Not Just Child’s Play: Mother’s World

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Published: Mother’s World magazine, April-June 2013, Comment

What’s a child’s play without an elephant and a circus? Should toddlers be left deprived of such pleasures of civilized urban life, and how far are we willing to go into this material carnival…?

What’s happening?

You don’t realize how incomplete your social calendar is until you have a child. The ‘in’ gift for a newborn is either a smart-phone or little black calendar book so that the Mum may then ably ‘manage’ her child’s events and invitations. Because you will have that many, if you have worked the new-mother-society right. You start right from when the child is in your womb, and begin collecting the numbers of other eligible mothers from the gynecologist’s clinic and Lamaze classes. You keep up the work until you reach the pediatrician’s clinic – it’s imperative that you take your child regularly there, to amass the greatest number of mums on your database – to ensure that your child always has a play-date or a party to attend.

 No self-respecting mum would keep her newborn or toddler at home to get bored. It is a bit lame if someone calls you up to fix a play-date and you have a free day – your child’s day should be free only in event of a cancellation, which may be surprisingly frequent seeing that children have to cope with a hectic social life. And always have a roster of backups: the kind of people who may be related to you or whose mums are too involved to work in such a systematic approach to child rearing. They would be grateful that you thought of them, even if it is at the last minute. And a play-date isn’t really a play-date unless it is well thought out and planned, describing the educational level, skill set, calibre and hosting skills of the mother. From intricate arts and crafts that pop open in a box and musical events that define the dormant skills in our children to more elaborate ones where a little circus is organized. After all, what is a play-date without a real elephant or a few horses or a juggler and magician? Where ideally, a play-date is meant to be a one-on-one evening to encourage activity in your child with a slight nudge towards sharing and accommodating, today, mothers have confused them with carnivals.

 You must go with a gift to every play date or event you attend, and it would be best to have a recycling cupboard and you are likely to get as many gifts, most of which would not match the exacting standards you have for your own kids, but would do very well for the others. You must also maintain a gift diary – who gave you what and of the approximate value. You can’t goof up by returning the same gift to the person it came from, nor must you over-spend on someone who gave your angel a silly little do. Of course, you must expect that the child you are gifting is smarter than their age (even if you are internally wishing they are slow), and therefore give an age-appropriate gift that’s meant for a kid at least a year older. After all, mums know that the age on the box doesn’t mean anything – you need to show off to other mums that your kid plays with older-kid toys.

 Now if you have socially arrived, or want to prove that you don’t just exist, you must ensure everything that you gift is personalized. So you will need to painstakingly take every child’s name with the correct spelling – after all, parents are prone to complicated versions of names for uniqueness – and ensure that you get the gifts personalized as per age, sex and party theme. For this purpose, it’s best if you hire a party planner. No sensible mum will get involved in the nitty-gritties herself. Your job is to play mediator – between a demanding child, an exasperated dad (it’s his wallet after all) and a scheming party planner. And as a mum, you must invite the whole town, if possible, because that’s the kind of friend circle your child is destined to have. Your child must know everyone. And by default everyone must know your child. And therein lies the path to fame. Simply – by throwing the party. Everything is directly proportional to a better life. The grander the party, the more talked about it will be. Each child arrives with an entourage – mum and sometimes dad, and the nanny. All of the décor must be three-dimensional, because for your toddler, the world is not enough in it’s meager one or two-dimension-ness. There must be a string of games and stalls and events, because children need options today. There must be a spectacular buffet of palate-teasers – variety for the kids, variety for the mums and a staple box of goodies for the nanny. And if you are unable to provide food for the nanny, you can always hand out envelopes of cash – it’s smart, after all, that’s what the have-nots really value. And when your kids go to playschool, one must ensure that we have one-upped the gifts given by the other kids. If they did one personalized gift, we will do two. Paradoxically, budgets are infinite and money is not an issue when your child’s future social standing is in question.

 What happens when that happens?

