I was thinking of more expletives to express my frustration at this ridiculously lengthy movie, but I decided to restrain myself. At the intermission I told my friend who was accompanying me at the movie "This seems to be the longest day of my life and I can't believe that there are still 2 more hours to go". After more than 12 hours of roaming about the city for whatever reasons, another 3 and a half hours of Bollywood just killed my spirits for the day. I had a throbbing headache by the end of it and while the movie hall was just a few minutes' walk from home, I could no longer walk. In the cab back from the theatre to home, I was blessing the cab driver for the ride home. Yes, it is thaaaaat long.
Don't get me wrong. This is not a bad movie, it is just too long. It could have been easily cut short to a 120 - 150 minutes sweet romantic movie about love blossoming between a married couple, who were initially not in love. What killed the movie is the unnecessary wandering of the story along tangential sub-plots not core to the heart of the movie.
The basic premise of the movie is a very touching and not much heard of love story - the marriage (for administrative reasons) and the subsequent love affair between the Moghul Moslem King Akbar (played by Hrithik Roshan) and the Rajput Hindu Princess Jodhabai (played by Aishwarya Rai). The ice princess and the handsome prince meet again (post Dhoom 2) in this brand new effort by the director, Ashutosh Gowariker (Lagaan, Swades). At the very outset, it should be mentioned both the lead actors sizzle in this role which looks almost tailor-made for them. It's not that they have done their career-best acting in this movie, but both of them definitely look the part. They have also acted reasonably well, lending tremendous credence to their casting as Jodha and Akbar.
I would not get into the plot nitty-gritties, because truly there is not too much of a story to be told here. Not being a great history buff myself, I do not know how factually true or false the movie is. I would give Gowariker his freedom for artistic creativity, and move on. The alliance between Jodha and Akbar was due to administrative and political reasons. The Rajput King of Amer, Jodha's father (played by Khulbhushan Kharbanda) had to seek for protection from the great Moghul empire to prevent other warring forces from entering his kingdom. Also since the rest of the Rajput Kings refused to let any alliances happen between people from their kingdoms and the people of Amer, Jodha's Rajput King was left with no suitable princely alliance for Jodha. In what seemed to make political sense, Jodha's father promised Jodha's hand in marriage to King Akbar in return for his promise to protect his kingdom of Amer if there were any battles with the opposing camps. For obviously other political reasons which the story unfolds, Akbar decides to take up the offer. How the marriage of convenience actually blossoms into love, given the religious and cultural differences between the two in the 16th century royalty forms the crux of the story.
When the story sticks to this basic premise, it works. Maybe in those bits and pieces primarily when the movie focusses on the blossoming romance between its protagonists - their attraction towards each other, their little squabbles, their dilemmas, etc. The rest of the film seems weighed down by a pressing need to live up to the proclaimed scale. In what seems to be one of the major troubles of the movie making lore of the day, big-budget films are hyped to be big in every scale even while they are being written. That Gowariker fell prey to the sales pitch and expectations, and chose to follow them rather than his own inner vision when the idea for this movie might have sprung in his head, is unfortunate. Hence the romance works, but the history, seems to be getting laboriously in the way. We have long drawn battle sequences, directing which does not seem to be Gowariker's forte. For evidently cheaper labor wage reasons in India as compared to using CGI wizardry to create the battle forces, I feel Gowariker must have chosen to use real-life people in the battle sequences. And that brings to the screen one of the few cringeworthy sequences in the movie. I'm sure thousands of extras are impossible to control, but the battle sequences are childish to an embarassing extreme. While they are well captured on the camera (thanks to excellent cinematography by Kiran Deohans), it is poorly executed. It seemed like a rerun of the centuries old Ramayana days from Doordarshan - ill-equipped soldiers listlessly moving their swords in thin air while also restraining themselves. Robotic movements where the swords are swung first left, then right, then left again, and pow! one of the battling duo pumps the sword into the other and you throw some tomato sauce on the slit soldier's torso.
And that brings me back to my main gripe with this movie - its devastating lack of budgeting with the financial resources and with the longevity of the movie. Mr. Gowariker needs to be taught the art of editing, and the art of learning how to cut the crap from your reels. If it takes 3 hours of reel time in a 3 hr 28 minute movie for your hero to woo the heroine and merely get to touch her, I guess I am smarter than Emperor Akbar. I definitely take less than 3 hours in real life.
I could go on about the length of the movie, but there are of course many masterful strokes too in this movie. That Ms Rai is not a great actress at any level, is something most of us are aware of. If directed well, she can do a reasonably good job (case in example - Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and Provoked). In what seems to be telling tall tales of Gowariker's cinematic prowess, he has given very few dialogues to be mouthed to Aishwarya. He has left her beautiful eyes to do all the talking. And Ms Rai is beautifully restrained in the movie, which works wonders for the movie. Hrithik Roshan also looks valiant and macho in the role of Akbar. He simply has to smoulder and brood in many scenes in the movie, which he does a good job of. He seems to be getting better with each of his newer movies that I see. The movie also has a great supporting cast. Raza Murad (as Emperor Akbar's advisor Khan Baba) is brilliant, just his vocal inflections and the deep baritone of his voice sounds like magic. Ila Arun (as Emperor Akbar's foster mother) almost hams it up, but also manages to steal the scenes from Aishwarya when the two of them are face-to-face. However I was terribly dissatisfied with the 3-4 scenes in which Suhasini Mulay (as Jodha's mother) was present. A brilliant actress that she is, she seems totally wasted in this role and seems to have an ineffective smile plastered on her face throughout.
What brings this movie to an entirely upper level is A R Rahman's lilting music. The songs are not too many and rightly placed in the movie, and while I believe when heard in isolation the songs might not seem that great, in the context of the movie and the way it is picturised the songs are simply beautiful. The beautiful 'Khwaja mere Khwaja' and the melodic 'Kehne ko jashne - bahara hai' really take your breath away. And 'Khwaja mere Khwaja' is indeed lyrically picturised as well. When the Sufi-esque tunes of this song reach heights, Gowariker pulls off a magical scene in which Hrithik enchanted by the music gets up from his throne and begins to sway to the tune, going round and round, lending a heavenly touch to the scene.
And once more I would like to mention the brilliant cinematography by Kiran Deohans in the movie, especially the palace's beautiful interiors and the breathtaking desert scenes, so also the warfront. Costumes by Neeta Lulla and Nitin Desai's sets also deserve ample praise. Being the period epic that it is, never once did the sets draw attention away from the main course of the movie (unlike the pointless monstrosities erected in SLB's Black and Saawariya).
The more I think about it, the more I feel that there are quite a few good scenes and many other positives in this movie, and I hate it lesser and lesser as I write more. Maybe I was just tired through a hectic day's activities that this long movie simply did not work for me anymore. How I wish Ashutosh had focussed on the romance between Jodha and Akbar, and not fallen into the big-budget trappings. That would truly have been a great movie. Sigh!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Where in the world is Osama Bin Laden?
So last night I saw the early screening of Supershowman Morgan Spurlock's follow up to his superhit first documentary 'Supersize me'. And true to his style, the showman is still the same. Starting right from the title of the movie till the very last reel, you cannot help but feel almost borne down by the self-righteous tone of the director. The film surely touches on a very vital point - Is this world safe enough for today's generation to raise our future generation? And while the answer to this question is not arresting the head of Al-Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden, a resolution to terrorism in the broader sense is definitely one of the dangers most people are worried about nowadays.
Apparently since I attended one of the initial runs of the movie, there could be lots of further editing when the movie is finally released in theatres. There better be, 'coz I noticed quite a few places where the movie needed some finetuning. I provided my feedback at the end of the movie to the surveyors. This current review of mine is based on the initial draft version that I saw last night.
19 weeks into the delivery of his first child, Morgan is worried by a nagging doubt -Is this world a safe enough place for him to bring his new born into? And terrorism being one of the major problems in today's world, Morgan decides to set out in pursuit of the biggest terrorist the recent world has ever known - The leader of Al Qaeda and the mastermind of the biggest terrorist attacks this side of the world on 9/11 - Osama Bin Laden. This manhunt takes him to Egypt, Morocco, Jordan, Israel, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and finally Pakistan (which is where most people doubt Osama is currently). To top it all, Morgan has only 19 weeks to get his answers and his man, since he also wants to be by his wife's side during the baby's delivery. Along the way, though, somewhere the movie loses its road-chase steam and takes on a more egalitarian approach towards the issue of terrorism as a whole. What do the Middle-Eastern nations think of America's interference in their countries' economies and private matters? What do the same nations think of Osama's claim of wanting to protect the Muslim world from the Christian western world? What are the social, cultural, and economic implications of this radical fundamentalism? Does the world need to be afraid of all Muslims, given that they form more than 1/5th of the entire world population?
While the movie does raise some important points, it seems too wishy-washy in its argument. I am not a great follower of history and political history and western political history in general, and so I do not have sufficient knowledge to comment on the theories presented as facts in this movie. But I also have a strong feeling that the reasons that previous American regimes did what they did are not as simple as what Morgan is trying to portray. There is a plethora of intertwined reasons for America's support of Israel and Afghanistan (during the Soviet invasion) and so also for America's invasion of Iraq. By presenting a one-sided, simplistic, and animation based childish view of his arguments, Morgan has placed the lesser informed audience in the dark and colored their opinions about matters as complex as this. While using humor to present one's ideas is a good tactic, it also simplifies the complex political machinations to such a level that discredits the thought process of an entire gubernatorial body. Michael Moore seemingly did a better job of presenting his arguments using humor as a tool in Fahrenheit 9/11 as compared to Morgan Spurlock in this movie. This movie from Morgan has inevitably run into the risk of being compared with Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 (which feels like a much superior movie now, I must say), because both movies on a deeper level touch the same thread - Is America at fault for the growth of terrorism?
If Morgan wants to show America what the rest of the world thinks of their nation, it would evidently lead to some Bush-bashing. And this movie does precisely that. This also leads me to think whether some political pundits might question the timing for the release of this movie - given the 2008 Presidential elections are drawing nearer.
And now comes my biggest problem with the movie. The very title of the movie reeks of getting a curious moviegoer to come watch the movie, without the movie actually being much about the hunt for Osama Bin Laden himself. I have to admit, I decided
to go watch the movie because the title gave me an impression of a nail-biting manhunt for the man himself (besides the fact being that I got the tickets for free) - which is absolutely not what the movie is about. It just slanderously exploits a notorious man's name for monetary purposes. While there is nothing terribly wrong with that move (after all don't advertisers use a famous man's name and face to advertise their products?), I just couldn't help feeling tremendously cheated when the movie got over. And at the near climax of the movie where our man got close to almost getting close to his man, he chickens out and goes back to his home and hearth leaving the audience feeling deprived and deceived. Almost as if he is trying to dodge a death sentence. Don't get me wrong - I don't want Morgan to actually come face-to-face with Osama and get shot in the process. My problem is with his very approach of showing-off right from the start of the movie that he is game to do it and chickening out at the end, my problem is with his tall tales, shameless showmanship, if I may.
Oh and of course, it also seemed like Morgan's little vacation around the world, going from country to country, sight seeing and touring, while trying to send the message to the wider audience - look at me, here my wife is pregnant and about to have a baby, while I am going all around the world trying to catch a man, whom most people around the world would like to have behind the bars. It seems like Morgan's-merry-go-round, he gets to shoot off some AK-47s loaned from the US base camp in Afghanistan, and while he is at it also try out a rocket launcher. Macho! And those multiple lovey-dovey scenes with his wife on the phone just seem trying too hard to send out a self-righteous message to the public. That is precisely the feedback that I gave at the end of the movie - tone down the self-righteousness, cut down some of those scenes with your wife. As for Osama bin Laden, Morgan doesn’t really seem to be trying to find him. Sure, he occasionally asks for his whereabouts, but mostly it’s just a gimmick to link together his guided tour of the Middle East.
