Movie Review: The Dirty Picture

Director: Milan Luthria
Starring: Vidya Balan, Naseeruddin Shah, Emraan Hashmi, Tushhar Kapoor

"Nobody can hurt me without my permission - M.K Gandhi".
 This quote pretty much forms the backbone of The Dirty Picture. Story wise the movie has nothing really new to offer. Reshma, a village girl runs away from home to become a movie star. She becomes a star eventually called Silk, but then come the trappings of fame and success and everything starts spiraling downhill until she succumbs to depression and alcohol addiction.
Typical rise and fall story.
But what makes it a winner is Vidya Balan's scintillating performance. Yes, she plays a south siren, no she's not cheap or vulgar. She makes Silk humane. Inspite of all that her character does, you would sympathies with Silk because that's how Balan wants her to be. The catchy 'Ooh lalala' shows the gradual rise of Silk in a male dominated film industry. Naseeruddin Shah is absolutely hilarious as the ageing southern superstar, who lusts for Silk. Emraan Hashmi's character who is supposed to have a poisonous hate for Silk, just looks bored most of the time. Tushhar Kapoor who is apparently in love with Silk, dumps her at the drop of a hat and was in the movie clearly because of Ekta Kapoor. His character was completely unimportant. Silk loves herself and her job, which is to add 'masala' to the movies. And when she loses that respect, she loses herself.
With a story line like that, it's very easy to lose your way among all the sleaze, but Milan Lutharia, cuts away from all that and uses that to the movie's advantage. The look and feel of the 80's has been created with much hardwork and detailing and is absolutely fantastic. Where the movie lacks is in pace and storyline. The rise of Vidya's character is steady but her fall is abrupt. Apart from 'Oohlala' and 'Nakamuaka', other songs were absolutely not required in the movie.
The Dirty Picture is not so much about sex, or sleaze. It shows that the society creates it's own dirty pictures and then condemns them.
Watch this movie, if not for anything else, but for Vidya.

Movie Review: Rockstar

Cast: Ranbir Kapoor, Nargis Fakhri
Music: A.R. Rahman
Director: Imtiaz Ali

"Kabhi dil toota hai tera? Arrey, kabhi pyaar bhi hua hai tujhe? Asli sangeet toote hue dil ke dard se nikalta hai!" (Has your heart ever been broken? Have you ever fallen in love? Real music is the sound of a broken heart!)
These lines from the movie, pretty much sum up it's story line.
Rockstar, ironically, isn't so much about being a rockstar, but, to put it simply, Love. It's Jordan or Janardan Jakhar's journey of love, interwoven with the music that flows when these feelings get evoked in him. The story line is pretty much straight forward and one might wonder why should they spend a couple of hundred bucks to see it. Three reasons: Ranbir Kapoor, Ranbir Kapoor and A.R. Rahman's soul stirring scores.
After a migrain-inducing sting of pointless capers, Ranbir Kapoor finally gets his due for the fine actor he is. His eyes speak volumes. Innocence, love, passion, anger, pain, anguish, all these come through with such conviction and effortlessness that one cannot help but get awed. The treatment of the love story is refreshingly different. The movie portrays a playful, careless love that adds volumes to the story. Nargis Fakhri as Heer is just about OK. But, in the scenes she doesn't have to say much, she manages to look suitably ethereal.
The music, which you may or may not have liked, takes another meaning altogether. It's a journey, you take along with Jordan when you listen to it along with the story. I teared up when I saw Shammi Kapoor and Ranbir sharing the screen space. It's such a poignant moment. It's beautiful.
Rockstar, isn't a fast paced movie. It moves at a leisurely pace and even seems pointlessly slow at times. But, with a little patience the movie does manage to take one on a musical trek of self discovery.

Leader and the other People

After endless speculations and debates and protests and patriotism-charged speeches, the Government finally agreed to pass the bill. 

Great.

