Break ke Baad

One of the first thing I liked about this movie was it didn’t talk about being pretentiously different.And its not! It’s a rom-com that deals with love, relationship, its expectations, its frustrations, two people coming together, finding each other, breaking up, finding themselves.
Lets face it most romantic comedies are predictable to the core, the audience demands a happy ending. I mean c’mmon, would you have watched million re runs if Geet got married to Anshuman instead, and all Aditya was left with was memories of Jab They Met? Didn’t we all know Jai does not believe in Love Aaj Kal, but he will desperately seek Meera back? Jay Dhingra may Hate Luv Storys but in the end he did use candy floss to woo Simran Sharma. They’re all predictable, the chances of a 'Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam are rare and wide.

So yes if you are open to watching a predictable ‘guy gets girl in the end ‘ kinda story you’ll like Break ke Baad. What’s not predictable is Imran and Deepika’s performance.
The film opens on Abhay Gulati’s (Imran Khan) sister getting married. The opening credits are very innovative as for the first time, marriage props are used as more than just props. Abhay & Aaliya’s (Deepika) characters are well established in the first 15 mins of the film. While Abhay is about stability, acceptance, dependence, support and sometimes even compromise, he does not believe in throwing a spanner in the works. Aaliya on the other hand will fling every single tool from the kit and then amaze at how it still works! Free spirited that she is, she’s all about how, why and the smartest one lines. Apart from being chalk and cheese Abhay and Aaliya are also childhood sweethearts.

The problem begins when like most of us Aaliya too, starts equating habit to love. Fighting resistance she moves to Australia to pursue her dreams. Distance and misunderstandings between her and Abhay make her claustrophobic and she decides to take a break from being a pair. The phrase ‘taking a break’ has been beautifully played because many a times when we ask for it, we don’t really know what it means. Does the momentary freedom that comes with the break have boundaries and a time limit? What happens if we start enjoying this freedom? Is the other person just supposed to hang a wall clock waiting for us to return?

Abhay follows his heart to Australia in the hope of winning Aaliya back. But things don’t quiet turn out as planned. The story or the narration is not necessarily the best we’ve seen, but there are sensitive and vulnerable moments which have been sweetly underplayed.

After Abhay & Aaliya’s bitter break up, there comes a moment when all Aaliya needs is a friend. But considering the history they’ve shared she pleads for one moment when they can forget everything and just be two individuals - Abhay & Aaliya. We all need that sometimes. Sometimes you wish the moment to be just about two people, not about the history they’ve shared, not about the baggage they carry or the strings attached. But can two people really go back to being just friends? Sure they can, but there will always be an invisible umbilical cord hanging somewhere.

As the movie progresses Aaliya & Abhay shuffle along leading separate lives, understanding and discovering themselves. But we all know the climax is not going to be about a road less travelled. When Aaliya finds out through a common friend that Abhay is getting married she is livid. Not because of the obvious, but considering they’ve been best friends and she encouraged him to move on – she wasn’t the first to know!

Aaliya’s character has been nicely essayed through her dialogues, she’s confused, she thinks she’s figured life out, she thinks she knows what she wants but questions it when it stares her in the face. Her general state of denial usually gets her upset over the wrong things. She flies back to India to confront Abhay, goes down on one knee with his grandmothers ring, confesses she has no idea why she loves him, but knows that she’s never felt like this about anyone before and if he still has the chance to make a choice, he should choose her. Deepika has managed to essay Aaliya’s selfishness, fear, anxiety & innocence all very well.

More than romance or comedy, I would say this film is really about two friends, its more about Deepika, with Imraan playing the supporting actor.
On the soundtrack , Vishal Shekhar and Prasoon Joshi have done a palatable job. I love the lyrics of Dhoop ke makaan and wouldn’t mind shaking a shoulder to Adhoore. The background score is more an aide to the visuals then something you can take with you to clubs.
All in all I’d say if it makes you smile and not squirm through two hours it’s worth it!

The Traffic Jam Nirvana

Ever since I rediscovered Eminem , there has never been a quiet moment. He’s either on my speakers or my headphone. It’s just never been quiet. Until this morning.
I felt all alone, worried. The ride to work was silent. I tried having conversations with myself but all I could narrate were lyrics. Angry Eminem lyrics. It was then that I decided to hold my head up, look out the window and take notice of how the world had moved on. It had been three weeks since I paid attention to anything out my car window. A lot still remained unchanged, just forgotten.

I’d forgotten how at 9 AM the yoga batch dismisses. At 9:15, buses line outside to drop off school kids. All along, the sound of kids dragging their bodies against my car I’d mistaken for the quality of my headphones. Kids screaming and running across were mere background vocals in a lot of songs. The irritating honks were drowned by electronic beats and the traffic…what traffic? didn’t notice any for the last three weeks. Today I noticed em’ all.

Suddenly my thoughts and I got thrown off the seat as the car braked suddenly. Only I travelled a little further than my thoughts as I saw a bike cut in. Tiny hands clutching into a bag is what curtailed my animal instinct to abuse. A father got off the bike, taking off his helmet, began to attend to the crooked collar of his six year old. He then proceeded to comb the little boy’s cropped hair into a neat parting, fixed the last knot on his red tie, tucked his yellow t-shirt into his half pants that reached just below his knees and then kissed his son a good day. The repackaged son then looked into the bikes mirror re-shifted his parting, checked if his toothpaste is still fighting germs. He strained his neck for one last glance in the mirror as his father yanked him onto his feet from the back seat. Cute!
I smiled. Cause 20 yrs ago, my brother did just the same.