Where this movie shines though is when it goes to the streets with the common man in these countries and unearths their impression about America and terrorism in general. And the truth is out there for everyone to see. In the last decade,
America's credence in the eyes of the larger world is shattered, primarily by propping up authoritarian regimes that deny citizens of the Third World economic and political freedoms. Consequently the angry, disenfranchised poor from these nations embrace Islamic fundamentalism as the only thing that will listen to their woes and violence as the only way they can be heard. But still a vast majority of people (including Muslims) from all parts of the world are not in favor of terrorism. People are not in favor of war, but if they hate their radicalist governments for providing them with lack of liberties and also hate the American governments for putting more economic pressure on them, then they are left with no recourse other than the lure of paradise and money as promised by the terrorists. Of course, there are people belonging to the school of radical Islamist fanaticism in these countries, but these numbers are few and far in between. And Morgan did the right thing by showing that these fanatics are present in every part of the world. There are quite a few Jews in Israel who see the war in their nation not as a political war, but as a religious war for their Holy Land promised by God, which has been snatched away from them.
Ultimately what the movie will be remembered for is precisely that same message. Morgan's analysis of America's role in the world politics and his quiet conversations with Muslims and people in the street truly provides ample food for thought. It might be too late to undo all these years of consistent political misgivings, but if anything, now is the time to start. Else as one of the street kids in the movie says "I wish we had someone like Osama Bin Laden in our country...", most people would wish even worse for America. And hell! that's not a good sign for anybody - not for America and not for the world.
Apparently since I attended one of the initial runs of the movie, there could be lots of further editing when the movie is finally released in theatres. There better be, 'coz I noticed quite a few places where the movie needed some finetuning. I provided my feedback at the end of the movie to the surveyors. This current review of mine is based on the initial draft version that I saw last night.
19 weeks into the delivery of his first child, Morgan is worried by a nagging doubt -Is this world a safe enough place for him to bring his new born into? And terrorism being one of the major problems in today's world, Morgan decides to set out in pursuit of the biggest terrorist the recent world has ever known - The leader of Al Qaeda and the mastermind of the biggest terrorist attacks this side of the world on 9/11 - Osama Bin Laden. This manhunt takes him to Egypt, Morocco, Jordan, Israel, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and finally Pakistan (which is where most people doubt Osama is currently). To top it all, Morgan has only 19 weeks to get his answers and his man, since he also wants to be by his wife's side during the baby's delivery. Along the way, though, somewhere the movie loses its road-chase steam and takes on a more egalitarian approach towards the issue of terrorism as a whole. What do the Middle-Eastern nations think of America's interference in their countries' economies and private matters? What do the same nations think of Osama's claim of wanting to protect the Muslim world from the Christian western world? What are the social, cultural, and economic implications of this radical fundamentalism? Does the world need to be afraid of all Muslims, given that they form more than 1/5th of the entire world population?
While the movie does raise some important points, it seems too wishy-washy in its argument. I am not a great follower of history and political history and western political history in general, and so I do not have sufficient knowledge to comment on the theories presented as facts in this movie. But I also have a strong feeling that the reasons that previous American regimes did what they did are not as simple as what Morgan is trying to portray. There is a plethora of intertwined reasons for America's support of Israel and Afghanistan (during the Soviet invasion) and so also for America's invasion of Iraq. By presenting a one-sided, simplistic, and animation based childish view of his arguments, Morgan has placed the lesser informed audience in the dark and colored their opinions about matters as complex as this. While using humor to present one's ideas is a good tactic, it also simplifies the complex political machinations to such a level that discredits the thought process of an entire gubernatorial body. Michael Moore seemingly did a better job of presenting his arguments using humor as a tool in Fahrenheit 9/11 as compared to Morgan Spurlock in this movie. This movie from Morgan has inevitably run into the risk of being compared with Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 (which feels like a much superior movie now, I must say), because both movies on a deeper level touch the same thread - Is America at fault for the growth of terrorism?
If Morgan wants to show America what the rest of the world thinks of their nation, it would evidently lead to some Bush-bashing. And this movie does precisely that. This also leads me to think whether some political pundits might question the timing for the release of this movie - given the 2008 Presidential elections are drawing nearer.
And now comes my biggest problem with the movie. The very title of the movie reeks of getting a curious moviegoer to come watch the movie, without the movie actually being much about the hunt for Osama Bin Laden himself. I have to admit, I decided
to go watch the movie because the title gave me an impression of a nail-biting manhunt for the man himself (besides the fact being that I got the tickets for free) - which is absolutely not what the movie is about. It just slanderously exploits a notorious man's name for monetary purposes. While there is nothing terribly wrong with that move (after all don't advertisers use a famous man's name and face to advertise their products?), I just couldn't help feeling tremendously cheated when the movie got over. And at the near climax of the movie where our man got close to almost getting close to his man, he chickens out and goes back to his home and hearth leaving the audience feeling deprived and deceived. Almost as if he is trying to dodge a death sentence. Don't get me wrong - I don't want Morgan to actually come face-to-face with Osama and get shot in the process. My problem is with his very approach of showing-off right from the start of the movie that he is game to do it and chickening out at the end, my problem is with his tall tales, shameless showmanship, if I may.
Oh and of course, it also seemed like Morgan's little vacation around the world, going from country to country, sight seeing and touring, while trying to send the message to the wider audience - look at me, here my wife is pregnant and about to have a baby, while I am going all around the world trying to catch a man, whom most people around the world would like to have behind the bars. It seems like Morgan's-merry-go-round, he gets to shoot off some AK-47s loaned from the US base camp in Afghanistan, and while he is at it also try out a rocket launcher. Macho! And those multiple lovey-dovey scenes with his wife on the phone just seem trying too hard to send out a self-righteous message to the public. That is precisely the feedback that I gave at the end of the movie - tone down the self-righteousness, cut down some of those scenes with your wife. As for Osama bin Laden, Morgan doesn’t really seem to be trying to find him. Sure, he occasionally asks for his whereabouts, but mostly it’s just a gimmick to link together his guided tour of the Middle East.
Where this movie shines though is when it goes to the streets with the common man in these countries and unearths their impression about America and terrorism in general. And the truth is out there for everyone to see. In the last decade,
America's credence in the eyes of the larger world is shattered, primarily by propping up authoritarian regimes that deny citizens of the Third World economic and political freedoms. Consequently the angry, disenfranchised poor from these nations embrace Islamic fundamentalism as the only thing that will listen to their woes and violence as the only way they can be heard. But still a vast majority of people (including Muslims) from all parts of the world are not in favor of terrorism. People are not in favor of war, but if they hate their radicalist governments for providing them with lack of liberties and also hate the American governments for putting more economic pressure on them, then they are left with no recourse other than the lure of paradise and money as promised by the terrorists. Of course, there are people belonging to the school of radical Islamist fanaticism in these countries, but these numbers are few and far in between. And Morgan did the right thing by showing that these fanatics are present in every part of the world. There are quite a few Jews in Israel who see the war in their nation not as a political war, but as a religious war for their Holy Land promised by God, which has been snatched away from them.
Ultimately what the movie will be remembered for is precisely that same message. Morgan's analysis of America's role in the world politics and his quiet conversations with Muslims and people in the street truly provides ample food for thought. It might be too late to undo all these years of consistent political misgivings, but if anything, now is the time to start. Else as one of the street kids in the movie says "I wish we had someone like Osama Bin Laden in our country...", most people would wish even worse for America. And hell! that's not a good sign for anybody - not for America and not for the world.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Tryst
She never thought of herself as the kind of girl who would get laid before marriage.
She always considered herself to be decent and she sincerely believed in the doctrine she preached to her roommate. When her roommate Kaajal used to come back to the hostel in the morning and describe the apocalyptically sex-filled night she spent with her lover, she used to hear her out patiently, but at the end of it all, she used to think in her mind, “What a bed trotting tramp!!!” Once she even said it out loud profanely so much, so that it led to an immense fallout between the two. Between all the squabbling and bickering, she told Kaajal, “Marriage is a holy sacrament and I believe that sex before marriage is blasphemy. I believe that this theory is true in every religion, let alone Christianity. For me sex before marriage is an absolute no-no.”
To this Kaajal retorted, “My dear Jolene, now don’t begin to moralise. There is nothing in the whole world so unbecoming to a woman as a nonconformist conscience. Now I realize lately, but sadly why all the other girls in the hostel call you Saint Jolene. Why can’t you stop being that religious, pious, decent girl and come down to sea-level along with all of us?”
“Oh puhleese! I would rather remain isolated and lonely rather than degrade myself by associating with such cheapskates. Kaajal, you know me well enough to even suggest such a thing.”
“Gimme a break, dammit! Don’t get me started on your superficial idiosyncracies once again. Your theories seem so confounded. Lemme tell you a thing Jo – You are so goddamningly pseudo. I am not here to listen to any of your pearls of wisdom. But what I am telling you now are gritty, unassuming nuggets that you will need to experience to realize the value of it.”
“What do you mean?” asked a surprised Jolene.
“I mean to say that your theories all sound very neat on paper. But they remain what they are – theories. And that’s why they cannot be put to use in practical life.”
“In what way do you think is your life more practical than mine, Kaajal?”
“You have never known what it is to feel like when you are in love. I love Vinod – truly, madly and deeply and that’s why I make as much love with him as I can. It is a grand and the most natural way to reassure each other of the love that we feel for each other.”
“So why don’t the two of you just get married to each other, if you proclaim so much love for each other? After all, you can then sleep legitimately with Vinod!”
“You don’t realize it, Jo. Marriage is a compromise – an adjustment between two people, between their families, between their finances, between their careers, between their attitudes. There is a great deal of tight rope-walking that needs to be done before you can settle down to marry the person whom you love.”
“Kaajal, who do you think you are fooling? If marriage with your loved one can wait, then why can’t the getting-to-bed part of it wait?” She was trying her last little safe bet to help save her face in this argument.
“Well, you don’t seem to know men well enough, do you? What do you think is the fundamental difference between men and women? A woman first falls in love with a man offering her love and then with the love offered by that man. But men are so different. A man first falls in love with the love offered by a woman and then with the woman offering that love.”
“You sure seem to know men well enough!”
“Of course, I do! I have been seeing a man for the past three years. And I have to say this, all men are so daringly similar, that you know one, you know all of them. A man will never love you enough, unless you are good in bed – that’s their basic trait. And this is the knowledge that I have garnered out of years of being with a man and knowing him inside out in every sense. But how will you know that Jo, you have never known a man in any sense. And knowing you and all the issues you generally have in life, I don’t think you will ever end up being with a man. You will remain confined throughout your life in that stupid, God forsaken pinnacle of yours with only solitude to give you company.”
“That was mean”, said a startled and shocked Jolene.
“Yes, that was supposed to be mean. That’s why it worked.”
“I do not know who has said this, but whoever said this seems to know you. ‘Never argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and then beat you with experience.’ I am not waiting here to be pilloried any more by you.” She had lost her face badly in this argument and she could not believe that she was neck-deep in this muck. She thought that saying something mean in return was the least she could do to hold her own against her opponent.
