How Muggles don't get it

Too many pathetic SMS jokes, and random Facebook posts on the movies (and by corollary, the books) make me angry. And what makes me angrier is the air of casualness with which the books and the movies are written-off as 'meant for kids' and the complete apathy of ignoring how these have captured the imagination and love of millions of people (not merely children) around the world.

People like me have grown up with Harry Potter. And have lived his terribly amazing life vicariously through these books.

Ms. Rowling, through a rich concoction of thrill and mystery, had taken us into this make-believe world of magic and wizardry like no one else had ever done before. You weren't expected to go to Middle Earth or a different realm. The books made you believe that magic could be hidden right in your cupboard.

And I love the books more than the movies. Not only because of the richness of the plot that doesn't get captured in the movies, but also because I am free to let my imagination run wild. It isn't only about reading the story of our hero defeating the evil villain. It's about being with him (or 'being him'?) in the process of his discovery of the world around him, and his discovery of his own self. It's about learning, glory, failures and bonds.

It is for the kids, all right. The kid in you. Who loves to create and imagine. And laugh and cry.

So, the Muggles out there, this post is not about making you love Harry Potter. It's only to tell you, you may not get it because it is frigging beyond you. So stop acting like sore loser, will you?

Life's Most Important Resolution No. 199

You know these moments when you do something outrageously stupid and then get these guilt / shame - pangs for the rest of your life? Yes, the ones whose memory itself makes you cringe.

And these moments come in various flavours. You didn't get-up from your seat in the crowded bus and offer it to the old man who was barely able to stand just a few feet away from you. You bitched unecessarily about your best friend to someone who didn't really matter. You messed up that most important client presentation of your life. You got drunk and said amazingly stupid things to people around you. Funnily, the last bit keeps happening over and over again to me.

And that brings me to my new resolve. I am not drinking ever again. No, this time it's for certain. Pucca Promise.

Not only will I save myself the splitting headache and hangover on the day-after, I will also be spared the amusing (to others) stories that people have to tell about what all I did after getting drunk. Woresht thing is that I have these memory lapses and I kind of don't remember the events clearly,coherently and in the right order, and have to rely on the versions being given by my 'friends' - who relish reciting the episodes as much as they would have done while watching it. They, of course, have supporting evidence in the form of photos and videos *gasp*

But this will change. I am never going to be drinking again. No more lost memories. No more weird incidents. No free entertainment to loser friends and colleagues. 100% final. *sigh*

The Review that you don't wanna Read(y)

Ok, first things first - I am a hardcore Salman Khan fan. So this review is gonna be biased, very biased. You got a problem, you know where to shove it. Secondly, most reviewers have trashed the movie into the garbage can. If you enjoyed reading any of those reviews, please read no further.

As this blog would have given you a hint, I was 'Ready' for Ready. Having booked tickets in the local single-screen theater well in advance (instead of the conventional - and wallet-emptying - multiplexes), I waited with bated breath to experience the onslaught. And the chawanni crowd in the theater lived up to my expectations. Whistles, hoots, cat-calls and thunderous applause drowned half the dialogues in the movie, the junta went into splits every-time Salman Bhai cracked a shady double-meaning joke, the crazy songs made the tapori fans groove in their seats. Interestingly, the entire row behind us was occupied by a bunch of aunties and their 4-5 year olds. The aunties and their kids guffawed together as Salman taunted Asin on the tight fitting of her jeans. And I was taken back in time to an era when I would squirm in my seat if anything remotely sexual would be shown in a movie that I was watching with my parents (I still do!). But a lot has changed since then.

I think what is very different (and delightful) in this movie for a Salman Khan fan is to watch Salman getting increasingly comfortable in the skin of his characters. Though he still wouldn't slap the item-girls on their bums in a song-sequence (and merely pretend to do so), he doesn't flinch anymore while uttering innuendos, the smirk doesn't go away, he doesn't look blank, drunk and lost. He has embraced the comic genre and improvised it like no one ever has. Not everyone can make you laugh while uttering dialogues like 'ghaas sukh gayi hai, geeli kar deta hoon" !!

Watch the movie for an experience that is Salman. For everything else, there will be another movie releasing soon :)

I want to love you once again, Bollywood.

As a moviegoer I don't ask for much. I am happy with cheap mad comedies full of double entendre. I can also sit through cleverly made emo stuff. And I obviously adore movies made for children. But then, in spite of being so tolerant, there are some things that make me angry. Really really angry. What the f*** are the movie-makers thinking?

*Shahrukh Khan has no work. If he is not busy flashing his undies while trying to play cricket, and inviting useless, work-less co-stars to KKR matches, he makes stupid inane movies where he plays the Superhero. Shahrukh, you are always a Superhero, even when you are effortlessly playing a retard and even when you stammer while (st)uttering your girlfriend's name and even when you have a hole in your heart and even when you shamelessly showcase painted abs. You are the man (Even KJo vouches for it). So when you are actually a superhero in a movie, it would be an overkill, don't you think?