The tyres resumed to roll. Pink clouds suddenly flooded my windows. I wondered if candy floss still tasted the same. I rummaged for change through my belongings, so did 5 other kids. Only I didn’t get to know if it still tastes the same. A little behind the candy man were a group of girls, animatedly involved with their cell phones. I rolled my window down to listen. Unaware they divulged details on how she won the bet, Rahul did have a crush on Nidhi, made plans for all to meet for coffee after school.
I had 5 friends and we were named after our choices. Latte, Express, Blackie, Cold &  hot.
Too hot, window rolling right up!
*!Bang!*
*!Hey!*
*!Sorry!*should have been the affix, but the boy was so involved in perfecting his swing that the sound of the his watch crashing into my window was drowned by the imaginary crowd, supposedly cheering in his almost knocked off head! My anger brought back flashes of anger. I had to calm her down when my brother was perfecting his back hand pick up - outside the squash court and had unintentionally whacked her in the ass. Or was it intentional? mmm don’t remember now, but it was difficult to explain, in the absence of a racquet. She was angry.

My anger also got distracted by these three kids who were trying to climb a rickety railing adorning the side pavement. Their foot hold is all wrong! I know and stitches hurt. Sometimes that’s the only way to learn how not to place your foot the next time. The little brats, their attention channelized in undoing an unsuspecting girl’s plait. Now, that I’m not familiar with, my childhood was spent sporting an afro cause my parents never read ‘how to deal with curly hair’ and Jamal Haamid has only now come to work for Sunsilk, the perfect curls and all that blah. So when I was growing up it was a mushroom. No ribbons, but I knew of girls who did have to tie their ribbons tighter.

She kept turning his face towards her but each time he’d move her hand and his look would gradually turn diagonal. She finally lost the battle with the aliens in the auto across and huffed away. He followed, but only long after smiles were exchanged and the auto had driven out of sight. We’ve all been there. Some of us the ‘smiler’ some the ‘smilee’, but we’ve all been there. I noticed what actually caught the boys attention was the loud singing coming from that direction. Only difference was we restricted our singing to classrooms and Britney Spears had not “hit me baby one more time” yet. C’mmon any guy would look if you sang “Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me!” Bad! Very bad! (chuckle*)

Sometimes just one look and you can assess a personality type. (Warning: superpower known to malfunction under the influence of alcohol, in the presence of a hot hunk, or a lethal combination of both!) She’s definitely a teacher and is just about to kill a batch of 20-30 people. Wish causing ‘Death by boredom’ was an unpardonable offense. Schools would have been so much better!
This one batch agrees with me for sure. They may stuff away red tie evidences into their bags, but the yellow shirts scream ‘Culprit’! Bunking class to watch the morning show of Robot! Let’s hope their supervisor doesn’t fancy this show as well. Our entire batch got expelled, cause we were stupid. Stupid to A) jump the school wall thinking no one would notice. Every one of the 30 stupid of us thought the same. B) that we all decided to go for the same show to the same theatre. C) that one of us had discussed the plan in the washroom!
As soon as the visiting professor washed his hands he headed straight to the Deans Cabin.

A little boy held onto the dangling end of his mother ‘s dupatta, following, as she darted traffic. Sometimes feeling secure is just that simple. They passed a fat boy digging into his sandwich. A huge blob of jam was discharged and headed straight for his t-shirt. He dodged and the bomb dislocated on the floor, much to the delight of a surprised stray who lapped up every last trace. Lunch box’s are lame anyway. Whoever waited to open it till 5 hrs later.

***ttttttrrrrinnnggggg**** went off the school bell. All those on my side of the wall dashed across madly. The bell so to say was the trigger for the series of the day. As I watched 3 small boys run towards the gate with their ‘larger than life’ school bags I was reminded of an equation: Momentum = mass X velocity. One worried parent went to the board concerned about the work load that his grade 2 child had been laden with. He was honest about not having the time to research things that his eight year old was expected to write essays on, leave alone barely pronounce. Other parents joined in. soon this became a flaring debate. I graduated. 15 yrs later, that worried parent’s child graduated. But the debate is yet to. I think this agony will be a never ending part of a never revised curriculum.

Their tiny legs astonished me. How fast & furious. Then suddenly they stopped. “Smaller the mass of the object, smaller is the momentum”. Hence he could break oh so suddenly. Button ‘Panic’ was also hit simultaneously. His left shoe couldn’t catch up. He tried retracing his steps, panicking as the bell rung harder and louder this time. Each time he’d try to bend down, the weight on his back pulled him to the floor. He’d soon stand tall like a warring soldier only to taste dust again. I stopped the car and ran towards the inconsolable child. But I was beaten. A little fairy, her shoe size, not much smaller than my palm, reached out to him. But not a wand she held the missing shoe instead. She waited. I waited. He wiped his tears. Sat down. Wore it again. She watched. Fidgeted with her specs and then without a warning they ran off into opposite directions. I waited. No one looked back. By the time I reached the car they had all disappeared. The street was empty. Quiet, like the last 15 minutes were only voices of my imagination. The traffic moved on.

I was here but far away. Today I experienced things that I had experienced 20 yrs ago, that my parents may have experienced 40 yrs ago. That you may have experienced not so long ago.

Which makes me conclude - life doesn’t move on. Only people do. Only time changes. Life with all its experiences stays right there. Only a different set of people move in and around its realms.

So yes another year...yawn**

After 32 years of my life, I find myself quizzing over all the messages and good wishes that I’ve gratefully been blessed with. What does a birthday mean? Does it always remain a long week of expecting and receiving? Or does one ever become old enough for people to not know “what you want” and that translates into gift vouchers, flowers or just warm hugs.

Getting out of the shower into brand new clothes – does that stop once you don’t have to carry a box of chocolates to school? Do you know you’re old when people stop pulling your cheeks after asking your age? Or stop asking your age altogether.
At what age does the excitement of getting out of bed, to greet the world, get replaced by feelings of wanting to lie under cover – forever!

Is it a sign when large parties of unknown faces morph into 6 close friends?
At what point in time do you stop snooping around your friends to make sure your surprise birthday party goes as planned. When does one of them not being around or forgetting to wish you no longer seem like a reason to kill.