“You can leave if you wish. But you are a good friend Jo, and I have only one suggestion for you. Loosen up a bit. Or else you will never ever be in a serious relationship. I will pray for you Jo, so that one day you find the man of your dreams.”
“The man of my dreams”, thought Jolene, as she lay there on the bed, naked, with only the sheets all hopelessly wrung between her calves. “Is he the man of my dreams?” She looked at him coming out from the restroom, with a towel wrapped on his waist. He looked even better with his clothes off. Those tanned Greek God looks, that athletically framed body, the tall lean legs, and those wiry strands of hair falling on his forehead – all in all he was a package well delivered. “But”, she again thought to herself, “Is he the man of my dreams?” This was a question she had asked herself umpteen times during the past week. She could never ever conclusively answer in the affirmative.
“This is so sad”, she thought to herself “Why can’t I feel anything for him? He seems to be so good in every respect. He’s loving, caring, has good money, always seems to be ready to spend, and above all he is extremely good looking. However, I do not get that indescribable feeling that I need to feel to enter into a relationship……. And above all if I do not feel anything for him, then why do I go around with him?” She could not answer that question.
Well, she could, but she simply despised herself when she had to admit this to herself. “I am with Anirudh only because it feels good to be seen with him. And, moreover, I had to teach that stupid Kaajal and all the other bitches back at the hostel a lesson. They think I can’t ever hook a man! Well, now, they know that I can have my cake, eat it and not even leave behind the crumbs for anyone. Anirudh is mine for keeps – and what a sexy keep he is!” Her conscience hit back at her “What a hypocrite you are!” She reasoned out with her conscience, “But I had to do this to teach that Kaajal a lesson. I have never ever lost out to anyone in my life. No one likes to be beaten. But to be beaten by a person who has always stood as a particular example of mediocrity in your eyes, to start by the side of this mediocrity and to watch it shoot up, while you struggle and finally end up with nothing but a boot in your face, to see the mediocrity snatch from you, your thunder, to be beaten, beaten badly, beaten – not by a greater genius, not by a God, but by Mediocrity – there is no torture equivalent to this. I had to do this to keep her unsanitary trap shut. Now she knows that I can also have a successful relationship. Whether or not I feel anything for him - well, that she does not need to know.”
“Ani, darling! Can I ask you a thing? What did you find in me? I mean, you could have had all the best girls in town. I am just an ordinary girl”, she said trying to herself understand the situation. She never knew what Ani saw in her.
“Well, you are so intellectually stimulating. I can talk any damn crap with you, but at the end of it all it still makes sense. Seriously, all I sought from my girl was loads of intelligence.”
“I am glad I fit the bill.”
He moved to the window and looked outside. “Ah! The full moon looks beautiful”, he said. She moved from the bed and draped herself in the bedsheet and proceeded to the window.
“It’s a beautiful sight”, she said as she gazed out of the window. “You know what Christopher Fry once said – ‘The moon is nothing but a circumambulatory aphrodisiac divinely subsidized to provoke the world into a rising birthrate.’”
“You see, now do you know why I love you? You seem to know everything about any topic under the sun. Well, who is that guy? Some Fry. So what do you say Jo, should we put into practice what your Fry fellow said.”
“Not now Ani. I am damn tired. I can’t do it again.”
“Sure, I understand. Let’s go and catch some sleep. I need to catch the early morning flight tomorrow.”
“What’s the flight departure time?” asked Jolene.
“It leaves Bombay at 8:20 in the morning for Calcutta.”
“Do you really need to go now? We have hardly begun to see each other. Can’t you postpone the trip to, say, some two weeks later on?”
“I am so sorry honey. But I had planned this trip with mom and dad to my native place months before I even knew you. I just cannot back out now.”
“Are you taking Romeo with you?” Romeo was Ani’s pet poodle.
“No, I am not. I will leave him with Sid bhaiyya. I will leave the house keys also with him. So that he can come once in a while and get the house cleaned by the maidservant.”
“You have a brother??? How come you never told me about him?”
“If you do not seem to remember, I would like to remind you that you never ever asked me anything about my family. I do not answer unquestioned queries.”
“But this is so strange. You should have told me about him. When do you intend to tell me about your brother? ”
“Well…..now.”
“Go ahead, tell me. I am all ears.”
“My brother Siddharth is married. His wife is Meera. She will also be accompanying us to Bengal.”
“That’s it? You are not telling me any more???”
“Forget it honey. How does it matter in anyway to you?”
“It sure does matter Ani. You may not realize it probably. By the way, how long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks. I will be back the week after next.”
“I will miss you honey.”
“Me too. I will call you on your cell.” Saying so, Anirudh gave her a peck on her cheek. “Just pass me my trousers.”
“Sure”, said Jolene and she proceeded to the bedside where his chinos lay. As she handed over the chinos to Ani, his business card fell out of the pockets. She picked it up and read out aloud,
“ Anirudh Sengupta,
B/39, Victor House,
Opposite Apostolic Carmel High Scool,
Hill Road,
Bandra (W)”.
“So when will you take me to your home Ani and show me around?” she asked.
“One day I will. Probably after I come back. Some day when my folks are not around.”
“Why not when they are around?” asked Jolene, obviously in a mood to get into a verbal duel once again.
“I will introduce you to them when I think the time will be right. I want them to approve of this relationship.”
“And when do you think will be the right time?”
“When I think I will succeed in convincing them that this is the best thing to happen to them, after my birth. You see, I like to succeed in everything I do, even my arguments and proposals and that’s why I have reached wherever I am today.”
“Oh, puhleese! Men are uninteresting once they succeed!”
“How tantalizing you are!”
“There is one thing, I would always like you for. You give me credit whenever it’s due to me.”
“Only one thing! And I thought I have too many bad qualities!”
“Oh, don’t be too conceited about them! You may lose them as you grow old.”
“I can never ever win in an argument with you. You have the tremendous gift of gab.”
She knew she had won the argument and that Ani was irked slightly at being discredited with a win. To change his mood, she wrapped her hands around him and said quite sweetly, “I would love to see your place someday.”
“Sure honey”, he said and kissed her. “Now go to sleep. Good Night”.
She had been out for only one night and she loved the waves she created in the hostel already. One day as she was going to her mailbox to collect her letters, she overheard two pretty young things discussing her and her rendezvous with her lover on a lonely night in some shady hotel room somewhere far away from town. She loved the effect and the thought that she was being discussed. Just to put more fuel into the fire, she turned around and told one of them, “You know what…..it is perfectly monstrous the way people go about, nowadays, saying things against one, behind one’s back that are absolutely and entirely true.” She left that poor soul agape.
Anirudh had been out for three days now and Jolene was missing him already. Not because she missed him, but because she wanted to have some more nights out and set the hostel on a tongue-wagging frenzy. It did her ego a lot of good. “These two weeks will be a long wait”, she thought.
One evening she picked up her rucksack and went to the beach to spend some quality time with herself and her books, which she had not touched for a long time. She laid down her paper mat on the sands and took out a book to read and ponder. A loud noise in the background attracted her attention. As she turned her head in the direction from where the noise came, she could see a crowd of seven middle-aged Sardarni ladies playing kho-kho. Everybody on the beach, who passed that area, were enjoying the sight of these plump ladies playing the game. Even Jolene got interested in the game. She looked around absorbing the sights and sounds offered by the tranquility of the beach. A calm breeze was blowing on her face and was leaving her hair all disheveled. She loved that feeling, the feeling of falling, falling deep into a ravine, a ravine with no bottom, like a bottomless pit, when the strong winds tore at her clothes and her hair and her face and her bright polka dotted skirt. With one hand on her hair trying to put it back into place and one hand on her skirt trying to control it from blowing up in a Marilyn Monroesque sight, she stood up and soaked in all the ecstasy of the ambience around, with her eyes shut tight.
She could see Kaajal holding a trophy aloft with all the hostel girls around cheerleading for her. It was in a small room, dimly lit with the light of a single bulb and with walls all greasy and black. The room seemed kind of foggy. She could see herself sitting puckered in a corner, with her legs drawn close to her breasts, and her chin resting on her hands which were lying on her knees. She could see her dress, a nice white gown all soaked in sweat and tears. She could not stand the sight of that bitch having from her, what was supposed to be hers. This had to stop. She opened her eyes, when she landed a big blow to that bitch and took back her trophy, which was never meant for Kaajal in the first place. She opened her eyes to a group of wide eyed street kids having a peek, from a distance at her skirt blowing in the wind. She shooed them away and settled in a cozy corner with her book.
“OUT!!!” There was such a huge cry from the Sardarni ladies that she had to again put her book back and see their play. Now they were all jumping and frolicking in the water. It was a really ugly sight, aesthetically speaking. Those short, unhandsomely fat, particularly-huge-near-the-posteriors kind of figures jumping in the water……with their clothes all on!
She turned back to her book. But she just could not pay attention to the book, when life was painted in much more vibrant and vivid colours right in front of her eyes.
A father-daughter-mother trio passed hand-in-hand besides her and walked into the water. The daughter was wearing a little black dress with gaudy floral insets. In a daring gesture, the mother hoisted her saree all the way to her knees and walked into the water. The Sardarni ladies gave her a glance that reprimanded her for showing so much flesh. But little did they realize that their salwar – kameezes made of thin polyester material, which was all soaked in water now, were showing as much flesh as the lady and in a much more awkward manner.
Some nouveau – riche guy, emboldened by his smart western apparel, tight nylon shirt with huge collars, flared synthetic trousers and high heeled plastic shoes, came and sat besides Jolene and began to stare fixedly at her.
“Move. Go. Isse pahle kabhi kissi ladki ko dekha nahin hain kya?“, she screamed in a piercing voice. A few faces turned in her direction and some guys sitting at a distance obviously realized that something could be the trouble. The guy in question, sensing that trouble was seething, looked away for a minute or two, obviously to hide his embarrassment, and then casually sauntered off. Jolene put her face back into her book and grinned to herself.
Why is it, she wondered, that all men are confident of their attractiveness and so few women are? Why would any raggedy ghaati imagine that an affluent lady of apparent sophistication would welcome his attention? It’s not simply a matter of my being alone, thought Jolene, which is certainly unusual in the Indian society. It has something to do with the difference between the way mothers interact with their sons and the way fathers interact with their daughters. Mothers carefully, diligently, constantly build the confidence of their sons. Fathers only give fitful testimony to the lovability of their daughters.
A while passed since some disturbance. She was immersed deeply in her book, when she heard someone whisper into her ear, “Akeli ho. Dosti karogi?” The voice came from such a close distance, that when she turned her face in the direction of the source of the voice, she almost bumped into the face. Oh My God, she thought to herself, when she saw the same guy whom she had embarrassed earlier, this time not alone, but with a group of similar minded, similar faced, similar dressed guys. They all looked ready to pounce on her. But she was even more shocked when from nowhere, a hand landed on her waist and snatched her from the comfortable position that she was landed in and said, “Na, hum hain na inke saath.” She tried to look at the face that mouthed those words, but the glare from the sun above blocked her vision. She tried to take the hand off from her waist, but it was so tightly held that she could not move it off, without making it seem like an obvious effort. Her mind raced at the thought of who that guy could be, but since her mind offered no answers, she thought that she would play along with the game. After all, handling a single guy is always easier, than handling these four burly chaps, she thought to herself. Lemme play along.