*Pehli galti baap ne aisa beta paida karke ki. Doosri galti producers karte hain inhe hero banakar. But then you have Vikram Bhatt who believes that he should give Mimoh Chakravarty a second chance. I mean, come on? Changing your name and getting a different haircut doesn't change who you are, especially when you are someone who has "I act worse than Viveik Oberoi" written all over his forehead.

*Item numbers form am integral part of my movie experience. So when Munni and Sheila maro their jhatkas and latkas, I forgive the director for some other goof-ups that he would have made in the movie somewhere. But you cannot take my weakness for granted. No Sir, not at all. I mean are you out of your frigging mind?

*They make movies that you can't watch with your wives or girlfriends. I mean the movie was hilarious. But you can't even admit that it's hilarious. I mean dude, give us a warning in the promos, can't you?

Sigh. Now its all upto Salman Khan to redeem Bollywood once again.

Only one more week to go. *Screams*

Busy days are here again

A lot has been happening around me. And that has kept me busy.

Much of this stuff is pretty interesting. Some tad boring. Some outrageously funny. Some pretty sad-wonly things as well. Bestest thing, however, has been the buying of my new car. Yes, first one for the family. A sedan. Yay!

And I have sworn that I shall not be cribbing about my new job on my blog. Not for a while at least. So that has taken a heavy toll on my cribbing-blogging. The world around has also been seeing a wide gamut of activities which could have been potential fodder for blog-posts. But, I honestly haven't been interested. So even though we have seen Deepika Padukone salaciously inviting you to pull her skirt, rich fathers renting arm-candies for useless sons, dudes stripping naked on TV to boost TRPs, relaunch of Mimoh Chakravarty, the much-dignified (?) comeback of the Dada (which has led to most Bangalis supporting Pune Warriors instead of KKR), the end of the Left in Bengal, a wedding and a death jostling for media attention, none of these could convince me to dedicate a blog to them.

Things may change. I will have to get Ready soon *bites nails*. Dhinka Chika.

Crib-Post # 2

Of the many weird things that people often ask me, this one clearly takes the cake. "Was your marriage an arranged one or a love one?" I mean "What the f***?"

No, seriously. And this question is asked in the most unlikely of situations too.

So, second day of office after transfer to Calcutta and this colleague saunters into my cubicle with a grin on his face. "I didn't know you are married." "Um.. mm.. been one year," and I smiled, not knowing what else to do. "You look young! Was it a love marriage?" he implored, with a gossip-starved look on his face. "No, it was arranged by my parents." He walked away with all his hopes of finding an interesting story washed down the drain.

And he is not the only one. Old friends who meet after a long time, people who you have met just an hour back, clients who have this nosy habit of asking about which gulli of which village did your grandfather come from... they all would invariably include this question as part of the "How are you?s and How do you do?s" and I am left wondering how does it really matter?

Maybe I am cribbing also because I do not have this knack for asking too many nosy questions to others about their lives. I mean if there is something I should know, the other person would tell me himself, right?

Or is it only that I have too many weird people around me?

So, what is your Cause?

A few weeks back, we saw almost the whole of India take on the Govt in support of Anna Hazare. The objective was very noble: to root out corruption from the country and punish the scumbags who have been scouring the country hollow. Prominent amongst those who came out on to the streets to protest were actors, celebrities and youngsters.

Yes. Youngsters. Which should mean that the youth of India is responsible, aware and concerned. That makes the future of India bright and shining indeed. Only if.

Now, I do not wish to make a generalized statement. I am far too ill-informed to make one. Just that a lot of things about the whole incident amuse me to no end. And they, more worryingly, also scare me to some extent.

On TV I saw a school-kid (barely into his teens) making strong statements in support of the movement and justifying his presence at the protest-site. I would have loved to ask that poor soul some more questions about the movement. But I wasn't at the site myself. Now, please do not get me wrong. I am not commenting on the movement or its sanctity at all, in fact if there is something that this post is not about, it's the movement itself.

Gullibility can be dangerous. And something that can be even more dangerous is to think that it is fashionable to project that you are concerned, and aware, and responsible. When a very close friend cajoled me to join him for the candle-light vigil, I implored him - 'Why are you supporting this movement?'
'It's about corruption!' - he glared at me, I being this national traitor.
'So, you think corruption can be eradicated by doing what the movement seeks to do?' I persisted.
He gave me a blank look. 'They are protesting against corruption!' - he tried to redeem himself. And then, to belittle it all, he said, 'Plus the crowd would be good *wink*'...

