Band Bajayega Bollywood

After a hiatus of over three months, we had a lot to catch up on the movies department. That opportunity came last week, when on a whim Neeti and I booked ourselves two seats for Band Baaja Baraat!

Being away from home, any

movie that shows life in North India, particularly Punjabi culture and Delhi is uniquely appealing for us. Band Baaja Baraat seemed to be exactly that kind of a movie, from what the reviews said.

The other reason why I was particularly keen on the movie was because I have quite liked Anushka Sharma ever since her debut, as Taani Ji, with Shahrukh Khan in Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi in 2008 (I can never forget a classic - Shahrukh blurting out syaapa, when he tugged at his laptop through a pen drive which was looped around his neck!!!). But Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi was a different ball game, obviously Anushka was overshadowed by Shahrukh in the movie.

Anushka is the quintessential girl next door, with an unusual spunkiness that makes her breeze through her character. I would concede that Deepika Padukone too does score high on the girl next door kind of a look, but clearly lacks Anushka’s spunk to pull it off, though I would still rate her high.

I do remember telling Neeti after her debut that Anushka would make it big in tinsel town, and reaffirmed that after Badmash Company, on which I got a standard “okay, may be” kind of responses. While Neeti would never speak greatly about my preference of actresses, she did choose to remain silent on Anushka, which gave it away – she does agree with me on that.

Another distinctively feature that Anushka has capitalized on is her very apparent Punjabi looks – that is a bit odd as she’s a Garwahli. But she pulls it off real well especially when she’s in Patialas.

Having said a lot on Anushka, its time to get back to Band Baaja Barat. A simple plot woven into magical imagery on the screen, it certainly was not Ainvaiye Ainvaiye!!! I would give half of the credit for that to Ranveer Singh who complemented Anushka on getting the real feel of young college going North Indian kids, and their kaands. Sex was an integral part of the plot and it was handled very very succinctly, very sensuously. I have seen very few Indian movies that have handled sex as maturely as this movie.

Immediately after getting out of the multiplex, we booked ourselves for the next day’s show of Tanu Weds Manu, which was entertaining in parts, but no way close to Band Baaja Baraat. Though Kangana does score a 10 on 10 for stylishness, she does need to go a long way on dialogue delivery but is zero on spunk. Madhavan as always played his part well, mature, yet boyish, sophisticated yet flirty!

It does seem that Bollywood is coming of age, breaking out of that NRI-esque mould, the Karan Johar concocted melodramas, especially when one sees movies like Band Baaja Baraat or a Do Dooni Chaar or a Khosla Ka Ghosla, which are based on the struggles of real people, the middle class – they could be you, the ones next door, the ones sitting next to you on the Metro or wherever. Obviously, you don’t need a “Main Zandu Balm Hui” or “Shiela ki Jawani” kind of songs to make the movie a hit. (Let’s accept it – such songs do have some utility as I figured out when my colleague told me that his 7 year old son likes “Shiela ki Jawani” very much and therefore he and his wife were relieved because their son “noormal chhe” and is not gay!!!!).

Surely much better cinema is in store for us - Band Bajayega Bollywood!!!

Off The Cuff

Recently, I came across this anecdotal, "in your face", inspirational and witty speech delivered by the late Sri Lanka Foreign Minister, Lakshman Kadirgamar, to the Sri Lankan cricket team in the United Kingdom during the World Cup of 2003.

I sometimes wonder whether our sissy politicians would be savvy enough, or rather would have any time from their innumerable scams to take time out to inspire Indian youth. I would imagine no. But it appears that India's engine of enterprise, be it civil service, business or sports, would go on and on, despite or inspite of the government and our senseless politicians.

I can never imagine our "esteemed" external affairs minister ever taking a principled stand on supporting sportsmen on doubtful decisions. Knowing fully well that India is high on cricket now, as the World Cup in on right now, I have reproduced the speech in full over here, as these emotions are what all Indians would have:

"Captain Atapattu and members of the Sri Lankan team, Members of the Sri Lankan community, Friends of Sri Lanka, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Some historians say, I think uncharitably, that cricket is really a diabolical political strategy, disguised as a game, in fact a substitute for War, invented by the ingenious British to confuse the natives by encouraging them to fight each other instead of their imperial rulers.

