, you left it. I don't even eat eggs,' I said finally managing to tear a piece off with three fingers(some achievement I tell you) while dropping some crumbs on my lap.
'Look, Ray,' she said ,'my parents have spoken to me about this and I have understood what has to be done here.' The conversation had taken a serious tone.
'Go ahead,' I said. I wondered what had she understood , that maybe I was a clumsy eater and she needed to teach me table manners.
'I am a difficult person to handle, my partner needs to be patient with me.' I kept quiet and thought about the possible causes behind that scar of hers. Was it the mark of an impatient beau?

The waiter brought in the finger bowls along with the check. The food had been too garlicky that had set off my Vaishnavite Saatvik alarms, (not that I was kissing later but one never knows.) I hadn't even finished half of it. I had a look at the check and muttered "cheap" sarcastically.
'I have my moods Ray, tantrums and all that. This does not mean I am not the adjusting kind but...'
I looked up from the check. Tantrums eh,? I do have a whip at home, I wanted to say. But that would make things messy to say the least. Would she walk out of the restaurant in a huff. Would I have to pay the entire check which was on the other side of a thousand. Did she realize that I had only eaten half my food?
'Well then what do you want to do?' I asked
'I am certainly not cutting this off...' she said. We had now moved out of the restaurant and were walking towards SV road under the ungainly skywalk that had been built recently.
'What do you want to do?' I asked again a little more firmly this time lowering my head and looking straight at her.
'I need a a little more time. '. Time ...oh brother...time was what I never had and never would. have. My trips to India would always be short since I was adamant on getting a bride from the motherland.

We stopped and I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts.
'Ok Miss T, I wish this was more clear cut but the fact is , it is difficult for me as well because of my status in the US. We will talk to our respective parents and take a decision but seems as if even I would be needing a little more time to know you better if at all.'
'Alright, so if we don't meet each other now, it was nice knowing you and good luck with your search,' she said extending her hand forward for a handshake. And then I passed the most cheekiest and cheesiest comment of the evening. Perhaps I didn't care then.

'There is an old Chinese saying that if one can't make a decision then there was only one way to find out...a kiss tells you whether the person is your life partner of not.,' I winked(Ok I had made up the Chinese part and the dialogue had been completely inspired if not copied from the movie Apna Sapna Money Money) but my soaring rocket got shot down by her pretty nicely. It hadn't come out nicely and I think I deserved that.

In that way we parted ways and mutually dumped each other(almost). I walked back to the Vile Parle railbridge and thought about her. Before flying from America, I had actually almost made up my mind and mentally accepted her as someone I would love to spend my life with. She was excellent, not beautiful beautiful but someone smart and hip but she was also perhaps overbearing. Her projection of her own negative qualities surprised me. She was either being too honest or just throwing me off her path. Maybe she had found someone already, maybe she didn't want to leave Mumbai(or India) , maybe she didn't want to get married at all or maybe she didn't like me :(. There were too many maybe's and very few concrete thoughts.

Anyway, I started to prepare for the next bird that was about to fly my way the following day.
So that friends was the conclusion of my acquaintance with Miss T which had not made the picture any clearer but even more mis-ty.
Ray

After my Dad had threatened to disown me of the family property, including all the contraband I had collected over the years that included my favorite somersaulting childhood toy pup whose brown fur I had once painted black, I finally got coaxed into meeting a girl for marriage. He warned me that if I refused to join the marriage bandwagon , I would be "cut-off" from women all my life stressing on the words cut-off. I hazarded a guess from his looks.

‘Is it vasectomy?’I asked. He burst into laughter at my extrapolated thinking and said no, it is something much more satisfactory. It was not yet summer in New York but I could already feel the heat. He warned me that he would stick a Gabbar Singh like poster in every galli nukkad of Surat, enlarged from an old photo of mine when I used to have long hair. So there would be me with ghungralu baal, a week's stubble on my face and a strategically placed large black mole below the left eye for the full effect, I would be subjected to lifelong target of paan residues and flagrant street art.

Sholay's famous dialogue came to mind and I put myself in it - "Yahan se pachas pachas kos door Gujarat me jab ladki shaadi ke liye nakhre karti hai to maa kahti hai beti shaadi karle , varna isse tera vyah karva doongi. "

So are you game ? My thakur Dad asked while I still contemplated life as a B-grade movie star.

“Ok,’I said “but why one, I want to meet more than one so that I have a choice’.

Big mistake, as my Dad gave that sneaky toothy grin of his which looked sinister in that eerie webcam lighting. "Yeh ladkiyaan nahin, phaansi ka fanda hain" I half expected him to say that. He said that 4-5 girls could be arranged instantly raising my suspicion about the profession he was into. But now my big mouth had put me into trouble and I mentally prepared myself to meet the damsels he would select.

‘Involve me in the selection process,’ I tried to salvage my sinking ship. Fair enough, he agreed and together we went through numerous profiles, of which some were downright ridiculous. One man had written he wanted the boy not only from the same language, caste, sub caste but also from the same village plus or minus 10 kilometres. I was surprised he didn't mention he wanted someone from the same species. And on top of that he had the nerve to say that his family was an open minded one. I could see that this was not all that easy. But all said and done, I settled on three sweet looking chicks. One sat on a window sill smiling (living on the edge types I guess) , the second one posed with a few thousand shopping bags in her hands (fashionable, will be heavy on the pockets) while the last one was a petite one but a humongous suitcase like purse hung gingerly from her left shoulder.

What had my life come to , a selection process, a swayamvar of sorts , where girls were not girls anymore but just another profile number. Poor things coerced by their parents to have their photographs taken in studios. I think it is seriously bad for one's self confidence. But anyway , nothing I had to worry about. They say handling one woman is difficult, I had three on my plate and that too whom I barely knew. The end was nigh , I said to myself.

Next post : The candidates in a little more detail.