Children are picking up material values as they go along: they understand luxury brands before they know the meaning of money or even know how to count. Before the child has held a book, the child has discovered the difference between an iPhone and a Blackberry. Apple was a healthy fruit, today it’s products are prized possessions and bargaining chips. When parents are asked to send their children to school with an object from a letter from the alphabet and the child comes in a Ferrari for ‘F’, when children have come home sobbing because of the injustice and severe humiliation of having to show face at school in a Toyota car when the others arrive in Mercedes’; you begin to question how you can battle the problems of a materialistic society that survives on the luxe market to prove it’s self worth. If a child is linking self-worth to a material good, it won’t be far that we have a society of no-gooders. With the desire to get bigger and better, faster and to prove that we are very ‘with-it’, mothers have begun to forget the basic idea of parenting – the fact that children don’t need more than the most basic tools to learn, an attentive parent to guide them and a controlled foundation from which to build upon and become a better human being.

 What you can do to not let that happen….

But in a world full of negative peer pressure, how does a sensible mother keep her head on her shoulders and bring up a child that the world would be proud to have as an adult? Not a child that wears Burberry and carries Prada with aplomb and has nothing else to say for herself, but a child that values human worth before material gain: to make the child understand that it’s not who you wear but who you are that counts. For a mother to decide to be different from the madding crowd and to stray from those that wish to derail human values, it is important to believe in oneself and have an unwavering faith in doing the right thing instead of doing things right. What does that mean in real terms? Not sheltering your child from the reality of the world for one. Letting your child explore options and letting your child know brands. But through it all, ensuring that he doesn’t begin to value the brand as something to aspire towards, but as a choice. Explain the differences between engine power or threadwork rather than revering a price tag. Let your child understand the value of money. Don’t allow your child to become spoilt because you want him to have everything his friend does, or everything you didn’t. Listen to what he wants. Where do his interests lie? For instance, is he keen on painting or building? Then invest in something that you feel he really enjoys. Keep innovative parties, involve him in the party decisions, deliberations and creative ideations. Ask his help in choosing colours and décor, get him to help with cutting and pasting. It will be a fun activity and he will value it. He won’t compare it to another, if he had a hand in creating it. When you make your child a composer, he is less likely to find the music of another sweeter.

 It’s also important to find like-minded people: the madness of many as opposed to the rationality of a few. Whom you talk to – with respect to schools, parties, events and activities – makes a difference to the way you begin to think. Your child trusts your judgement – make sure it’s the right one and based on the right decisions. For instance, a mother may tell you to apply to a certain school, “Because it’s the best!” But it’s very important to understand what that means – find out what is special about the school. You’d be surprised how much people consider things that you may not care for. A school may be great for them because it pulls the ‘right’ crowd, prepares your child academically or even has imported equipment! You need to see what you value and what kind of an education or influence you wish your child to have, and accordingly make decisions. The moment you choose for the right reasons, you will find it easier to attract the right peers for your child and surround yourself with the right influencers. Or at least the ones that match your own thinking. Because somebody’s Potter could be someone’s Voldemort.

That Chauhan Girl Again #Review: Those Pricey Thakur Girls

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Published: Verve Magazine, March 2013, Nerve/Reviews

As her previous two books roll on the floors as films, ad and screenplay writer, Anuja Chauhan is out with a third novel, which also promises a sequel

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For any chick-lit fan, Anuja Chauhan is a breath of fresh air. She set the stage with The Zoya Factor, ensuring that we get her milieu of razor-sharp wit, desi mise en scene, irreverent metaphors and vivid character sketches. She took it a notch further by moving away from the city grime into rural dust with Battle for Bittora, her second novel. Those Pricey Thakur Girls arrive in small-town Delhi, with middle-class morality and the desire to be strong independent women. But here she places the story in the 80s, where at every stage you are familiarising yourself with a time that seems far removed from today. It’s the time of Doordarshan, tweaked to be Desh Darpan, a time when the Emergency is still fresh in everyone’s mind, when free speech is something to be treasured and fought for. Her protagonists are a newsreader and an investigative journalist, which makes them snooty about their respective jobs as well as their differing personalities. In the midst of revolutionary thoughts, careers and salary slips, a budding romance blossoms where Debjani Thakur, the feisty but incredibly shy newsreader falls prey to Dylan Singh Shekhawat’s charms.