I am pretty sure that not even Mr. Hazare had imagined this kind of unprecedented massive response from the usually cynical and jaded common man. As highly admirable and brave his act is, it's nothing new. Medha Patkar, Irom Sharmila Chanu (fasting for the past 10 years) and scores of others have attempted this particular method of protest before, but the response was mostly luke-warm and the objective achieved was incomplete or not at all, with their actions replete with controversies. So, what's it about the Protest by Mr. Anna Hazare that caught on like a wildfire and had a happy ending?

Was it the cause, or the Leader himself?

While the other strikers had an open and shut cause, (Medha Patkar protested against increasing the height of Narmada Dam while Ms. Chanu protests against the AFSPA.) Mr. Hazare's cause, to say the least is complex.

Corruption isn't a thing. It's a mindset so deeply ingrained in the Indian psyche that a mere bill cannot be the solution. The passing of Jan Lok Pal bill is at the most, a flicker. A flicker of hope that someday, corruption in all forms would go away. 

It would take a long time before the bill is made into a law and even more for it to be implemented effectively. And even after implementation, the bill puts a starnglehold on corruption at a rather macro level. 

At grass root levels, we still have a long way to go. 

So, obvious as it is that the Anna Hazare's cause doesn't really have a clear-cut and immediate solution, what draws the usually impatient common man to him ?

Maybe a vicarious feeling of being a part of the Gandhian history or is it Anna Hazare himself?

He looks like a throw-back from the era gone by. The pre and post Independence era where the leaders were mostly without blemishes, an era of good Samaritans, rich with idealism and patriotism.

Everybody wants to be a part of the history. Something to tell their grand-children about on a cold winter night. 

Millions of people joined into the protest. There might be a billions of reasons behind it. The end result is what matters the most.

Because a cause needs support. Support needs People. People need a Leader.

And a Leader needs his People.

"Funny. Isn't it?". No.

What makes you laugh?

Goofy tricks? Dry sarcasm? Slapstick jokes? Or simply random things?
I have observed that the liking or disliking a person has a lot to do with laughing at same jokes. How many times have you cracked a joke and ended up the only one laughing while the other person looks blankly at you? In such situations, two things can happen. Either you derive a perverse pleasure by looking at the blank, no-I-didn't-get-it expression and that person becomes your ideal company when bored. Or, you feel insulted and dislike the person almost immediately. I have a great adaptibility to diffrent kinds of humour. I have personally categorized them into different brands.
Brand Dumb:
They are so dumb, that you laugh becomes somebody actually had the gall to crack it. Example: "What did the duck say to the butler? Ans. Quack Quack.". Ha ha.
Brand Witty:
These are the ones which you don't get immediately. But, once you do, you are under their effect as long as someone makes a wry face and tells you that the joke has outlived its utility.
Then you laugh even harder.
Brand Sarcastic:
This one is my personal favorite and I put it to good use almost all the time. They are multipurpose actually. You can use Sarcasm to make someone laugh, to insult or just make them feel stupid. My high school maths teacher used it to great effect and was a resounding success among the students. Some of my favorite lines by her are:
"I can see some arborial (the biological class to which monkeys belong) animals getting distracted." (if someone was caught looking outside the window)
 " If you have finished hibernating, you can answer the question I just asked" (If someone was found with their head-down. Especially, the last benchers, i.e me)
 "What is all this Z-Security outside your classroom?" (meaning the act of running inside the classroom shouting " aa gayi! aa gayi (she's come! she's come!)", whenever a teacher was seen exiting the staffroom)
and so on and so forth.
 Brand Oh-I-am-SO-funny:
Perhaps the most exasperating and irritating category of all. Most of the time, these jokes tend to defeat the purpose. They would sound anything but funny. Mostly such jokes are a double whammy 'coz they come along with an added disadvantage of the I-am-so-perfect-that-I-have-tears-in-my-eyes cracky (As in the person who cracks the joke. It's just a term I invented.)
Example: "Do you like guys? G-U-Y-S and G-A-A-Y-S (meaning cows in hindi) did you see? Hahahaha".
Kill me or Kill them.
Brand WTF:
These jokes are neither dumb,nor witty. They are absoloute nonsense.
Cracky- " Did you know what happened to Jyotish Roy?"
Victim- "No."
Cracky- "Me too! HAHAAHAHA!"
Go figure.
Brand Cough-Cough-Wink-Wink:
Usually not cracked in polite company, these are a hit with everybody. Even the most holier-than-thou personality has one of these in his or her closet. The only problem with this brand is that, it's success largely depends on the subtle skill of the cracky as the line between the Funny and the Tasteless is very thin. I am not giving any examples for propriety's sake.
Brand copied-from-facebook-likes:
They are not unique in their own right but I am mentioning them because of their virulent quality. These are generally funny oneliners posted on facebook which rapidly become sms joke and then with the speed even greater than light are posted on their walls by every single person on your friendlist. They are repeated so often and so many times that you wonder what had you found so funny about them in the first place.
Example: " Angrezo ko bolo Bharat chhod do (same line repeated n times), Daya darwaza tod do" (I am not writing a translation because it will sound so moronic that you would threaten to put me in asylum)
Brand Random:
They are not jokes, just sentences. But people still laugh at them because they are so unfunny. Usually cracked at the oddest of times, these jokes are most instrumental in helping you survive through a sleep-inducing lecture or coma-inducing seminar. The funny thing about them is that they are completely out of context. (I confess, I am gulity of cracking these with an alarming frequency.)
Example: Question asked to the general audience- "What is that thing which is as essential to living as breathing and which takes our conciousness to another level and evokes a deep embedded spiriuality?"
Cracky's ans.-" I have an electric toothbrush which goes buzzzzzzzzzzz......zzzzzz".

