Is it a Shenoy? Tell me it is.

Disclaimer: This is a fictitious story with imaginary characters and bears no relation with any real person living or dead. Especially fashion designers from Japan. Well I wish I could write this last sentence with a clear conscience. But I sincerely mean no disrespect. If any individual or business finds this account libelous, I'm sorry. I can even offer to withdraw the post. (Of course after the initial publicity.)

He looked up at the sky. The evening was hanging loose and closing in. Pretty unseasonal for this time of the year in Tokyo, it looked like it might rain. Not a pleasant prospect. He had an early flight to catch tomorrow. He was about to skip continents. The spring-summer show at Milan was getting under way over the weekend.
Under his perch overseeing the studio floor, a battle raged. An army of talented girls and young men were sweating it out to put the last stitches in place. Time ran out under their nimble fingers. Here a nip, there a tuck... everywhere a clippity cluck. The models wore bored expressions. These fitting sessions were always a drag. A faint smile played on his lips. He remembered the last time he hollered at one of his models. Seemed so long ago. The young girl was practising her walk while he stood nearby, trying to tinker with the lines on a sketch. The teen nervously approached him. "Mashter, zish line of yoursh... got no pockitsh...where would I put my handsh at ze turn?" He had lost it for that one moment. "Tell you what, young lady, you can take your hands and shove them. Don't you understand, this creation is called A-poc, sans a pocket. When people buy one of these, they won't need a pocket. None. They'd have nothing left to keep."
Ah, memories, memories. They have a habit of runnng in herds. His early childhood at Azamganj, their hutment near the railway tracks. His father, Miyan Yaqub Ansari, the impoverished schoolteacher, scraping pennies to buy him new books and uniforms every year. Abba would always say,"Beta Rafiq, I'm saving up to send you to Aligarh. Study hard, you can make a very good eye surgeon. You have a good pair of hands." His hands. The moment Abbu turned his back, his hands would grab Ammi's scissors and start swishing away at old newspapers, cutting shapes. Strange, flowing, fluid shapes on pieces of paper. And the fateful night he cut into the new pullover Abbu bought him for school. The cane stinging on his bare back. That was the only time he talked back to Abbu. "I don't want to be an eye surgeon, Abbu. I want to make clothes." More caning. That night he left home. The anger of youth.
Well he was much older now. Older and composed. And Abbu passed away last year. Till the end, Abbu would say, "But you could do better as an eye-surgeon, beta." He dabbed at the corner of his eyes.
Presently his favorite assistant ran up the stairs and approached him, babbling breathlessly, "Miya-san, the FTV people are on the phone. They want to know what we're calling our new collection. Have you decided on a name yet?" There was nary a furrow on his forehead. "Let's see, we already did Haat, and bazaar you say would be too cheap....how about we call it Mandi this time and leave it at that? Let the wiki contributors find out the dubious Sanskrit origin of the word once again, what?"
"Brilliant, miya-san! How do these names come to you just like that? In a flash, as it were?"
"Well I guess it's a gift, young Izumi. I always had this gift. Only once, back in 1970, when I flew in here from America, and started this studio, I was in a fix over a name. The name that would define my work. My own label. What would I call a line created by one Rafiq Ansari from a humble Ajamganj where people still consoled my parents, saying, "One day your son will come back, Miyan. He will make a living anywhere. He has a very good pair of hands." I slept over it. In the morning, I did my prayers and remembered Abbu. Then I went and named it 'Issi Miyan Ke'.

P.S : After eons on the blog. No explanation. No inspiration. Wasted plenty of net time watching p...er, deviant audiovisual entertainment.

Oscar musings

For a woman who used to look so fresh and exquisitely beautiful, Kate Winslet looked deecidedly ugly tonight. What's with that hair? Or is it a hairpiece?

The guy Longinous Danny Boyle mentioned in his acceptance, the one who choreographed Jai Ho. Was it the same Longi who partnered Sweta Salve or somebody on Jhalak Dikhla Ja? Does anybody remember? That small fellow with a big smile? Come a long way, it seems.

Didn't know of Michael Crichton's death before today's ceremony. It was a shock seeing his photo among all those dead people.

The way Mickey Rourke of today looks never ceases to amaze me. What happened to the impish cool cat of 9 1/2 weeks? Poor fellow got worse for wear throughout the 80's and 90's. Apparently some botched up plastic surgery after a broken face in the ring. Bad Bad academy, you should have given the bloke something. Especially since Penn already had a statuette. I've got a thing for epic losers.

Is it for the awards season that so many big names time their releases for the letter part of the year? Isn't it surprising that Slumdog and Button and Frost/Nixon and Milk won so many nominations while for such a big movie, Dark Knight got so few?


I loved Jessica Biel on the red carpet. But then I love Jessica Biel. Period. But the way she carried a largeish bib/washcloth tucked in front pretending it was part of her gown tonight, priceless.

And oh yes, I did the customary Yayyys and high fives for AR. What did he say in Tam?

Ciao' for now. Be back for next year.

Pics source 1,2

Get a life
(Background score :
I wonder why nobody don't like me
Or is it a fact that I'm ugly?)


For many many months now, I've seen people summarily dismiss and humiliate people just with the expression "get a life." Now, this would be quite acceptable if the recipient of the insult was overly stressed over where did Kim Kardashiyan get her tattoo or who does David Beckham's nails. But what of those people who have got a life that seriously curbs their, um.., life? At least one definition of the phrase suggests it can also mean get a paying job, or something to that effect. And here I am so weighed down by a day job, my e-life languishes. I look overawed at the blogs of the Bertie Woosters and Ms Butterwicks of today who never seem to worry about paying the rent. They appear to have all the time in the world to seek out every WTFness in the news, attend movie premieres, art exhibitions and fashion shows, travel countries, and then manage to put up meaningful and entertaining blog entries almost everyday. Such beautiful people! I wonder why do I put in so much effort to even try. Where can I even start? Where are these lives, waiting to be gotten?

