Thursday, February 25, 2010

don't look now.

Since forever, I have struggled against my parents to prove to them that I'm a big girl and that I can handle it! But apparently the entire universe is against us and is out to tell us that we, in fact, cannot handle it! Censorship! I just don't get it. Who or what are we trying to protect with censorship. Suddenly the excitement of an impending love-making scene gets an upturned bucket of brain-numbingly, ice-cold water. One second they are kissing passionately and the next the guy is already post-coitally zipping up his pants. (Thank goodness my blog doesn't have a grammatical censor board :D) It's like even the movies, that once used to be an idealistic getaway from reality, is determined to smash our faces into the hardships of reality. Well, isn't it typical, that love ends even before it begins, like in real life?

But my grouse isn't against just the disappearing love-making scenes. It's also about the asterisks that obliterate our lives. (For the thick-headed, that was intended to sound like Astrix and Obelix). Five year olds use the word shit without the minutest quiver of disposition. Let's face it. We live in times like that. And the closer we get to shedding our snake-skins of inhibition, it seems that the secondary forces that be get all the more hell-bent on denial. Self-denial is one thing and denial is another thing altogether. Who gets to decide what we are capable of digesting and what is acceptable to us? If there are small children in the house, self-regulate. Why should my raging on-the-wrong-side-of-25 hormones pay for it? If the biggies of the censor board can have all the access to his hardcore porn, (Please. All men watch and indulge and are disgustingly addicted to porn. Why is it disgusting? Cos it's another woman you are watching and getting aroused by, dammit. How would you guys like it, if your wives/girlfriends called out Brad Pitt's or the post man's name in bed. She's only fantasizing like you guys would with your joy stick :P) Anyways this isn't a battle of the sexes post, it's about me wondering why I can't have a little extra pulp in my orange-juice romance movies, if you know what I mean.
It's precious, for us, who gave the world the Kamasutra and is having the hydrogen bomb equivalent of population explosion, to make culture-claims. So what actually got my goat? The absence of the innocuous word "shit" in a song. The words went like this "Show's that we ain't gonna stand shit. Shows that we are united", Now with the word shit going M.I.A., I’m left with "Shows that we ain't gonna stand....Shows that we are united" So from an ode to London, Adele's gorgeous song "Hometown glory", sounds like an anthem for the differently-abled.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

requiem

Cochin might have long-forgotten than she's the queen of the Arabian Sea and sunk to the decadence of a harlot. The Land Mafia whom we will call LM, without doubt is her no. 1 customer. The b*****d fucks her, rapes her, degrades her, humiliates her, disfigures her for his pleasure, but somewhere in her foolish heart, she expects him to propose marriage and save her from the messy life she lives. Somewhere she harbours that hope, because he is charming and beautiful as much as he is selfish and greedy. That he will make her rich. Till then she will continue to give, give and give, till she runs dry. She turns grey and ugly as he ravages her and takes her as he pleases. There was a time when trees and not apartments made the skyline. It wasn't as grandiose and tall as it is now, but Cochin breathed back then. A time when her people didn't constantly have dust in their lungs, in their hair and in between their nails. She traded trees and pretty flowers for concrete and sinusitis. She let him in with his cement mixers, his multi-storey apartments and his grey skies and grimy rain. She sold her sisters to him, she let him build terminals and rail roads where herons and wood sprites took shelter. She let him fill up her marshes and the frogs forgot their songs and serpents beat their heads at this folly. She let him build car parks and shops where her girlhood friends once stood. She watched him tear their limbs and cart them away to become furniture and wood paneling. At night she watches out for him with the rumble of the highway and mosquitoes for company. She sometimes wonders whatever became of the crickets and the cicadas, but then her thoughts wander to how sweet life would be if he made her his.

Once, in her waters, dolphins raced joyously with water nymphs who wore glittery ornaments in their seaweed hair, to greet the first rays of the sun. Now the sun rises and sinks with the perfunctory callousness of someone who couldn't care less. The sun glares with the hostility of a scorned lover, charring people with impatience and vice. The gods and goddesses who once inhabited the trees and the lotus ponds, and slept in the golden husks of the emerald fields retreated into the confines of their sanctum sanctorums. In the green depths of the temple ponds, she hid her secrets and in the open backwaters, where she once had secret trysts with a dark-skinned boy who sang with the sweet saltiness of a sea-breeze. But the boy stopped singing a long time ago and she stopped waiting for him even longer. Her river beds where the remains of her drowned dreams lay, she gave away for the asking. She watched them filling out the shores of her backwaters with nary a question nor a flinch. To those who asked, she merely shrugged her shoulders and smiled at her second-most favourite customer. The establishment.


