Sunday, August 14, 2011

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara - Movie Review

After lot of search which would have made even Christopher Columbus proud, I finally discovered the best scene of the movie which will touch the chord in your heart. The three beautiful horses galloping in slow motion on the lush green field with a tinge of soft dewy music playing in the background when the stellar trio were motoring to Silvia in Spain. I was stunned by the stunning marvels of the moment. Carlos Catalan, the director of photography, was at his majestic best when he copied the neighing horses from the canvas paintings and pasted to the moving giant screen in slow motion while Hrithik, layered upon emotional thoughts, was still in disbelief that Katrina has smooched him.

The movie begins with Suhel Seth announcing his daughter Natasha’s (Kalki Koelchin) engagement with Kabir (Abhay Deol) stating the most clichéd bollywood dialogue ever
"I am not losing a daughter; I am getting a son instead"
Suhel Seth is a phenomenon.We all have grown up reading his columns during the late 90’s. His transition from Survival Strategy columnist(See this) in The Telegraph supplement to a fake intellectual talking gibberish on news channels debates and then to Big screen is really exemplary as well as pitiful.

The story revolves around three friends who had a pact in their college that they would go for a road trip and each one will choose their own adventure sport in which the other two will participate unanimously. Kabir, an opulent builder, chooses scuba diving which was an Achilles' heel of Arjun (Hrithik Roshan). Gautama Buddha got enlightenment under a tree while Arjun got it under the sea but only after sucking through Laila’s oxygen mask (well who won’t?). The weeping scene of Hrithik was mesmerizing while he leveraged that good acting by over-acting in the scene where Farhan throws his cellphone out of the car (will remind you of his over acting in the movie Mujhse Dosti Karoge). Laila, a scuba diving tutelage, played by Katrina Kaif looks quiet bland and unhot while her epic dialogue in fake hindi accent “Mujhe afsos karna nahi aata” and the unpassionate kiss that follows doesn’t help either. She looked more comfortable and voluptuous in the Aam Sutra ad, dropping the mango juice on her lips, than osculating Hrithik.If her pulchritude and gorgeous smile is called acting then she is indeed a good actor. It’s hard to fathom why Zoya Akhtar chose not so glamorous role for overtly hot Katrina. On one hand my patriotic heart was so proud watching the Royal Enfield bullet on Espana road while it was petrified seeing the fake shots of ‘nervous’ Katrina on the Indian marquee. A Kareena(See this)would have fared better.

Arjun chooses sky diving which seems like a Waterloo for Imran, played by Farhan Akhtar. Akhtar who is a legitimate wearer of several hats has outdone himself in imitating Akash (Aamir Khan), the protagonist in DCH. The movie gives a feeling that Farhan regrets not acting in Dil Chata Hai. Javed Akhtar’s superb poetry doesn’t complement Farhan’s voice when spewed as a monologue for Hrithik who remains dissolved in emotions on a bad hair day.
Finally Imran chooses the notorious bull fight as his adventure sport which dreaded Kabir who longed to dump his fiancé if he survives. Natasha is pictured as an evil character while she seemed a pretty normal girl friend who is practical and little possessive. It gives a feeling of hyperbole and doesn’t spring forth any emotions when Kabir decides to dump her for any valid reasons. Just for the sake of doing something after surviving bull fight seems the only reason of dumping her.

The movie goes through lot of jams and thrusts while trying to appear uber-cool and minty fresh. The jam makes the movie slow while the thrust somehow pushes it. Like in the game of Angry Birds, the jam (to kill the pigs) has to be cleared by catapulting the birds with a thrust, similarly Imran’s joke will thrust your mouth to exert to a certain extent while sometimes you will grin sympathizing with his poor and annoying jokes (eg: Arjun, jo aaj humare beech nai hai, thrna nai aata to kya…doobna to aata hai na) In whole movie he was jumping like a popcorn on a frying pan.Humour comes best when diffused unexpectedly.At one point of time the frequent display of Bagwati becomes so blasé that you feel like empathizing with Imran.