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It's a mean season. This is that time of the year again. The kid has an exam on Environmental Studies on the morrow. Announced only today. It's evening, she's cramming, and her mother is helping her cram. In these matters I, in the household is as much help as the pest control during a cardiac emergency. Nay, as the fitness instructor during bridal makeup, or, better even, like a quarterback in a home run. I could go on, but I sense you've got the picture. I'm completely out of depths, much useless, kaput. Even then I sometimes saunter in on their study session. The results are like this :

(Fill in the blanks Q&A)

Mummy: During a case of nosebleed, you should ______ on the head of the patient
Daughter : .......................
I (hoping against hope): sit?
Daughter : pour water
dark stare.

Mummy: you should also ask the patient to breathe through his____.
Daughter :...........
I (a bit more hopefully now): eyes?
expletive.

Mummy: you should furthermore ask the patient not to __________.
Daughter :...........
I (in utmost earnest): be impatient?
At this point I have to hide in the bathroom to avoid flying objects. Apparently blowing the nose was that one taboo. Who'd have thunk?

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I've decided to get away a little tonight and watch DevD. Alone. It's sacrilege even to propose such a joint outing to the missus at this hour of crisis. If I come back happy I'll try to write about it. The 12 Mb clip of the first part of travel video has failed to upload on utube after a good night's effort. I'll retry.

In the meantime, bitten by Naren's bug, I've written this little couplet :

O beloved Balma, I could die to see your one smile
Tho' with all your lipids, I'd rather you ran a mile

My pics

This evening I was rummaging through backup discs of my old PC. Here is one gem I found, and I can't help sharing it.

A resounding left hook for the pacifists' cause.

Good luck, Mr. Gorsky
warning : Long post.

People always say, "You should have your money working for you."
I've decided I'll do the work......I'm gonna let the money relax.
Know what I mean? Because you send your money out there...working for you, a lot of times it gets fired.
You go back, "What happened? I had my money working for me."
"Yeah, I remember your money. Showing up late, taking time off. We had to let him go."

-Seinfeld, The stock tip.

Unlike Jerry, it won’t be easy for me to put all blame squarely on my money. Why, it was doing quite well last year. Not like it had suddenly developed a drinking problem or started doing drugs this January, which finally, would completely bring him down in October. Had I gone to his workplace to enquire, the response I’d most likely get should be, “Oh, we knew your money. Among the finest we had. A sharp kid, he was. None of his fault, actually. These are difficult times, sir. We had to close down the whole division he was working in.”

I know. This is all my doing. I should have called him back in time. “Son, that’s no place for nice people to be working in. I think you should stay home and keep warm under the mattress for a while. Heck, read something, get a degree if you will. I’m sure there’ll be openings for you at a later point.”

I have a friend whom for good reason I call the mad professor. He is somewhere in-between what you’d call piquantly eccentric and stark raging mad, leaning as far towards the latter as a demanding career in academics would allow. For apparently no fault of mine he insists on calling me the Corporate Honcho. Can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve this. So, the other day, mad Prof calls and asks, so, how’s the Honcho doing? Had to tell him the Honcho is sitting on his haunches to closely observe the depths the stock market can plunge.

Have to mention another friend here. Now let’s call him Mr.Gorsky for reasons I’ll not get into until later. Like many a respectable bloke, he was patently skeptical of stocks till late last year. Then one day in cold January, the bug bit him. Everybody around him was making too much money too easily. He couldn’t take it any more. He was into a bit of liquidity at the time. As it happened, the market crashed down under the weight of his investment. It was like, he put some cash in, the stocks went down a little; he averaged, the market went mean. He sunk a little more, it dipped lower. In no time he was out of cash and the market, outside the standard range of deviation. Still our Mr. G was all tall talk.

“By January 2009 you’ll all see, the sensex will cross 25000.”

“I’m in it for the long haul, man, and I’ll clean up double my money in two years time.”

We used to snigger. This made G choose a quiet modus operandi. Every month, with his paycheck, off he goes, to throw some more good money after the bad. It would not be such a bad idea if he stuck to big blue chips, like every analyst on TV seems to suggest, though I don’t see them actually doing it. No, he is all into his Lando Infratechs and Warren Finances and God knows what other exotic stuff. In the matter of picking stocks, he blindly trusts his broker, who periodically feeds him all these tips. I know the broker; he is actually quite a nice guy, not a common trait among his tribe. Irony is, you can trust a nice guy only with things he has some control over. I tried to reason with Gorsky, “See, feller G, you can trust feller B not to defraud you or stab you in the back, but how can you trust him when he promises no rain on Thursday evening? Be reasonable, will you?"

By now I'm convinced bailing out Gorsky is the only bailout we need to put the economy back on track. We've discussed it among friends. We made an offer to G to raise among ourselves the amount he is in the red for, and let him quit at evens, if he promises to stay out of stocks. Doubtless it would hurt us all a lot in these tough times, but what's to be done has to be done. The economic situation can ease out only if G is persuaded to disinvest. But he would have none of it. He'd say, "Guys, don't you know, this money, quadrupled, would see my daughters through college?" And we'd say, "Good luck, Mr. Gorsky."

I think we should appeal to Mr. Chidambaram for mandatory implementation of the Gorsky bailout package. In case you don't catch the Gorsky reference, the original joke is at the bottom of this post.*

Since I started with Seinfeld, I thought it fitting to end it with another big influence from pop entertainment. But Peanuts was never big on economics. After much research, the best I could come up with was this:

*When Apollo Mission Astronaut Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon, he not only gave his famous "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" statement but followed it by several remarks, usual com traffic between him, the other astronauts and Mission Control.

Just before he re-entered the lander, however, he made the enigmatic remark "Good luck Mr. Gorsky."

Many people at NASA thought it was a casual remark concerning some rival Soviet Cosmonaut. However, upon checking, there was no Gorsky in either the Russian or American space programs. Over the years many people questioned Armstrong as to what the "Good luck Mr Gorsky" statement meant, but Armstrong always just smiled.

Just a few years ago, (on July 5, 1995 in Tampa Bay FL) while answering questions following a speech, a reporter brought up the 26-year old question to Armstrong. This time he finally responded. Mr. Gorsky had finally died and so Neil Armstrong felt he could answer the question.