She smiled and looked at the four chaps, who looked obviously confused at this strange turn of events. “Aur woh bhi hain inke saath”, said the guy pointing to a group of guys seated nearby, who were all looking in their direction. Now she was all the more confused, but being a good actress, she was able to mask her confusion to conceal it from the four burly chaps. The ruffians were no less surprised, probably even more and they knew that they had put themselves in a tight situation. They looked at each other and obviously wanting to avoid a scuffle, they withdrew. They began to walk off.
The hand withdrew from the waist. She felt the masculinity of the biceps as it brushed off from her back. She put her hands on her forehead to prevent the sun’s rays from piercing her eyes as she looked at her hero. It was an attempt at failure and so, realizing this, obviously to facilitate a clear viewing of his face, the guy moved away from under the direction of the sun and a radiant smile beamed from his face. He looks neat, thought Jolene.
“You are welcome”, said her hero. The muttering of these few words by the guy in question broke the concentration with which she was evaluating him.
“Pardon?”, she asked.
“Didn’t you get the humour in my statement?” he questioned.
“I didn’t hear you in the first place, so as to understand you in the second place.”
“I said you are welcome.”
“Well, if that was in return, for the hypothetical thank you that I was supposed to say for your seemingly kind favor, then I would like to be excused, since I don’t think you deserve a thank you for the uninvited and unwelcome help, unwittingly offered by you.”
“Wow!!!! That was a lot of crap!”
“Seriously, what made you think that I would be pleased with the move made by you?”
“Nothing, just that I thought you needed some help. The scene before I broke on, reminded me of a single kitten being harassed by four German Shepherds. Anyways, now that my work has been done, I would like to take your leave since I can’t stand an ungrateful company.”
“Sure. Just remember not to barge in on any scene where you are not asked in for help. It will take you nowhere in particular.”
“Is this a mud-slinging match? I don’t know what I did to induce so much of a wrath in you. I am not waiting here any more.”
He left, jogging by along the beach. Jolene looked at the horizon and smiled at herself. I am good, she thought. What did he think? He will get me by indulging in some cheap heroism, she thought and she began to sit down. As she was sitting down, something caught her eye. She again turned her head in that direction and saw clearly. The same group of four burly guys. They could have seen her being abandoned by her supposed partner. You will have to do something quick, she thought to herself, before they pounce on you again. The other guy was still ahead, jogging and moving at his own leisurely pace. She took her bag and began jogging, following him.
“Hello”, she said as she reached him.
“I knew you would come”, he said without even looking at her.
“What made you feel that so confidently?”
“Should I turn behind and call those guys?” he asked.
“Well, are they still there?” she asked and turned in that direction trying her hand at some more acting. “Oh yes, I see them”, she said. “But I came here to apologize for my behaviour. Now that I think about it, I find it very rude.”
”You are a very spontaneous liar”, he said.
“Oh puhleese!!! I am not lying. I did not even notice them.”
“What is wrong with you? Lady, you are so weird. I am not asking you to thank me. I am just telling you to acknowledge my efforts where it was due. I can understand stupid malice. I can understand ignorant malice. But I just can’t understand this deliberate rottenness. If you are done with your apologizing drama, then you may please leave. I would like some peace on my jog back to my car.” The guy just paced up his jog and stormed away from the scene, with Jolene totally dumb founded.
She was stumped. She was snubbed. She was down. Am I losing it? But I am impressed, she thought. Not only is he charmingly cute, but he is also intelligent. And look at him……she thought and thought for long. She knew that this was it. There was something about those eyes that lacerated the soul and that devil-may-care attitude that attracted her badly. She looked at him jogging down the beach and almost about to reach a car parked at a distance. Do something now, she heard her head shout at her. Catch him before he leaves. She began to run towards him.
“You again?” he shouted. “Why in heaven’s name are you following me?”
“I am terrible sorry, but those guys are still there and they have been watching the two of us for quite some time now. They should have realized until now that we were putting up an act. So can you just drop me on your way back? Please consider this as a request.”
“You may come if you wish, but just a warning. No more of your snide remarks once you are in.”
“My word”, she said.
“Hop in.”
They drove out of the beach parking area.
“Where should I drop you?”
“Where do you stay?” she asked.
“Bandra.”
“You proceed. I need to get down on the way itself. I will tell you where to stop.”
“Ok.”
They drove in silence for some more time.
“Won’t you speak anything?” he asked.
“Well, you warned me not to make any snide remarks once I am in. So I am quite.”
“Don’t you have any regular topic to speak?”
“Well, sarcasm is the only service I offer.”
“Arrgh. You are in serious need of some therapy, girl. I feel like tearing my hair out.”
“But why?”
“Well, I am all stressed out and no one to hit, and you are still here in my face. That’s why."
“I see that some of my aura is rubbing off on you as well.”
He gave her a sideways glance that made her reconsider her decision as to whether she should go forward with her plan. She began pondering.
The rest of the drive was silent.
“I am almost nearing my place. Where should I drop you?” he asked.
“Drop me at your place.”
“What????”
“Yeah.”
The car came to a screeching halt as he slammed on the brakes.
“You may get down here”, he said.
“No. I am not. I am coming to your place.”
“Why? Don’t you have a place on the face of this earth, where human beings will accept you?”
“Please don’t raise your decibel levels.”
“Now that’s it. I want you out of my car right now”, he said. He got out of the car, went to her side, opened the car door for her and gesturing for her to get out, he said, “Get out. I won’t be taking such an ungrateful wretch in my car anymore.”
“But I am not ungrateful. I will pay you for your services. In kind.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to sleep with you”, she said.
She never thought of herself as the kind of girl who would get laid twice before marriage, with two different men.
“It was amazing”, he said.
“Yeah.” She agreed.
“You know, this is quite strange. But we have been in the company of each other for a good two hours or more, but we don’t know each other’s names.”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“Well, it doesn’t in the least, if this was a one night stand.”
“Do you want to meet me again?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Well, let’s see…..”
She could hear a bell ring in the distance. It sounded like a school bell.
“What’s that? Is there some kind of a school nearby?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s the school I went to as a kid - Apostolic Carmel High School.”
“Which school did you say?” Her ears got curious.
“Apostolic Carmel High School. Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. Just that the name rings a bell somewhere. But I don’t remember where”, she said.
“You must have heard it somewhere. It’s quite a famous school.”
“Yeah, probably.”
She could hear another ring in the distance. It was her cell phone.
“Can you please pass me my cell?” she asked.
“Where’s it?” he asked in reply.
“Right there in my bag on the table.”
He got out of the bed and walked to the table. As he picked up the cell from the bag, he glanced at the number being displayed as the caller’s number. He had a shocked look when he saw the number. He read it out aloud. “9-8-2-1-2-4-9-8-0-7” He stood there glancing at the number for some more time.
“Will you stop staring at the cell and pass me the phone before the call gets disconnected?” she asked with obvious irritation in her voice.
He looked at her, looked back at the cell. He opened his mouth to say something. He decided not to. He closed his lips again and passed her phone. Just as the phone slipped into her hands, it stopped ringing.
“See”, she said. “I lost that call. It could have been pretty important.” She was damn pissed off.
“Who was that, if I may ask?” he asked.
“It was an important call. That was my boyfriend, the guy whom I am seeing nowadays.”
“Oh, so you are seeing somebody.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“Well, if you are going around with somebody, then why did you sleep with me?” he asked.
“Do you have any problem with that? See, I have no qualms about cheating over him. So why do you? If anybody should be having any problem, it should be him and not you.”
“Not that it bothers me. Just that I am curious.”
“Please do not ask any questions, which do not concern you in the least.”
“Well, you will be surprised when you come to know that it does concern me.”
“Oh yeah!!! Can I know in what way does it concern you?”
“Sure.”
He said, “The guy on the phone was Anirudh Sengupta, wasn’t he?”
She was shell shocked on hearing the name. She just fumbled and muttered, “How do you know?”
“Hi! I am Siddharth Sengupta.”
She always considered herself to be decent and she sincerely believed in the doctrine she preached to her roommate. When her roommate Kaajal used to come back to the hostel in the morning and describe the apocalyptically sex-filled night she spent with her lover, she used to hear her out patiently, but at the end of it all, she used to think in her mind, “What a bed trotting tramp!!!” Once she even said it out loud profanely so much, so that it led to an immense fallout between the two. Between all the squabbling and bickering, she told Kaajal, “Marriage is a holy sacrament and I believe that sex before marriage is blasphemy. I believe that this theory is true in every religion, let alone Christianity. For me sex before marriage is an absolute no-no.”
To this Kaajal retorted, “My dear Jolene, now don’t begin to moralise. There is nothing in the whole world so unbecoming to a woman as a nonconformist conscience. Now I realize lately, but sadly why all the other girls in the hostel call you Saint Jolene. Why can’t you stop being that religious, pious, decent girl and come down to sea-level along with all of us?”
“Oh puhleese! I would rather remain isolated and lonely rather than degrade myself by associating with such cheapskates. Kaajal, you know me well enough to even suggest such a thing.”
“Gimme a break, dammit! Don’t get me started on your superficial idiosyncracies once again. Your theories seem so confounded. Lemme tell you a thing Jo – You are so goddamningly pseudo. I am not here to listen to any of your pearls of wisdom. But what I am telling you now are gritty, unassuming nuggets that you will need to experience to realize the value of it.”
“What do you mean?” asked a surprised Jolene.
“I mean to say that your theories all sound very neat on paper. But they remain what they are – theories. And that’s why they cannot be put to use in practical life.”
“In what way do you think is your life more practical than mine, Kaajal?”
“You have never known what it is to feel like when you are in love. I love Vinod – truly, madly and deeply and that’s why I make as much love with him as I can. It is a grand and the most natural way to reassure each other of the love that we feel for each other.”
“So why don’t the two of you just get married to each other, if you proclaim so much love for each other? After all, you can then sleep legitimately with Vinod!”
“You don’t realize it, Jo. Marriage is a compromise – an adjustment between two people, between their families, between their finances, between their careers, between their attitudes. There is a great deal of tight rope-walking that needs to be done before you can settle down to marry the person whom you love.”
“Kaajal, who do you think you are fooling? If marriage with your loved one can wait, then why can’t the getting-to-bed part of it wait?” She was trying her last little safe bet to help save her face in this argument.
“Well, you don’t seem to know men well enough, do you? What do you think is the fundamental difference between men and women? A woman first falls in love with a man offering her love and then with the love offered by that man. But men are so different. A man first falls in love with the love offered by a woman and then with the woman offering that love.”
“You sure seem to know men well enough!”
“Of course, I do! I have been seeing a man for the past three years. And I have to say this, all men are so daringly similar, that you know one, you know all of them. A man will never love you enough, unless you are good in bed – that’s their basic trait. And this is the knowledge that I have garnered out of years of being with a man and knowing him inside out in every sense. But how will you know that Jo, you have never known a man in any sense. And knowing you and all the issues you generally have in life, I don’t think you will ever end up being with a man. You will remain confined throughout your life in that stupid, God forsaken pinnacle of yours with only solitude to give you company.”
“That was mean”, said a startled and shocked Jolene.
“Yes, that was supposed to be mean. That’s why it worked.”
“I do not know who has said this, but whoever said this seems to know you. ‘Never argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and then beat you with experience.’ I am not waiting here to be pilloried any more by you.” She had lost her face badly in this argument and she could not believe that she was neck-deep in this muck. She thought that saying something mean in return was the least she could do to hold her own against her opponent.
“You can leave if you wish. But you are a good friend Jo, and I have only one suggestion for you. Loosen up a bit. Or else you will never ever be in a serious relationship. I will pray for you Jo, so that one day you find the man of your dreams.”