Mom fussing over my birthday, is now embarrassing. The secret code between two people to ensure the cake arrives on time – is no longer a secret code. At what point does “Nothing” become an acceptable answer to “what do you want for your birthday?”
The pride that you feel in announcing that you are a day older today, when does that turn into a reminiscence of how you are actually a YEAR older today. When do plans of things you want to achieve when you grow up turn into just plans and then some more.

How old are you when you’re just happy to be healthy and alive? But you can never be old enough for your eyes to spark up brighter than a 100 candles when you see your cake.

Will I Do It Again - is the question

It all started in a small motel room . Under the blanket of darkness a long winding day was unwinding. He hesitantly asked me if ‘I wanted to do it’? I was scared at first, but the thought of flirting with the unknown gave birth to new moths in my stomach.

The two hour drive was infested with excitement and jitters. I was surprised to find ourselves on this road – for real. We were booked for a 3 pm jump. Our first sky diving session! We manipulated arriving just in time. Enough to pay up and board, but not enough to room a change of mind. However, after reaching we realized, our batch was scheduled for two hours later. We changed into our diving gear (quite pleased with the astronaut look), ate, sipped on coffee, took loads of exciting pictures of others and ourselves , just in case if we chickened on the jump, we could lie about having done it anyway. Or, if we didn’t make it down safely, they would have retrieved my camera. Either ways I wanted to leave enough evidence of what was about transpire.

We were led into a room and made to watch a safety video. A track from Top gun played in the background, six total strangers bonded over the most coveted task their lives were about to experience. We smiled, exchanged jokes with the instructor while she handed out declaration forms to be signed. My cold palms had no idea about the journey my nervous system was about to embark on. I had been handed a declaration of full waiver – IN CASE OF DEATH.

WHAT?!!!!

The man in me was not about to fright. I decided to read on:
1.…Sport parachuting is not completely safe..we cannot guarantee that both or either of your parachutes will open properly. We do not guarantee that any of your back up devices will function properly.
(Ok! Good to know)

2.…You may get hurt even if you do everything correctly
(Very encouraging)

3...Typical injuries include broken legs, broken ankles, broken neck or death
(hahahaha! Who they trying to scare!)

4.….your instructor is human and is capable of making mistakes.

5.….Your equipment is made by human beings and therefore is not perfect and can malfunction
(Stuff you really should know, before you decide to jump!)

6.…I WILL NOT SUE whatever the reasons are for attaining any bodily, moral or material injury sustained by me or even death due to reasons including negligence….
(the man in me is just about to fright!)

Slow motion was stranger than fiction now, people were blurry, the track from top gun was skipping as it played off a beaten record. I was slowly recovering from my partial comma when a distorted contralto pitch spoke “please sign on each page and have the person next to you sign, as witness.”

They gave us another hour for the message to sink in, or to quietly use the back door. The next hour as we acclimatized with our jump suits there was more coffee, shots of people scooping out of the sky, some perfect landing marvels, some just "landed,thank god!" marvels and nerves were much calmer now. That’s when I heard my name on the loudspeaker.
“Hi I’m chad”
“Great! So you’re the guy who’ll save me from dying?”
“No! I’m the guy who’ll film you dying!”

Rule No:1 – always maintain your sense of humour.

They shoot your first experience for memory with the extra 100$ that you pay. Which reminds me I should ask for a refund cause mine has more branding and someone doing a cheap imitation of me, only a more nervous & nasal combination of Chip and Dale on XTC!

At an altitude of 11,000 ft, my instructor asked me to sit on his lap?!! To get strapped on ofcourse. What if he figures out what my weight is? Knew I should have passed on that cheddar cheese bagel from Tim Hortan’s! At 13,500 ft the doors opened. It was all fine, till I blinked and in that second missed seeing the person ahead of me disappear. That’s all it takes? A second!!!

I was too shocked to scream. The lack of oxygen in the free fall slapped me in the face as I tried to recall a reason for not mentioning ‘asthama and sinus’ under medical conditions. My nose was no longer capable of performing the primary function it was designed for , I grasped for air, panicked and occasionally remembered to smile for the guy filming the fiasco (if something did happen to me, imagine the number of people who’d view this video. Looking half a pro was a must!)

At 5000 ft above ground is when the parachute opens up and whooopaaa! Away it jerks you. This is the point when you start enjoying the ride as your glide slowly descends & the phase of morphing into THE MASK is over. The next one minute was very peaceful and so quiet that I thought I’d reached heaven. While I waited for god to speak a rather familiar voice asked me if I was ok?! He also let me know that in his 26 yrs of experience he’s never been kicked as much as today. I let him talk, I was enjoying the decent. Soon the earth started looking greener, the gushing sound of wind reduced, objects under my feet enlarged , there were more colors than blue. Vision and other senses started to resurface, and I felt the soft ground underneath. Tears of joy clouded me. My bucket list had one more tick.

And Yes! ALL OVER AGAIN!

Rajneeti

After a lot of begging, pleading and when all else failed even threatening, did I finally get passes for the premier of Rajneeti. It’d been a while since K3G released, thus the chance of watching so many actors on one screen sounded alluring. More alluring than that was getting a chance to see Ranbir Kapoor, Katrina Kaif and Arjun Rampal walk the red carpet. Due to over enthusiasm I ended up arriving much earlier and was whisked inside the mall by security, in order to avoid crowding outside. So to much disappointment I missed watching them put their best foot and smile forward as the shutter bugs flashed. Instead we had to wait near the escalator, which lead up to the screens (secretly hoping I’ll grab one of them as they came up).

Came they did, one by one, but the time they spent smiling at their fans seemed shorter than a lions intercourse. At least they smiled, Katrina poker faced fidgeted with her hair as if she was a part of the lion’s intercourse! How they behave when media is not watching. These stars I tell you!

After the hysteria, it was time for the real low down. A take on India’s dynastic political system, Prakash Jha’s multi cuisine definitely had the ingredients for a good opening. The story revolves around a few people, who control the destiny of million others. Ambitious minds,lust for power and dirty politics. After the head of a leading political party falls ill, he appoints his younger brother as his successor to run for elections. This however leaves his son Manoj Bajpai out on the dryer. Bajpai is enraged with his father’s decision and hereon begins a bloody war of ballots between the two families. Arjun Rampal and Ranbir Kapoor play Manoj Bajapi’s cousins and thus reigns an ugly battle for supremacy.

