hopscotch

I didn't want to write this blog. I have done a lot of FB activism, on you know what. Being in media, you really can't escape unpleasant truths. So, Damini, Nirbhaya (whatever your name is...my girl) I am shocked about what happened to you. When the first news came in, I dismissed it of as another rape case. It's only when I read about the mutilation of your genitals, that I felt helpless anger rising within me. And, sadness too. I have been crying silent tears every day since then. I could have been in your place, you know. Eight years ago, my friend (girl) and I, had hopped into a DTC bus. Only two of us. It was 7 in the evening. I had rejoiced; only someone using public transport in Mumbai and Pune can understand my joy at having bagged a vacant seat. In this case we had the bus to ourselves - empty. We could have sat wherever we wanted. My friend, smarter than I, quickly caught on what the empty bus meant. Her fear was infectious. We stood near the door, ready to j...

Watched English Vinglish the other day on TV. As with everyone else (mothers and daughters in particular), I was reminded of couple of incidents from my childhood, when I didn't accord my mother any particular importance. I thought her to be very dowdy, very controlling, very intrusive, never letting me "grow up". It was only after her outburst, which did us both good, did I realise that okay, Mataji isn't some limbu-timbu. I can't remember what triggered it, but I had made some disparaging remark over her education and grades. Never one to take audacity lying down, least of all, her half-baked daughter's, Mataji brought out carefully rolled sheets of her degree and convocation. "When I appeared for MA exam, your elder sister was sitting in the corridor, of the college, waiting for me to finish my paper and come out. A sweepress was taking care of my girl...your elder brother was at home, with your father....." Hearing all that I was chastened a...

Okay. Have to scribble something as there are too many voices in my brain, clamouring and drowning out the din of the outside world. So those sitting around me, will find me in hermit-like mood; remote and fidgety. Remote, as in, others cannot approach me. Fidgety because too many things happening in my brain. I can actually imagine the thought wires criss-crossing, and becoming one messy tangle. What am I supposed to untangle and relax? Here are my usual solutions: watch a movie. With no one for company. In my moods like this, I prefer to sit and watch the film alone. No popcorn either. And, which movies would make it to my companion list? Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (no), Jodhaa Akbar (no), Yuva....(some bits, yes), Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (maybe yes), Andaz Apna Apna (uhhh) Swades (YESSSSSSS). I don't know why, but when I am down and out, and need to calm myself, I invariably reach out for Swades, which in some people's opinion is a perfect recipe for sad documentary. I don...

Spotted this monument on Chaul-Sarai road, in Raigad district. It's a protected monument, says the ASI  board. Sadly, no other information was available. Locals term it as ruins from Shivaji Maharaj's rule. Chaul-Revdanda were strategically important, so one can spot lots of ruins. Some of the loose stones have been used to build present day houses. So much for history! These caves were again spotted on Chaul-Revdanda road. We couldn't climb up there, so  this  was clicked from  across the road Locals say there are about 365 temples, big and small, and equal number of  ponds and  temple tanks. This one's a favourite because I had been here with friends after writing second year exams. Or was it first year? Rameshwar Temple in Chaul, in need of repairs. You come away  feeling  happy and lighter in mind.

I loved A Pack of Lies - one of the most important reason being that I relished the "old gluttony" feeling I had not experienced in some years. I began reading it one afternoon and I found myself gulping words and sentences. I didn't want the torrent of sharp, brutal, heart-wrenching words to end, but there I was gulping down the words. I hated keeping aside the book to cook, then dine and also go for a movie (Pan Singh Tomar). I did all of that, and then I returned home to finish the remaining 100 odd pages left. A brilliant debut by Urmilla Deshpande (Gauri Deshpande's daughter), A Pack of Lies is very powerful. And, yes very voyeuristic too. One can't help but wonder if Ginny's mother was based on her or if she really was the "other" Gauri Deshpande, whom one didn't know earlier. I know...I was a little shocked at the different  picture of Gauri Deshpande staring at me from the pages of the book. -- On days when I wanted to reach out for ...