These are only some of the distinct brands that I have mentioned. There are other, more obscure and weird brands like, Brand I-feel--queazy, Brand why-me?, Brand what-did-you-just-say? etc. etc.
Humour, like breathing, is an effortless thing. You can't study or mug it up or analyze it. Some people, like those in the reality comedy shows, try too hard. Then it's grates.
It's simple really. If it makes you laugh, it's funny. And if your cheek muscles refuse to form a fake smile, try another joke.

Book Review: The Host (Stephanie Meyer)- An Aquired Taste.

I read this novel, quiet a while ago, but on watching Twilight-the movie yesterday, I feel like saying something about this piece of art.
I feel The Host, in many ways, is way better than Twilight. Even though the bird's eye view of the plot may seem like a hokey sci-fi one, but the treatment takes the story to another, much deeper level.
Earth has been invaded by a race of aliens who don't have a form of their own. So, they make the human body their host and take over the mind's conciousness and and suppress the one which belonged to its original occupant. A band of, yet-human rebels are fighting these aliens and are trying to find out how exactly to remove their presence from the human body. Amidst this, arrives an alien, Wanderer or Wanda who occupies an extremely headstrong girl, Melanie's body, and then starts one-of-its-kind love triangles.
Melanie and Wanda are a part of the same body but Melanie's conciousness is too strong, so are her feelings for Jared, the love of her life which results in Wanda falling for Jared with just equal desperation, if not more.
Outlandish. Isn't it.
The best part about the story is that all characters are gray. The aliens are not the regular stuff Hollywod shows. They are honest, peace loving and trust each other completely. They do not cheat or hurt or lie. But, inspite of that you feel sorry for the humans. The roamance isn't the glittering kind like in Twilight. But, it's way more sincere. One sympathises with all the three characters. Jared, who has Melanie but can't get her. There is Melanie, who is trapped in her own mind and body and completely helpless to really do anyting about it. And then there is Wanda, who can't help loving Jared but knows nothing would ever happen.
Even though the ending is a bit dissapointing, still the story ebbs and flows in quiet an interesting manner, making one laugh and cry in equal degrees.
The situation is complex, but even more complex is the relationship between Wanda and Melanie. You can't call them enemies 'coz they don't hate each other. But neither do they like each other, nor are they indiffrent. They have a bond, which is forced but impossible to break free of, as they realize later. Though the action part of the story doesn't really match upto the Twilight series (maybe because there are no good looking, sinister vampires. Only peace loving aliens.), still, it's entertainig to a certain degree. It seems Stephanie Meyer has a morbid facination for grief, pain and sorrow since both her works have a heavy, dark gloomy atmosphere all through. Another thing common between both the pieces is that the realtionship depicted between the lovers can be called unhealthy to a large degree. All her chracters don't seem to have any goal or future plan apart from staring moonily over the love of their lives and and having zero self-confidence. C'mon man!
Stifling at times, The Host may not hold much of an appeal to the hardened Twilight fan. But to those uninitiated into the Cullen clan, this book could have a tremendous appeal.
Deep, brooding, sometimes funny, The Host, to cut a long story short, is an Aquired Taste.

