Arabian Daze

It has been a couple of days since I have been seeing the reports of the unrest in Tunisia, Egypt and nearly all of the Arab world on the first page of the newspaper. Yes, believe it or not I read the newspaper as well, besides watching TV and thinking about sex. It is completely beyond my understanding as to why they are revolting. My opinion of the Arabs is just like any other Indian Pappu's. It goes somewhat like this.

The Arab world, is a land of sheiks in flowing white nightgowns with their women in flowing black nightgowns . There is no water in the desert lands, but strangely, if you strike the ground it spouts black gold. This makes the sheiks filthy rich. Rich enough for greedy and unemployed Malayalee omanakuttys, poor Philipino Chinese, Bangladeshi Pakis and other poor people of other nationalities to work as household help, cab drivers, engineers etc. etc. 

Besides oil, the Arabs pay attention to only one thing and that is religion. Or rather religions. That is, besides their own religion, they pay attention to the people of any and every other religion and brand them 'Kuffars' or 'Infidels'. Apart from this, I know that they drink camel milk. I am also curious as to how many of the Arabs will turn up if I go to a crowded Arab market and shout out for 'Mohamed'. I know my analysis of the Arabs is accurate.

Anyway, the newspaper reports said something about a 'Mohamed' who is Tunisian, a fruit stall wallah and he immolated himself because his fruit stall was shut down by a female Government servant. Mohamed was high on debt and did not have any other means to survive, so he immolated himself. This, apparently, was the last straw. The Tunisian people revolted against their dictator leader and sent him packing to Saudi Arabia. This, was because they believed that the leader (His name is quite difficult to type and pronounce) is responsible for corruption, unemployment and hunger in their country.

I was like, wow. The death of a fruit stall vendor leads to a country (CountrieS, to be precise.) erupting in revolt! How cool is that! Following the example of Mohamed fruitstallwalla, other Mohamed's and Ali's in other Arab countries started immolating and electrocuting themselves. This led to protests in Algeria, Egypt, Yemen, Libya, Jordan, Mauritania and other Arab countries. I never even knew there were these many Arab countries to start with.

Here in India, corruption is so rampant that we accept it as we accept the task of visiting the loo daily. I don't know about fruit stall vendors, but we hear of farmer suicides on a fortnightly basis. Nobody bothers as long as we get our roti, daal and subzi at reasonable prices. And when the prices of roti, dal and subzi go through the roof, we blame Sonia and Mannu at the centre and then we go to office and make a friend pay for lunch. Ha. How clever we are!

The Arabs are idiots. Why go to all those lengths, protesting and all. Learn the eternal truth from the infidels, you stupid Arabs. Today you are being raped by one Mohamed/Ali/Husain, the minute you send him off, another Mohamed/Ali/Husain will ravage you. Then another fruit vendor will kill himself and then there will be protests and then.... get the drift? 

They should follow the Indian system, these Arabs. Blame the Mohamed or Ali at the head of the Government and then go to work. God will take care of the rest. Inshallah, as they say in the Arab world.

Memoirs of a free slave- Uno

I am a free citizen of India. But I often feel enslaved. Enslaved in the sexual sense. This happens everyday, on weekdays and sometimes on weekends. Often from eight in the morning to seven in the evening. I try to console myself and I often have conversations with my inner Pappu. Excerpts from a conversation we had last night.

Inner Pappu: Stop touching yourself and get a life, loser.

Me: Fuck off! It is not easy to get sex always! You try getting laid each night. And anyway, I DO have a life.

Inner Pappu: (guffaws heartily) You have a life? YOU? You are nothing but a lowlife slave who pawns his ass everyday for a pittance.

Me: That is not slavery. It is called a job. And anyway, I earn more money than my parents ever earned in their time, mind you.

Inner Pappu: Do something. Take all that money, roll it up and shove it up where the sun don't shine!

Me: But why? Why oh why?

Inner Pappu: Because you sell yourself for peanuts, that's why! Your money is not exactly helping you get laid and here you are, pleasuring yourself when you could have been out having fun.

Me: Oh please, I don't do that. I abhor sex for money! I am ethical and I have mora...

Inner Pappu: You dipshit! What was that you did in Thailand during your on-site trip then?

Me: That was a spiritual massage. And anyway, if I go out having fun, who goes to office tomorrow? Tera baap?