The world is divided into two camps - those who revel in the intricacies of cricket and those who are totally baffled by it, who cannot figure out why a group of energetic young men should spend days, often in the hot sun or bitter cold, chasing a ball across an open field, hitting it from time to time with a stick - all to the rapturous applause of thousands, now millions, of ecstatic spectators across the world. The game has developed a mystical language of its own that further bewilders those who are already befuddled by its complexities.

In the course of my travels I have a hard time explaining to the non-cricketing world - in America , China , Europe and Russia - that a 'googly' is not an Indian sweetmeat; that a 'square cut' is not a choice selection of prime beef; that a 'cover drive' is not a secluded part of the garden; that a 'bouncer' is not a muscular janitor at a night club, that a 'Yorker is not some exotic cocktail mixed in Yorkshire or that a 'leg-break' is not a sinister manoeuvre designed to cripple your opponent's limbs below the waist.

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me see whether politics and cricket have anything in common. Both are games. Politicians and cricketers are superficially similar, and yet very different. Both groups are wooed by the cruel public who embrace them today and reject them tomorrow.

Cricketers work hard; politicians only pretend to do so. Cricketers are disciplined; discipline is a word unknown to most politicians in any language. Cricketers risk their own limbs in the heat of honourable play, politicians encourage others to risk their limbs in pursuit of fruitless causes while they remain secure in the safety of their pavilions. Cricketers deserve the rewards they get; the people get the politicians they deserve. Cricketers retire young; politicians go on for ever. Cricketers unite the country; politicians divide it. Cricketers accept the umpire's verdict even if they disagree with it; politicians who disagree with an umpire usually get him transferred. Cricketers stick to their team through victory and defeat, politicians in a losing team cross over and join the winning team. Clearly, cricketers are the better breed.

It is said that the task of a foreign minister is to lie effusively for his country abroad. That may be true, but it is certainly true that he has to fight for his country and defend it at all times. Our cricketers may recall that in the run-up to the 1995 World Cup , Australia refused to play a match in Colombo, citing security reasons. Shane Warne said he wouldn't come to Colombo because he couldn't do any shopping there. The press asked me for a comment. I said "shopping is for sissies". There was a storm of protest in Australia. A TV interviewer asked me whether I had ever played cricket. I said I had played before he was born - without helmets and thigh guards, on matting wickets that were full of holes and stones, and I had my share of broken bones to show it. My friend the Australian foreign minister was drawn into the fray and phoned me. We decided to cool things down. A combined India/Pakistan team came to Colombo at very short notice to play an exhibition match in place of the Australian match. It was a magnificent gesture of South Asian solidarity.

Against strong security advice I went on to the field to greet and thank our friends from India and Pakistan . When the whole episode was over I sent a bouquet of flowers to my Australian counterpart. Flowers are also for sissies.

I remember vividly the incident that occurred in Australia when Murali was called for throwing and Arjuna led his team to the boundary, in protest, but cleverly refrained from crossing it. I was watching TV in Colombo. As a past captain I asked myself what I would have done in Arjuna's place. In my mind I had no hesitation in supporting his decision. A few minutes later the phone rang. The President of the Board called to ask for advice. I said Arjuna was right because a captain must, on the field, stand up for his men and protect them, but the consequences must not be allowed to go too far; good lawyers must be engaged and a reasonable compromise must be reached. That was done.

During that tour I paid an official visit to Australia. My friend the Australian foreign minister in the course of a dinner speech invited me to go with him the next day to Adelaide , his home town, to watch the final day's play. I knew what the result was going to be. In my reply I said that at the end of the match I did not want to be the one to tell him that Australia had "won by a Hair". Accordingly, I went back home, as planned, to maintain the good relations that we have with Australia..