Chauhan treats the light-hearted women’s fiction genre with remarkable personality. There is no rallying to western chick lit; there isn’t a desperate desiness, she has made it her own with a mix of gentility and local rootedness, which she claims is nothing but “the space we all live in! This is life in India aaj kal. I’m just writing down what I see around me, every day.” After all, Chauhan grew up in a house full of girls and has two of her own. It’s not hard to see that she leans towards the darkly determined men, who are at the heart of the matter, decent. Chauhan’s wickedly humourous romances are always marked with a foray into something new while being strangely, and comfortingly, familiar. Until the sequel, then.

Q & A – ANUJA CHAUHAN

Fame – either accidental or unsolicited – accompanies the stories of your protagonists.
I just enjoy a big fat public declaration of love. When it finally happens, everybody should see, everybody should know. And so Zoya (in The Zoya Factor) dates the cricket captain, Jinni (in Battle For Bittora) embraces her political rival and makes the front pages and Debjani does… um, what she does. Maybe that’s very cheesy of me – but I think a little cheese is required in our daily diet. I like putting my protagonists in peculiar predicaments and seeing which way they’ll jump.

Why is the book set in the 80s?
Nostalgia I think. I found I was spending a lot of time telling my kids (11, 14 and 17) how life was ‘back then’ when I was growing up. No Pepsi, no pizza delivery, only DD on TV. Besides, something about this book, about five sisters growing up in a big old house with a walled garden, just felt right in the 80s. Also, maybe this was just a reaction to the kind of snappy, sassy, glossy books that are flooding the bookstores, full of ‘bold’ girls and ‘jerk’ guys, I felt like I wanted to write old-fashioned romance – no texts, only letters, no sex, only kisses.

And the darkly determined young men going after your girls…?
I do admit to the darkly determined. I don’t like fair men – I can’t write them. And I detest ditherers, so that’s out too.

A Focussed Affair: Mumbai’s on-going Focus Festival

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Published: Verve Magazine, March 2013, Framed

This month, the hotbed of Mumbai’s arts and culture scene throws its doors open to still visuals. Verve gives you a preview of the frames to come

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Hot on the heels of the Kala Ghoda festival, where the lay person creates magic with his camera phone, snapping away at the thought-provoking installations on display, comes, FOCUS, Mumbai’s first free photography festival to be held in the last two weeks of this month. Not surprising then, is the theme of The City, where a range of budding and established photographers, both local and international, make their lens-way over to receptive centres in South Mumbai. In a bid to throw a deeper net and engage a wider audience, the exhibition runs with the usual suspects in Kala Ghoda, Mumbai, like the Terrace Gallery (Jehangir Art Complex) and the Max Mueller Bhavan Gallery (Rampart Row) and onto fresh faces like Bombay Electric, Bungalow 8, Design Temple, Filter, Good Earth, Hermes and Kala Ghoda Café.

From early Bombay images (1850-1890) curated by academic Susan Hapgood to contemporary photography by women curated by photographer Sunil Gupta and curator Veerangana Solanki, from Risham Syed’s Metropolyptical: A Tale of a City to Sooni Taraporevala’s Parsis: The Zoroastrians of India, from talks, workshops, photography books and magazines to portfolio review sessions…FOCUS, co-founded by Nicola Antaki, Elise Foster Vander Elst and Matthieu Foss, promises to be a dynamic vision of the future.

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Q&A WITH MATTHIEU FOSS

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT THE CITY AS A POWERFUL VISUAL METAPHOR?
The City, as a backdrop for the lives of the majority of the word’s population is a tremendous source of inspiration for photographers. We wish to present photo projects from the very local, to much wider global contexts – from a photo-journalistic point of view as well as from more artistic interpretations, from issues pertaining to local routine, as well as more aesthetic studies on architecture and urbanism. Images from Mumbai will co-exist with some from cities around the world thus encouraging constructive dialogue.