One thing that stands out is the cinematography of Carlos Catalan. The picturing of Spain was dressed as attractively as dishes by any chef in The Taj Bengal. The under water scene of the aquatic plants along with the myriad of golden fishes were shot so perfectly that it reminded me of the Accenture ad but only with segregated fishes. One more thing audience will realize is everybody looks like Kalki Koelchin when under water ;-)

If you ever try comparing the star cast with real life 'characters', you will fall flat on your face.The relationship between the trios seem plastic from the start. There is no warmth of friendship evident may be because the director wanted to portray the characters that way but it was not as gelling as it was in DCH. Zoya Akhtar tries desperately hard to achieve the greatness of Dil Chata Hai but fails miserably.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Jab They Met

Scene 1
Location: Corporate House

Andrew straight went to her cubicle with Flora following him.
“Can you tell me where the HR bay is?” Andrew inquired

Veronika, a girl with an Indian doll face perpetually lit up by a flowery smile, talked. She was tall, around 5 foot 5, standing in the center of the cubicle as articulate witness of esoteric innocence and classical beauty. She was a treasure in the shape of a girl. Andy felt like a man who discovered a treasure in the land of “coal mines”.
She was dressed in an elegant olive green sleeveless salwar suit with a pink dupatta over her neck falling parallel to both her hands. She looked so pure and natural with her face consuming minimal cosmetics; most certainly had a beautiful body to match her incredible eyes. Her right wrist had steel bangle (kara) which constantly came down from her forearm as every time she tried moving it up in state of oblivion. Her left wrist had a black rectangular wristwatch with a leather strap which was perfectly complementing the kara.

“Gorgeous”, Andy heard himself saying in almost a muted voice.

She talked, Andy pretended to listen. Her voice had warmth of milk and honey. But he couldn’t listen, not really because he didn’t want to but because of severe hearing loss due to mind explosion.
He just stood watching her like a piece of furniture, as useful, as impersonal and as silent. His head wouldn’t turn; eyes almost locked. She exuded great confidence and Andy was submitted to her confidence. It was a strange feeling of senselessness to watch the mechanical process of her mouth motor pumping out 10 words per second.

“If I were W.B Yeats, I would have written an ode to her”, Andy’s dexterous mind chirped in articulate sound of silence.

The metallic light from the ceiling danced crisply on her face producing a twinkling effect in the Iris of her eyes as if stars had themselves transcended. Threads of her hair were slanted in flat curve across her white forehead and fall in straight line to her left shoulder which had a visible burnt mark. He wished he could float his fingers through her hair, slowly tracing the curves of the threads in the outline of her ears.

She told the direction of the maze, the HR bay, as precisely as any betel shop guy would tell. She stopped; Andy looked like as if he just came out from a good dream. He didn’t know what to speak, what she just spake? The words had vaporized from his tongue. He was unsure, nervous, excited and scared, all at the same time. All his sponge soaked nature’s intelligence came to his toes. He surely had common sense until he sacrificed that virtue at the altar of her beauty.

Her glare made his throat dry. He cleared it. In his stupor, Andy almost choked and said
“Right?” lifting his right hand to point the right side. Flora busted with laughter. Smile played on Veronika’s pencil thin splendid lips. Few people sitting at the back of the cubicle also smiled more because of Andy’s state of embarrassment.

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah Lovely!!” Andy’s heart confided to his mind.

Seeing her willingness to help others made Andy’s respect for her to touch the rooftop. She smiled again and began reiterating the direction of the maze. That was the cutest smile Andy had ever seen. The next time he saw her smile unabashedly like that was on social networking site saluting in parallel with the gatekeeper of a restaurant infront of the cameraman.

If Andy’s eyes were Journal book then his heart was a Ledger book. She made an “entry” to his heart via the eyes. Andrew preoccupied himself with gravity, he was falling …falling in love.

Scene 2
Location: A Street

On a frigid overcast morning the wind blew, soft and cool, piercing through tree branches stirring the bushes that sprinkled on the two sides of the street. In Andy’s adrenaline fuelled high speed world, the digital meter clocked 93km/hr, while Andy gaily chanting the song

“Deewana, dil dewwana

Kabse kare hai tera intezar, kab aayegi meri jane bahar
Ke jitna hi behlau, yeh utna hi maachalta hai dil
Aa bhi jaa ab jane jaa, dewaana dil deewana “

on his pulsating Red Pulsar which was the medium of transport of his livelihood. Sometimes making his bike dance like snake, doing stunts which only Rajni could be proud of or standing half erect on the bike… punching the air with joy for no reason. He was happy, that was the sole reason. SRK landed on a platform after the song while Andy found himself in the office.