I have seen people who go the extra mile. From flaunting a habit as eclectic as "I'm Vegetarian on Tuesdays" to something as done-by-all as "I don't wear Fur". They wouldn't touch fire-crackers on Diwali because they support the movement against noise and air pollution, but would go crazy bursting them when Indian cricket team wins the World Cup. The rise of social networking sites has taken these to a new maddening level.

Let's make the world a little more normal, shall we? And no it's not cool if you start a movement for 'making the world normal'!!

It feels like Home

Potholed roads, dirty streets, people bickering over how Dada was cheated and humiliated by that 'enemy of the land' SRK (personally, I detest them both), election loud-speakers and rallies, overcrowded Metros (God didn't want me to miss Mumbai local trains after all), and the horrid weather making you sweaty and smelly. Still, it feels like home. That must be because it is home, duh.

What I am trying to imply is that I do not want to crib about Calcutta the way I used to about Bombay. And that's because there are so many good things about it. For example:

Ambassador Taxis:
Yes, I am fed-up of the tiny Fiat-taxis of Bombay (after bumping my head n number of times, while getting in, while getting out, while sitting in the cab!). The Calcutta taxis are the massive ambassadors, which not only carry 8 people aaram se, and as many luggage bags as you may possibly want to fit in the boot, they also have some other very unique uses, one of which is displayed in the attached picture.


Didi Fights:
Have you ever seen a stern-looking, Bong Didi? If you have not, you may not really get it. These females have  the same look : thick-rimmed glasses, fat round bindi on their forehead, lots of sindoor, always immaculately clad in a saree, and ready to pick up fights with the drop of a hat. And only God can save you from their wrath should you step on their toes or nudge them in a crowded bus. However, when two such Didis fight with each other (which is very often, believe me), it can make for helluva entertainment.

Mishti Doi, Puchka and Jhal-mudi:
Every time I visited Calcutta, I would hog on these like someone who's returned from Sahara. You would think now that I am in Calcutta, I would stuff myself so much that I would cease to like them anymore. Let's say there is no such thing is too much Puchka or Jhal-mudi or Mishti Doi. Yum!

The Chaap factor:
Now, if you speak to the father of a Bong Class X student (or Class XII or College for that matter), you will know how much chaap his son is under. And that is why, his son needs to be fed by his mom like a toddler and also his father needs to carry an umbrella over his head when he steps out. Unfortunately, the chaap factor never goes away. You talk to the GM Finance of a reputed company, and you know that your proposal is taking ages to get cleared because the GM is under so much chaap. This net net means that you can also boast of all the chaap that you carry on your shoulders, shirk work and be happy!

Crib-Post # 1

This is not to say that I don't crib in my other posts. But cribbing is never the focus and only a by-product.
So I thought of starting this series where I could crib with a focussed approach and complete, undivided attention. So, yeah, here we are:

I have always wondered at how bad I am with roads and directions. I mean you can't even imagine how exactly bad. If the directions involve anything but a straight line, I am bound to get lost. This holds true even if I have been to the place frigging 'n' number of times. It gets quite embarrassing at times, but I got to face the shit if there's a problem with me!

And worst part of the deal is when you get into a taxi and tell the cabbie to take you to a certain place and the cabbie asks you which road should he take. Since you are this God's gift to mankind otherwise (except for this small flaw of being bad with directions), you decide to act smart and tell the cabbie to take the road that would take you faster to the destination. In 9 instances out of 10, I can make out a smirk on the driver's face which reads 'Aaj accha murga fansa hai, lemme take the longer route!'

Then there would be friends and relatives who are visiting your city and who assume that you are a free tourist-guide. They would repeatedly call you for directions and random questions about how to reach a certain restaurant / monument from some godforsaken place they were stuck at. Needless to say, you are in for a lot of taanas should you tell them you don't know the way.

Sigh. Life sucks.

And my heart makes a secret wish

The problem with our generation is that we grew up watching Chopra-Barjatya-Johar movies. So we get senti about almost anything in this world. So yeah, I was senti when I was leaving Calcutta for IIMB... and I was super-senti when leaving Bangalore for good. And this blog has indeed seen those maudlin posts from my keyboard.

But this time, it was different.

Maybe because I was coming back home to familiarity. Or maybe because being the cribber that I am, I could see only flaws in the city which so many others would swear by. I never liked Bombay and I have no qualms admitting that. So when people around would ask me 'Wouldn't you miss Bombay?', somehow I could never get myself to say 'Yes, I will'.

But it was in the last few weeks of my stay in the city of dreams that I finally started getting that familiar old sinking feeling. And I didn't really know why. My friends had taken it upon themselves to make sure that these weeks form a memorable part of my stay in Bombay. And they did - making me aware of all the things I will miss about Bombay. So when I took one last look at Bombay through the clouds after the plane had taken-off... I found my heart making a secret wish.

So yeah a new beginning. Once again.