YOU’VE OPENED UP NON-GALLERY SPACES LIKE CAFÉS AND STORES TO A PHOTOGRAPHY DIALOGUE….
A festival is the ideal way to create bridges between communities on a particular subject or art form, and with exhibitions and events taking place throughout the city in traditional spaces as well as alternative ones, we will benefit from an exciting cross-pollination of audiences and create true synergies.

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The $50,000 sanctuary

Yesterday, I came across a lady who received an award from the Jain community in America for gathering $50,000 in funds – to build a temple. Now, as I have been informed by someone on Twitter, “Temples are spiritual centers, protectors of an ancient civilisation  They provide peace of mind to people.” 

Yet, I wonder if that money couldn’t have been used for creating a better life for people. For instance, it could have supported villages with sanitation, better infrastructure, solar power facilities, water and irrigation, and even a school or two. It could provide livelihood via skills to many, it could improve the lives of thousands in real and measurable terms. 

When will we stop using our money to create inanimate structures that in turn create emotional and psychological dependencies and instead just use the money towards the actual betterment of living things, towards making this a better world?

If temples were the answer to all our problems, we would have been a heavenly planet right now. Apparently, it’s not that simple – our world is not exactly a great place to live, and disparities only keep growing. Do temples solve any problems? Or do we hope that in it’s escapism we can find moksh

A Man of Substance

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Published: Verve Magazine, February 2013, Verve Diaries
Illustration by Wyanet Vaz

They may not all be tall, dark and handsome, but they have the ‘It’ factor that makes women swoon as they stride across the pages of fictional offerings through the years. The Verve girls pick their literary soulmate – men who have made them go weak at the knees. Mr Darcy apart!

diaries03A MAN OF SUBSTANCE
Richard Kane;
The Prodigal Daughter
Oh, those that weep over Heathcliff and turn into mush over Darcy and get all hot-and-bothered over a Grey or a Cullen, haven’t really met a regular guy – a banker-type person. Or really, a guy who had everything going for him and gave it all up to be with the girl he loves. Remember Jeffrey Archer’s Kane and Abel? Well, think about William Kane’s son, Richard, who appears in the sequel, The Prodigal Daughter. Tall, good-looking and ridiculously rich, he is the modern American Romeo, screwed over by a family feud. He falls in love with a Bloomingdale salesgirl – so much so that he goes in to buy gloves every day until he can muster up the courage to ask her out. In the midst of the courtship, he discovers she is actually an heiress to a fortune. Florentyna Rosnovski is the daughter of his father’s arch-rival and nemesis. After incurring the wrath of both families, they are forced to marry before he’s even finished with Harvard Business School.

He becomes an out-of-job, would-be banker, with nothing but a cello and $100, who has the gumption to tell his furious father, ‘You suffer like generations of our family, Father, from imagining money can buy everything. Your son is not for sale.’ While charting a banking career for himself, he joins forces with his entrepreneurial wife to make her the brand she is destined to become – quitting his job to come on board her venture. He has the courage and will to be independent of obligatory wealth and prove himself to the world and society…and he is secure enough in his own self-worth to help his wife become successful!

Oh, I can’t feel my knees.

Waiting for the gang….

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Published: Verve Magazine, February 2013, Nerve>Society

Cliques are strange circles, providing the ability to extend your own sense of self with a soulmate. But what happens when you get stuck with the one person whom you don’t get and one who just doesn’t get you?

You are the person looking in, waiting to be a part of the camaraderie, the shuffle, the Cha-Cha-Cha of conversation and friendship as if it were a graceful routine you can master. But then, on occasion, you may get stuck with a foolish wit, the Ernest kind, or daresay…a doppelgänger – someone who must be having a nefarious purpose in being a part of the universe, but appears unnaturally, and to be a part of yours.