“The man of my dreams”, thought Jolene, as she lay there on the bed, naked, with only the sheets all hopelessly wrung between her calves. “Is he the man of my dreams?” She looked at him coming out from the restroom, with a towel wrapped on his waist. He looked even better with his clothes off. Those tanned Greek God looks, that athletically framed body, the tall lean legs, and those wiry strands of hair falling on his forehead – all in all he was a package well delivered. “But”, she again thought to herself, “Is he the man of my dreams?” This was a question she had asked herself umpteen times during the past week. She could never ever conclusively answer in the affirmative.
“This is so sad”, she thought to herself “Why can’t I feel anything for him? He seems to be so good in every respect. He’s loving, caring, has good money, always seems to be ready to spend, and above all he is extremely good looking. However, I do not get that indescribable feeling that I need to feel to enter into a relationship……. And above all if I do not feel anything for him, then why do I go around with him?” She could not answer that question.
Well, she could, but she simply despised herself when she had to admit this to herself. “I am with Anirudh only because it feels good to be seen with him. And, moreover, I had to teach that stupid Kaajal and all the other bitches back at the hostel a lesson. They think I can’t ever hook a man! Well, now, they know that I can have my cake, eat it and not even leave behind the crumbs for anyone. Anirudh is mine for keeps – and what a sexy keep he is!” Her conscience hit back at her “What a hypocrite you are!” She reasoned out with her conscience, “But I had to do this to teach that Kaajal a lesson. I have never ever lost out to anyone in my life. No one likes to be beaten. But to be beaten by a person who has always stood as a particular example of mediocrity in your eyes, to start by the side of this mediocrity and to watch it shoot up, while you struggle and finally end up with nothing but a boot in your face, to see the mediocrity snatch from you, your thunder, to be beaten, beaten badly, beaten – not by a greater genius, not by a God, but by Mediocrity – there is no torture equivalent to this. I had to do this to keep her unsanitary trap shut. Now she knows that I can also have a successful relationship. Whether or not I feel anything for him - well, that she does not need to know.”
“Ani, darling! Can I ask you a thing? What did you find in me? I mean, you could have had all the best girls in town. I am just an ordinary girl”, she said trying to herself understand the situation. She never knew what Ani saw in her.
“Well, you are so intellectually stimulating. I can talk any damn crap with you, but at the end of it all it still makes sense. Seriously, all I sought from my girl was loads of intelligence.”
“I am glad I fit the bill.”
He moved to the window and looked outside. “Ah! The full moon looks beautiful”, he said. She moved from the bed and draped herself in the bedsheet and proceeded to the window.
“It’s a beautiful sight”, she said as she gazed out of the window. “You know what Christopher Fry once said – ‘The moon is nothing but a circumambulatory aphrodisiac divinely subsidized to provoke the world into a rising birthrate.’”
“You see, now do you know why I love you? You seem to know everything about any topic under the sun. Well, who is that guy? Some Fry. So what do you say Jo, should we put into practice what your Fry fellow said.”
“Not now Ani. I am damn tired. I can’t do it again.”
“Sure, I understand. Let’s go and catch some sleep. I need to catch the early morning flight tomorrow.”
“What’s the flight departure time?” asked Jolene.
“It leaves Bombay at 8:20 in the morning for Calcutta.”
“Do you really need to go now? We have hardly begun to see each other. Can’t you postpone the trip to, say, some two weeks later on?”
“I am so sorry honey. But I had planned this trip with mom and dad to my native place months before I even knew you. I just cannot back out now.”
“Are you taking Romeo with you?” Romeo was Ani’s pet poodle.
“No, I am not. I will leave him with Sid bhaiyya. I will leave the house keys also with him. So that he can come once in a while and get the house cleaned by the maidservant.”
“You have a brother??? How come you never told me about him?”
“If you do not seem to remember, I would like to remind you that you never ever asked me anything about my family. I do not answer unquestioned queries.”
“But this is so strange. You should have told me about him. When do you intend to tell me about your brother? ”
“Well…..now.”
“Go ahead, tell me. I am all ears.”
“My brother Siddharth is married. His wife is Meera. She will also be accompanying us to Bengal.”
“That’s it? You are not telling me any more???”
“Forget it honey. How does it matter in anyway to you?”
“It sure does matter Ani. You may not realize it probably. By the way, how long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks. I will be back the week after next.”
“I will miss you honey.”
“Me too. I will call you on your cell.” Saying so, Anirudh gave her a peck on her cheek. “Just pass me my trousers.”
“Sure”, said Jolene and she proceeded to the bedside where his chinos lay. As she handed over the chinos to Ani, his business card fell out of the pockets. She picked it up and read out aloud,
“ Anirudh Sengupta,
B/39, Victor House,
Opposite Apostolic Carmel High Scool,
Hill Road,
Bandra (W)”.
“So when will you take me to your home Ani and show me around?” she asked.
“One day I will. Probably after I come back. Some day when my folks are not around.”
“Why not when they are around?” asked Jolene, obviously in a mood to get into a verbal duel once again.
“I will introduce you to them when I think the time will be right. I want them to approve of this relationship.”
“And when do you think will be the right time?”
“When I think I will succeed in convincing them that this is the best thing to happen to them, after my birth. You see, I like to succeed in everything I do, even my arguments and proposals and that’s why I have reached wherever I am today.”
“Oh, puhleese! Men are uninteresting once they succeed!”
“How tantalizing you are!”
“There is one thing, I would always like you for. You give me credit whenever it’s due to me.”
“Only one thing! And I thought I have too many bad qualities!”
“Oh, don’t be too conceited about them! You may lose them as you grow old.”
“I can never ever win in an argument with you. You have the tremendous gift of gab.”
She knew she had won the argument and that Ani was irked slightly at being discredited with a win. To change his mood, she wrapped her hands around him and said quite sweetly, “I would love to see your place someday.”
“Sure honey”, he said and kissed her. “Now go to sleep. Good Night”.
She had been out for only one night and she loved the waves she created in the hostel already. One day as she was going to her mailbox to collect her letters, she overheard two pretty young things discussing her and her rendezvous with her lover on a lonely night in some shady hotel room somewhere far away from town. She loved the effect and the thought that she was being discussed. Just to put more fuel into the fire, she turned around and told one of them, “You know what…..it is perfectly monstrous the way people go about, nowadays, saying things against one, behind one’s back that are absolutely and entirely true.” She left that poor soul agape.
Anirudh had been out for three days now and Jolene was missing him already. Not because she missed him, but because she wanted to have some more nights out and set the hostel on a tongue-wagging frenzy. It did her ego a lot of good. “These two weeks will be a long wait”, she thought.
One evening she picked up her rucksack and went to the beach to spend some quality time with herself and her books, which she had not touched for a long time. She laid down her paper mat on the sands and took out a book to read and ponder. A loud noise in the background attracted her attention. As she turned her head in the direction from where the noise came, she could see a crowd of seven middle-aged Sardarni ladies playing kho-kho. Everybody on the beach, who passed that area, were enjoying the sight of these plump ladies playing the game. Even Jolene got interested in the game. She looked around absorbing the sights and sounds offered by the tranquility of the beach. A calm breeze was blowing on her face and was leaving her hair all disheveled. She loved that feeling, the feeling of falling, falling deep into a ravine, a ravine with no bottom, like a bottomless pit, when the strong winds tore at her clothes and her hair and her face and her bright polka dotted skirt. With one hand on her hair trying to put it back into place and one hand on her skirt trying to control it from blowing up in a Marilyn Monroesque sight, she stood up and soaked in all the ecstasy of the ambience around, with her eyes shut tight.
She could see Kaajal holding a trophy aloft with all the hostel girls around cheerleading for her. It was in a small room, dimly lit with the light of a single bulb and with walls all greasy and black. The room seemed kind of foggy. She could see herself sitting puckered in a corner, with her legs drawn close to her breasts, and her chin resting on her hands which were lying on her knees. She could see her dress, a nice white gown all soaked in sweat and tears. She could not stand the sight of that bitch having from her, what was supposed to be hers. This had to stop. She opened her eyes, when she landed a big blow to that bitch and took back her trophy, which was never meant for Kaajal in the first place. She opened her eyes to a group of wide eyed street kids having a peek, from a distance at her skirt blowing in the wind. She shooed them away and settled in a cozy corner with her book.
“OUT!!!” There was such a huge cry from the Sardarni ladies that she had to again put her book back and see their play. Now they were all jumping and frolicking in the water. It was a really ugly sight, aesthetically speaking. Those short, unhandsomely fat, particularly-huge-near-the-posteriors kind of figures jumping in the water……with their clothes all on!
She turned back to her book. But she just could not pay attention to the book, when life was painted in much more vibrant and vivid colours right in front of her eyes.
A father-daughter-mother trio passed hand-in-hand besides her and walked into the water. The daughter was wearing a little black dress with gaudy floral insets. In a daring gesture, the mother hoisted her saree all the way to her knees and walked into the water. The Sardarni ladies gave her a glance that reprimanded her for showing so much flesh. But little did they realize that their salwar – kameezes made of thin polyester material, which was all soaked in water now, were showing as much flesh as the lady and in a much more awkward manner.
Some nouveau – riche guy, emboldened by his smart western apparel, tight nylon shirt with huge collars, flared synthetic trousers and high heeled plastic shoes, came and sat besides Jolene and began to stare fixedly at her.
“Move. Go. Isse pahle kabhi kissi ladki ko dekha nahin hain kya?“, she screamed in a piercing voice. A few faces turned in her direction and some guys sitting at a distance obviously realized that something could be the trouble. The guy in question, sensing that trouble was seething, looked away for a minute or two, obviously to hide his embarrassment, and then casually sauntered off. Jolene put her face back into her book and grinned to herself.
Why is it, she wondered, that all men are confident of their attractiveness and so few women are? Why would any raggedy ghaati imagine that an affluent lady of apparent sophistication would welcome his attention? It’s not simply a matter of my being alone, thought Jolene, which is certainly unusual in the Indian society. It has something to do with the difference between the way mothers interact with their sons and the way fathers interact with their daughters. Mothers carefully, diligently, constantly build the confidence of their sons. Fathers only give fitful testimony to the lovability of their daughters.
A while passed since some disturbance. She was immersed deeply in her book, when she heard someone whisper into her ear, “Akeli ho. Dosti karogi?” The voice came from such a close distance, that when she turned her face in the direction of the source of the voice, she almost bumped into the face. Oh My God, she thought to herself, when she saw the same guy whom she had embarrassed earlier, this time not alone, but with a group of similar minded, similar faced, similar dressed guys. They all looked ready to pounce on her. But she was even more shocked when from nowhere, a hand landed on her waist and snatched her from the comfortable position that she was landed in and said, “Na, hum hain na inke saath.” She tried to look at the face that mouthed those words, but the glare from the sun above blocked her vision. She tried to take the hand off from her waist, but it was so tightly held that she could not move it off, without making it seem like an obvious effort. Her mind raced at the thought of who that guy could be, but since her mind offered no answers, she thought that she would play along with the game. After all, handling a single guy is always easier, than handling these four burly chaps, she thought to herself. Lemme play along.
She smiled and looked at the four chaps, who looked obviously confused at this strange turn of events. “Aur woh bhi hain inke saath”, said the guy pointing to a group of guys seated nearby, who were all looking in their direction. Now she was all the more confused, but being a good actress, she was able to mask her confusion to conceal it from the four burly chaps. The ruffians were no less surprised, probably even more and they knew that they had put themselves in a tight situation. They looked at each other and obviously wanting to avoid a scuffle, they withdrew. They began to walk off.