Just My Luck.

They say "want to make God laugh? Tell Him your future plans."
I say, want to have His tummy ache with too much laughing, tell Him you intend to see them through.I have always had friends who knew exactly what's going to happen next in their life. I was in 8th std, when I was asked to choose one subject as my optional one. Engineering Drawing, Computer science or French. I chose the first one because I had passed computers (which was a graded subject) with a lot of 'help' (the wrong kind) from my friends, and French was a lost cause.
 When I passed my 10th standard, I couldn't choose between Maths and Biology. I chose both. (Not to mention, nearly flunked in both too, but that's a different story.)
Then I was in a dilemma. Engineering or Medicine? I chose engineering because I couldn't stand to mug up cement-slab size books that were a given in the Medical field. When I had, finally, finally decided on engineering, which branch?
Chemical- Apart from inorganic, organic and physical chemistry, I like the rest. So...No.
Computer- *laughing extremely hard for even suggestin such a thing to a programming-handicapped-human  i.e me.* No computers.
Mechanical- Has lots to do with lifting either extremely heavy or objects with negligible mass. Offends my physical sensibilities. (Me being on the very-heavy-don't-lift category.)
IT- Same reason as stated in the computers section. I am pathetic in all things pogramming.
Electronics and Telecom: We are extremely sorry to inform you that you have no more options available. Ok. Chosen.

Now that my friends are up and raring to go as our stint in engineering is halfway through, I am still confused. Whenever I had to choose a subject or even for that matter, a career, I went with the one I found least offensive. It's just a matter of chance that whatever I have pursued till now has turned out to be of my liking. Future may not be that favourable. But there is a very valid reason exactly why I break out in cold sweat when asked to choose. Whenever I 'plan' something, fate, literally makes sure my mind changes. I wanted to be a doctor (A neurosurgeon. Very stylish.) since the time my Dadu (grandfather) had given me my first doctor-doctor toy set.
Now, I am pursuing a B.Tech in Electronics and Telecom. And of my own free will.
So, even now, when someone asks me what are my 'future plans', I say I don't know and they look at me as if I am a lunatic.
"But you are doing Engineering! Ab toh naukri karo ya foreign jaao padhne ke liye. Kuch saalon baad shaadi. (Now either you will get into a job, or go abroad for PG and in a couple of years, get married.  Hurray!)"
In such cases, I really don't waste my breath responding. Frankly, I am quiet amused. They make everything sound like a walk to super market to buy a toothbrush. If only it were, then me and my parents won't waste away perfectly good evenings discussing options in an infinite loop.
Whatever it is that has governed my life till now, if any thing doen't turn out well, I would as always shrug and say- Just My Luck.

Movie Review: Kung Fu Panda-2 - A cuddly ride.

The movie kicks-off  by telling us how exactly did Po come about being the son of a goose. Made up mostly of brilliant action sequences and a generous dose of humour, Kung Fu Panda2 is a fun ride.
China is under an attack by the evil Peacock (Gary Oldman) and it's upto Po and his friends who make up the Furious Five, to save it. Jack Black as Po the warrior Panda is at his goofy best. Even though the movie becomes a wee-bit repetitive in the fag-end, it still manages to be a cute cuddly ride. Other characters like master ShiFu, The Tigress, The Viper,  Mantis come back as the cool crew. The spectacular 3D used covers up to a large extent the clichéd plot. It has the eternal quality of a Disney movie. We know everything would be just fine in the end, yet we clap and cheer when it does and watch it again and again. It's familiar, it's cute and does manage to be like the comfort movie food after all the arty-difficult-to-understand dose of movies.