The first half of the movie was racy and interesting as each character was introduced with short but powerful performances. Nasseruddin Shah along with age seems to be adding on the risqué factor with each performance. First the ‘khalujaan mein se khalu nikaal do’ act in Ishiqya and now a rain dance, a smooch and a one night stand. But we don’t mind. Aesthetics.

Manoj Bajpai and Ajay Devgan both delivered just as much expected, so there wasn’t any over the edge performance. Arjun Rampal was a surprise to watch. He delivered more than two and a half expressions and looked hotter than ever. So completely forgiven. Also added in the surprise package was Nana Patekar’s performance which was very unlike characters he usually portrays. No hamming, screaming, spurting blood or fire from the eye, or breaking anything but constant smiles. For once I liked and I don’t think the kids got scared either.
Katrina Kaif, they said this performance was meant to lift her into a different category of actors. They were wrong. I still think she looks more believable romancing Akshay or Ranbir, then being a sari clad grieving widow, delivering melodramatic, out dated dialogues in chaeshth hindi. Her dialogue delivery failed to string on the audiences emotions.

Ranbir Kapoor. I’d just like to say ‘perfect’ and end this post right here, but I wouldn’t want you think that my bias stems from the fact that he’s the single most attractive, salivacious, lusted after, dreamaliscious, actor, dancer that we have going today. So putting your bogus theories aside I’d like to expand upon the fact that he played the character of Samar Pratap to the hilt. Due to circumstances he gets sucked into the arena of family rivalry, only to turn into a master of the craft of political warfare. The story portrays his determination to protect his family in the bloodiest of political battle.
He is very convincing when he portrays the introvert brother studying abroad. Equally convincing as he morphed into a calculative politician. Full points for playing a loving boyfriend, and we even empathized with his character when he was manipulating Katrina Kaif’s feelings for him (no pun intended). All in the name of family. During the course of the film, Ranbir Kapoor made you connect with Samar Pratap’s trying circumstances. I’d definitely vote for him.

Moving on to the other titty – bitty’s - Dialogues – OH MY GOSH!!! Which era did Prakash Jha think he was making the movie for?!! Even Salman Khan’s Veer set in 1825 had people speaking a simpler language. C’mmon which mother says ‘tum mere jayesht putra ho!’ no wonder Ajay Devgan looked angry in the scene, I bet even he couldn’t understand that all she meant was you’re my first son.I personally feel, every illegitimate child should be spared the ‘main aur tumhare pita us raat, bhavnao ki aandhi mein beh gaye…’ kind of lines. He gets the point. Referring to one’s self as ‘hum’ is as outdated as Juhi Chawla in Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak. By the time the third leading lady gets preganant, pregnancy too starts feeling outdated.

The only place I’d say Rajneeti scores without a debate is on the soundtrack.Inviting a collection of varied composers offers seasoning for a diverse platter. On loop, on my playlist would be Bheegi Si Bhaagi Si, composed by Pritam,a mid tempo catchy number and thereafter shifting the mood is More Piya composed by Aadesh Shrivastav. Unfortunately they’re both not featured in the film.
So overall if you get tickets for half the price then this movie could be a bargain.

Sugar Daddy

Some of us are more famous for being directionally challenged, than successfully letting go of ‘things’ from their handbag. In my case, the famousness extends to both, in no particular order. As some may generously describe there is a higher permutation for the earthen plates to realign till the destination finds me v/s me seeking out the destination.

Landmarks, they say, are an easy trick. So I go by landmarks. Large neon signs, the smell of a bakery round the corner, a hut at the curb. But it’s not always that easy I discovered late one night, when the neon sign was out of order rendering the hut into darkness, as it stood still next to a lonely bakery out of business!

But life’s not always that harsh. I have found solace in one such landmark that has claimed to challenge the earthen plates and has not moved for the last 20 yrs. A sugarcane cart. A 5 ft man has been selling sugarcane juice from his manually operated cart for as long as the last 20 yrs. As a lone warrior he talks about how he’s been around long enough to experience the changing topography, depleting ozone layer, increase of methane in the atmosphere and other such decade defining events.
The first thing that caught my fancy about this arrangement was not his expertise on life but the fact that in today’s technologically advanced era he still uses a manual juice extraction machine. An electronically operated one would churn out twice the amount for the time it takes him to swing a whole 360 degrees on his handle for 1 cane.

After getting past my initial expression of ‘are you for real?!!’ I was deeply moved by what I thought was an attempt to save the environment. I felt sorry for the situation and did the unthinkable (no! not buy him a machine. Though the thought did cross my mind once, and then I moved on very quickly). Feeling pressured to bond, as I quietly sipped on my tall glass in his company I launched upon him my array of questions.

Very soon all my suggestions were being scoffed upon and run down into the rising dust. “Your fingers never come back” was the reason for his decade long association with an obsolete machine. “the electronic on machine sucks your hand in, if you get too close” . If not love for environment its love for the limbs, equally important. Suggestion number two: “maybe you should try taking the afternoons off, it’s so hot, you stand without a shade and still serve into the wee PM’s.”
“best business in the afternoon, when the schools and colleges get off” . Strike two!
“Ok what about the monsoons?” I wondered. That’s when a blue print of a shed and ‘yearly plan B’ came into swing. Was I not listening when he said he’s been around! Actually it was more of a relief to not hear the words ‘shut shop’, cause I’d be lost without him.

Not that there is a left or a right turn situated on the plain he stands. And not that I can easily tell a left from a right without being given two tries, but the close proximity of his cart to home, makes me feel a little..well..less lost, a little familiar with my surrounding.
Day in and day out as I leave or return to my humble abode, there is a strange security in seeing him around. I subconsciously find myself looking out for him to gauge how much further away from home I ‘m. The sight of his cart seems to inject the last dose of adenosine triphosphate when a much prescribed 10 mins evening walk begins to break me. He’s become synonymous with ‘being home’.