Well, this post follows a reverse procedure. Instead of being posted here first and then being uploaded either on FB or twitter, this was first written as my status/wall post on FB and as an afterthought is being uploaded here. Afterthought because what prompted me to write were the several smileys and cute li'l posters of two friends wishing "Happy Friendship Day." To be frank, I thought they were nauseating bit; cute, sugary mssgs put me off. Really. That explains my forever frowning face. Bu then I remembered the mssg that a friend had texted me (got only two friendship day mssgs) yesterday. I was surprised because he wasn't a "believer" in Friendship Day. I wondered if he had become a "convert" and asked him. His reply was that he got a mssg from someone and he fwded me because I used to be quite "senti" about this day when we were in college and for him Friendship Day meant me. I cringed on reading that. Yes, I was quite "sen...

Alright..I admit the title of the post is a bit presumptuous. But, how else should I describe that fleeting moment when I witnessed 'The Phenomenon?" Two years ago I was at the inauguration of Pune International Film Festival. While all other celebrities trooped in, the programme wouldn't begin. Rajesh Khanna was yet to come. I was silently chaffing and cursing when a flurry of movement near the entry door caught my attention. Rajesh Khanna walked in, attired in white kurta-pyjama and a shawl draped around his shoulders. Before sitting, he did "Namaste" to the crowd and smiled. The thunderous applause which greeted him gave me goosebumps and his smile made my heart somersault. That one moment told me why my mother and all the assorted aunties her age went gaga over him. I had seen his movies, sure. Several times. I loved the songs he lip synced to. But, I never could imagine that the girls got married to his photograph, or his car was covered with lipstick ...

...Because I was stunned when a friend's call woke me up at mid-night. I mumbled into the mouthpiece and didn't know when it fell besides my pillow. (A few years earlier, I would have settled at the window sill and talked and laughed till the wee hours of morning.) ...Because I wasn't unable to concentrate thanks to the music blaring from the radio (A few years earlier, I slept with my walkman switched on, the volume turned at “high”) ...Because I kept the 'highly readable book' aside and yawned a few times. I turned over and went off to sleep. (A few years earlier, I would have adjusted my pillow a bit and continued with the reading. I would have kept the book down only after reading it from cover to cover.) …Because I dismissed the idea of ordering pizzas and ice cream and preferred a second helping of aamti-bhat . (A few years earlier, I practically lived on pizzas and double scoops of ice cream) ...Because I can now suffer fools gladly. (A f...

I just came across one of those feel-good fwds - life and time in good old 80s. The Doordarshan logo, the complan ad, serials like He Man and the rest. It was quite a nostalgia trip - recalling dialogues like, "I have the Power" from He Man and taglines, "I am a Complan boy (innocent, wide-eyed Shahid Kapoor)", "I am a Complan girl (Ayesha Takia)" and Vikram-Betal too! I can still laugh at my sister's wisecrack after Betal's statement - Vikram, main tere bas me nahin aaunga . She used to say, "Bus mein nahi to rickshaw me aaja." The TV in 80s and early 90s was something to die for. I remember the serial - Neev, the boys (school students, I mean ) in the serial - Kapoor and Chatterjee. Then, there was Kacchi Dhoop. I quite enjoyed the serial and remembered grabbing Little Women, because the serial was based on this book. I also read Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, after watching Kashish. Ditto for Tamas. I was too young to unders...

The 15 years of our schooling was perhaps devoted more in cultivating our olfactory senses. I guess that's the reason why when we met each other, we rushed on with our “Hi! Hellos!” to relish the food packed in the tiffin boxes. Not literally! Meeting Pari triggered the memories of her mother's kabuli chana sabji – black chana garnished with finely chopped onion and coriander leaves. Seventeen years later they smelt, tasted just the same. Hugging Balambika/Priya, now Priya Seshadri, reminded us of the mouth-watering dosas and the gun-powder chutney, which we had labelled as “cockroach chutney.” I can't remember why we labelled it so. The recall of the name only succeeded in whetting our appetite. Ruby's Ammi's biryani is remembered every Eid. Ammi, said Ruby, will now be unable to cook biryani for so many of us, but she (Ruby) is willing to feed us with her preparation. We wonder if it's going to taste as good as Ammi's biryani which we gobbled with ...