The Dislike Button.

Apart from noisy, irritating, loud songs and unhygeneic people, there happen to be some genre of books too which I don't like.
Making to the top of the list is high-brow, oh-I-am-so-arty Philosophy. I know, I will be recieving tremendous amount of flak for saying this, but I can't for the world enjoy Paulo Coelho titles or Deepak Chopra for that matter. Most of their books are fragmented, disjointed and mostly don't make any sense to me atleast. (My uncle LOVES them. We are always at loggerheads.) I tried reading 'God of Small Things' once. That book went down in my personal history for being the only one I never finished. ( You see I have an OCD of finishing whatever book I started.) and I confess, I didn't understand a thing of whatever length I read. Call me immature, tasteless or plain stupid, but a good book is that which gives pleasure to the reader. Best book is that which can be read again and again. I don't like it when some people turn up their dainty noses at my Harry Potters and advice me to read 'The Zahir' (PauloCoelho). Just like beauty, the judgement whether a book is good or bad, lies in the mind of the reader. So, arty-people-who-read-tasteful-books-and-advice-me, thanks, but no thanks.
Just next in the never-again category is, sorry folks, Chetan Bhagat.
You see, there is good english, bad english, atrocious english and and then there is Chetan Bhagat.
Among much protests and pressure from my peer group ,one day I finally broke down and read 'One Night at The Call Center'. Dear readers, I am very sorry to offend you ('coz I know how it feels when someone criticizes a national phenomenon),but the book was to say the least, horrendous. Perhaps I can understand why everyone loved the book. It's written in everyday english (which is actually Hinglish). The words, phrases and expressions we use in our day-to-day life were reproduced quiet faithfully in the book., which made it very easy to relate to. Not that I don't appreciate the benefits of understanding the written content, but to me atleast, story about a bunch of oh-we-are-so-cool-but-miserable youngsters who get a call from God (???) , written in bad english didn't appeal at all. (To put it in the politest of terms). Even after observing my less-than-entusiastic reaction to the book, my friends thrusted Five Point Someone towards me, daring me to refuse. Ah!
The third on my list are Tragedies.
You see having read a healthy dose of fairytails, I love happy-endings (who doesn't? Ok. I take that back)
That is the only reason I avoided Russian authors like a plague, and for that matter even Tagore. I have an irritating habit of empathising too much with the character. So, if anything bad happens to them, I mop around for days which really bugs mom. I even cried hysterically when Sirius, Dumbledore and Dobby died. One of the books which is excellently written but I dislike is Anna Karenina. Why does she has to die at the end? Why couldn't her husband be like Vronsky? . A beautiful woman dies for no reason at all. Ugh! I absolutely hate tragedies
If only books had a Dislike Button.

We Are Like This Only.

I am not an extremely stubborn girl by nature. Only a mild one. The first ever book  (and not comics) I read was a children's version of Gandhiji's autobiography. I became an ardent fan. But later I felt extremely dissapointed when I found out that Gandhiji's stories DID NOT come in series. So I shifted base to 'Amar Chitra Katha'. (Till date I refuse to worship any deity that does not resemble those depicted in the series.)

After exhausting every single title ever published in the aforementioned series, I went on to read ( and I STILL staunchly stand by them) Enid Blyton. I have lost count how many times I have read and re-read all of the books ever written by her.

Then came THE 'Harry Potter' phenomenon, and I went down hook, line and sinker. My mother actually hid the books to stop me from reading them for the 65th time.

 After Harry grew up and had children (Yuck! I hated the ending.), arrived Edward Cullen in all his vampire glory. I like to think that the only person more obsessed with Edward Cullen than Bella, was me. (Clearly, I was wrong, judging by the Avogadro's Number of websites dedicated to him alone.)