Death to Death

Every page of last week’s newspaper has the word Qasab mentioned at least twice. He’s the current ‘hottest’ on every news channel. 526 days after 26/11 it has been announced, Qasab would be hanged for murder, conspiracy to commit murder, waging war against the nation, indulging in terrorist activities and criminal conspiracy.
“He shall be hanged by neck till he’s dead” this sentence may not even have lived an echo in the court room as hungry journo’s representing a tornado rushed to get their ‘exclusive’.
26/11 the date has been etched in the memory of millions. For many the scars run deeper. Superficial signs may cover a cut nerve that for some may never heal. Though many lived for judgment day, the verdict somehow didn’t dry the cold sweat. Judge Tahilyani may go home feeling lighter today or Prosecutor Ujjwal Nikam may flash a victorius salute in his newly acquired shades for the jubilant occasion. Politically staged pictures of muslims (and ironically muslims only) have graced today’s pages celebrating the verdict. But this by no means should be considered a closure.

Amidst all the limelight and nick names given to him, if anything, I feel everything that Ajmal Qasab stands for must be rejoicing that he’s achieved what Lalit Modi is to T20, what SRK is to entertainment. He’s achieved a synonym to the word ‘fear'. It was tearful reading the testimonies of many whose wounds were scrapped again for meaner newspaper bytes on the upshot of the verdict.
Young kids who've lost their parents are now only shadows of their yester years. Many others want their losses avenged. Some have forgiven. The candles may still be burning, but they’re all unanimous in admitting Ajmals hanging is not going to bring back the dead. It may only bring momentary solace to the ones left behind, but that much they deserve. Hanging him seems to be the best option in the interest of state security and the tax payers. Hang him by all means, but by doing so let’s not jump to proclaim victory over terrorism.

Lets not forget, Qasab was only a pawn, the real masterminds 'terror' itself is watching and debating our reaction from some dark corner, somewhere. Will India consider 26/11 a closed chapter half an hour after Qasab has been declared dead? Will the govt continue the hunt for the bigger masterminds? If no proof has been collected so far, with Qasab gone, will the possibility of loose answers meet a dead end?
Maybe too far fetched, but, why cant we keep him alive secretly and declare him dead to the world otherwise? If we can house aliens in some remote laboratories in the U.S, than why can't Qasab the largest inhuman form be drugged, sedated, tranquillized, used, abused and broken just as long as we can juice the last bit of information out of him.

“He believed he was morally justified in committing the offence”.

For him this is the final calling of the 70 odd virgins who await him in Jannat. His suffering does not seem enough for the hundred others who will soon be waging a jehad to avenge the sacrifice of their brother Ajmal Qasab. This by no means is a closure for them, nor should we mistake it to be one for us.

Faceoff

One thing in common between the recent endeavors of IPL and facebook is that they are both only a façade to hide the real slim shady. The IPL, much has been written about.
Facebook, I feel is a slithering voyeuristic snake wearing the skin of a social networking site. Go on, snigger, but it wasn’t long ago when you I or any other man worth his milk logged onto somebody else’s profile without the mere intent of a simple hello!

One of the things I don’t understand is getting a friend request from people who don’t know you at all. What’s the point then? Do I look like a 20 something interested in engaging hollowness with questions like ‘so what are you into lately?” I’ll tell you what I’m not into is wasting time ignoring requests from people whose daily chores involve being the highest user of the ‘find a friend’ engine. People, who like a blast of methane, reappear from your past, desiring to shake off the ‘once upon a time’ tag, not fully comprehending that loosing touch was a calculated effort and no way am I going to add you now, just cause you have baby pics to share and I’m a bigger person. I’m also not into accepting requests from old flames,age, volume - mass index has never been kind to anyone. I’ve also never approved of the ‘whose looking at your profile’ application. I think it’s a tremendo breach of my privacy. I should have the liberty of checking who-so-ever’s profile from the dark confinements of my room, without worrying if he/she would know. It’s a part of exercising my ‘being an alert citizen’ rite.

Life throws up devious facebook traps every now and then. Bumping into an old college friend is the most common one. The unmistakable first line ‘OMG!, you’ve changed so much” and the unfailing “are you on face book, we must stay in touch?” makes me cringe if not retreat. How worthy you really are to be in my inner circle of love will only be established once I’ve been through all your albums, your friend list and how hot you look impromptu.

Fake accounts – hate them. If you really are Akshay Kumar, then prove your salt by accepting the friend request. Of course by adding a new contact you’re also signing up for a fleet of skeletons that you’d put away along with other things in a box labeled ‘clothes that don’t fit anymore’

Recently an old friend through somebody else’s friend list (see!) got back in touch. Well we had shared some happy moments so I didn’t mind accepting. Once we got beyond “The last time I saw you two, you looked so much in love, so imagine my surprise when HE turned up on my local guardians daughter’s wall as ‘the husband’!” there were other updates. As we chatted through old times I got updated on the lives of all those whose requests I’d secretly ignored. It was nice to know Soumya now has twins, the last memory I have of her was on the upper berth of a train compartment singing the Tamil version of ‘jiya jale’ in Hindi. Meenakhsi who was then doing a Mass Comm course now owns her own fashion label. Last spotted had a luxurious organic face pack on, and was the owner of the most exotic black head removal appliance in the hostel.
Piyali now works for a department store in Bangalore, back then was an inspirational hippy.Tara was asked to leave for smuggling in cigarettes and walking around the hostel in her undies. She’s still pretty much doing the same. Kiran too, was not setting the right example by breaking locks of ‘restricted areas’ and hanging from terrace barricades. Melrose got knocked up but eventually convinced the guy to marry her. Shruti has her picture put up at the local gym I visit sometimes, for being ‘the highest weight looser of the month’!

I’m glad, in spite of our warden being convinced that none of us will be able to face life successfully outside the hostel doors, we’re all doing pretty alright.