When he was a kid, he was playing baseball with a friend in the backyard. His friend hit a fly ball, which landed in the front of his neighbor's bedroom windows. His neighbors were Mr. & Mrs. Gorsky. As he leaned down to pick up the ball, young Armstrong heard Mr. Gorsky pleading with his wife about something and Mrs. Gorsky shouting at Mr. Gorsky. "Oral sex! You want oral sex?! You'll get oral sex when the kid next door walks on the moon!"

*Source : here

Other fish to fry

Did you miss me? I guess not.(then proceeds to drink a jug of water and leak from hundreds of bullet holes in his body to demonstrate the point) - The mask

Hello friends. In case you were wondering, which I'm certain you weren't, yours truly had been alive and well and in the meantime attending to generally uninteresting stuff. Been going through a dull phase, with nothing worthwhile to report, and the old creative ying dying a slow death.

On the duller side of things, fish in my daughter's fishbowl had been dropping off at a steady clip. Now, at the very beginning, had I googled a bit on the subject, like I do with most things including finding a proper euphemism for dying, I'd have known instantly that the most suitable fish for keeping in fishbowls are the Siamese betta. They are the piesces equivalent of career convicts who are most at ease inside their 8'x8' cell. The wide open world bothers them so much they keep doing bad things. I've seen a betta live in a wine glass for weeks in perfect contentment. The local pet shops curiously call them the fighter fish. I haven't seen them fight with anybody. In fact, in a multiracial environment, they are most likely to seek a nook and hide in it. We had one in our bowl. That fellow would hide inside a faux bush all day. Coming up for food once in a while seemed for him like too much trouble. One day the pearl gourami killed him. But we'll perhaps come back to that.

Back on the subject of choosing a fish, instead of doing a little research, at first we went by whatever inputs visual media gave us. And beautiful fat goldfish in bowls were all the rage over tv and print. What is it they have against the poor goldfish, these hateful media men, is something I might never understand. They have caused more deaths in the goldfish populace by inducing people to keep them in bowls, than perhaps Henry Ford did among the human race by introducing them to automobiles. Goldfish in a bowl is easily the most unreliable creature on the face of the earth. Now you see them having one helluva party, eating and shitting in wild merriment. You saunter off to the kitchen to fix a little snack, having gotten a little peckish yourself, y'know, just looking at them. What with having a snack, taking a call, catching a TV show, you might get delayed by minutes and next time you look, one of them will be belly up. Happened to me coupla dozen times. I never count on goldfish not to die on me without prior notice. Inconsiderate bunch of quitters, I call them.

Nowadays, we've gotten wise. We now keep only those fish which the pet shop boys call hard fish. I think they mean hard to kill. The Steven Seagulls and Bruce Willes of the fishworld, y'know? We keep Gouramis, tetra, assorted colored carp etc. Even these manage to die under mysterious circumstances. I suspect there are evil spirits of dead fish haunting that bowl. My daughter is keeping a headcount. The day we kill our 50th fish, we'll throw a party and feed them all some pork chops and tuna salad.

All these talk about fish reminds me of a scene from You don't mess with the Zohan, the new kickass comedy caper from Adam Sandler, ideally watched on the home theater on some evening when the kids have gone to some birthday party or something. It's not actually sexually explicit, but many scenes may not be fit for family viewing. Watch this where Zohan the crack agent of Mossad is about to capture a Palestinian terrorist, and they are challenging each other's pain endurance. Enjoy!

Mouse on the house

It's a peaceful evening at the Pronto household. Ms. Ayushi is at her study table steadfastly battling her demons, namely : Averages, Angles and Decimals. At this particular instance there's a vicious quarrel brewing up between some stubborn supplementary and complementary angles who won't listen to to the voice of amicability. They insist on extracting their exact degrees of flesh from this squabble. Ms.Ayushi is in fact contemplating the prospect of seeking arbitration from daddy, who's in the next room in front of his PC reading worthless blogs. She doubts this will be a happy scenario, 'cause daddy, while pointing to a solution, has this nasty habit of running down people who are unequal to resolving such minor tiffs between angles. Those people include mommy, who has washed her hands off Maths ever since Ayushi went to standard five, into the grim world of fractions, geometry and other goblins. At this very moment, mommy is grappling with one of her endless phone calls, which threatens to eat into her appointment with sa-re-ga-ma-pa.

All in all, a pretty picture of blissful domesticity, with all indications that God has turned in a bit early for the night after a long week at office( sending another half a dozen i-banks packing), seeing all's well with heaven and earth.

Suddenly blasted to smithereens by a deep, lusty, soul-stirring cry of eeeeeeeek emitting from Ms. Ayushi's room. Followed by mommy slamming down the phone and running into cupboards and bedspreads with a broom in hand. Such a commotion that even daddy has to reluctantly abandon his schemes of changing the world, pondering on the latest entry in Dilbert blog.

Peoople will ask why all that fuss over a puny liddil mouse. What they don't seem to understand (to paraphrase John McCain), is that nothing can put on a homeowners' pride and self-belief a bigger dent than a rodent in the house.

The military attache' at the White House placed a frantic call to Pentagon : an wild moose is scouring the lawns, threatening national security. Get in touch with the Governor of Alaska ASAP......oops, wrong war story. Truth be told though, SOS calls did get made to various corners of the map. Ayushi's mom calling most of her relatives for advice on assault plan and damage control. It all ended with Daddy running to the nearest mom-and-pops' and heckling them into opening their store well past ten. A pack of ratkill was secured. Chuha jisse kha-kar, mare bahar jaa-kar. Ayushi promptly announced she'd sleep the night on her parents' bed. No, make that every night, till the mouse is gone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dead at night, with Ayushi fast asleep save occasionally mumbling something about a mouse creeping over her pillow, the missus tells me she had wind of this. Well in advance. "Y'know, I used to get a mousy smell. Everywhere. In every nook." I'm like,"what, do you mean you kept smelling a rat? And I always thought that smell was about dead rats and financial scams only? Never knew live mice had a particular smell too."