Foreign ministers sometimes find themselves in very difficult situations. Take the case of the Foreign Minister of Uganda. President Idi Amin told him that he wanted to change the name of Uganda to Idi. The minister was asked to canvas world opinion and return in two weeks. He did not do so. He was summoned and asked to explain. He said: "Mr. President, I have been informed that there is a country called Cyprus. Its citizens are called Cypriots, If we change the name of our country to 'Idi' our citizens would be called... “Idiots". Reason prevailed.

A story goes that a shark was asked why diplomats were his preferred food. He replied "because their brains being small are a tasty morsel, their spines being supple I can chew on them at leisure - and they come delightfully marinaded in alcohol."

Ladies and Gentlemen, as I approach the close of this brief address I wish to speak directly to our Sri Lankan team. Today we lost a match. But you lost to the rain and Duckworth and Lewis. You did not lose to England. Only a few weeks ago you had a resounding victory against South Africa. You will win again tomorrow. What is important is to keep up your confidence and spirits.

All of us, your fellow countrymen and women, have been enormously impressed in recent times by the commitment, discipline, athleticism and determination that you have displayed in the field. The people are with you. We all know that each and every one of you, are constantly busy honing your skills. We can see that you are maintaining a high standard of physical fitness. When the people see this it gives them not only immense pleasure but the moral upliftment that Sri Lankans are capable of in rising to the challenge of sustained performance.

Every team loses. It takes two to play a game. One has to lose. It is the manner in which you play the game which gives the promise of success to come. It is a great pleasure to see how youngsters are being drafted into the national team. Our team is united; it reflects all the races and religions of our country. Cricket, like all international sport today, is highly competitive; and so it must be, and so it must remain. It must always be regarded as a very high honour to represent one's country at any sport.

All of you are role models for our youth. They will be looking to see how you take defeat. To exult in victory is easy, to remain well balanced in defeat is a mark of maturity. Do not allow yourselves to be disturbed by the armchair critics who will no doubt engage in a display of theoretical learning on how the game was played. Many of these critics have never put bat to ball. It makes them feel good to indulge in the past time of amateur criticism. They do not know what it is to face fast bowling in fading light; to engage in a run race against daunting odds; to find the stamina and sheer physical endurance to spend concentrated hours in the field of play. They know nothing of the psychological pressure that modern sportsmen are subject to. Therefore, my advice to you is - ignore them. Go your way with customary discipline and methodical preparation for the next game, the next series in different parts of the world under different conditions.

For me it has been a great pleasure and an honour to be here with you tonight. When I was invited to be the Chief Guest at this occasion on my way to New York for the General Assembly of the United Nations, I accepted with eager anticipation of meeting our cricketers and relaxing for a moment.

Nobody told me that I had to make a speech, until last night when it dawned on me then that there is no such thing as a free dinner!"

Time To Introspect....

There have been a few publicized crimes that have made my blood curdle. The Arushi murder case and the Aruna Shanbaug case are among them.

The Aruna Shanbaug case in particular gave me a lot of sleepless nights, in the run-up to the Supreme Court verdict on euthanasia.

It's indeed horrifying to read Aruna Shanbaug's story, a story of a violent twist to a fairy tale of hope, love and humble beginnings. The only question that lingers in my mind is how could a human be so brutal to rape the embodiment of hope.

What's sad is that the perpetrator of the crime walked away with just 7 years in jail, that too for assault and attempt to rob and not for the heinous crime that brought the pretty Aruna to this vegetative state.

The Supreme Court in its verdict has shaken the country's conscience by legalising euthanasia, but I wonder if it is human to let Aruna live, especially if she's not brain dead, as the doctors have testified. Imagine, if she still can think, she must be reliving the horror of that fateful night over 37 years back, that dashed her dreams. To have her relive that tragedy day after day for nearly 4 decades is a travesty of the basic principles of human justice.

But, the country has to doff its hats for the staff of King Edward Memorial Hospital, Bombay, who have tenderly taken care of Aruna for all these 4 decades.

As the world celebrates Women's Day, it is worth a debate whether India can let violators of the fairer sex get off lightly. In my opinion, such people deserve nothing less than a castration, followed by death, to prevent emboldening of wayward men.

But getting that legalised will be tough, when a number of our lawmakers themselves have blood on their balls. It is shameful to have had rapists like Taslimuddin heading union ministries and lawmakers who condone violations done post midnight.

