IIFA showcases yet another great Indian divide on global stage

[This appeared in TFW]

So Bollywood has done it yet again, just like they have been doing since 2000. In Macao the entire galaxy of glitterati - from mega stars and super stars to the just-arrived starlets and the outdated and near-expiry ones showcased what it claims 'Indian' films to world audience.

Kudos to the academy for naming the awards aptly - International Indian Film Academy Awards!

 

On the one hand we cry hoarse when Hollywood directors show our slums or one of our own is offered a role in their movies. They are damaging India's image; it's in bad taste; this is not the real India...to what a miniscule role; not justified to his/her talent…Headlines scream out, channels pan out and film critics mince no words. And on the other hand, we showcase our selected talent and take heart that we have arrived and soothe our bruised egos.

The IIFA act raises two pertinent questions - do we feel hurt or insulted when foreign directors show the poor shades of India or is it an inferiority complex in us, trying to compare ourselves to Hollywood? Else why should only the Bollywood glitz be presented to the world in the name of Indian cinema?

Bollywood may be self-dubbed as the face of Indian cinema but it definitely does not represent Indian cinema at large. There are hordes of excellent films being made across the country each year, not to forget the versatile actors in other languages.

When India has no dearth of talent, why showcase only Hindi movies and Bollywood actors? It's time IIFA presents the real mosaic of country's film fraternity if the academy needs to be true to its name.

But that will take a lot of courage because old habits die hard. If the Bollywood bandwagon aka IIFA brainstormers care to change themselves they can begin by taking the most obvious cue out from their dream land. There are no mega stars and super stars in Hollywood. Only actors or artists. Think of what India would be sans stars!

Aping can be done either clumsily or with elan. If the 'Bollywood Oscar Academy' believes only Bollywood glitterati can be compared to Hollywood sheen, so be it.

I suggest the Kapoors, Bachchans and Khans endorse a few regional picks and allow the world see the true dimensions and reach of the true Indian cinema.

And to begin with, the media need to stop referring to regional films as the 'poorer cousins of Bollywood'.

Until such time, IIFA would be putting yet another great Indian divide on the global stage - 'The glitz divide'! Don’t we have enough already. Beginning with the Aryan-Dravidian divide; the urban-rural divide; the north-south divide, the rich-poor divide...the list only seems to get longer as the nation progresses.

Little wonder foreigners film our country and describe it to their whim and fly out with impunity.

A night-out I kept the husband waiting

Okay, so this was a busy weekday. Monday, to be precise. I rushed back home from work, cooked dinner for my girl, instructed her for the following morning, checked my mail, set out my clothes for next day and hopped into the car for a night-out. My man drove me for some most treasured moments…

It was a perfect setting. The sun-kissed heritage site that nestled the Orient Guest House was at its serene best as I hugged my partner. The gleaming sandy low-rise was the only witness to our emotions.

Even as I felt the busy Bur Dubai road, where stressed-out motorists were wearing out their patience on respecting bumper distance, and heard the brakes screeching, children screaming, vendors ranting, a wave of solitude billowed our senses, the moment we felt the coarse tiles beneath.

 

We have passed this place a hundred times since we moved to Dubai, but never realised the wealth it beheld.

The stillness the courtyard held nudged awake memories of our childhood. The narrow alleys led to spacious courtyards that had benches beneath trees, similar to the ones we rushed to grab with our tiffin boxes in school during recess. We clicked. One for the album.

 

We walked past another alley when I saw a limb jutting out from the roof of an open door. Eerie. I instantly leaned for support. But after spotting two security guards on the bench at the far-end, courage seeped in my cells and I took another look at the roof. Now, I saw a palm protruding from the ceiling, as well. Eeks! I let them hang and hurried behind, when I saw the board in bold – it was an Art Hotel within the premises.  

With a renewed spring in our steps, we now decided to check out the Bastakiya area, before appeasing our tummies.

We experienced a bygone era as the sikkas led us through tall wind towers and window less walls and hanging lamps on the beautifully restored almost-century old architecture.

A little away, across the street, the Arabian Courtyard was another world unto itself. Amid cafés, galleries and antique shops, we wandered soaking in the experience.