One fine day, a major plan is made, wine and dine you must, to celebrate a special occasion, for which reason, the group plans to meet at a designated spot. Unfortunately the Wit and you are the only ones to arrive so far. Both of you sit in absurdist silence; manage to jerk out a few syllables on the day, the lateness of the others, irritated noises, frustrated gasps and a whole lot of grunting. It’s not too removed from the first time you have inexperienced sex while you are drunk and want to throw up. No one really knows what works. And it mostly doesn’t.

As most young women of today are trained in yoga for situations like these, deep breathing may work – and if you concentrate really hard, the unpleasantness of the creature in front of you can be ignored. And just when you are able to block him out of your radar, he chooses to launch. Into an involved conversation – to fill the nervous tension in the air. He’s grandly describing his immense and far-reaching connections – for a man with connections must be in want of an unfortunate sod to show them off to. He blathers on and you attempt to tune him out, painting mental pictures of a rose water bath or a peppermint scrub. And then you visualise his hairy arms soaking in the bath. Shudder.

You inadvertently look up at him and see a green leaf stuck in his tooth, and balk. Wondering whether you should mention it – for the sake of the group and everything. But that may mortify him further and create more nervous conversation. You suddenly notice he’s going on about lizards and earmuffs…what did you miss? You begin debating whether abandoning your gang at this stage in your life would be appropriate. Beat a hasty retreat, cut your losses et cetera.

While you never spent much time with this person when meeting in a group, you would never have anticipated being so incredibly out of sync. Do you all really work well together or are you merely victims of degrees of separation? Do you all exist as characters of a musical and the sounds of discord happen when each sur is heard separately. Perhaps you haven’t cultivated an individual identity – you are nothing more than a sum of all people. You hear a sound. The others have arrived. Snap.

Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola – Review

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Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola – a review

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From the moment the promos hit the air, it promised to be a strange movie. But you hoped it was a good strange, or interesting strange. It suggested dark comedy, satire, farcical elements with a popular star cast and a winning director. 

But when the time came to deliver, it could have been so much more. While one must admire Vishal Bharadwaj for making a film like this, which stemmed from his love for dharti mata, the hinterlands and Shakesperean tradition all combined, he stumbled in areas that he normally shouldn’t have. With Omkara (his Othello), Maqbool (his Macbeth) etc., he had clear direction. He took an Elizabethan setting and converted it to the darkness of a village in rural India. A milieu he understands well, a tradition he can well expand. With Matru…, he took the technique of social satire and farce and moved it to his familiar rural India. Without a strong Shakesperean story to fall back on, he flounders with a premise. Is he merely picking at the problems of rural farmers and their rich zamindars who are out to looto them? He deals with the topic with unwarranted superficiality. If one chooses not to be serious about a serious problem, then one must at the very least attempt to show some depth while plotting around it.

A good student of Shakespeare always has powerful characters and can sketch them well. Bharadwaj hasn’t failed before and doesn’t falter here either. All the characters come alive, are stand out performances and are believable, even if occasionally caricaturized on the premise of satire. Pankaj Kapur as the Jekyll-and-Hyde Mandola is brilliant, if a little too easy to manipulate towards a happy film ending. Bijlee is a free spirit and plays her role faultlessly. Matru is what the actor, Imran Khan, has described as a desi Che Guevara. Matru’s sophistication is obvious, but then we write it off as a Delhi-education that has softened the expected rough edges. Shabana Azmi’s politician and her witless son played by Arya Babbar appear the most caricaturized, but in the space of the film and it’s intentions, the OTT treatment is forgiven, in fact even acceptable. 

For someone who should be a stickler for details, Bharadwaj seems to have ignored quite a few things. Why must Bijlee run amok shouting for Matru, when we are later shown Matru wielding a cell phone? How does Matru conveniently manage to pull a favour, get a check of money for his village, and then never have to worry about making the delivery 5 days later of the crop which is ruined? There was a chance to create pressure — those 5 days one would think would have been mentioned for a reason — but it never comes up, as time stands still and the village gets busy with Bijlee’s sudden wedding. Mandola has a remarkable change of heart, we don’t really understand why…and that’s a shame because everything seemed to be building up to him and his idiosyncrasies. It’s all very convenient, but it’s not sharp. 