What I do like about facebook is that it makes the world seem smaller and not so round.

How can white be a color?

What is the color of paradise?
If raindrops could be famous, what would their personalities be like?
Does the wind stay long enough to be addressed
If Mount Everest has been conquered, then what is the bigger quest?

Can the colors of the rainbow be interchanged?
If individuality was ever a term, why loose it behind a veil
What is freedom, when it comes at a price?
Why limit the spirit of clouds by giving them a shape
Is a difference of opinion then merely water and ice?

Things God created have no boundaries have no name
So have we become almighty then to try and change the game?

Bandra Linking Road

Walking is good for health, or so many believe. I too decided to test the waters but not for something as meaningless as engaging my cardiovascular system intensively or to increase the much required calorie deficit (I’m lovely, thank you very much). Not a fool to get entrapped by all this medical imprudence, I decided to walk for a much bigger cause…shopping(don’t know if they have a medical term for that!)
So together with my butt toning Reebok which are known for their significant physiological impact on muscles(it’s still in the name of fashion, mind you!) I set out to understand the fuss about a continent called the Bandra Linking Road.

I wandered from stall to stall morphing into Sindbad trying to find treasure, I observed hawkers engaging in marketing activities that could put the Blue Ocean Strategy to shame. There on the very streets, being sold were dresses from Armani(yeah rite!) ‘jeansh pant’ that he insisted ‘maidum aapko bhi fit ayega’(he said it like he had a miracle piece there!), clutches & handbags right out of a Gurinder Chadda wedding scene, Ladeej handkerchief’s and some even for your ‘Mr.’ What amused me most about these stalls was that, 90% of them sold 80% of the same products while still challenging better quality than that of their brethren. All practice the ‘fixed rate system’, with items starting at Rs.500 but with a lot of patience and perseverance can change owners for Rs.150 finally!

Don’t get me wrong like any hot blooded girl I too get orgasmic at the sound of ‘sale’, but my claustrophobia does not allow me to stay in one place long enough to find a bargain, clothes piled up like electronics in a Chinese dump yard fright me, the sweltering heat was not making anything better, I staggered along, feeling the weight of the war. Mothers shopped for shinning bangles and hair clips amidst other glitterati. Husbands gave opinions on clothes they deemed unfit for an evening out with the family, kids ran around covered in remains of popcorn, ice-cream topped with sweat. Ronald McDonalds appeared as if being attacked by the aliens!

To shake off the trail of fried kebabs and Punjabi cholle in the air, I walked into a few stores that promised air-conditioning, 20% sale even on ‘fresh stock’ and ‘everything must go’! The sad part is even the latest offerings were two seasons old. As I walked on, tempted to buy a massage for Rs. 20, I got groped by a sick pervert. Imagining a sci-fi film, I grabbed the head massager, and with lightening speed thrust the metallic tentacles into his groin, turning it clockwise and anticlockwise, in no preferred order, while releasing simultaneous short periods of screeches at a ten. As everyone applauded the verdict, he fell to the floor in indescribable pain.
I started the sentence with ‘imagining’ didn’t I? The bastard obviously got away to prepare himself for the incurable skin eczema I wished upon him.

Disgusted by the very limited unfolding of an unlimited experience, I decided to buy something before hailing my pumpkin ride.
Staring at a frozen scene from the Paranormal Activity a friend noted: piracy helps fund terrorism. Vexed by the thought of being responsible for a bomb being made somewhere, another friend offered a totally different point of view, ‘…and dubbies..’ the smile was also passed on as a skipping DVD played on in the background.

IPL does not equal to love

What is with men and the four letter word?! No, not the one they would ideally like the universe to oscillate on, but the other one, which always gets their axis up in tangles.
L-O-V-E and not in the ‘IPL’ or ‘Man U v/s Chelsea’ way but the kind that involves smelling the flowers, feeling the dew drops, creating rainbows kind of way.

Why is it that every time I ask my husband to say something romantic, in that one minute of involuntary deafening silence, I can most definitely here him wishing for capitol punishment instead! Comm’on guys how hard can it be, it’s not like we expect poetry out of you, if even..
Roses are red…
Violets are blue…
I love you….
and that’s even when you smell like poo..

Se, how hard?! I think it’s just made into a bigger challenge than it actually is.

and just for the record:

Definition of a gift: If you've only just noticed the dress I’m standing at the counter to pay for already, it does not classify as a gift from you!
btw a single ticket to a far of destination, also does not classify as a birthday gift

Definition of quality time together does not equate to holding me down during long hours spent watching IPL, just so that I don’t switch the TV off and hide the remote!

Definition of an exercise does not equate to trips made to the refrigerator for beers

Definition of a Martyr: it’s ok if you tell me I’m looking fat don’t have to run and hide under the lowest piece of furniture, I’ll drag your ass out and light it on fire anyway. But atleast you’ll die an honest man!

The thing is..

They say don't judge a book by its cover.. But I always do, cause I think it's like chemistry u know..the attraction makes you want to hold it, look at it closer, turn it over, get with the feel, you know what I'm sayin? But we're not gonna talk about chemistry here. This aint even bout books, hell I don't care what you wanna turn over man! What this is about is judging!

People aren't always what they seem to be. Almost never are. But for those of you who can tell a person ‘just like that’, go read a book or something. Me for e.g. people often misjudge me for an extrovert, which I'm not. Yeah, get me in a room with a few people I know and I'll do a little jig at my expense. But get me in a room with a few more people, strange ones, and I won't be the one initiating any conversation. I'll never be the one to come up and say hi. I'll probably attend that cute boy's kids baptism but even yrs later will not be able to tell him I ever had a crush on him. Pay me a compliment and I'll give you 10 reasons on why and how I look fat!