I even picked up a unique hand-made set of seed jewellery as a token of our visit.

Dinner was yum...

By 11pm we decided to retire for the night… the courtyard that took us to our room had neatly arranged antique tables and chairs, with yet another tree and, in this one was, a beverage counter.

The small-framed carved wooden door opened into an aesthetically done room that sang Arabic. Right from the décor and colours to the smell and the feel, it was old-world Arabia wrapped in modernity.

We spoke into the wee hours until our eyelids slurred our vocals…

 

… I was jolted awake when my phone rang.

4.15am.

I turned back to sleep, when it buzzed again.

“Umm”, I said dropping the gadget on my ears.  

“Good morning. I’m waiting for you.”

I sneaked out carefully so as not to wake my partner up and wobbled toward the waiting car.

The husband tucked me beside him and I slept on his shoulders as he drove me back home.

Breakfast, lunch, work…My day unfolded just like another!

 

 

 

Morally conscious papas and mamas @ work

Becoming a parent is bliss. The act of nurturing the bundles into young adults is a blessing.

Tradition, culture, values, beliefs, faith, empowerment, education, vocation, passion… name it, we guide our kids the best way we can in all ways we can at all times we can until we ever can. I know of mamas and papas who are so obsessed with parenthood that honorary doctorates would fall short for their priceless research on offspring rearing. From the best curriculums, the best teaching methods, the best schools in towns, the best extra-curricular activities that can put the kids directly on that spaceship…they know the best.

Here are some comments of such ethically and morally conscious parents I have been privy to.

“Oh! **** ***school. I don’t like that. Have you seen their uniform? You just need to look at the way those students walk.”

“I’ll never look at *****. Do you know they hire housewives as teachers there?”

‘Children should settle abroad. They have no future in India.’

Interestingly, these are parents extraordinaire who will wash down culture, manners, ethics and morals down their kids’ esophagus with their daily Bournvita.  Check these out…

“I punish my son, if he doesn’t do his bed every morning before going to school.”

“I call my neighbour’s kids every weekend to play with my daughter. It’s important she learns to share her toys and space.”

“I ensure my girl washes her undergarments herself.”

“I reward my son with an ice-cream every Sunday, if he keeps his toys in place through the week.”

Courtesy: TFW

Now, these mamas and papas after disciplining their wards and planning for their future, when they turn up at workplaces, play brooders. Place a clutch of eggs under them and rest assured your tea-time sandwich is taken care of.

The office boy should collect the print-outs from the printer. ‘That’s his job’, they remind you and yell,  ‘where the hell is that idiot!’

He should offer coffee, guessing their sugar swings, at regular intervals without being told. That’s his job. ‘How many years, you’ve been giving me coffee. You still can’t get it right!’

The cleaner should wash their lipstick-kissed or cigarette-smelling cups after their last sip. That’s his job. Otherwise, the stained cups will accumulate beside their keyboard for days!

If newcomers commit an error, they are corrected loudly and clearly. ‘We also started like this!’

If juniors show enthusiasm, then they are passively bullied. ‘He needs to be shown his place now, else tomorrow he’ll shit on our scalp!’

Once they are done with disciplining co-workers they get down to executing their own future plans…They will block all calendar holidays in advance and if an emergency befalls any colleague during their pre-planned holiday, they will fall ill with a contagious disease!

And, yes, when they sense work pressure increasing or deadlines nearing, their kids would be performing in a surprise orchestra and they would have to be present at school right away...'to boost their morale'!

M...orally-conscious florals!

Every dog has its day…today!

The Financial World published this on June 18 under the title 'What makes News in this viral world?'

But I prefer the doggy title...

....because as you see even I've had my days...



 

‘Dog bites man’ is not News. ‘Man bites dog’ makes News. So I was taught and I have been following diligently until the virus corrupted my sense of judgment. I woke up to the fact the ‘man biting dog’ can be insipid in this age, because every dog is having its day. If you thought one is worth his salt a pinch more, you will regret having formed an opinion too early. The viral world doesn’t let you see a pattern, forget setting one.