Finding no other compelling fantancy to get addicted to, I turned to Classics. I loved Pride and Prejudice ( Oh Mr. Darcy!), Jane Eyre ( both the protagonists were ugly), Rebecca ( I like Rebbeca in Rebecca rather than the weepy girl who narrates the story.), Emma (she is a brat, like me), The Secret Garden (No, idea why since it doen' have romance.) and too many others. (I avoided the Russians. Very Depressing.)

 Very soon I got bored of propriety (yes, that word is a darling with all the classics.), I wanted something fast paced and thrilling.

Sydney Sheldon.

It was all things non-classic. It was full of twisted mysteries, intrigue, and a generous dose of  don't-read-that's-ADULT. By that time I had actually managed to hunt out few souls who liked being within 10m of a book. So, all of us devoured Sydney Sheldon like there was no tommorrow. (BTW  that's one of the titles I think). And then came 3-months worth of summer holidays (No, that's no a book, that's summer holidays. Duh!) I had no idea I had a supporter and a friend in the second-hand (and pirated) bookseller. He took pity on me and pointed out a Julie Garwood title (Rebellious Desire. Haha!) I went through the first fifty pages tentatively, then the next thing I knew was I had  3GB worth of corny romance novels. Every author, every title possible. But, it doesn't include our beloved M&B.

If I write anymore my boss will kill me for neglecting work for the past 2 hrs (actually it was supposed to be submitted an hour ago).

But...whatever. We Are Like This Only.

Wanted Dead and Alive.

What's about a silly document that can mortally wound you?
Ans. It's a report.
A report, usually found in the dark recesses of the office drawers, is a bundle of A4 size sheets bound together. Unspeakably boring, it has an eternal timeless quality about it. (No matter what, all reports look, sound and smell exactly the same- with immortal lengths.) The defining character of report is that, it can either fatally wound the reader or put them in a dreamless coma. Apart from the daunting length, a report unleashes it's sheathed torturous power on the reader when least expected. This power manifests itself in the form of an infinitely long series of facts, figures and tables. Usually the contents of the report lull you to a dreamless slumber but there's still a hope that you will manage to look alive when your boss comes barging in univited. But, the moment it unleashes a barrage of random figures (under the inconspicous title 'statistical data'), you havn't a prayer of suviving. Especially if you have just had lunch.
It's 2.00pm, a couple of hours have passed since lunch. (Worse still, my bosses have come back from the lunch break.) I am doing the most exciting, exhiliarating, adrenaline fuelled thing imaginable.
' A REPORT ON THE COMPARITIVE STUDY ON RENEWABLE ENERGY AND HYDROCARBON ENGINEERING'
It's a 245 pg report that I have to make and submit by 2.15 pm.
I have managed to slug out my way through 50 pgs. and my eyes are drooping close.
I can see my boss rising from his seat slowly turning towards me to summon me.
Wanted Dead and Alive.

Blah!

I wish I knew the word when I was a little girl. It would have been the perfectly succinct and to the point answer to all the idiotic questions put to me by my parent's colleagues, distant relatives etc etc. The very versatility of the word is quiet astounding. It applies to almost every commonplace query.
'How was your day?'. Blah.
'How was the meeting?'. Blah.
'How do you feel about me?'. Blah.
You get the gist.  
Even though the person who has put up the query may feel a trifle upset but the inner satisfaction the deliciously tart reply provides is quiet another thing, Especially when you happen to have a wretched, long and boring day.
I remember one of my friends who couldn't quiet find enough words to describe her accomplishments, so many were they (according to her). She would drone on and on and on, lost in her soliloquy, awed by her own self (    ' It's so... unfair. Why did god make me so perfect?') while I would look desperately around, catch an unsuspecting victim and quietly slip away to sanity. Anyone who was new to her would be subjected to such ruthless self-marketing and on being asked how wonderful did they find her, the answer would be delightfully grumpy and to the point. Blah!