She liked Establishment. If Mr. LM promised her wealth and stature, Establishment with his slimey smiles and oily palms read her the fine print. With Establishment, she always felt like she was the one in charge. Establishment was in love with her, and she used his love against him. He did her favours, he trimmed his ugly nose hairs so that she would call him handsome. But most of all, he brought her that magical thing that LM could never give her. Guidelines. That magical word that was more flexible than a rubber band and did more miracles than God's very hand. by a sleight of hand, what was illegal transformed most painlessly into legal just by mere definition. He takes care of the idealists and the communists who care to protest. Though he hated the aforementioned LM, he always ensured that she never had to be the one to take the fall.


He gave her dignity. He made her meetings with the men in white less ugly. He held her close and whispered into her hair that he loved her. That made her smile. Of course, a lot of promises failed to materialise. But not before he had worn himself to the bone running after it. Dear, foolish One. That made her smile as well. He smoothed down the bumpy ride of procedure, so that she could someday boast that ever elusive trait - infrastructure. He was her No.1 henchman and he carried her home when she was too drunk. He gave without asking. And he took only after asking. Or so she believed. He made her promises of investment and gave her a bed large enough for her most prized, but in a strictly business sense, customer. Tourism.

For him she wears her purple scarf and wears her rings that validate her aristocratic heritage - her rings of pearl, opal and amethyst that claim her lineage. She smiles with the grace of sepia and paints her mouth the colour of roses for him. Cochin might have long-forgotten than she's the queen of the Arabian Sea and sunk to the decadence of a harlot; but once in a year, she bedecks herself with the regality of a once-princess who hasn't quite forgotten her charms. A nubile princess who waits impatiently for queenhood. One reckless with the intoxication of day dreams and bequeathed legacy. She wears frangipani in her hair and smiles a smile, light and breezy as white linen. He brings the glamour of yachts and she lures him with charm. She recounts tales of romance and he helps her relive them. A fresh coat of paint to cover what history won’t let her forget. Quaint neighbourhoods play out a timeless tableau. The two islands which have faced each other like sentries since forever, continue to guard the harbour mouth, which for centuries has been the passage for storms and sundry. Altogether, maintaining the poise of a lifted chin and keeping her visibly conscious of her fine bloodline. And subtly reminding her lovers, that when all is said and done, she still remains a queen.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

kya haaal hai

Waaaateeesthese, ya? first of all, I hardly watch the news. I'm always resolving to but I end up watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S instead. And on the rare day I switch on the news, all they want to talk about is how the Shiv Sena is mighty pissed off with Shah Rukh Khan or SRK (Bollywood loves acronyms and abbreviations, doesn't it! Remember KNPH, KHNH,KKKG, ETC.) Such a lot of gung-ho and all. Even Hitler would have been jealous! (Well..the dude did make a huge ruckuss called the WW2!) NDTV went on and on about how attacking Bollywood is a no-show cos it makes "soft target"! Yeah right! One day they say them and the likes of Dawood Ibrahim are like bumchums and the next they call them "soft targets". Am I the only one who is like really awful at math or does something really not add up here?
So today also, I didn't get much from watching the news except that it shed more light on the fact that Uddhav Thackeray only knows how to make a point with the fist (figuratively). I don't follow Hindi that well. But even I followed far enough to understand that I wasn't the one MISSING the point here.
There is this thing that I just DO NOT get! I just don't get it how Bollywood stars manage to put their foot into their mouth or do something to that effect, just before they have a release! Then it's all drama. Poster-tearing, banning the film, picketing, effigy-burning, yadayada. I wonder how much this "organized" sector contributes to the GDP. But you also know how the well-oiled wheels of publicity works, naa!? It could be that also, i am thinking. But all thinking and wondering and not-getting and math that doesn't add up is very strenuous. And having news that only wants to spend time discussing this is also strenuous. Cos then, all the news that is actually like news and not what-else-is-new comes in tickers; and then it's a veritable tug-of-war between what I ought to know and what I'm interested in. Bollywood is just the teeniest-weeniest bit more interesting than PC (P. Chidambaram NOT Priyanka Chopra, who, for the record, is also very interesting) talking with his Pakistani counterpart at the SAARC meeting. (yeay! i just looked at a newspaper after days)