If you thought something did well and attempted at mimicking the same you will be left chewing the bone. Alone. You never know what word or action will catch the fancy of billions. Any idea why Psy’s Gangnam style got infants and the aged alike to lift their feet? When our very own Kolaveri happened, I thought better of it. But now with the Korean going bonkers, I prefer our Tamil beats. May be it’s got to do with native virus in my ears that’s hung itself.

One suicide has caught the fancy of the whole nation, whose many citizens opt for similar endings for, again, similar alleged reasons. Yet Jiah Khan and her boy of afriend have captured curious public interest. Probably it was the heart-felt note that was uploaded for public viewing that did the trick. So, will another high profile suicide with a love-torn note create such frenzy. No betting on that!

When IPL scandal exploded in multi-colours and cricket lovers gave up in sighed resignation, one player sprung up more popular for reasons other than the alleged case. His Dawood Ibrahim jeans! Trust underworld to make light of issues? You may end up counting stars, if yours are not aligned right.

Attempt speaking about the bombs that blasted in 1993; add as many gory and insensitive adjectives and adverbs to the incident, and you will still have people groping for the connect. But open with Sanjay Dutt and emotions, reactions and actionswill explode unto you that you will regret even having mentioned it. The actor has covered the real faces behind the blast. Wanna stress home the futility point in an unfortunate incident by using glamorous face in future. By all means, at your own risk!

In fact, risk is the only constant in today’s times when success is defined not by how much of what you possess rather by how much of what you possess is out at what speed. The secret to the risk is, just let go. Even those umms, aahs, uhhs and eeks… record them all. They may just about click the senses of a billion.

Mingling with husband’s women colleagues

So there was yet another get-together this weekend and I was at my social best. From picking up the right ear drops to matching my dress to selecting the footwear that stood me at a decent height with my better half, I carefully planned my evening before setting out to play the guest wife.

The venue: One of the husband’s colleague’s living room; The group: His office friends cum colleagues. Occasion: Informal hang-out with families of a formal group.

We were the first couple to arrive and the host greeted us with all their freshness. A 20-minute of individual attention I enjoyed, when walked in the next couple. I shifted from my place to sit opposite facing the new arrival. The woman started off hurriedly about the invitees expected. I was quiet to give her time to finish gossiping before the accused arrived. When she stopped to breathe, I asked, how she was, and she replied something on the lines, ‘always fine’.

I smiled.

Then three women arrived and sat with the earlier one on the two-seater sofa. I shifted from my earlier position and pulled a chair and sat rubbing my knees to one of them.  

Then the volley started. The one in the centre said, ‘That areshole, what does he think of himself…' and I pitched in that I have an equally stinking boss. They smiled and one at the extreme left said, ‘Don’t know why teachers give projects. I have no time…' and I pitched in that kids need to be made self-sufficient. They smiled reluctantly, and the extreme right said, ‘I’m joining the online networking group. Easy money, that is…' and I pitched in that one needs to be shameless. They almost smiled, and the one second from left said, ‘I’m planning to go on an all-carb diet. Look at this tummy…' and I pitched in that diets don’t work. They ignored me.

In between arrived the star attraction of the group. She sat 30 inches away from the foursome, 15 inches to my right. Every time, she spoke, one of the sofa-seaters voiced her thoughts by leaning over to poke her. In quick succession, the other nudged her thigh and started, ‘You know what…’. Three minutes later, another scratched her hand, and said, ‘Did you hear…’ One minute later, her feet was kicked at, and said, “By the way...”

The act continued until dinner was served and I rushed to grab the two-seater. My three seat-sharers started the menu dissection. Spare a thought for the hostess, I said and they ignored me scooping one another’s dessert over my plate.

In the wee hours, when we bid our byes, they opened their arms and craned their necks. Refusing to smell their earlobes, I waved my manicured fingers, instead and smiled.

The next evening when the husband returned from work, he said, “They think you are a stuck-up person.”

I smiled.

PS: All puns unintented because I prefer being stuck-up to sticking out!

Jiah Khan killed over and over again

Courtesy: TFW

So it’s a week since Bollywood starlet Jiah Khan’s untimely death. And she has been killed several times over since last Monday. Every time a journo decides to write a hypothetical analysis comparing her end to stars who committed suicide in the past, she is mercilessly killed yet again.