The hand withdrew from the waist. She felt the masculinity of the biceps as it brushed off from her back. She put her hands on her forehead to prevent the sun’s rays from piercing her eyes as she looked at her hero. It was an attempt at failure and so, realizing this, obviously to facilitate a clear viewing of his face, the guy moved away from under the direction of the sun and a radiant smile beamed from his face. He looks neat, thought Jolene.
“You are welcome”, said her hero. The muttering of these few words by the guy in question broke the concentration with which she was evaluating him.
“Pardon?”, she asked.
“Didn’t you get the humour in my statement?” he questioned.
“I didn’t hear you in the first place, so as to understand you in the second place.”
“I said you are welcome.”
“Well, if that was in return, for the hypothetical thank you that I was supposed to say for your seemingly kind favor, then I would like to be excused, since I don’t think you deserve a thank you for the uninvited and unwelcome help, unwittingly offered by you.”
“Wow!!!! That was a lot of crap!”
“Seriously, what made you think that I would be pleased with the move made by you?”
“Nothing, just that I thought you needed some help. The scene before I broke on, reminded me of a single kitten being harassed by four German Shepherds. Anyways, now that my work has been done, I would like to take your leave since I can’t stand an ungrateful company.”
“Sure. Just remember not to barge in on any scene where you are not asked in for help. It will take you nowhere in particular.”
“Is this a mud-slinging match? I don’t know what I did to induce so much of a wrath in you. I am not waiting here any more.”
He left, jogging by along the beach. Jolene looked at the horizon and smiled at herself. I am good, she thought. What did he think? He will get me by indulging in some cheap heroism, she thought and she began to sit down. As she was sitting down, something caught her eye. She again turned her head in that direction and saw clearly. The same group of four burly guys. They could have seen her being abandoned by her supposed partner. You will have to do something quick, she thought to herself, before they pounce on you again. The other guy was still ahead, jogging and moving at his own leisurely pace. She took her bag and began jogging, following him.
“Hello”, she said as she reached him.
“I knew you would come”, he said without even looking at her.
“What made you feel that so confidently?”
“Should I turn behind and call those guys?” he asked.
“Well, are they still there?” she asked and turned in that direction trying her hand at some more acting. “Oh yes, I see them”, she said. “But I came here to apologize for my behaviour. Now that I think about it, I find it very rude.”
”You are a very spontaneous liar”, he said.
“Oh puhleese!!! I am not lying. I did not even notice them.”
“What is wrong with you? Lady, you are so weird. I am not asking you to thank me. I am just telling you to acknowledge my efforts where it was due. I can understand stupid malice. I can understand ignorant malice. But I just can’t understand this deliberate rottenness. If you are done with your apologizing drama, then you may please leave. I would like some peace on my jog back to my car.” The guy just paced up his jog and stormed away from the scene, with Jolene totally dumb founded.
She was stumped. She was snubbed. She was down. Am I losing it? But I am impressed, she thought. Not only is he charmingly cute, but he is also intelligent. And look at him……she thought and thought for long. She knew that this was it. There was something about those eyes that lacerated the soul and that devil-may-care attitude that attracted her badly. She looked at him jogging down the beach and almost about to reach a car parked at a distance. Do something now, she heard her head shout at her. Catch him before he leaves. She began to run towards him.
“You again?” he shouted. “Why in heaven’s name are you following me?”
“I am terrible sorry, but those guys are still there and they have been watching the two of us for quite some time now. They should have realized until now that we were putting up an act. So can you just drop me on your way back? Please consider this as a request.”
“You may come if you wish, but just a warning. No more of your snide remarks once you are in.”
“My word”, she said.
“Hop in.”
They drove out of the beach parking area.
“Where should I drop you?”
“Where do you stay?” she asked.
“Bandra.”
“You proceed. I need to get down on the way itself. I will tell you where to stop.”
“Ok.”
They drove in silence for some more time.
“Won’t you speak anything?” he asked.
“Well, you warned me not to make any snide remarks once I am in. So I am quite.”
“Don’t you have any regular topic to speak?”
“Well, sarcasm is the only service I offer.”
“Arrgh. You are in serious need of some therapy, girl. I feel like tearing my hair out.”
“But why?”
“Well, I am all stressed out and no one to hit, and you are still here in my face. That’s why."
“I see that some of my aura is rubbing off on you as well.”
He gave her a sideways glance that made her reconsider her decision as to whether she should go forward with her plan. She began pondering.
The rest of the drive was silent.
“I am almost nearing my place. Where should I drop you?” he asked.
“Drop me at your place.”
“What????”
“Yeah.”
The car came to a screeching halt as he slammed on the brakes.
“You may get down here”, he said.
“No. I am not. I am coming to your place.”
“Why? Don’t you have a place on the face of this earth, where human beings will accept you?”
“Please don’t raise your decibel levels.”
“Now that’s it. I want you out of my car right now”, he said. He got out of the car, went to her side, opened the car door for her and gesturing for her to get out, he said, “Get out. I won’t be taking such an ungrateful wretch in my car anymore.”
“But I am not ungrateful. I will pay you for your services. In kind.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to sleep with you”, she said.
She never thought of herself as the kind of girl who would get laid twice before marriage, with two different men.
“It was amazing”, he said.
“Yeah.” She agreed.
“You know, this is quite strange. But we have been in the company of each other for a good two hours or more, but we don’t know each other’s names.”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“Well, it doesn’t in the least, if this was a one night stand.”
“Do you want to meet me again?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Well, let’s see…..”
She could hear a bell ring in the distance. It sounded like a school bell.
“What’s that? Is there some kind of a school nearby?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s the school I went to as a kid - Apostolic Carmel High School.”
“Which school did you say?” Her ears got curious.
“Apostolic Carmel High School. Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. Just that the name rings a bell somewhere. But I don’t remember where”, she said.
“You must have heard it somewhere. It’s quite a famous school.”
“Yeah, probably.”
She could hear another ring in the distance. It was her cell phone.
“Can you please pass me my cell?” she asked.
“Where’s it?” he asked in reply.
“Right there in my bag on the table.”
He got out of the bed and walked to the table. As he picked up the cell from the bag, he glanced at the number being displayed as the caller’s number. He had a shocked look when he saw the number. He read it out aloud. “9-8-2-1-2-4-9-8-0-7” He stood there glancing at the number for some more time.
“Will you stop staring at the cell and pass me the phone before the call gets disconnected?” she asked with obvious irritation in her voice.
He looked at her, looked back at the cell. He opened his mouth to say something. He decided not to. He closed his lips again and passed her phone. Just as the phone slipped into her hands, it stopped ringing.
“See”, she said. “I lost that call. It could have been pretty important.” She was damn pissed off.
“Who was that, if I may ask?” he asked.
“It was an important call. That was my boyfriend, the guy whom I am seeing nowadays.”
“Oh, so you are seeing somebody.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“Well, if you are going around with somebody, then why did you sleep with me?” he asked.
“Do you have any problem with that? See, I have no qualms about cheating over him. So why do you? If anybody should be having any problem, it should be him and not you.”
“Not that it bothers me. Just that I am curious.”
“Please do not ask any questions, which do not concern you in the least.”
“Well, you will be surprised when you come to know that it does concern me.”
“Oh yeah!!! Can I know in what way does it concern you?”
“Sure.”
He said, “The guy on the phone was Anirudh Sengupta, wasn’t he?”
She was shell shocked on hearing the name. She just fumbled and muttered, “How do you know?”
“Hi! I am Siddharth Sengupta.”
Sunday, February 10, 2008
My snobbish wrong-doings
Sometimes I wonder whether I am guilty of the vile crime of Intellectual Snobbery. And being acutely aware of this decrepitude, I try my level best not to act like an afflicted. And that consequently leads to me feeling guilty and more aware of my situation, when I lose my guard at times. When I go out for movies with my friends, I cringe when the scmaltzy, the schticky, and the manipulative scenes appear. I look to my snob evil companion at such times looking for his approval to my cringing in disapproval. And when our other friends seem to admire the scenes that we clearly dislike, the 2 of us group together. We form an evil cult - the cultivated "us" against the plebeian "them". And then it strikes me - there I go acting out my role of a braggart again.
For my kind of sensibilities, my tastes define who I am and its my crucible when I am with people of dissimilar tastes. Case in example: My poignant hate for Shah Rukh Khan. Although he is the undisputed Badshah of the Bollywood film industry and his movies have made more money than any other star in Bollywood, the way he hams and portrays himself as look-at-me-I'm-so-smart gets on my nerves. Deep within my heart I know he acts reasonably well, if asked to. That he doesn't, is a sad reflection on the movie making lore of the day. But just because of his seemingly unending popularity, he is a criminal in my eyes. He is a darling of the masses and the suburbia and a person with more elite tastes like me cannot afford to be wooed over by the tastes of the rank and file.
But invariably having at least couple of hits every year, I end up accompanying my friends to watch his movies. And when I tend to critically dissect each and every act of his in the movie (more so because of my apparent distaste), I end up arguing with the majority in the group. And being reduced to a whimpering minority, I end up not arguing as much as I would have wanted to. Consequently I end my argument thinking in my head, "You won't understand. Our tastes are different."
Intellectual snobs like me are a very distinct species. You can spot us in cafes and libraries everywhere, even in the distinctly crassy Starbucks, you will find us hooked up with our laptops, typing away furiously on our keyboards. We will not be dressed very trendy, thats mostly because we do not have well built bodies to show off. So while I recoil inwardly in horror on seeing my naked body in the mirror everyday before getting into the shower, in front of everybody else I will complaining about the apparent "body fascism" that has taken over the entire country. Everyday before going to sleep, I dream that the next morning I will get up sooner rather than later and go pump up some iron at the local gym. But my lazy, fat ass refuses to get off the bed and the WC once I am up in the morning. And then I cry foul when I am not looked at as a prospective good looker when I am out mingling amongst other singles.
It's not that the snobs like me are hooked up to our lappies all day, we can also be heard pom-pomming away about books we’ve never read, drinks we’ve never drunk, drugs we’ve never taken, places we’ve never been to, people we’ve never met and ideas that none of us will ever fully understand. So when one of my other pretentious friends walks in to a restaurant carrying a flier for an 'anarcho-communist' gathering, I get into a long discussion with him about what that odd ball sounding term means. And later I propound the ideals of anarcho-communism over my lesser well-read, well-informed friends.
The number of people like me who exude the suggestion that they are quite cleverer than what they actually are is quite startling. And it doesnt require much to show off to such an extent that people begin believing you. So you need to wear big-cut glasses, wear army-surplus sized clothes, carry lots of stuff in your hands whenever you are travelling, and one of those items need to be a book. If the books are more, the better. And yes, of course, the books cannot be authored by the-frowned-upon-by-literary-snobs writers like Deepak Chopra, Sidney Sheldon, or the M&B variety. The right kind of books are a must to create a favorable impression. Before you decide on what book to carry in your hands, you definitely need to look up on the New York Review of Books or the New Yorker and check out what the critics had to say about the book. For men, the uncut hair and a few days' stubble look goes a long way in creating a snob impression. Whereas for women, dressing up in regional clothes and not the regular shirts and pants goes a long way - so take out your cotton kurtis, sarees, the kimono type dresses, the long flowing salwar kameezes and hit the subways with a big, fat Chekhov in your hand and people will begin to look up to you as the next girl in line for Einstein's throne.