For the next three agonizing days, the mouse kept eating the ratkill. Part by part. Only it didn't seem to be dying. It was very much alive. And it was having one hell of a bowel movement. maybe the Mortein company made sure their poison was full of fiber. Maybe it was meant to go out to defecate and die in the process. The mouse never made that mistake. Everyday, the missus would find inside cupboard and bed boxes, rat stool in quantities I myself would've been proud of as a homo sapiens. Oh for the iniquities of being!

"Hubby, our plan doesn't appear to be working."
"Who do you think you're dealing with, dear lady? It's a mouse, it should know all about the best laid plans."

"Y'know, dear, we should go get a mouse trap."
"What? No, no, no, not tonight, old lass. Tonight I'm not in the mood for Mrs. Christie. Tonight I'll be with Sir Pelham."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They say, (with apologies to The Boss)

You can't kill some vermin without getting blood on your hands
This gun's for hire, even as you're just dancing in your pants.

How the mouse was won, is not a pretty story. It involved gore, a broom, heroics from our maid, and other icky stuff.

Our maid is getting a hefty bonus this festive season. And we're driving down to Kolkata for Pujo after two long years, glum in the knowledge our books and blankets are safe once again. Wish you all a happy Pujo, Dussera and Navaratri !

My wife has information from the grapevine there might be bomb blasts this Durga Pujo in Kolkata. I doubt it. Militants never pick Kolkata. Didi is doing enough here already towards disrupting public life.

Bovine Divine (As in Jawaani Diwani)



This, on an otherwise unenthusiastic evening. Reminded me of the great cow-lover of our times. Venerable Mr. Verma, are you watching too?

Excuse me while I have an O
(Warning: Reader rating PG 15 )

The world is full of women who are having problems with sexual arousal, women who are technically frigid, and really really sad women who've never had an orgasm in all their lives.
And then, we come to learn about Michelle who has an average 300 in a day. Then about Elle, and Sarah, too.

There is widespread belief that PSAS is a real-life condition, inasmuch as Wiki acknowledges it, though the syndrome appears to be a more recent phenomenon, discovered as late as in 2001. Earlier than that, it would appear, womenfolk used to have suitably lukewarm arousal patterns and victims of the condition used to be frowned upon as insatiable nymphomaniacs, satyrs and such like. Today, they are the darlings of British tabloids. Curiously enough, the tabloids have come up with one interview feature of a, um, sufferer every year for the past three years. In fact, the year 2008 episode could be out any day now. True to form, the pieces are as raunchy as they could get. They make for breathless entertainment, though after reading the first one, the others might get a little repetitive.

Predictably, bloggers have zeroed in on the phenomenon here and there. This had picked up momentum especially after Sarah Carmen attained celebhood last November by posing for pics as well as a named interview with her real name to NewsoftheWorld. One suspects that a book deal is in the offing too. (Methinks it should be aptly titled, "Am I coming or going? - Memoirs of an ecstasy aunt") Surprisingly no blogger seems to have put down his or her individual take on what could be an exceedingly juicy subject. The way the articles describe this syndrome, it can attack the afflicted woman like a force de la nature, and turn most of her waking moments into all yesssss, oooohs and aaaahs.

It's not fair making jokes about people who, by their extraordinary condition, are deprived of a normal livelihood. Then again, fairness is a concept that was invented so that children and idiots could participate in arguments (so said Scott Adams, my hero). The tabloids have creamed their stories for sensationalism. So much so, that there's no longer a line for a blogger not to cross. And my oh my, the mind boggles at the possibilities. The jokes are in extremely bad taste, so don't tell me you weren't warned.

Like this.

Hey Lucy, heard about Elle? She's left the beauty salon, the driers and stuff were giving her lots of trouble. Now she works as a secretary. One small problem though. Every time she goes to get something copied, she starts acting funny. The janitor thinks there's a ghost in that copier.

Or this.

-Hi Lily, I'm so sorry to hear about Susan. She died last week when her house caught fire.

-No, seriously? But she lived in a single story, she could've just walked out.

-I don't know. Neighbors said they kept calling out for her, and she kept saying, "Yaahh I'm coming, I'm coming."

You have freed me traveler, now go free yourself.

To reach the castle of the Zade emperor, you must take the north road. And cross the border between Heaven and Earth. Then you'll have to pass through the gate of no-gate. (Which means you either have to be a Zen master or you must be carrying something very special.) On to the Five Elements Mountains, land of the Immortals. Where, once every 500 years, the Jade Emperor hosts the Peach Banquet. It is here that the Heavenly Ministers gather to celebrate the longevity and drink the elixir of immortality.

Don't know about you people, but me, I'm a sucker for such crypto-Confucian nonsense. Over the weekend, I'd been watching The Forbidden Kingdom. As usual, late to the party. But having a whale of a time.

It is said in enlightened circles that even the greatest Zen masters and Taoist immortals could not actually defy the laws of gravity until a genius named Yuen Woo-Ping came along and introduced them to the invisible wire trick. You see, the no shadow kick, the Buddha palm technique and the one finger death touch were all very fine maneuvers to have in your repertoire, but when push came to shove, they just couldn't make you fly. Only when they learned how to give a fuck for physics, did they become the stuff of Academy awards. To borrow an expression from the movie, their ch'i became like fire. And I became a true fan ever since.



I hear the biggest action flicks of today question the very demarcation of right and wrong. They delve deep into the mind of the evil and try to find out what drives him. Logistics not permitting, I have not yet watched the greatest superhero/action movie ever made, so you can call it a case of sour grapes, but I still doubt if I'll be equal to the task. Given a choice, I'd pick the simple Amrish Puri type villains over the uber-complex Joker any day. In this regard, the Chinese hardly ever disappoint. Their villainous warlords are straightforward and true to imagination. Take a regular despot like Mao Zedong. Throw in the flowing tresses and some high kicks. Add a goatee for effect, and you're pretty much done.