Just read the news that Doordarshan will soon be airing the second part of Ek Tha Rusty – dramatised stories based on Ruskin Bond's life. I had a good time in the 90s watching the series with my mother. I continue to be a big fan of Ruskin Bond and his work. The old world charm, quirky aunts, and loving grandparents, plus a house and large garden full of animals, and yes, not to forget the possibility of ghosts lurking in some corner of Rusty's house ensured that I was glued to DD Metro every Saturday evening between 5.30-6.30 pm. This time, of course, the news says that they will be capturing Rusty when he's 33 and has garnered reputation as a writer. And, his stories full of romance, thriller, adventure will be adapted for the small screen. Well, Rusty has grown up! So have I! It will be fun to meet Rusty in his 30s!

And I would like to sleep in it! ---- I was yawning, or trying to cover my wide open mouth with the back of my palm, when I read this premise of Makarand Deshpande's new play. I yawned some more (this time without covering my mouth) and thought, “interesting”. The protagonists are two masseurs who sleep for others, their clients. The girls have their own reasons for sleeping for others. One hopes to learn this skill so that she can sleep for her insomniac father, while the other girl hopes that her bed-ridden sister can sleep uninterrupted for few hours. The only catch is that the masseurs who learn about their client's dreams, will keep them a secret. I hope to catch this play whenever it's staged in Pune because I love sleeping and dreaming. I have some very vivid dreams and I am able to recollect them when I get up in the mornings. I can also sleep at the drop of the hat. In fact there was a time when I was in school and college when I used to study by lying...

Sitting on the lawns adjoining my hostel, a tall and stout woman, with her sari hitched half way up her legs, holding on to the hosepipe as if her life depended on it, suddenly appeared from nowhere. I blinked and she was gone. --- The cool winds and the lush green lawns did nothing to soothe my cranky nerves. Having passed with average marks in my SSC boards, I was pushing myself to score above average in my HSC boards. To save myself from the odious comparisons of studious and more bright roomies, I had taken to studying in the lawns adjoining my hostel. I pored over my books, frowned, scowled, walked up and down remembering, recalling and then going blank. My rather feeble and reluctant smiles were reserved only for the surly, gruff head gardener or Kaka as I called him. He was the one who called the shots in the lawns, shooing away students at will. Seeing that I posed no hindrance when he watered the lawns lavishly, trimmed the hedges, or cleaned the marble statue of o...

I was never a Salman Khan fan. But, you have to give it to the man, he is everywhere. Or rather his "Being Human" t-shirts are seen everywhere. Not a day passes, when I don't see someone - student, slum dwellers, street-side Romeos - sporting the t-shirt. They are also selling on the footpath. His heroines/co-stars walk the ramp in his Tees and the man on the street also sports them. That I think sums up Sallu mian's mass and class appeal. Actors and actresses make news for launching their clothes line, perfumes and DVDs...but they have are/never sold on this scale. They never make news amongst the masses. Their products do not evoke, "we must buy Bipasha Basu's DVDs or her clothes" sentiments. They just come and we don't even know when they "go" or fade from public memory. This makes me think, perhaps Salman Khan is also an excellent marketing strategist!

Jaipur street Interiors of City Palace, Jaipur The armoury  City Palace, Jaipur

Javed Akhtar: Born to Act I think Farhan Akhtar is better off wielding the megaphone...and giving his father, Javed Akhtar a chance to show off his histrionics. He has the voice, he has an elephantine memory and he can act for sure. He can act happy when he's on the stage talking happily when unchallenged, acting up when presented with a contrary viewpoint, acting injured when his viewpoint is dismissed. An evening of You Know... The one phrase which was thrown around liberally, peppered all meaningful and meaningless conversations, discussions was..."You Know".  You know....accompanied by slow motion of bejewelled fingers, was sure to cast a hypnotic spell on you. Alka Pande, one of the panelist for 'Shringara...Costume is the temple of the mind',  began and ended her sentenced with "you know" A reluctant film-maker The bearded gentleman sulked. You could make that out right away. He was dressed to kill...the winter chill, I mean. He w...

Watch out for these writers from the African continent- Shubnum Khan, Teju Cole, Taiwheyi and Ben Okri Vishal Bharadwaj, Prasoon Joshi, Javed Akhtar, Gulzar with moderator, Samit Basu at the Kahani Kise Kehte Hain session Good  girls come to Jaipur...Annie Zaidi (centre) with Manisha Kulshrestha and  Pakistani writer Huma