I hope that the Honourable Supreme Court nudges the government into legislating watertight laws on rape.

It is indeed the time to introspect - what is the kind of society we need, one that looks the other way, while the crime is tolerated or one where respect for the fairer sex is recognised by law?

Votti (ਵੋੱਤੀ), Sotti (ਸੋੱਤੀ), ACL Tears and Getting Fit Again!

After successfully poxing out the pox in August last year, I was again forced to be off everything (I mean that literally too!) in December again.

Towards the end of November, after having done a lot of travelling, I was drained and exhausted and a bit under the weather - just wanted to be off for a weekend at least, to sleep early, wake up late and just laze around. But as some Murphy's Law would have it, it was exactly then that we from office had to travel to Goa over the weekend for an offsite.

The super-lazy me wanted to drop out, but then super-wifey, Neeti, admonished me for my laziness, moralised on what is right and pepped me up. And then, the "right"-side of me woke up and I hurriedly packed to sleep in time for the early morning departure to Goa. Was that feeling that I should not go a premonition (of sorts) of a forthcoming event?

Goa was as lovely as could be. The early morning air was as fresh as it could be, the morning sun was warm and soothing but the icing on the cake was Dabolim Airport which was a spotters' delight - being the tourist high season, Dabolim's tiny remote parking bays were teeming with jets (with exotic liveries) from western Europe and Russia. Just as our Air India Airbus A321 was taxiing in, a Monarch Airlines Boeing 757 was being towed out. The board in the terminal showed an arrival from Yekaterinburg - Екатеринбург, the city infamous for the murders of the Romanovs in 1918, following the Russian Revolution, and that gave me an eeky feeling.

Soon we were on the tree lined road to our resort on Arossim Beach. My memories took me back to May 2006, my first time in Goa, when Neeti and I had a lovely time cycling on the same road.

The first day was pretty enjoyable with a number of fun filled activities and it went off before we thought it was over. The second day went off pretty well until we went into the last activity of the day - dodgeball. I was a bit exhausted after the whole day in the sun and felt like dropping out, but the rational side of me forced me to play. On one occasion, when I was inside the circle, I stumbled over a colleague as I attempted to avoid the ball which was coming towards me. And I fell on my right side, twisting my lower leg. But I got up and within seconds, I was back in the game, only to get out after a few minutes.

The evening passed by, and we went to a beachside shack for a party. I never realised anything was amiss until the next morning, when I was unable to move my leg - the knee was swollen. Somehow, after mustering all energy I managed to get ready to return back to Bombay. Getting on to the flight on the ladder was a task - it took me a full 5 minutes, but I was aided by my helpful colleagues, Suyez, Pankaj, Nilesh, Deepak, Rajnish and few others. On reaching home, my personal physician, Neeti, took charge of me - my knee was liberally coated with Volini and I was padded up with tight crepe bandage. We were convinced it was a minor sprain, which would heal up by morning. And then we called it a day!

The next day, a Monday morning, the situation had worsened, the pain was as intense as ever, and I was not in a position to move. And my in-house physician decided it was beyond her, so our ever helpful physician, Dr. Ullal was called. He suggested an immediate MRI scan of the knee, before we met him in his clinic. And we quickly rushed for scan. The scan began - I was strapped on the couch, which then moved in, into the tube and a series of jarring, creepy noises started. In all, it felt as though I was being abducted by an alien spaceship!

The results showed a tear in the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL), a critical ligament for stability of gait. On reviewing the report, Dr. Ullal classified this as a sports injury. In all the physical pain, that was a source of jest for Neeti and me - "How the hell can a lazybone like Rajeev get a sports injury?"

Dr. Ullal referred me to Dr. Dinshaw Pardiwala, a sports injury specialist, at the Kokilaben Dhirubhai Hospital and also was kind enough to speak to an administrative person at the hospital to facilitate an early appointment, as Dr. Pardiwala's appointments runs into a waitlist of upto a fortnight! Dr. Pardiwala recommended conservative treatment - no surgery, which relieved me. Immediately my leg was immobilised in a full-knee brace, with minimum movement, that too with a walking stick, which I never imagined I would ever use, at least before the twilight years set in.