A good villain is a good start. However, he alone is often not enough for a good evening's entertainment. You need to have a silent monk doubling as the crazy monkey, a drunken immortal who mouths the most confounding Zen philosophy, but as it turned out, was not really immortal to begin with, and an orphaned kid prodigy mysteriously named the Southern Sparrow, who for some unknown reason shifts back and forth between the first and the third person while alluding to herself. A witch who performs most of her sorcery with the aid of a mile-long whip, or, in the absence of it, her silver white wig, which can magically grow to, like, a length of fifty yards instantly at the moment such need may arise. That is to say nothing of the misfit hero who has little to do except looking lost and acting dumb. Only then you can look forward to time well spent.

What else? Oh there's plenty. Gems like this when Jackie Chan (Lu Yan) gets the wrong side of an arrow and is looking at slim chance of survival without his elixir.

Jason : He needs wine. It's his elixir.
Medicine man : We will send a walking monk.
Lu (From the bed) : Don't you have a running monk?

Or during the famous fight scene between Chan and Jet Li ( the monk):

Lu Yan : [the Silent Monk does a Praying Mantis stance] Praying Mantis! Very good... for catching bugs! But not Tiger!
[does a Tiger Stance]

Paisa wasool. Plus I also learned the Mandarin for "Cheers". Which is, Tamb'ei!
I recommend. But then, I'm shallow. You watch at your own risk.

In other news, we'd been at work studiously perfecting the Moj'ito. Wonderful drink for warm monsoon evenings. A little birdie tells me that Castro had once remarked, " Moj'ito ergo sum".

The ever growing Salman Khan
If he kept saying no, how would he ever grow?

Until now, it must be me only, but the way Salman Khan is growing taller by the day is a phenomenon all of us must soon recognize and suitably marvel at.

1994 : Andaz Apna Apna ; Salman and Amir were the same pint size

2008 : Dus Ka Dum ; Presto! Salman is three inches taller. Now, you'll say Salman has pimped up hair and Amir has tonsured his head, so here's another :

2006 : Rang De Basanti premiere ; See, see?

1998 : Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai ; SRK looks marginally taller

2007 : KBC ; Salman towers over both SRK, and KAT, who I thought stood a head above both!

At the rate Salman is vertically reaching out, grabbing progressively taller girlfriends, and surpassing his co-actors in stature, I think I should post another picture in advance:


Watch this space.

The idea-raising campaign

The other night I was trying to watch an abomination of a comedy called Mere Baap Pehle Aap. It made me somewhat sad and pensive. It made me wonder what happened to good old storytelling in Hindi films. What happened to originality of thought, and most importantly, whatever happened to the healthy Bollywood tradition of wholesome plagiarism? I look at the releases of this year, and they are a very sad bunch. The Mumbai Film Industry is having a bad day at office.

So here's something I thought of doing. Something close to my heart. Now, I may not have revealed it to a lot of people, but I've wanted to make movies all my life. Yes, I'd also wanted to meet Santa Claus, but those were really early days. The moviemaking wish has been a consistently strong one ever since I learnt to put my fingers together and frame a shot, which was pretty early too (I was all of 15 I think). As I grew older, I learned to appreciate that writing an original screenplay and directing it is too much hard work for anybody's good, unless you are Quentin Tarantino, who I knew I wasn't (Y'know, for a brief moment there, RGV thought he was, but then, everybody now knows the score.)

So here's what I'd do instead. I'd settle on playing the movie producer. My duties will include selecting an working title, an original story idea, deciding on the chaps to direct and play the characters and hopefully find finance for the party to begin. (this will be the tough part, but here I'm counting on my blaudience, whose number now threatens to touch double figures. But I brag, and digress...)

You can say my choice of story inspirations are shallow. To which I shall say, "Oh yes I'm Shallow Hal, what the fug is your problem? Who wants to watch DEEP anyway? "

Without further prelude, then, dear friends, we present the line-up of the first 5 ventures from Digdowndeep Productions. Don't get fooled by the frivolous tone. These are serious business proposals, worthy of top-dollar investments. These five original films have been long time favorites, and I'm ready to bet on their viability in an Indian adaptation. I'm sure there are countless other Hollywood and European films waiting to get inspired by. But these are, to my mind, like infant orphans screaming their hearts out begging to be adopted. We'll start at the shallow end of the pool, and gradually go deeper.

1. Ane Wala Pal (Next)



There's the thing about the future. Every time you look at, it changes. Because you looked at it. And that changes everything else.
This is a sci-fi, and not the 2050 sort. It seems the character played by John Abraham has the magical power to see two minutes ahead into the future. Into his own future. When he meets the Jiah Khan character, his abilities dramatically improve. a terrorist group gets involved in the story, and all all sorts of excitement ensue. For further details, visit imdb. To be directed by Abbas Tyrewala. (I'd have loved to rope in Shekhar kapur, but I want to finish it before 2050.) The film will be equally viable with Emraan Has me and Neha Uberoi, but it will have to bear the dubious Bhatt tag.

2. Achambit ( Bedazzled)



Fair? Who do you think you're talking to? I don't recall anybody ever accusing me of being fair before. I think I'm insulted.
A deal with the Devil. Going hilariously wrong. I don't believe anybody else in India can look and walk the role played by Liz Hurley other than Malaika Arora Khan. Casting her is 80% of the job done. The male lead will be up for grabs. My preference is Shahid Kapoor. Aftab Shivdasani would fit just as well, but lack the presence and the innocence. Sohail Khan will do the honors at the megaphone for two reasons. He' s had experience in supernatural comedy with the disastrous Hello Brother. And he might be comfortable in directing the devil, 'cause she's family. The love interest? Somebody giggly and stupid. Genelia if Shahid plays the lead.