Inner Pappu: Your spirit seems to be between your legs then, asshole. And you don't seem to be getting any kind of nirvana at that spot of late.

Me: You are right, I do feel spiritually disconnected nowadays. That is why I am trying self-therapy.

Inner Pappu. Losers like you can only do that! I know you have something for Neena in the cubicle next to yours, I do.

Me: Thanks for reminding me of  her. Ooooh Neeenaaaah!

Inner Pappu: You piece of shit! Stop touching yourself this instant. Think of the bitch, she knows you have something for Neena too!

Me: (losing concentration) Crap! why did you have to remind me of my bitch of a boss! I was thinking of Neena. Now I see only Raji's bloated self calling me for a meeting whenever I try to talk to Neena.

Inner Pappu: You should be a little discreet. She is bound to call you for meetings and more if you keep staring at Neena like a malnourished African child stares at food. You know she is trying to shift you to another division.

Me: Yes. I do get that feeling. That bald husband of hers isn't treating her well these days, it seems. She is sexually frustrated, that's why she keeps calling me at odd times.

Inner Pappu: Methinks she likes BDSM. She must be a dominatrix, she likes control.

Me: That husband of hers looks like a slave type anyway.

Inner Pappu: You do too you slave! 'Raji, when would you like this done? Oh yes Raji, of course it will be done by tomorrow. Absolutely, I will finish it by Saturday. Sorry Raji,....'

Me: Shut up you idiot. I don't do that.

Inner Pappu: Yes you do. You are a slave. That cow Raji is your mistress and she loooooves whipping your ass on a daily basis.

Me: (trying hard to concentrate) Shut up! Shut up! OOOohhhhh Neeenaaaah!

Jessica killed it

What do you get when you have a good script based on a pertinent issue, two able leading artists, good editing and direction, and appropriate music? A good film, obviously. In this case, we had another important element that makes the audience go to watch a movie- good publicity- with Rani and Vidya 'kissing' each other at every press do.

'No one killed Jessica' is far cry from the silly publicity stunts of the two leading actresses. It is a hard-hitting piece of cinema, under the able direction of Ram Kumar Gupta. Gupta, who directed the critically acclaimed 'Aamir' uses a similar style of narration as he did for his earlier film. The scenes shift between various time lines, places and different characters, all blending into one seamless sequence of events. 

The audience knows about the famous Jessica Lall case and its outcome. But hardly does anyone have an idea as to what exactly went on in the court proceedings. We don't know how the media played their part in conducting exposés to uncover the sheet of lies shrouding the case. It is these aspects that the director chooses to concentrate on instead of getting into overt melodrama to make an impact. A tight script sans frills and fine characterization enhances the impact of the movie.

Vidya Balan is apt in her role as Sabrina Lall. But the character of Meera Gaity, executed with panache by Rani Mukherjee' takes the cake. Rani plays the ruthless bitch of a reporter with aplomb and makes us fall as much in love with her character as Vidya manages to tug on our heartstrings with Sabrina's portrayal.

The casting team has to be commended for their choice of the leads and their choice for the character of Jessica - Myra Karn- who resembles Jessica a lot and does a passable job in portraying her as well.

All in all, this movie will make you a part of the candlelight vigil for Jessica, even while you sit watching the movie on the screen. A good start to the new year and a must watch as well.

Sex killed the Bollywood love story

Recently I saw an old Hindi movie- Dil. There was a time when love in Hindi movies was ideal. There used to be a poor boy, rich girl and true love between them. Obviously they never showed sexual relations between them, as the love was intended to be 'pure'. Even making out was symbolic, with the screen blurring as soon as the lead pair got their faces closer. The next shot used to be two flowers bumping against each other.

The boy, though poor, was idealistic. He was honest, just, clear of conscience and seemingly asexual. And yet the girl liked him, which is very unusual. The girl would be rich, sheltered and a free spirit. Until the poor guy 'tames' her and she falls head over heels in love with him. No dialogue would be complete with a kasme-vaade, saat janmon ka saath, saccha pyaar, jaan de doonga/doongi type of lines. The lovers often used to be star crossed, with the parents opposing the marriage and the guy and girl trying to elope. Heavy duty dialogues and romantic song routines in the hills of Switzerland were the order of the day.

When their parents don't allow Madhuri and Aamir to marry in the movie, Aamir barges into Madhuri's house, breaks a wooden stool, sets fire to it and they do the saat pheras around it! Moreover, the ritual was complete with Aamir cutting his thumb and using the blood as sindoor to bharo-fy Madhuri's maang. How cool is that?!