Veronika became the noun which verbs his world nowadays.

Scene 3
Location: Juice Counter in the Food Court of Corporate House

He walked straight and proud with Flora and Fauna following him in the lunch hours. He parsed through the crowd in exigency, filtering everyone from his eyes to catch her glimpse. There was an automated batch process running every nanosecond in his eyes to spot her. She watched him approaching, looking up at her. She didn’t held that pose long enough to let him suspect that it was a deliberate pose. As he came near, the oxygen seeped out of his lungs, his chest tightened and couldn’t draw enough air. She was looking like a quintessential icon of various FMCG beauty products. She again looked up and both broke platitudes of hi and hellos. His voice was a nervous one but didn’t appear to be when it sounded. He hurriedly asked the most diplomatic question about her work; she retorted diplomatically in more swift and relaxed way, took her juice, walked away in most diplomatic way.

It was pretty unusual for Andy to talk in that manner as he was a self proclaimed clown who could bring smile on a dead man’s face with his sense of humor and orgasmic sarcasm. Fauna would sometimes have tears pooling in her eye due to his PJ’s. Certainly he was a clown. A clown is not a fool. It is far more difficult to make people laugh then to annoy them. A good clown silences his ego and reduces himself to an abyss to maximize the laughter. He always created innovative neural path of jokes in his brain as if it were a ritual to him.

Scene 4
Location: Waiting for elevator in the Corporate House

Flora and Fauna, Andy’s colleagues giggling among each other while they heard this jingle constantly dancing on his lips

“Teri ek jhalak mil jaye toh din ban jaye”

No he didn’t want to buy the soap; he just wanted to see her peary smile

He looked at her in the elevator, on their way down. He saw her hand: fingers of both hand stuck together as two mismatched puzzle. She was wearing pink. She chirped to one of her colleagues that she is having cold and almost gave a fake cough as a prescription of proof. Andy so wanted to suggest her remedy of some herbal juices which he had often seen his grandmother having in cough and cold but couldn’t muster the courage infront of the desert of people in the elevator.

Scene 5
Location: Food court in the Corporate House

There she was, dressed up in an emerald green top and black brown jeans on a Friday afternoon, hair open almost balancing on two sides of her face, sitting cross-legged in a blue plastic chair. She was the cynosure of all eyes. She leaned back, her shoulders straight, her beautiful palm closed about the stem of the watermelon juice glass, every time poking the straw in the juice with the left hand while chirping with her girl friends. Andy drumming the table with his fingers watched from five rows behind. Her garrulity suffused a rosy glow on her face as if shadow of watermelon dancing on her face. Then she smiled, trademark Veronika smile and with a smooth glide of a cat walked towards the entrance while dropping the juice glass into the dustbin. Andy’s eyes were fixed till he saw her silhouette disappeared in the soothing noise of the food court.

Scene 6
Location: Juice Counter in the Food court of the Corporate House

Veronika was standing at her favorite juice counter having her ‘usual’ juice. It was her last day in that corporate house. She was wearing a brown salwar with white dupatta wrapped over her neck. Her black curl glistened against her while forehead. Her kara made a grating sound when she leaned and kept her elbow on the marble counter of the juice shop.
Andy and Fauna talked with her for fifteen minutes. A usual tête-à-tête about the formalities, flights, places and weathers. Veronika and Andy immersed themselves in a sweet illusion, talked to each other in a way they never had before. Andy kept playing with his ID card dangling on his chest as vivid sign of sadness that was about to come. She saw it. He wanted to employ some PJ’s for the last time…just for the last time to see her smile but couldn’t .The ice was too big to be broken. After few minutes of silence, both walked passed opposite each other without any greetings. Andy came up to his desk and kept seeing the word ”VERONIKA” scribed on his white board.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Tryst on the Clouds..

Here is the compilation of some of my experiences and thoughts while getting bored on the plane, flying back from home to bangalore yesterday!!