3. Gattu Parmeswar (Bruce Almighty)



Hood: Okay Cool, man, the day a monkey comes out of my butt is the day you'll get your sorry.
Bruce: What a coincidence, because that's TODAY.
Man is unhappy with God. God meets him and hands over his reign. Just to show where it pinches. Who do I want to play Jim Carrey? Let's see, Govinda did a first rate job in Kiyunki main Jhooth Nahin Bolta (Liar, Liar), but the Chi-Chi of today won't look credible. Akshaye Khanna does decent comedy, I'll only have to get him a decent hairpiece. The only other choice is Akshay Kumar. While he has the gift of timing, he may not be adequate in the motormouth blabbering department. Then again, there's Arshad Warsi. Looks to me the most suitable.
For Jennifer Aniston's role, I would take Ayesha Takia without hesitation. But we need somebody with a smaller rack. For that one scene, remember? Well then, Aarti Chhabria it is. Competent and underrated.
Amitabh as God? Of course that would be the most unimaginative choice. We'll try Nana patekar instead. he even looks a lot like Morgan Freeman.
And no other director for me please. Has to be David Dhawan.

4. Machhli Jal Ki Rani Hai ( Like a Fish out of water)

It's different. They don't make films more different than this. A heist for, of all things, a rare tropical fish. Cynical plotters. A femme fatale. Bloodbath. The meek inherits the earth. Bible couldn't have been more profound.
Important thing here is to choose our femme fatale. I'd leave the spot open for Monica Bellucci's character. It'll be a toss-up between Kajol And Sush. Kajol, a tad easy on eye make-up. Sush, with a bit of a makeover, to look her actual age. Whoever has the dates. Needless to say it'll be the role of a lifetime for both.
I'm not too choosy about the hoods. One of them should be Naseruddin Shah. And the meek fish expert, the protagonist? Rajpal Yadav, anyone? Remember Main Meri Patni aur Woh?
Nobody in Mumbai can make it better than Sanjay F. Gupta. Let's not look any further.











5. Kahan Ho Malik? ( O brother, where art thou?)



They have a plan, but not a clue.

Three jailbreak fugitives. A stashed away treasure. A fast-paced road movie. American deep south in the '30s. Backdrop of racial strife, religion and an upcoming election in backstate Mississippi. A plethora of colorful characters. I don't know how my Odyssey will be Indianised. But I do want to get this movie made in Mumbai.
We'll have to think on the lines of the freedom struggle and Hindu-Muslim riots. And at the same time, make a classy, fast, light-hearted and fun film. Tough ask. We might go to Vidhu Vinod Chopra and ask him to take charge. He should also bring on board his immensely talented director Rajkumar Hirani. Vidhu did a great job with 1942, he should be able to replicate it here. Or we can approach Vishal Varadwaj. Since he's been so good with Shakespeare, Homer for him should be home turf.
I don't care much who play the characters. I only want Saif to play George Clooney's role. Suave and rakish at the same time, Saif can.
Who will provide Soggy Bottom Boys' Music? Who will sing "Man of Constant sorrow?" Well, the issue will be settled at leisure.

That, then, will be my gift to Bollywood this summer. Anyone wishes to make such gifts is most welcome. We are about to start a campaign to raise the maximum number of story ideas. If you are reading this, if you're into films and Bollywood, and if you keep a blog (too many ifs?), you must also think of doing a tag. In fact I can readily think of three people, Amrita, Arnab and Ramsu who'll easily make a more handsome contribution to our campaign.

My wandering mind and all


1. power outage baby
Years ago, the power went out in San Francisco for a long time. Nine months later, there was a certain increase in birthrate. If you were born nine months after a power outage, you are a power outage baby.
e.g. Thomas is a power outage baby.

The last coupla days we had a major power outage. It prevented me from finishing a longish dissection of Chetan Bhagat. It also reminded me of this phrase from urban dictionary. That in turn reminded me of a term of endearment we frequently used in college. Which, euphemistically translated, would read like, "born out of a burst prophylactic." Amazing how the human mind works, huh?

Like I said, I was in the middle of a diatribe on 3 mistakes, a shallow novel for shallow people like me. When the pointlessness of the exercise hit me, I was too far gone. So I thought I'd post that anyway. However, there were other, more significant matters gnawing at my mind in the meanwhile. Namely, what makes Savitha Bhabhi such a rage?

No, I don't think the site targets the minds of young Indians and is more harmful than many other mainstream porn sites, like some enraged people think. I don't even believe the site will appeal particularly strongly to the teenager of today. What it appeals to, greatly, is the fifteen-year-old in all of us greying and about-to-grey Indian male. Those who grew up not on electronic media, but on those thin books in yellow covers, hidden inside textbooks. Though the visuals seem to heavily borrow from mainstream adult entertainment of today. Didn't see much of reverse cowgirl and DP (links NSFW) in those good old yellow-cover days, eh? That way, it embodies the best of both worlds. Plus the serialised strip format. Always keeping interest alive for tomorrow's page. Yeah, that's the secret of her success. By the way, the page would do better to add an age verification thing at the start, for that's the standard procedure for attracting underage viewers.

Speaking of their standard procedure, I'm reminded of the many many BAD places I've gone to on the net. Which in turn, brings us to the crux of this post, an anecdote on what may come off going to those places. This was an incident involving a colleague, one Rajesh Kumar (name changed).

This was in the year 2000 or 2001, way before India had seen broadband. Our Rajesh had recently acquired a dial-up connection at home. One night, after the family had gone to sleep, Rajesh got a little naughty and adventurous. It is difficult to ascertain exactly where he started (it was all so long ago) but desibaba, a great site of those days, would be a good guess. One click, however, led to another, and presently, old Rajesh was in the land of bliss.

Exactly what triggered the onslaught would yet again be difficult to guess, cause by then, Rajesh was clicking away with gay abandon, but it must've been a loose click on some entirely wrong button, and all hell broke loose at once. Cascading windows started to open on Rajesh's desktop. All pointing to very nasty places, with lurid graphics and stuff.

At first Rajesh tried his best to close the windows as they opened. But, this was clearly a battle of unequals. If Rajesh had been blessed with three pairs of hands with half a dozen mice in them, he could still give those windows a run for their money, but such was not the case. So the windows kept cascading @300/min and Rajesh' eyes were popping out.