The dialogue on the other hand, is sharp. It’s witty and layered and the delivery is pretty good from all the characters, who show wonderful comic timing all the way. For once, the onus of comedy isn’t on the comic relief but is on all the characters, which is great thing for Indian cinema, especially when it comes to satire. However, the failing was language. With farce and dark humour, one would need one clear, easily decipherable language. Bharadwaj has used three: Hindi, English and Haryanvi, of which one is entirely alien to the multiplex audience and another alien to a single-screen audience. While Kapur is playing his character perfectly, slurring the words like a drunk, he is inadvertently making it harder for the audience to grasp all of what he’s saying, often having the viewer miss key points of humour. The director should have caught that. On the flip side, Khan with his crisp diction is actually easily understood even in his learned Haryanvi, making the experience lighter and easier for the multiplex audience. 

All in all, a clever attempt but a near miss. It will go down in the books as something to be dissected, analysed and categorized. It is a film of no small significance, it’s just unfortunate how close it came to being a serious contender for something special. Not to mention, slash 20 min off the run time, it would have read as well and tightly as Delhi Belly, another mad caper film. And Matru… could have retained it’s rather good music. 

 

Angry Bashers

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Published: Verve Magazine, December 2012, Musings
Illustration: Wyanet Vaz

For the guests to be left dry and not high would be the death wish of a host trying to throw a successful party. 

At a very chic soiree on Malabar Hill recently, we arrived bearing gifts, an appetite and a desire to while the day’s annoyances away with a quencher. As we air kissed and settled into the plush little seating arrangements dotting the landscape, we pecked on a canapé (corn and mushroom tartlet, if you must know), as a waiter arrived with a tinkle of delicate glasses, swirls of orange rind and whiffs of lemongrass. The eyes of the general populace lit up in anticipation – wine or pink champagne is generally the order of the day, after all we were toasting the arrival of someone special – but if our hosts meant to serve up a unique cocktail, so be it. After all, many hosts try to create a unique stamp of their own. In their personalised branded brandy glasses come concoctions of intoxication brewed under their eagle eye – a special mix that can only be served in their home. We reached out for the glasses filled with pale grey liquid in unison, swishing about with promise; and as we touched it to our lips I could see eyes widen in confusion, shock and then distaste in one fluid motion.

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Coconut water! In whatever way it is served up, in however a fancy method of presentation, it isn’t rum. And as much as one pretends, one can’t get buzzed on it. The unfortunate truth about the parties of today is that it is less about the delicately-flavoured food and sharp repartees and more about the strength and calibre of the inebriating substance preceding or accompanying it. I could see the rumble of restlessness float through the guests, shifting eyes darting for an escape, some disbelieving glances flickering around for the host to come out and cackle, ‘Gotcha!’ and bring out the real stuff with a flourish. The men, whose throats suddenly went dry without their favourite tipple, found that their ability to hold the bejewelled lady next to them in witty conversation also faded away. A sudden appalling silence filled the room – and the brave ones continued whispering as they do when someone has passed away. The ambience of celebration and merriment became one of stilted sentences and uncomfortable silences. The charming hosts flitted from one gathering to another, in complete oblivion.

Bruschettas! They became the saviour of the party. Without the safety net of a drink in hand, the harried attendees began to stuff their faces. It would keep them safe from awkward conversations, for no polite company will talk with food in their mouth. If the servers appeared surprised that their trays replete with tasty little servings were getting depleted before they even reached half-way across the room, they were well-trained enough to not show it. And of course, they ran out of starters.