1. My love for Air-hostess’ grew as a kid watching Madhuri Dixit gyrating in the farm of pulses (Chane ke khet me).She played the character of an air-hostess in that movie (Anjaam)

2. While serving refreshments the air-hostess relentlessly looked onto my chest as if it were breasts. I reciprocated…the difference was huge. Then I finally realized she was figuring out my tee liner which read “Face..boozzze 74 people likes this!”

3. The difference between a train and a plane is same as the difference between Chai-wala in train and Chai-wali on plane

4. What is similarity between java and an airplane? Both have garbage collector

5. While getting down the airplane, the airhostess thanked me for choosing spice jet. I nodded my head and asked her “ acha tell me one thing…do you have any idea What is the mileage of this plane?” She was aww-struck as if she suddenly got her stomach bulging out into her last month..Before she could call her brothers(stewards)…I put down my glares from my forehead and walked passed her

6. And finally, Air-hostess ho toh kingfisher jaisi ho varna na ho!! \\Mallya roxx//

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


Let me move forward. Let me wait until the job is fully over.
When I drop on the floor, a human being cleans after me

The aforementioned adage holds such relevance in our day to day hourly life. These holy words transpired and inspired my way of living, thinking and “standing”. If you are confused then hold your horses and continue reading to eschew obfuscation. It will revolutionize the way you think while “standing” if you embrace it to your DNA level.

It was the time to inaugurate the new innings in my career. It was the time to pop the champagne cork. I landed on Bangalore International Airport in the evening, very much disappointed, rejected, dejected with the 'Metallic Kite' experience. The name Spice Jet is as oxymoronic as Ghulam Nabi Azad’s name for the food was never spicy nor was the air-hostess.Pointlessly pointing to my pointed gayer side, the flight stewards were smoking hot. I felt chicaned by the blatant fact: they took 6000 bucks just for showing me the hanger of nebulous clouds levitating that reminiscence the chimera of the paintings I used to make during my huggies days.

It was at 10 am in the morning, I went to have my breakfast near the vicinity of, which is known modern temple to the Spunkers of Bangalore, National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT).
Who said there are so few pretty girls in this world? haan? haan?
Touché!! Well whoever said he was veridically correct in his assumptions as destiny has mustered all the pretty and ‘opulent’ girls into NIFT. Don’t read too much in that single quote after all more the opulence, more is the embellishment :)

What Bhawanipore college is for Calcutta, NIFT is for Bangalore though the difference here is the girls are more open by virtue of their top(s), bottom(s) and ofcourse mind. The former attributes are attributed to the romanticization with the Occidental culture while the latter is implicitly bestowed upon them by The Almighty since eons.*okie for all smarties who could fathom, I accept there was some pun intended in the latter attribute*.
Voila!! She was sitting in the staircase at the infamous “Chandu Dhaba”, softly holding a jam bun cushioned in her beautiful palms, surrounded by ‘gray desert’ of people. She was wearing a casual black tee with a printed Panda sardonically smiling; almost mocking at every guy on this planet Earth for the ‘Throne’ he was ushered in. Even the Panda tee read “I am coveted, you are orphaned”. Her white shorts, slightly smaller than my roomy’s underwear which he frequently wears inside out(ulta), drew out her long-legs properly pedicured , nails painted with pulverized diamond mixed in pinkish nail enamel.

I went inside the dhaba carrying the grotesque image of her leg constantly oscillating in the lush green garden of my mind until I saw a gargantuan aunty staring at me. I looked at the menu and was befuddled by the exorbitant price of the menu items. It seemed rather she was charging her customers for NSP (NyanSukhPrapti) than for food. I covered the menu item column with my left hand and focused on the right-rate column. After extrapolating, I ordered the cheapest item available in Bangalore- a plate of Idly. The aunty pretty much disappointment with my extrapolation gave me a scary look and went inside while I continued with, which was planned by the Holy Lord for the men: to adore beauty.

Her long topsy-turvy hair was like uninterrupted snow fall though light brown that stuck to her head like duck-fluff, making drape curves propelled by gentle warm breeze. Perennial Beauty!!... My dexterous mind confided to my sycophant heart. One quintessential of her panache was her nose-ring, which was adding fuel to the fire…hot pe hot tantamount to super hhott with 2 h’s and 2 t’s. The world has never been fair to the stronger sex. If a guy longs to become hot, he needs to get a six pack(I meant the abs :p). If a girl wants to become hot, all she needs is a nose-ring?...omg I almost said Dabaang…phew!!