I know you will jump up and ask why didn't he invoke ctrl-alt-del. The answer to which is i) Dear Rajesh was a technically challenged person, (he still is) and ii) he had lost his nerve at that point in time. By the time he got around to try and shutdown the pc, it had stopped responding completely.

Rajesh then, had no option but to cut the power. In fact, so shaken was he, he yanked off the power chord from its socket as well, for good measure. He then went to the kitchen and drank two tall glasses of water. The house was quiet, everybody sound asleep. Rajesh took deep breaths. Twenty of them. He gathered himself. Only then did he sneak back to the pc and boot it.

But this evil malware, it had him by his balls by that time. It had a bulit-in dialer (we later gathered from his narration) which sat cosily inside startup and connected as soon as the OS loaded. The windows came roaring back again! Much credit to his ready wit, Rajesh knew what to do this time. He pulled out the telephone line from the modem. He said, "Take that, bastard!" and waited.

I guess today nobody uses IE anymore, but there's a feature with IE which used to be very handy in those days of slow speed dial-up. It allowed you to view full pages offline. Somebody must have turned on the feature on Rajesh' computer, and it was not him, for it was clearly beyond his ken (again, something we figured out later from his account). That feature now told heavily on rajesh' already pounding heart. For even with the modem disconnected, his screen was rapidly getting splashed with those lurid windows. Rajesh held his head in his hands and stared at impending doom. A sweat broke out at the back of his neck. It was the end of January.

Rajesh looked towards the bed where his six-year-old son was sleeping. Like other geeks of his generation, the brat would start the pc first thing in the morning and engage in Mortal Combat.
Morning was but six hours away. What's Rajesh gonna do?

Teh Funnies

When the creative juices run dry and yet you feel there should be something to show for all the time you'd been wasting on the web.

Like pondering over this.

“If a tree falls on the Really Big Button in the forest when nobody is there, does it do something?”

This is the ultimate take on the theory of perceived existence. Which combines two of the greatest conundrums of modern times, namely this and this. And by the way, how cool is uncyclopedia? I just can't get over their whacky sense of humor satire on this article, and practically every article of theirs. Jonathan Huang and "Stillwaters", I bow to thee.

In a quirk of serendipity I stumbled on Mr. Lan Bui's fickr photostream. And came across this beauty. Priceless.

Source

And finally, found some ten-year-old funny quotes that are still relevant today.

I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewelry.
--Rita Rudner
I went into a McDonald's yesterday and said, "I'd like some fries." The girl at the counter said, "Would you like some fries to go with that?"
--Jay Leno
Don't spend two dollars to dry clean a shirt. Donate it to the Salvation Army instead. They'll clean it and put it on a hanger. The next morning, buy it back for seventy-five cents.
--William Coronel
The No. 1 sign that you have ODed on the web...
When you read a magazine, you have an irresistible urge to click on the underlined passages.
--Anon

Words, words,words

I've recently taken issue with certain words that have come to represent the uber-chic of today. Given that I'm quite the philistine when it comes to high fashion, and the swinging high life in general, my point of view must not be taken seriously.

1. Ombre' Source

n. A French term meaning "shaded." Usually a multicolored stripe, with colors graduating from light to dark. The color effect is woven into the fabric. Generally produced by arranging different tones in the warp.

That doesn't even begin to convey the madness associated with it. How many times have we seen a halfway decent design idea stifled by overkill and a little French? Besides, what's so original about that light to dark theme in the first place, I ask? In Kolkata, in the early eighties, everybody and there uncles were wearing "loadshedding shirts", so ingeniously named after the ethos of the times ( loadshedding meaning powercuts) in which the light used to slowly go out top downwards. Exactly like the ombre' of today. I had one such beauty in red, though I don't have pics to show, alas!

And while we dwell on this, I have something else to ask. Does the repetitive ombre' also qualify? I mean I've had this shirt for some time, which I sparingly wear because I suspect it's too flashy, has it now fallen into the HOT category?


I really need to know. That shirt cost an obscene amount by my standards. I would love to save it from mothballs.

2. Bling

source

Def: Preity's necklace is bling. I have it on good authority.

Now here's a potent word. Can be used as one-off or in repetition (bling-bling), as a noun, or a verb (maybe adjective even, though I haven't come across that usage.) While this is otherwise a good strong word, what intrigues me is why something which makes an ejaculating sound should be used to describe gaudy jewelery. Nah, I'll discount that joke about mother explaining to kid how she gets her jewelry. Really, who needed another slang for funky tinsel when worthier candidates like himbo and farticle are begging for induction?

3.Bicurious

I love the word "bicurious". I also love Shah Rukh Khan. Yes, I know that'll take some explaining, so please read on. I think SRK is a master of repartees. A coupla years ago, when someone asked him "Are you metrosexual?" he replied, "No, I'm just sexual." A coupla months ago some intrepid scribe hinted " Are you bisexual?" he retorted " No, I'm Trisexual. I keep trying." (Laugh tracks)


Source

But I'm still curious. I'm bicurious. No, not in THAT way, the horror! (I'm completely, what's the word now? 'heterorigid '; and I want to stay that way, thanks very much) I'm just curious to know if certain people are bi. Like, say, SRK and Karan. Like, say SRK and that Ramphal dude now. Just curious, y'know.

There, I've said it. I'll now prepare for the worst. Possibly libel action, maybe death threats. I'm afraid. Very afraid.

4. Trapeze


Source

A beautiful word that evokes visions of scantily clad beauties flying high in the air. Curse on those fashionistas of today who have brought it to denote tent-like billowing cuts suited particularly for mid-heavy women and expecting mothers. Need I say more? O irony, how cruel can thou get?

I had a few more of them on my mind but seem to have lost steam. Contributions from my two-and-a-half readers will be greatly appreciated.