The trappings of intellectual snobbery are many. So while you read seemingly "better" books and watch seemingly "better" movies and go for the praiseworthy plays, art shows, museum visits, you also at times begin to act like a social snob. You begin to correct your friends' accents and pronunciation mistakes. And have long, lengthy discourses over the proper word to use to refer to the "toilet". The "toilet", of course being an irrevocable faux-pas. Heaven have mercy, if someone heard you using such words. Its even more cringeworthy if you use words like 'loo'. A funny anecdote to recount in this regards - So I was meeting my aunt after at least 10 years. The initial blood-relative euphoria gave way in a while for analyzing the ways and means of a distant and long-lost relative. So everything that I spoke out to her, had to be slowly and properly pronounced, else she made me repeat it. She even let me know condescendingly once that my accent is ununderstandable, because it almost sounds like I am speaking in a Gujarati tongue. (Gujarati being a native dialect for the residents of a state called Gujarat in the west of India) Its a different matter altogether that she has never been to Gujarat or had any Gujarati friends or even watched or seen anything remotely Gujarati to know how people in that area talk! After couple of days of aunt-nephew bonding, she took me to the church. As we were waiting for the service to begin, the choir began singing some hymns. And as the choir began singing, I felt the urge to answer nature's call (Please don't try and read any interrelationship between the two - its just coincidence that the two happened almost simultaneously). Over the din of the choir singers, I asked my aunt "Where is the rest room?" She looked at me in an apparently sympathetic look that said, "I know you are from India and have this horrible Gujarati accent which I cannot understand. I am sorry you will have to repeat". I repeated it twice for her. But sadly because the choir singers were creating such a din, and because were seated immediately below the speakers, she could not hear me. In order to make it clearer for her the fourth time, I decided to change the phraseology. And I asked her then "Which way is the TOILET?". I could see her literally shuddering as those harsh, blue-collared words hit her ear drums, registered with her senses and her brain processed a multitude of thoughts. She gave me the directions and then softly held my hands and told me "Please do not use that word 'toilet' around here. Its a very 'Indian' usage. People over here call it the restroom.' As I walked towards the restroom, my head was spinning out of pure fury. How dare she thinks I am not refined enough to fit into her world! Of course I am. That I had to use 'that' word in my purely pressurized state of mind and bowels, is a different story. Ha!
To be continued....
For my kind of sensibilities, my tastes define who I am and its my crucible when I am with people of dissimilar tastes. Case in example: My poignant hate for Shah Rukh Khan. Although he is the undisputed Badshah of the Bollywood film industry and his movies have made more money than any other star in Bollywood, the way he hams and portrays himself as look-at-me-I'm-so-smart gets on my nerves. Deep within my heart I know he acts reasonably well, if asked to. That he doesn't, is a sad reflection on the movie making lore of the day. But just because of his seemingly unending popularity, he is a criminal in my eyes. He is a darling of the masses and the suburbia and a person with more elite tastes like me cannot afford to be wooed over by the tastes of the rank and file.
But invariably having at least couple of hits every year, I end up accompanying my friends to watch his movies. And when I tend to critically dissect each and every act of his in the movie (more so because of my apparent distaste), I end up arguing with the majority in the group. And being reduced to a whimpering minority, I end up not arguing as much as I would have wanted to. Consequently I end my argument thinking in my head, "You won't understand. Our tastes are different."
Intellectual snobs like me are a very distinct species. You can spot us in cafes and libraries everywhere, even in the distinctly crassy Starbucks, you will find us hooked up with our laptops, typing away furiously on our keyboards. We will not be dressed very trendy, thats mostly because we do not have well built bodies to show off. So while I recoil inwardly in horror on seeing my naked body in the mirror everyday before getting into the shower, in front of everybody else I will complaining about the apparent "body fascism" that has taken over the entire country. Everyday before going to sleep, I dream that the next morning I will get up sooner rather than later and go pump up some iron at the local gym. But my lazy, fat ass refuses to get off the bed and the WC once I am up in the morning. And then I cry foul when I am not looked at as a prospective good looker when I am out mingling amongst other singles.
It's not that the snobs like me are hooked up to our lappies all day, we can also be heard pom-pomming away about books we’ve never read, drinks we’ve never drunk, drugs we’ve never taken, places we’ve never been to, people we’ve never met and ideas that none of us will ever fully understand. So when one of my other pretentious friends walks in to a restaurant carrying a flier for an 'anarcho-communist' gathering, I get into a long discussion with him about what that odd ball sounding term means. And later I propound the ideals of anarcho-communism over my lesser well-read, well-informed friends.
The number of people like me who exude the suggestion that they are quite cleverer than what they actually are is quite startling. And it doesnt require much to show off to such an extent that people begin believing you. So you need to wear big-cut glasses, wear army-surplus sized clothes, carry lots of stuff in your hands whenever you are travelling, and one of those items need to be a book. If the books are more, the better. And yes, of course, the books cannot be authored by the-frowned-upon-by-literary-snobs writers like Deepak Chopra, Sidney Sheldon, or the M&B variety. The right kind of books are a must to create a favorable impression. Before you decide on what book to carry in your hands, you definitely need to look up on the New York Review of Books or the New Yorker and check out what the critics had to say about the book. For men, the uncut hair and a few days' stubble look goes a long way in creating a snob impression. Whereas for women, dressing up in regional clothes and not the regular shirts and pants goes a long way - so take out your cotton kurtis, sarees, the kimono type dresses, the long flowing salwar kameezes and hit the subways with a big, fat Chekhov in your hand and people will begin to look up to you as the next girl in line for Einstein's throne.
The trappings of intellectual snobbery are many. So while you read seemingly "better" books and watch seemingly "better" movies and go for the praiseworthy plays, art shows, museum visits, you also at times begin to act like a social snob. You begin to correct your friends' accents and pronunciation mistakes. And have long, lengthy discourses over the proper word to use to refer to the "toilet". The "toilet", of course being an irrevocable faux-pas. Heaven have mercy, if someone heard you using such words. Its even more cringeworthy if you use words like 'loo'. A funny anecdote to recount in this regards - So I was meeting my aunt after at least 10 years. The initial blood-relative euphoria gave way in a while for analyzing the ways and means of a distant and long-lost relative. So everything that I spoke out to her, had to be slowly and properly pronounced, else she made me repeat it. She even let me know condescendingly once that my accent is ununderstandable, because it almost sounds like I am speaking in a Gujarati tongue. (Gujarati being a native dialect for the residents of a state called Gujarat in the west of India) Its a different matter altogether that she has never been to Gujarat or had any Gujarati friends or even watched or seen anything remotely Gujarati to know how people in that area talk! After couple of days of aunt-nephew bonding, she took me to the church. As we were waiting for the service to begin, the choir began singing some hymns. And as the choir began singing, I felt the urge to answer nature's call (Please don't try and read any interrelationship between the two - its just coincidence that the two happened almost simultaneously). Over the din of the choir singers, I asked my aunt "Where is the rest room?" She looked at me in an apparently sympathetic look that said, "I know you are from India and have this horrible Gujarati accent which I cannot understand. I am sorry you will have to repeat". I repeated it twice for her. But sadly because the choir singers were creating such a din, and because were seated immediately below the speakers, she could not hear me. In order to make it clearer for her the fourth time, I decided to change the phraseology. And I asked her then "Which way is the TOILET?". I could see her literally shuddering as those harsh, blue-collared words hit her ear drums, registered with her senses and her brain processed a multitude of thoughts. She gave me the directions and then softly held my hands and told me "Please do not use that word 'toilet' around here. Its a very 'Indian' usage. People over here call it the restroom.' As I walked towards the restroom, my head was spinning out of pure fury. How dare she thinks I am not refined enough to fit into her world! Of course I am. That I had to use 'that' word in my purely pressurized state of mind and bowels, is a different story. Ha!
To be continued....
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
War of words
Why does there always seem to be a confusion between the two phrases 'flush out' and 'flesh out'? Captivate.com (that little news flasher in most elevators) agreed with me a couple of weeks back when they did mention that these two were the most frequently confused among phrases at the work place.
The conflict revolves around the usage of a common phrase we hear in business meetings: "Yes, we can fl_sh that out and report back to you at our meeting next week."
Was that, "flesh that out"? or "flush that out"?
People say it so fast! I heard my counterpart slur it, maybe on purpose out of self doubt.
One of my friends chimed in on the topic one day, insistent that the correct usage is "flush."
I didn't believe him, I was in the "flesh" camp. I started asking everyone around for their opinion. (and you are welcome to express yours if you are clearly on one side or the other...). The consensus was that it is "flesh it out." As in, adding meat to the bones.
But when I later discussed this with one of my managers, she was of the opinion that it is "flush it out". Which again brought out all the confusion in my head.
Here's what my head tells me: "Flesh it out" refers to the fact that the idea is thin and that it needs more substance, i.e. add more flesh to the bones. It is more like a creative process, i.e., "lets give this more life, color, meat, paint a fence around it". "Flush it out" implies purging the idea because it is not promising, more on the lines of to uncover or eradicate something that is already there. Do you agree with me?
Personally, I think the phrase should temporarily be changed to:
"Let's flsh this out"
No vowels at all! Easier for everyone....
P.s.: Other commonly confused words which make me pull out my hair - "insure" vs "ensure"; "affect" vs "effect"; "better then" vs "better than" (the former being grammatically incorrect too)
The conflict revolves around the usage of a common phrase we hear in business meetings: "Yes, we can fl_sh that out and report back to you at our meeting next week."
Was that, "flesh that out"? or "flush that out"?
People say it so fast! I heard my counterpart slur it, maybe on purpose out of self doubt.
One of my friends chimed in on the topic one day, insistent that the correct usage is "flush."
I didn't believe him, I was in the "flesh" camp. I started asking everyone around for their opinion. (and you are welcome to express yours if you are clearly on one side or the other...). The consensus was that it is "flesh it out." As in, adding meat to the bones.
But when I later discussed this with one of my managers, she was of the opinion that it is "flush it out". Which again brought out all the confusion in my head.
Here's what my head tells me: "Flesh it out" refers to the fact that the idea is thin and that it needs more substance, i.e. add more flesh to the bones. It is more like a creative process, i.e., "lets give this more life, color, meat, paint a fence around it". "Flush it out" implies purging the idea because it is not promising, more on the lines of to uncover or eradicate something that is already there. Do you agree with me?
Personally, I think the phrase should temporarily be changed to:
"Let's flsh this out"
No vowels at all! Easier for everyone....
P.s.: Other commonly confused words which make me pull out my hair - "insure" vs "ensure"; "affect" vs "effect"; "better then" vs "better than" (the former being grammatically incorrect too)
Monday, February 4, 2008
Book Review: No Country for Old men
Its with great trepidation that I am approaching the desk to write a review of my last read - Cormac McCarthy's 'No Country for Old Men'. Did I like it? No. Did I dislike it? Hmmmm - I liked the movie and the movie is a faithful adaptation of the book. Its just that the prose version of what I saw in the movie was a tad too overbearing.
The plot is indeed seductive. Its a "modern" western set in the desert plains of Texas in the 1980s. So instead of horses and cowboys, you have trucks carrying loads of dope and cash and drug peddlers over the US-Mexican border. And then there are men - men with ununderstandable Southern accents, virtuous men who hold onto age-old values and traditions, men with bad hair cuts (okay! this is coming from the movie - the book did not mention the bad hair-cut), and men who would not think twice before committing a evil deed. And there is loads of machismo - guns, wounds, blood, bullets, horses, fights and chases. But sadly, where are the women? The entire book has only one woman and about 200 bad men. And just like Venus divine, she is homely, loving, caring and family oriented. Everything that the men in the book are not and everything that the virtuous old men in the book lament about. Through the western drug-deal-gone-dowdy plot, what McCarthy bemoans about is the complete degradation of values and morals and ethics in the American society to such an extent that the country is no good for anyone to live in, let alone the older populace. That is the credence for the title of the book, in case you are wondering.