Meanwhile, Neeti's Mom figured out that her ex-student, Dr. Jashan Vishwanath, was also an orthopaedic surgeon at Jaslok Hospital and suggested we meet him as well. That was quite useful as he reaffirmed that we were on the right track, but also suggested immediate physiotherapy to prevent muscles from wasting away, which was a distinct possibility.

My immobility made me quite a kid, and Neeti played parent to perfection - dressing me up, getting the shoes on, getting me food and all that was required. I remember the day I rejoined office two weeks after the accident, Neeti came with me downstairs to the car, just as a parent would go to see off a kid to the school bus!!!!

Then my folks came visiting. My Dad insisted on massaging the injured area himself, while Mom ensured an endless supply of great food to elevate my spirits!

In a few days, as recommended by the two doctors, my physiotherapy started - that helped to get the strength back in the limbs. My physiotherapy started under Heath Matthews and his team. Heath had treated quite a few Indian sports-persons and is a renowned name in that field. During the first session I had with him, he mentioned that Sania Mirza had a similar injury in 2007, but had recovered with conservative treatment, and went to achieve some success. That reassured me and also was another source of jest as Neeti often jocularly said that I was in the same league as Sania Mirza!!!!

Slowly and gradually, but convincingly, as the physiotherapy sessions by Heath and Shraddha progressed I limped back to normal. I gradually increased my time in office, started moving around at home and even went for a short vacation to Kodagu, which was covered in my photo-blog earlier, alongwith my folks, though Neeti's folks could not make it. There too we had our share of fun. The photographs that had Neeti, me and my stick were called votti (ਵੋੱਤੀ) and sotti (ਸੋੱਤੀ) photographs -- what a rhyming caption! The word, votti, means wife in Punjabi and sotti, stick!!! That became a joke in the family!!!

As my phsyiotherapy became intense, I was require to spend at least an hour in the gym. And then the next thing that started off in the family, initiated by who else but Neeti, that this was the only way to get lazybones of mine to exercise, a wake-up call! True, it was after nearly 3 years, and a few kilos of weight gain that I was getting back to serious exercising.

Religiously, I started going to the gym early in the morning, after a round of persistent persuasion by by my votti! And I have been doing the rounds of the gym regularly, with a few exceptions (yes, these were exceptions!). I did find that the seriousness was missing in most of the people visiting the gym. Most seemed to be there just to gossip, some to flirt with the supposedly, hot chicks, while the gym instructors would enjoy all the attention they got from the females. Some would spend just two minutes exercising, the next five minutes wiping off the sweat, and then gossiping around for the five minutes before getting back to the next round! Is that exercise? Perhaps, flirting and gossiping does burn a lot of calories, for some, at least.

My rounds to the gym, after intense persuasion by Neeti, and through weekly interventions by Heath and Shraddha, I have regained almost full functionality of my knee and all should be well in the next few months.

In a sense, my ACL injury was indeed a wakeup call - to eat right, sleep right and exercise right! I only pray that I have the strength to continue with my exercise regimen.

Of Blooming Jasmines, Mad Dogs and Sons of Bitches.....

The Arab world has got into a boiling cauldron. After Tunisia and Egypt, the fragrance of the Jasmine has spread across the entire Middle East and North Africa. Seemingly stable and liberal regimes in Morocco, Oman and Bahrain are now finding themselves sinking, rapidly, in quicksand.

The Jasmine revolution makes for a number of interesting observations. I would start with the lighter and the spicier ones!

Firstly, power was the elixir that ensured the longevity of the geriatric rulers in the Arab world. Sample this, can you imagine working in any corporate well into your 80s? The answer would be a no. Hosni Mubarak is 83, King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is 87, Sultan Qaboos of Oman is 70. Many of these geriatrics suffer from multiple ailments - cancer, diabetes, paralysis - ailments that could potentially incapacitate them from using their basic faculties for normal existence, yet they governed their countries as fiefdoms, governed with impunity and without any sense of shame. Such has been the craving, the love for power that once Hosni lost power, he lost his mojo -- he slipped into a deadly coma, as some newsreports suggest. Power is obviously the elixir for longevity -- this also seems to be true for a lot of geriatric Indian politicians as well!