Meanwhile, as the older gentlemen bravely bore the no-show of their favourite buddies, Jack, Jim and Johnnie, and their wives tapped their arms comfortingly, the younger lot assumed that the youth of the house would have a bar tucked away in their part of the apartment. In fierce determination, the skinny little things and the six-pack guys flounced to the other side of the house in search for a better life. Their astonishment wasn’t quite as well masked, as they discovered that there weren’t even any miniatures tucked away under a silk cushion somewhere. After all, they were all game to pretend they were drinking nariyal paani – this was the generation adept at deception. At this stage, I could sense the beginnings of a rumbling – the signs of a no-booze-brawl were all there. The girls shifted uneasily in their sky-high strappies, the boys muttered angrily under their 8-o’clock-and-no-drink shadows.

The remonstrative voices seemed to get louder and louder until I was sure even the neighbours would soon realise that there was a teetotaller party happening on the premises. What if they called the cops? We wouldn’t even have a bottle of alcohol to gift them with! (In case you aren’t aware, the good man will meekly look the other way if you hand him a nice one over the security grill.)

As reality set in and everyone realised that there wasn’t much left to this party and even the toasties had run out, dinner was a quick affair. By 8:30pm dinner was served and by 9:00pm dinner was wrapped up. Everyone was now on a mission, with all the BlackBerrys and iPhones out and frantic messages being sent back and forth to find a place to drink to make up for the precious hours lost. Those who could bear eating on an alcohol-free stomach, piled their plates up high and freely commented on the delicious food. The hostess beamed with pleasure – she felt that she had, once again, nailed the party. The irony was possibly lost on her.

I salute the host who attempts to bring in a certain amount of sobriety to a social gathering. It’s become too much of the norm of polite society to have alcohol-laden veins to muscle butterfly evenings. Are we unable to conduct a decent conversation or enjoy the company of friends without generous splashes of booze? Is it our own inadequacies we need to overcome or are we suggesting that people around us are so intolerable that we need the crutch of intoxication? Shouldn’t it be the choice of the host to serve or not serve? Is a successful party one that lasts into the wee hours of the night where guests teeter and titter on pointlessly? Is it one where you can discuss the shenanigans of the evening with great zest all of the next day while nursing hangovers? Or is it popularly one where you can’t recall anything from the previous night, even how you got home?

At this particular one, I ate with great relish, enjoying the first party I had been to in a decade that actually laid out its meal at an earthly hour. At most others, we bravely nibble at the hors d’oeuvres trying to quell the loud hunger pangs that must surely be audible to all and sundry. Being soberly full is so much my choice of gathering than inebriated and hungry. But, as I observed with some amusement the various reactions to this party, I grimly made a mental note to pack in a punch at my own little do. Salt-laced Margaritas, I’m thinking. And apparently, nowadays, no one likes a virgin.

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Storytellers of 2012

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Published: Verve Magazine, January 2013, Features.

Evocative novels, edgy film scripts, gut-wrenching plays, gripping small screen plots, eye-catching ad campaigns, soulful inspired music and more…. A look at the ‘tales’ that hogged the headlines last year

JUHI CHATURVEDI
Dialogue, story and screenplay writer, Vicky Donor

The summer release, Vicky Donor, was set for disaster at the box office, with a bunch of unknowns and has-beens gathering together to talk about a subject like sperm donation and infertility, using humour as a base. The latter has never been a strong point with Indian cinema – either it ranges from the atrociously caricaturish and slapstick to the deeply offensive and crass. Vicky Donor’s scriptwriter, Juhi Chaturvedi, hails from an advertising background – and maybe that’s what gives her an edge and the confidence to tackle something different in a clever way. The humour in the film is nuanced and keeps in mind the sensitivity of the topic; it is never over-the-top or annoying. In fact, it manages to make a naturally taboo topic into a coffee-table conversation piece. The audience who fails to understand where a sperm donor is coming from is as close-minded as the girl who slaps Vicky when she discovers what he does for a living, and yet you sympathise with her state – because she has to date a sperm donor. Every situation is dealt with, with depth and a realistic understanding of human nature. The characters come alive as true and believable, identifiable even in their Delhi-Punju-ness. The local area becomes relevant to any metro, the dialogues have punch, the story has character and every character tells a story. For a big screen debutante, this is no mean feat.