Sitemeter Blues

Looks like it was not such a hot idea writing that piece on litti-chokha. Though whatever little traffic I get on this page is more than welcome, it's not a very amusing thought that gentlemen from Turkey and Israel should land up here from google searches for litti-porno and naynon porn. What in the world are these deviant forms of entertainment they're seeking, I wonder? Among these two, the second chap has paid me a visit twice, the first visit being weeks ago. Bloke sure seems to be earnest and desperate. I can't, for the life of me, figure out what have I done to deserve this special favor from m/s google. The fun, per se, hasn't yet started on my blog. Not that I don't think of giving it a go sometimes. Anyway, I wish the Turkman all the very best. May he find what he's looking for. And when he does, he should send over some of the stuff.

In the same context, I feel sorry for the person who just alighted here from a search for "Ghee manufacturers in Bihar". None of your fault, dude. Happens all the time with these wicked search engines.

Google Adsense, in the meantime, has proved to possesses a great sense of humor. They're frequently splashing their space with exiting lines like " Ultimate Potato Peeling Solutions" and "Are you watching your cholesterol?" BTW, does anybody know how I can claim from them the sixpence that's so rightfully mine thru' all these adverts? Last I heard, one needs to have a social security no. in Amreeka to make that claim. Any hope for us desi Desis, anyone?

I mean business

I have since long had this business plan. Last night I was reading Naren's groundbreaking business plans which started giving me ideas, and in no time I was climbing up the shelves and dusting off this old DPR volume. I've also posted the gist on his comment space. But that doesn't make it his intellectual property now, does it? Feel free to steal, only after paying me my finder's fees, a paltry fifty grands (greenbacks, silly),plus taxes.

Let me, at the outset, clarify that I do not hail from the illustrated state of Bihar. But I've lived in the vicinity long enough to have tasted, on many occasions, a Bihari delicacy called litti-chokha. Recipe here.

Pic source : foodieshope.blogspot.com

I'm sure the downmarket version one may also notice as street food in many big city ghettoes of India infested by Raj Thackerey's favorite cousins. Do note that it makes for an uber-healthy, wholesome vegetarian meal. It can also be made completely cholesterol-free by making the ghee(clarified butter) dip optional.(won't taste the same, of course)

So, here's my business plan :

Product : Microwavable designer litti-chokha

Product description : Spicy baked doughballs in dip(ghee optional) with assorted veggie mishmash

Suggested Brand name : Choklittoes

USP : Wholesome nutrition of wheat grain cereals, gram and assorted vegetables in designer ready-to-eat packaging.

Designer logo : A piece of sal leaf laminated into the wrapper ( OK OK so I borrowed that one)

Target customer : 1. Health and style conscious professional who needs to make a statement with the workaday lunch he eats, preferably in the company of peers.
2. Sucker.

Retail Price : $ 19.95 for a pack of two doughballs with mishmash and dip(ghee optional : packs containing ghee dip will cost $24.95).

Manufacturing : Sourced from Bhojpuri designer litti company of Chhapra, Bihar@ $19.95 per 100-pack carton

Quality Policy : Will tell the Bhojpuri fellows....forget it, they invented quality, right?

Apart from the obvious profitability of the proposition, it will also generate a good deal of employment locally, and hopefully ease some irritation off the Mumbaikar's mind. I'm sure the scheme will find instant support from Nitish Kumar and Laluji.

There's one small catch. Unlike in Guangzhou, China, they do not have an existing facility for every manufacturing need at Chhapra. A small investment of $10000 will be needed to help the chaps set up their packaging unit. Which will pay itself back in a matter of weeks, of course.

Since you people seem to hobnob with a number of VCs, would you consider selling the plan to one of them, for a handsome 2% of the profits?

We're going to miss you, Dubya

"Worldwide there is increasing demand. There turns out to be prosperity in developing world, which is good. It's going to be good for you because you'll be selling products in the countries, you know, big countries perhaps, and it's hard to sell products into countries that aren't prosperous. In other words, the more prosperous the world is, the more opportunity there is,"

This man simply won't cease to entertain. I can't add to the counter-argument. I sort of agree with Subodh Verma on this. But while humorless Indian politicians rage and rant, I can't stop smiling at the phrasing. Really, does somebody write those circular statements for Dubya? Or does he add his own finishing line? In other words, is it a prepared thing, or is it his own personal touch? See, I couldn't write like that if I wanted to?

Many public figures have been known to put a foot in the mouth. This man could easily walk inside his own abdomen. What's the world gonna do for fun when he's gone?

How not to open a bottle of wine




Once upon a time (day before yesterday, as a matter of fact) there were these two friends meeting over Sunday lunch. Between them was a bottle of red, which had been lying somewhere in a cupboard for some time. With a view to open the bottle and have a glass of wine each, the friends were seriously impaired by the absence of a corkscrew which must've been there, but could not be found after searching all over the household. In situations like this the world over, people have been known to gain access to the contents either by pushing the cork into the bottle ( sacrilege!), or perhaps a better but more extreme method, by breaking the neck of the bottle carefully.
But these two fellows were bright and innovative practising engineers. They used their heads and common household tools and tackles, and the result is there for all to see!
Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you my very good friend in dino , whose face has been given an appropriate coat of Gaussian blur, to protect his identity from prowling headhunters who call, sms and mail him all the time, invariably trying to avail of his technical genius.
About the genie in the bottle. Sula Red. Cabarnet Shiraz. Full-bodied, yes. Fruity, maybe. The label promised a faint aroma of peppercorn but I couldn't discern it with my poor nose. Bit on the drier side. Little too much tannin for my taste. Otherwise okee-dokee.

Only this evening, I came upon this bit of knowledge. That my nom de guerre was actually more popularly known as this. At first I'd chosen the word as it was close enough to my real name and conveyed, to my mind, a sense of alacrity and deftness. No wonder, many people to whom I'd casually dropped my page address and who understandably forgot most of it, googled and landed on the homepage of a prophylactic brand. Once there, they must've watched the mesmerizing demo and forgot where they were going in the first place.
I, therefore, ( I would have continued like.. submit before your kind authority and so on..out of sheer force of habit ) take the liberty to kick around the header a mite, and since I'm wallowing in self-pity and in a Coen brothers frame of mind, I liberally borrow the byline. The photo was taken a furlong off my home early last Sunday morning. No I don't live in open country. But such is India.