Secondly, the despots may be despots, but they served a purpose, much like the jokers in a pack of cards. They, for a few decades, did give a semblance of stability and peace in a region, worse than any minefield. But more importantly, their antics and rants entertained the world. Their virility was the subject of a huge speculation, like the gossip on Colonel Gaddafi and his trusted "voluptuous blonde" Ukrainian nurse, Galyna Kolotnytska, and his 40-member female bodyguard contingent, known as the Amazonian Guard. These bodyguards are said to be recruited from Cuba and are all said to be either virgins or lesbians(?). Gaddafi's eccentricities are legendary - travelling with a camel to France, while on a state visit and pitching a heated tent, on the grounds of a Paris hotel, because Bedouin traditions so dictate! On his subsequent state visit to Italy, he went about fishing in Silvio Berlusconi's bunga-bunga harem - he invited 500 glamorous women to covert to Islam - apparently these women were lured with €70 each through a modelling agency! This reminds me of a one-liner, on the sex-escapades and virility of our geriatric N.D. Tiwari, that I had come across long back on Twitter, which is also apt for oldies like Berlusconi and Gaddafi -- "They give all men hope for their future!!!!" Perhaps, power is their viagra, that keeps them going into their twilight years!

Thirdly, common enemies can make strange bedfellows. Newsreports spoke of an Israeli journalist, Noy Alooshe, spoofing Gaddafi's televised rant of last week into a YouTube hit, which got some accolades from Arabs!

Fourthly, the Kissinger doctrine of "he's a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch" still holds true despite Obama's fancy new(?) world view. The interpretation of democracy is a matter of convenience, it just depends whose son of a bitch you are dealing with. Not very long back, in the 1980s, President Ronald Reagan had called Gaddafi the Mad Dog of the Middle East, and ordered airstrikes over Tripoli, killing the dictator's baby daughter. Gaddafi then orchestrated the Lockerbie bombing and other acts of terror. In the 2000s, he became George W. Bush's "son of a bitch". Gaddafi was locked into a tight embrace with the United States. Condoleezza Rice then travelled to Libya, conferred with him in a Bedouin tent, got "lovingly" called Leezza, gave the Mad Dog the aura of a statesman and came back with gifts worth USD 212,000, afterall, Gaddafi had become Bush's "son of a bitch" or perhaps his poodle!!!!! And when the Hosni regime was on the verge of falling, the Obama administration got into an intense engagement with the Saudi royalty on getting democracy restored in Egypt. The Saudis cannot be termed as democrats by any stretch of imagination, but they are the Americans' "sons of bitches". Jemima Goldsmith (the ex-wife of the Pakistani cricketer, Imran Khan -- I always wondered how a Pakistani feudal fundamentalist could ever, ever marry a Jewish heiress???? Lucre or lust, you decide!) tweeted saying "Obama conferring with the Saudis on the democratic transition in Egypt, is like asking a vegetarian how to cook prime rib." Wow!!!! The world needs a few lessons in the Saudi style of democracy, it seems!!! But they are Uncle Sam's "sons of bitches", afterall; democracy be damned!!!!!

Fifthly, while the fragrance of the Jasmine is contagious, it reopens some festering wounds. Notably among them are the Sunni - Shiite rift, which is now out in the open. How this affects terror outfits is an open question. Even the might of the Chinese state may be humbled by the wafting Jasmine fragrance across Silk Route. Already, the Great Firewall of China has blocked out any news on Egypt and Jasmine. Social media sites like Facebook and Twitter which were used to propagate the fragrance have been blocked, but a Twitter clone, Sina.com is still on and is reportedly being used, alongwith an unblocked LinkedIn, as the media to propagate dissent, reportedly through code language. So economic upliftment by itself may not be enough without some real power to the people. That should make the Indian political dynasties uneasy, for they do not change, we too could have a messy time ahead!