So a rumpled, dusty, fit and agile antelope hunter called Llewelyn Moss, during one of his hunting escapades in the desert plains lands up on a scene of massacred drug dealers close to the Mexican border. Their dope is intact, but the cash they were carrying is missing. As Moss follows the trail some more, he lands up near one more corpse who carries a case with about $2 million in cash. Moss makes off with this suitcase full of cash that also contains a hidden transponder that alerts the villain to his every move. The villain, being Anton Chigurh - an enigmatic, cold blooded, emotionless murderer who stalks Moss throughout the book, almost like a ghost. He kills ruthlessly and thoughtlessly, anybody who comes into contact with him, loading bullets into people's heads seemingly just for kicks. A complete sadist, he tosses a coin to determine whether or not he'll spare the life of the owner of a small convenience store and the only lady in the book, Moss's wife, Carla Jean. And the device with which he commits most of the mass murders in the book is so inventive - its a pressurized thingie used to stun and instantly kill cattle. And the unexpressed satisfaction that he gets out of zonking out the brains of his victims using this stun-sten-gun is only left to the imagination of the reader.
Pursuing both Moss and Chigurh throughout the tale is the grand old virtuous man, the Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, who also plays the dual role of the narrator of the book. Against this backdrop of ruthless killings and overall creepiness, Sheriff Bell ponders the meaning of existence and decadence of old-fashioned values, which would be pretty boring for a complete book, if it were not for the murderous Chigurh and his fleeing cattle.
Having explained the excellent plot and the gripping story line, let me proceed to my main grouse against this book. This is my first Cormac McCarthy read. And I must say that his writing style befuddles me. Its tedious and exhausting, to say the least. He rushes through his story so much so that he completely misses the well-intentioned commas, apostrophes, exclamation marks, quotation marks, and all the grammatical accessories. I am sure these were invented by ancient geniuses of the script for some reason. And when you find it missing, is when you realize its value. Call me old-school, but I had a hard time making out the meaning of his written word. Its as if he is so economical with his usage of words and epithets, that he discounts the usage of frillage. Point in case, the following conversation between Carla Jean and Sheriff Bell:
'These people will kill him, Carla Jean. They won't quit.
He wont neither. He never has.
Bell nodded. He sipped his coffee. The face that lapped and shifted in the dark liquid in the cup seemed an omen of things to come. Things losing shape. Taking you with them. He set the cup down and looked at the girl. I wish I could say that was in his favor. But I have to say I dont think it is.
Well, she said, he's who he is and he always will be. That's why I married him.
But you aint heard from him in a while.
I didnt expect to hear from him.
Were you having problems.
We dont have problems. When we have problems we fix em.
You're lucky people.
Yes we are.
She watched him.'
Notice the small structured sentences, the lack of metaphors or adjectives, and the complete omission of the fluffy fandangles. Another thing which caused me considerable grief was that inspite of rushing through the prose, it seemed like you landed nowhere. So you are running more and more, you are getting tired, but apparently there is nowhere to sit and catch a breath, and it still seems like there are miles to go. He explains every step taken in minutest detail. But again within his self-constructed grammatical (un)restrictions. 'He opened the refrigerator. He looked in. He took out the milk, drank some from the carton, sealed the carton, and put it back in the refrigerator. He closed the door.' Everything in the book is compact, yet so seemingly endless towards the horizon. Also call me unhandy, but the focussed attention towards the mechanical rigor also seemed like a pain in all the wrong places. "a heavybarreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser with a laminated stock”; “the shotgun was a twelve gauge Remington automatic with a plastic military stock and a parkerized finish”; “he unzipped the case and took out a stainless steel .357 revolver and went back to the bed”; “a Tec-9 with two extra magazines and a box and a half of shells.”
But all said and done, the book's plot is enough to give you sleepless nights and you can so easily see how the movie rights for this book might have been snapped up by some eager production house as soon as they were out available. The movie is definitely a faithful adaptation of the book and Javier Bardem looks so evil in the role of Chigurh that it seems that the role was just written with him in mind. Just the fact that he survived that outlandish hair gear and still managed to knock your balls off with his evil glare is totally commendable.
Chigurh as a writer's invention is probably the scariest invention ever penned. And for that due credit needs to go to McCarthy. Just how psychopathic Chigurh is, can be realized in one of his final confrontation scenes with the innocent Carla Jean. He is almost omniscient in that scene where he tells her "there is nothing that can change what has been preordained." He makes her call a coin toss; she loses the call. This, too, it seems, was fate: “Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape is drawn. No line can be erased. I had no belief in your ability to move a coin to your bidding. How could you? A person’s path through the world seldom changes and even more seldom will it change abruptly. And the shape of your path was visible from the beginning.” And somewhere between the lines, you can see the writer blowing up Chigurh with so much power and awe that you almost wonder whether McCarthy wishes to play God. Maybe he does. All story tellers do. The book is their fantasy, where the characters are puppets in their hands.
As a book that laments on the downfall of much cherished values and morals, this book did not work for me. As a literary accomplishment, this book did not work for me. Where it did work for me, was the brilliant plot and that memorable character whom Moss refers to as Sugar - the psycopathic villain to be feared for all ages to come.
The plot is indeed seductive. Its a "modern" western set in the desert plains of Texas in the 1980s. So instead of horses and cowboys, you have trucks carrying loads of dope and cash and drug peddlers over the US-Mexican border. And then there are men - men with ununderstandable Southern accents, virtuous men who hold onto age-old values and traditions, men with bad hair cuts (okay! this is coming from the movie - the book did not mention the bad hair-cut), and men who would not think twice before committing a evil deed. And there is loads of machismo - guns, wounds, blood, bullets, horses, fights and chases. But sadly, where are the women? The entire book has only one woman and about 200 bad men. And just like Venus divine, she is homely, loving, caring and family oriented. Everything that the men in the book are not and everything that the virtuous old men in the book lament about. Through the western drug-deal-gone-dowdy plot, what McCarthy bemoans about is the complete degradation of values and morals and ethics in the American society to such an extent that the country is no good for anyone to live in, let alone the older populace. That is the credence for the title of the book, in case you are wondering.
So a rumpled, dusty, fit and agile antelope hunter called Llewelyn Moss, during one of his hunting escapades in the desert plains lands up on a scene of massacred drug dealers close to the Mexican border. Their dope is intact, but the cash they were carrying is missing. As Moss follows the trail some more, he lands up near one more corpse who carries a case with about $2 million in cash. Moss makes off with this suitcase full of cash that also contains a hidden transponder that alerts the villain to his every move. The villain, being Anton Chigurh - an enigmatic, cold blooded, emotionless murderer who stalks Moss throughout the book, almost like a ghost. He kills ruthlessly and thoughtlessly, anybody who comes into contact with him, loading bullets into people's heads seemingly just for kicks. A complete sadist, he tosses a coin to determine whether or not he'll spare the life of the owner of a small convenience store and the only lady in the book, Moss's wife, Carla Jean. And the device with which he commits most of the mass murders in the book is so inventive - its a pressurized thingie used to stun and instantly kill cattle. And the unexpressed satisfaction that he gets out of zonking out the brains of his victims using this stun-sten-gun is only left to the imagination of the reader.
Pursuing both Moss and Chigurh throughout the tale is the grand old virtuous man, the Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, who also plays the dual role of the narrator of the book. Against this backdrop of ruthless killings and overall creepiness, Sheriff Bell ponders the meaning of existence and decadence of old-fashioned values, which would be pretty boring for a complete book, if it were not for the murderous Chigurh and his fleeing cattle.
Having explained the excellent plot and the gripping story line, let me proceed to my main grouse against this book. This is my first Cormac McCarthy read. And I must say that his writing style befuddles me. Its tedious and exhausting, to say the least. He rushes through his story so much so that he completely misses the well-intentioned commas, apostrophes, exclamation marks, quotation marks, and all the grammatical accessories. I am sure these were invented by ancient geniuses of the script for some reason. And when you find it missing, is when you realize its value. Call me old-school, but I had a hard time making out the meaning of his written word. Its as if he is so economical with his usage of words and epithets, that he discounts the usage of frillage. Point in case, the following conversation between Carla Jean and Sheriff Bell:
'These people will kill him, Carla Jean. They won't quit.
He wont neither. He never has.
Bell nodded. He sipped his coffee. The face that lapped and shifted in the dark liquid in the cup seemed an omen of things to come. Things losing shape. Taking you with them. He set the cup down and looked at the girl. I wish I could say that was in his favor. But I have to say I dont think it is.
Well, she said, he's who he is and he always will be. That's why I married him.
But you aint heard from him in a while.
I didnt expect to hear from him.
Were you having problems.
We dont have problems. When we have problems we fix em.
You're lucky people.
Yes we are.
She watched him.'
Notice the small structured sentences, the lack of metaphors or adjectives, and the complete omission of the fluffy fandangles. Another thing which caused me considerable grief was that inspite of rushing through the prose, it seemed like you landed nowhere. So you are running more and more, you are getting tired, but apparently there is nowhere to sit and catch a breath, and it still seems like there are miles to go. He explains every step taken in minutest detail. But again within his self-constructed grammatical (un)restrictions. 'He opened the refrigerator. He looked in. He took out the milk, drank some from the carton, sealed the carton, and put it back in the refrigerator. He closed the door.' Everything in the book is compact, yet so seemingly endless towards the horizon. Also call me unhandy, but the focussed attention towards the mechanical rigor also seemed like a pain in all the wrong places. "a heavybarreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser with a laminated stock”; “the shotgun was a twelve gauge Remington automatic with a plastic military stock and a parkerized finish”; “he unzipped the case and took out a stainless steel .357 revolver and went back to the bed”; “a Tec-9 with two extra magazines and a box and a half of shells.”
But all said and done, the book's plot is enough to give you sleepless nights and you can so easily see how the movie rights for this book might have been snapped up by some eager production house as soon as they were out available. The movie is definitely a faithful adaptation of the book and Javier Bardem looks so evil in the role of Chigurh that it seems that the role was just written with him in mind. Just the fact that he survived that outlandish hair gear and still managed to knock your balls off with his evil glare is totally commendable.
Chigurh as a writer's invention is probably the scariest invention ever penned. And for that due credit needs to go to McCarthy. Just how psychopathic Chigurh is, can be realized in one of his final confrontation scenes with the innocent Carla Jean. He is almost omniscient in that scene where he tells her "there is nothing that can change what has been preordained." He makes her call a coin toss; she loses the call. This, too, it seems, was fate: “Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape is drawn. No line can be erased. I had no belief in your ability to move a coin to your bidding. How could you? A person’s path through the world seldom changes and even more seldom will it change abruptly. And the shape of your path was visible from the beginning.” And somewhere between the lines, you can see the writer blowing up Chigurh with so much power and awe that you almost wonder whether McCarthy wishes to play God. Maybe he does. All story tellers do. The book is their fantasy, where the characters are puppets in their hands.
As a book that laments on the downfall of much cherished values and morals, this book did not work for me. As a literary accomplishment, this book did not work for me. Where it did work for me, was the brilliant plot and that memorable character whom Moss refers to as Sugar - the psycopathic villain to be feared for all ages to come.
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