Another thing, what I fail to understand is what role does the Sena have to play in Kerala. I came across a poster that said "Save Cochin. Join Shiv Sena". Now I'm totally flummoxed. There are only a fistful of manoos in Kerala, if there are any at all. I thought the Shiv Sena is about Marathis and Maharashtra belonging only to Marathis? So brings them all to Cochin? I donno. What they got planned to save Cochin also I don't know. But I know we rather like the little diversity we have here. Having a Punjabi, Gujju, Marwadi, Pattar and all in our gang of friends is very, very cool. We like sampling multi-cuisine and all at zero cost.Please don't put cockroach in our Aloo ka paratha, thairusadham, patrode (which is a yum dish and not the past tense of pat rides), dhoklas, pani puris and all. Please don't spoil our rather nice cultural avial! Very much thanks!

yo grammy so ugly, it makes me go GAAH GAAH

The grammy's are announced. And I of course, have an opinion. Don't I always!? And of course I must announce it. That is the purpose of this blog - to air my neverending, of-great-gravity opinion. I must opiniate.
First things first. AR Rahman did us proud by bringing home not one, but two Grammys. When you have two grannys why settle for one grammy! Ok that wasn’t not even a joke but I couldn't resist. So now he'll be known as Grammy Award Winner AR Rahman. Grammy Award Winner and AR Rahman will be inseparable henceforth.
And his most humbling experience perhaps, would be looking at his passport. There he’d just be AR Rahman or Rahman AR of whatever. Speaking of which, I wonder what Queen Elizabeth's passport says! But this isn't about Queen Elizabeth's passport or AR Rahman's passport or even AR Rahman for that matter. And I wasn’t saying that his head is too big for his size. The man is humble enough, it's just the way we are. It us, not him! Henceforth any literature on AR Rahman will without doubt have "the Grammy winner" and "the Academy Award Winner" as other ways of referring to him. To add pizazz to the copy, i suppose. They'll replace "the very talented" and "India's musical wonder" might be given a rest, and TGW and TAW will be his official adjectives or appellatives or whatever in the fancy circles.
By now you must really think this is about AR RAHMAN. It's not. It's supposed to be about the grammys but apparently it insists on delving on AR RAHMAN.
The grammys. Well music is not what it used to be. I didn't watch it, I sort of missed the show. But I heard someone play the highlights and people had more to speak about how well others are endowed in other respects than music. What I heard was how well people were endowed down south and they weren’t talking about Alabama! I don’t remember music being mentioned. But I could be wrong.
Tommy Lee wanted to publicly announce that he was getting some that night. I mean what happened to the music? What happened to the power performances people raved about and didn't get over for days? What happened to us actually caring about the grammys?
I haven't walked into a music store in years. Weird for someone who used to go in every week and drool over the new albums and spend more money on music than on food (strictly based on the law of averages).This Lady Ga Ga, discosticks and pokerface and all. What is she about?
She more like Lady GAH GAH (if you read comic books you know what that means. if you haven't, you don't, and you're also a sadass - it's an interjection that denoted frustration or disgust. really, now!) I don't like her. I don't believe I mentioned that. Why has music come to this, when some woman from Mars rules the charts and has a fan following! It's peth-et-ick! The Grammys used to be about the eternals. Not about hype.
I was doing some reading up on the Grammys and this entire article was about what each celebrity wore. I'm sorry I thought I was reading up on the Grammys and not the Milan Fashion Week. Why are we discussing clothes here? Speaking of clothes, if you haven't seen what Britney Spears wore, you must. It looked like Spiderman designed the damn thing for her. She must have thought, "OK I'm not getting a Grammy, so I'm going to get all the attention i get. cos thats the other thing i'm addicted to". At least I hope she knew she was winning anything.
I’m doing it as well. This post is getting too depressing. I'm going to stop.