“Idly...Idly..Idlyyyy” someone hollered from behind interrupting my adoration of the surreal lady. I took the plate, came back and put it on the round table. I saw the Idlys then the girl…then the girl and again Idlys. A huge tension plagued in some of my organs. It was the battle between the eyes and stomach. The stomach was craving for Idlys and the eyes for beauty. It was epic and became the battle between unstoppable muscle forces against immovable eye objects. I coaxed my mind to turn interlocutor hence it kicked the stomach to peace and my triumphed eyes perpetuated to look at the object.

Her brilliant radiant eyes looked, depending on the sunlight, gold, green and even sometimes sapphire. Indeed Beauty lies within the Eyes. Such Pulchritude!!.. Her physical beauty must have tempted countless men to sin or ‘restroom’ for sure. Her moist luscious lips shinning with a tinge of extra lip-gloss gave me an illusion as if saliva of ‘honey’ gushed out of her mouth and was hanging to the lower lips. I touched my lips, they were dry, broad and as rough as usual with no sign of honey.
She took the bite of the jam bun slowly; scintilla of jam stuck to her lower lip. It was not her nature to brutalise the jam bun as we guys do while eating, she was like a poet caressing the bun with a delicate touch by her fragile long fingers. Her left hand nails were long, imperial and had creamy finish. During my school days even I once had long nails but was immediately slacked off by: friends baptizing me with hindi version of ‘fool’, my cousin sister christening me as ‘jaanwar’ and my mom went to the extent of exemplifying my sisters comment ‘reech’.

All in all she was looking as young and fresh as this very moment and I was as old as universe. Her taste was particular and style peculiar. Her physical vitality and ‘mouth agility’ exuded great confidence while I stood as dumb as a doorpost. I have always wondered how the femmes accost so fluently while for me to speak, first I have to cultivate the thoughts, search for words in my brain museum and then frame the sentences, in the meanwhile the other person doze off. It looked so effortless while for me it takes tons of effort to appear effortless.

Coming back to the oasis of charm, she was like a dew drop in the gray desert-so rare. The providential warm breeze planted kisses on her cheeks killing the luminosity of the glow. For the first time I cursed my existence of being human. I wished I were a tornado, would have taken her in my arms and like swirling Shaktimaan …off to paradise.

She was talking to her classmate who was sitting infront of her in a plastic chair. Her classmate’s apparel started from her ‘betel leaf’ like assets with a strap on each shoulder and ended just two inches below the hip. The unfathomable design of the tattoo on her back was looking more like a printed sticker that came free with bubble gums. Her fashion faux pas suggests she was a complete misfit in fashion industry like I am in engineering; probably as misfit as a square pin in a round hole. Talking more about the population of the gray desert was a bleak guy, so weak could even pass through an eye of a needle. If she was misfit to fashion, this guy was misfit to the world. He seemed to be freshly squeezed out of pastry tube and was probably the result of copy-paste sex. He looked like a cross between a sick fragile black goat and a filthy old mutt.

The cross-guy was furiously trying to make her understand something. I overheard; it was on electrons and protons. How can anyone…I mean seriously anyone even talk about physics with such a Damsel. Well if it was biology I would have known his ‘intensions’ but physics…argss?? It’s Felony!! If it were in times of Caesar (my alter ego), he was doomed to be roasted and thrown to the Lions!! My nimble pea nut brain so wanted to employ an epigram in the terminology of physics which was quite common during our school days.. ”If electricity comes from electrons then moron-ity comes from morons” As expected she was least interested in his forceful conversion and almost gave a big “fake yawn”. It was clearly a euphemism for “Phuck off” (femmes are so multitasking they can fake anything.. from fake Y to fake O ;)

She stood up-heaving looking after her cell phone every minute. Her relationship with her cell phone was as unassailable as ‘Man-Hand’ relationship.With both feet pointing away from me she walked away and disappeared in thin air.

P.S : 1) The quote mentioned at the start is scribed on the wall of my company's restroom.Everytime I read, it makes me move a little forward..
Click to see the IMAGE here.
2)Ghulam and Azad in same name is itself contradictory..