It’s taken me yrs of practice to earn the title of a petulant bitch. Ask my husband, for years now, I've used hair strands from various parts of his body, while performing Voodoo. But if anyone else, so much as hurts a strand on my people, I wouldn't think twice before throwing you in the cauldron for the part which says ‘..sacrifice the blood of a goat’. But I can never stand up for myself??! I just become a rug and lie there like a vegetable while people dig their heals deeper. Just once I'd like to say “u did me wrong asshole! And may your nether regions be infested with lice!”
I anger but gust-th at the wrong furnace mostly!

Just cause I flirt does not mean “I want you. I need you. Oh baby. Oh baby." Or maybe, just this one odd time. Just cause you made me blush, does not make this THAT odd time. Sometimes I wanna run away from all things, I think, are problems, but, that doesn't mean I inspire to be Forest Gump. You don't matter scumbag, but I want you to know, that thing u said about me the other day..not true!! Why would you say something like that?!
I'm deeply emotional and if there's something I have in abundance it’s fat and tears. Too bad Jesus didn't talk about sharing either!

Yes, so I expect a lot but I'm also willing to swim the English Channel with you. “You personally not upto it? Ok, that's fine then.” You know you can count on me even on a rainy day, but if you don't wanna get wet for me then that will hurt and it may cause tears, in abundance (we've discussed this one before!) I look like a big girl but, have a heart that bleeds. Easily. So don't be judging!

Strange thing the human is!

As if being born was any less complicated, the complications only proliferate as the animal grows older. No matter how many researches are conducted behind confidential bolted steel doors of the most technologically developed scientific labs ,nothing, and I mean nothing will ever be able to understand, explain or chart out human behavior or the entangled quantum state of the mind. All theories evolved so far are only a thumbnail depiction.

How else do you explain a man whose married 5 times already and now on his death bed, is asking for divorce! Or why a 92 yr old women, whose lived her entire life with one man, given birth together to many children and dreams, watched them grow old together would one day kill her 96 yrd old husband! Could it be for his property or another man?

Why, when your friends fail you feel bad, but when they do exceptionally well, you still feel bad with thoughts of ‘why couldn’t I be there’ creeping up innocuously? Why would you forget those who taught you to take your first steps, held your finger when you tumbled. Why would you want an old age home to cushion their fall?

Why do we stop finding the same jokes funny, we did roll on the floor once. Why do we need space but want to be with the person as well? Why is it ok for me to check somebody else’s phone but have huge privacy encroachment issues when someone screens through mine? I find myself blushing when the hottie next to me compliments me, I ask him to stop but really don’t want him to. What I really want to do is kill that pervert whose been admiring me for the longest time and if that geek ever compliments me …..whatevah!

I’m perfectly compatible with you, love spending time with you, look fwd to hearing how your day was, will make ensure that I halve your pain by sharing it, but I don’t want to complicate things. I’m not in love with you! I don’t agree with your opinions, fight all the time, maybe don’t even score very well on the ‘how well do you know your spouse’ quiz, but here I am! Talking about not complicating things…

A large number of straight women admire, check out, even ogle at other women. But a man very rarely would aspire to have another man’s butt. It’s not ok for one man to violate another man’s personal space by making a hug last for a second longer than it’s supposed to or hold hands. But women can make hugs last forever like it’s going out of fashion. Can even squeeze sometimes depending on the hormonal levels. And the world will label that as O.K.

It’s ok for two women to talk about their babies for hours but people find it strange them discussing their puppies for hours or even if one brings up puppy tales, while other mothers are discussing diaper changes. A baby is a baby is a puppy!

We work towards getting to know a person completely. If one actually ever gets to know or truly understands a person, then there will never be room for surprises, because every move will be preempted. Maybe the world will be a better place then. Yawn!

Go figure! No. Try figure.

In The Name of Entertainment!

The saans and bahu today belong to the bold and the beautiful generation. And voyeurism in the name of TRP’s is dictating new boundaries.

The last two seasons of Swayamvar cant be a better support to my statement above. When the first season was aired, I was guilty along with the rest of India in helping cultivate an obnoxious elevation of entertainment. But in my defense - only because the protagonist was Rakhi Sawant! The best contestant put together at any laughter challenge don’t stand a chance in her wind. Also because, my heart didn’t really break for any of the grooms being rejected ,some were 21 earning nothing, some had come with the permission of their wife and three kids, some used the platform to bag roles in serials and other such genuinely funny cases. Call me old fashioned but they were all men, and men survive rejection better, I feel , somehow.

However, Season 2 which promised ‘Rahul dulhaniya le jaega’ was a different ballgame all together. The first and the last episode I watched was the season finale and honestly it rocked my boat! Inspite of the essence of it being just a game, explained to me, the therapy sessions I’ve had to undergo after that have still not helped me comprehend the following:

1. The finalists – three brides. All went through rituals that only a bride must go through & hopefully only once in her lifetime. The mehndi, the alta, the bichua’s being donned, while mom and aunt’s sung folk songs to 'babul ki duan leti jaa..' in the background, hugged and cried – were all those emotions only for a realty show?

2. The parents sounded so excited as they exclaimed their daughter has never looked this beautiful before & watching her, in her bridal attire was like a dream come true– so they’re ok if she loses, cause all she has to do then is, go home, take a hot shower, simply change into her teddy bear night suit, probably have a bowl of soul food and hit the sack! Cause that’s what one would do normally, no?

3. Every girl dreams of her wedding day. Was diluting the dream by winning a contest on international TV more lucrative then the heartache of being reminded that you lost, as you watch the mehndi fade slowly from your palms each day?

4. Every mother dreams of the day when she’ll give her daughter away – did their mothers, while handing them the sindoor tell them “no problem , there’s always next time!”

5. Years later, today, when I watch my wedding video, I’m overcome with laughter, tears, emotions and many memories of things that weren’t even recorded! - Would these ’maybe’ brides to be also have recordings of their performance on NDTV Imagine? Who knows, it might be better than renting DVD’s on the next family picnic or a night-in with popcorn and their future husband?