So what if the girl’s family and friends are just steadying themselves up from the shock of her demise? Media was headlong into cashing in on Jiah Khan’s death, gleeful that headlines and eyeballs for the following few days has been taken care of.

Indeed, media should inform. It was a young talent that has gone waste. And if the case warranties investigation and when the same is concluded by competent authorities, then the results should be splashed across.

But no! There was alcohol and anti-depressants put into her system and work pressure and depression measured in her cells. Alright, there can’t be smoke without fire. So let the media get the benefit of doubt, but shouldn’t they keep the reasons across the table for someone in the know of things to speak.

Agreed only those who ‘Break’ News can keep up with the heat of competition and survive, but isn’t there something called ethics? ‘We were the first to report about who found her hanging…’; ‘We were the first to report about the suicide note…’; We were the first to write about the boy whom she last spoke to….’ It’s not an unprecedented trip to Jupiter that warranties exclusive watermarks. PLEASE!

The breaking news phenomenon, unfortunately, is not confined to mainstream media alone. All and sundry today want to break into two-seconds of fame. Legendary singer Manna Dey, who is hospitalized, was mercilessly RIP-ped by Tweeps, before his doctor tweeted his “condition is stable at the moment”.

Sad, but true, if disastrous incidents make News, then celebrities’ pathos and plights make bigger News. But that’s catering to public interest at large. So be it. But we sure can exercise more conscientiousness and stop being ruthless savages. Consider these comparative stories that made headlines riding on Jiah Khan’s coffin. Like Jiah Khan… List of celebrities who died young; List of Bollywood dreams gone sour; List of little known wonders who had spoken of depression; List of those made eternal by suicide…PATHETIC!

Cashing-in on someone’s death is a form of cannibalism!

Gen Next kids...funky, sassy, mini-adults with touching sickness!

[This appeared in today's The Financial World]

Courtesy: TFW

I have worked with four generations – the baby boomers, Gen X, Gen Y and the current Gen Z or more popularly called the Gen Next.

Looking at them through the present-day lens, I find the Rock n Roll Boomers the ‘boastful types’. But if you cultivate the patience to let them tell their story first, rest assured you can count on their support. And you know how their stories begin? “In 1961 when I was with…”

The Gen X is the ‘I-told-you-so types’. Most of them are self-made men who woke up to seeing a rising women force. You can count on their support, too, provided you live through their opening lecture. “In our days, we never had such…”.

The Gen Y is the ‘in-the-fast-lane types’. Born in the digital age, they will not hesitate to call their twin, old generation.

Now, coming to Gen Z, I’m lost for a description. The more I try understanding them, the more they confuse me. And the least I try analyzing them, the more fun they are to be with.

No conundrums here. Think of this. Until a couple of years ago, dudes were restricted to alpha males. Today, even girls as young as eight love to play dude.

These miniature models are anything but fastidious in their manner.

‘Just chill, I’ll do it!’ [When reminded its study time]

‘You guys carry on!’ [When asked to go out with parents]

‘What the heck!’ [When the TV was switched off, mid-programme]

These are common exclamatory responses to any parental communication. If you are wary of which ceiling they will break when in their own company, you just have to sneak into their space.

‘What man! Even I did not finish the project. BTW, many will not do. You see otherwise.’

‘O God! Your hair is so wet! You had head bath morning, morning?’

‘Ee, you are so dirty. Drinking water with your mouth!’

‘Don’t act like a queen. It’s nice, take a bite. I have no touching sickness!’

At each instance, by the time we hold our belly and restrict the urge to scoop them up, they turn adults.

‘So mom, tell me how was your day in office today? ‘

‘I’m selected for the choir. The full-sleeve shirt I’ll borrow from my friend. Why buy just for one day.’

‘You can give me toast for dinner. You take rest for some time more.’

And just when your heart aches, there they roll…

‘Dad works so hard. Not like you updating Facebook in office and saying you are tired.’

‘Wear that orange dress when you come for the art exhibition, okay. My friends will see you.’

Guess, that’s why they are also called  Gen Next! You can never be sure of what they come up with next. Lol! 

PS: Must roll over and check if lols are outdated, now that I've learnt to use it!