It is sad that we cannot have such things in our movies nowadays. The men are reduced to health magazine models. The women are reduced to glittery stick insects in shimmery costumes and fashion labels. Love is reduced to something mechanical that happens when the lead pair is done with sampling the variety on offer. That is so boring. So mechanical. So tasteless. And so (unfortunately) real.

The kasme-vaade brand of love is something to be celebrated. It exists in fiction only, but it is so beautiful to see it materialize on screen. I appeal to any good Indian filmmaker to bring it back to the silver screen. Sex is mundane (though de-stressing in a way). Real love is boring and has too many hassles as compared to sex. We need the Yash Chopra brand of Bollywood amour back on the 70mm. Now only if someone listens. Until then, we always have YouTube to take us back to that wonderful age.

Kitty Party with Karan

I tune in to the Star World channel only for the Koffee with Karan show. I have never understood the jokes they crack in F.R.I.E.N.D.S and no, I don't watch 24 (I think these are the other shows that air on Star World, I may be wrong.). Basically I have never understood firangi daily soaps. I love our very own scripted 'reality' shows and news channels, which are no less than the reality shows as far as drama is concerned. About Karan's show, I love all of the affected, self-righteous, glamorous, haughty and very full-of-themselves Bollywood stars and starlets. I love their banter and I love Karan's style of bringing in his friends, having a friendly conversation in front of the camera and making pot loads of money out of it. I sometimes wish I could leave my job at my MNC- which gives me nothing more than a whole load of sexual frustration- and start a Kofee/Chai/Biscuit with Pappu show, where I can call my friends, talk rubbish and create substantial amount of greenery in the bank. But maybe you have the license to do that only if you make terrible movies like Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and My name is Khan, which appeal only to the sophisticated tastes of the brainless NRI, and large dysfunctional family audiences.

Anyway, last week, it was the turn of Amit uncle to be on the show. Amit uncle bought in his daughter, Shweta aunty with him. Unfortunately, Shweta aunty has been given a raw deal by the big G above in the heavens. She looks like the female version of the big B, which is not saying much about her looks. Moreover, she is a nobody and gets called to kitty party with Karan only because she is Amit uncle's daughter. Going by her responses to Karan's questions, she doesn't seem bright in the least as well. I expected the big B to compensate for her presence by being his usual witty self, but no. Uncle disappointed me with his thanda answers as well. Overall, it was a boring episode of Kitty party with Karan.

This week it is the turn of Karan's big brother/alleged gay lover Shahrukh Khan. Whether the man is a good actor or not is disputed, but he surely is one smart cookie for making the right friends in Bollywood (Yash uncle and Karan Johar). Also, the man is witty. I am waiting eagerly to tune in tomorrow!

Veena ki jawani

I am sad. Very sad. I have been following the informative and useful TV show- Bigg Boss Season 4- for quite a while now. Who is interested in watching a 40+ Salman, a dumb Khali, the perpetually preggers, foul mouthed Dolly or any of the other mundane contestants? The real interest in the show was actually kindled by our Pakistani guest- Veena Malik.

She has been evicted and the madness in the show seems to have gone out with her. I have never seen a woman who is as off her rocker, full of herself and as manipulative as Veena Malik. I love women who know exactly what they want and act as if they don't know anything. Veena Malik is definitely that kind of a woman. She knew that nobody knew her this side of the border except for her liaisons with some obscure Paki cricketer. So she made sure that people got to know by first indulging in petty skirmishes and then flirting with the guy she had fought with. Then, all of a sudden, she got physical in public with Ashmit Patel.

I think that was the EUREKA! moment. Both Veena and Ashmit knew that if anything would work with the public, it was this. If both of them have anything worthwhile to talk about themselves, it has to be their looks. Veena has a bit of acting talent as well. Ashmit is wooden on and off screen.

Rakhi Sawant has lost her touch of crassness and her ill-mannered tamashas on the telly have become a bit repetitive. Her loud-mouthed antics and main-hoon-bhartiya-naari proclamations with silicone boobs popping out all the while have become old hat. We need new mad women on TV who can shout, cry, wail, complain and do all the drama to provide us some wholesome entertainment. We need to outsource the bitch of the Indian idiot box! We need Veena Malik!