6. Watching the groom arrive on his horse with the baaraat, a moment every bride steals a glimpse of, was instead welcomed by the families of the three finalists, all standing side by side, reducing the moment to a kinder garden medal giving away ceremony- are u ok thinking that your daughter’s medal will be taken home by the family standing next to you?

I heard one of the brides exclaim” I’m really excited thinking shayaad meri doli aaj uthegi” that’s the first time a bride has used the term ‘maybe’ with such excitement in a context like above.For the first time India must have experienced a bride happily setting foot on her wedding stage and happily going home with only prize money instead, definitely more handsome than the groom!

A woman transforming into a bride for the very first time, only to pack away her costume, unworn, for her next shaadi, or maybe even returning it back to the designer! Hope they atleast clicked pics to share it on shaadi.com for a ‘ this is what I can look like’ feature.

For the first time a father was asked “today is a big day for your daughter, whatever happens the entire India will be watching - how does it feel?” And the proud father responded “ I’m very happy with the way my daughter has conducted herself throughout” – move over Miss Universe for a new pageant has arrived!

For the first time, on being questioned whether she always dreamt of her big day being like this, I heard a bride’s answer - “Yes. The only thing being different is -I’d never imagined that even on my big day, I wont be sure if I will or will not be getting married that evening. I know I’m going to cry, but I don’t know, will the tears be of joy (winning the coveted title of Mrs. Mahajan) or of sorrow” . Well said girl! If she knew this was all for TV, then her vulnerability sure fooled me into believing that before me is a normal girl, sitting in her shaadi ka jooda, actually dreaming of being a bride today, I even believed those tears!

'And they lived happily ever after' is only a concept for the aliens cause what took things a step further was the character assassination of the new Mrs. Mahajan, when media the next day recounted her glory days of being an item girl, what her real name is, carried bytes from one of the not so lucky brides on how uncharacter like it was for her to be bonding with Rahul over alcohol after pack up.

It just makes me think for the sake of entertainment, have we all really forgotten how to be humans?I know the sanctity of getting married is over rated today, but ever wondered why we only played ‘ghar-ghar’ and ‘gudda – guddi’ as kids. Maybe the game should be brought back in the name of entertainment – we’re so ready!

Excuse me while i get back to my therapy...

Run Bombay Run!

17^th Jan a date Bombay eagerly awaited. The Standard Chartered Marathon. This had been the talk of my household for the last 4 months. Amit’s intention to attempt the whole 42 kms, had been the butt of many jokes, inspirations, sighs and the end to many ‘is it really possible’ kind of conversations.

The night before we partied till 2am, not really conducive for someone whose attempting the full run and for the very first time. But hey! you live only once, but the marathon can be attempted again. I have to admit, as I lay myself to sleep, I wasn’t very confident of his resolution. But at 8am I was rudely awakened to an empty bed, the half, which by now, had completed 19 kms! He did it! He made it for the 6:45 am flag off! Feeling sheepish I quickly changed and ran out in my rubber chappals to meet him as he would cross the Worli Sea Link. Thought this to be a good opportunity for pictures and lend the family pillar of support.

What I hadn’t thought about was the journey I was about to embark upon myself. The sweltering heat didn’t seem to deter the spirit of the runners as I saw varied age groups run on. The old ones paced themselves, the young ones attended to calls and sms’, the even younger ones were tied at the wrist to an older partner, as they were dragged along for pace. But no feet stopped. There were live bands at water stations and a few took minutes out of their timing to shake a leg to the dhol beats before they jogged on. There were volunteers who took it upon themselves to simply wake up early, this Sunday, stand by the sides and cheer on the spirit of Bombay!

The Nigerian runners, a sighting every one waits for like a species going out of fashion. It’s more like they come, they run and how! Small petite bodies that lift with the wind, legs that stride longer then their shadows, the determination in their eyes focused on the finishing line kilometers away, and their speed, ever constant, never dropping, just watching them guarantees a facelift.

There he arrived, the man whose strength I doubted till this morning, touching 25 Kms, still smiling, still running! I walked along trying to catch the action, and catch I did, myself on the Worli Sea Link with no exit! So with a bag full of things I didn’t need, a camera and rubber chappals there was only one way to head, straight on! There were times I wanted to throw myself off the bridge, I’d eventually float to someplace, which seemed easier then attempting this mini marathon. I plugged on, along with many others. As I finally approached the end of the bridge, an old man ran past saying “c’mmon guys, the bridge is almost over. Buck up, Buck Up!’ So caught up was I in this sea of adrenaline, that I started running as well. Precisely for two minutes. Then I controlled my emotions.

5 hours later, Amit was still running. The award ceremony had already taken place. The winners were probably half way home by now. But he wasn’t, I was so proud of him. I was also really, really proud of every child that looked exhausted, but wore his marathon number with pride, of every man that sat alone in some corner catching his breathe, of every volunteer who dug into his pocket to supply water, fruits, relief spray to the runners. I’m also grateful to that lady who jumped in from the crowd, just as Amit was giving up, ran a kilometer alongside- just to pep him up. To the two boys who swooped in like an eagle from behind, scooped up another boy who’d given up and sat down, hand on shoulder the three strangers ran, the last few kms, together. To the father who ran the dream marathon with his polio stricken son on his back

To the bhangra dancers who greeted all at the finish line celebrating the end of a journey that commenced at CST Station, to NCPA, across the Marine Drive, Babulnath, Went over Peddar rd, reaching Haji Ali, to Worli Sea Face, across Worli Naka, then to Prabhadevi, across Shivaji straight down to Mahim,then to Bandra reclamation, over the Bandra Sea link, returning back to Worli sea face, Haji Ali, Up hill on Peddar Road, Babulnath, Marine drive, Churchgate and finally crossing the finishing line of the 42kms at VT Station.

This line was of utmost importance because that morning approx 37,000 strangers set out together and somewhere through the journey their paths crossed, at one point they were all an invisible force to the other, urging the mind to keep running when bodies had given up.

I salute all those who ran, walked, crawled, wept, laughed, but attempted to cross THAT line of limits.

Bombay ran and howJ