ADVAITA KALA AND SUJOY GHOSH
Storywriter and screenplay writer, Kahaani

An unexpected hit at the box office, the primary factor in favour of this movie is its thriller of a story with a gripping screenplay. While there may have been enough people who could have predicted the end – and it’s shocker of a twist – it can be safely said that this is a film that will be remembered for some time to come. A pregnant woman roaming the by-lanes of Kolkata in search of her missing husband sounds scary in itself, but the very fact that no one appears to remember her husband pushes the suspense up many notches. This could have gone wrong in so many areas – the pace could have been just too slow, not enough happening to hold interest, too much violence, too few characters…but the script kept a tight grip on the correct formula and produced a good film, ably brought to life by the cast, particularly the lead, Vidya Balan.

SALMAN RUSHDIE
Author, Joseph Anton

‘“How does it feel,” she asked him, “to know that you have just been sentenced to death by the Ayatollah Khomeini?” It was a sunny Tuesday in London, but the question shut out the light.’ This, in a nutshell, is what Rushdie’s latest offering is about. After taking us through the sordid world of religion and life, weaving wands of historic fiction and magic realism, he has now turned autobiographical, talking about the years of his life following the fatwa that had been issued by the ‘spiritual’ and political leader of Iran. Angered by Rushdie’s apparently blasphemous novel, The Satanic Verses, Muslims had been ordered to kill Rushdie in 1989. The moments that followed, the incidents that transpired and the breathlessness with which he lived has been documented, rather unconventionally, in the third person. Including a rather sharp account of his marriage to the American novelist Marianne Wiggins and a glimpse of his married life with model and TV star Padma Lakshmi, which was after he came out of hiding, the memoir with a Conrad-and-Chekov-inspired alias, makes for fascinating – if sometimes depressing – reading, in no less part due to Rushdie’s evocative flair.

ANJUM HASAN
Author, Difficult Pleasures

Anjum Hasan’s collection of short stories is full of interesting snippets of time, tipping – without warning – into the surreal. The flavours of the cities and places – ranging from Mumbai’s Promenade to Paris’s Rue de Seine – are so sharp, and yet, you feel the characters’ sense of loss and desperation to belong. Can you live in a place that you feel, understand and can describe in the minutae, and yet not feel like it’s your own? Are you always looking for something? Her characters are mysterious, sliding between the known and unknown, and a metaphor for modern living. Hasan’s snapshots are powerful, and a lens into the world as we know – or are attempting to unravel – today.

ABHISHEK MAJUMDAR
Playwright, The Djinns of Edigah

Early this year, Verve carried a review of this edgy and gut-wrenching play about the manic situation in Kashmir. From the story of 12-year-old Ashrafi, who is shattered emotionally and psychologically when she travels with her dead father in her lap to the football-playing dreams of her brother Bilal, the mediating force of Dr. Bilal and the senselessness of the soldier, we come to terms with the reality that lives in our country and its violent and horrific face. While battling her own demons Ashrafi manages to help her doctor deal with his own. The angst of the battered land folds together in a story that is evocatively written and brought to the stage by Richard Twyman, a British director who has never been to Kashmir, but can visualise its tragic impasse. The play was selected to perform at the Royal Court last month. The Bengaluru-based playwright, who has previously acted in theatre, said in a recent interview with a daily, ‘Writing a play is a bit like travelling. One really has to enjoy the journey.’

SWATI KAUSHAL
Author, Drop Dead

After writing two novels, Piece of Cake and A Girl Like Me, Swati Kaushal set her sights on creating a detective fiction heroine, Niki Marwah. Smart, savvy, a good looker and dresser, she sounds suspiciously like a character inspired from American Television – Castle’s Kate Beckett. Kaushal’s writing is crisp and refreshing – and while it’s set in an Indian milieu, she pulls from the classic detective tradition. It’s not an Agatha Christie suspense, but it is a story that’s fun to read, and a promise of many more – as Niki Marwah has a lot more detecting to do. What Kaushal does well is master the popular fiction category, or maybe it’s time we had our own grown-up, Indian, Nancy Drew.

MUSICIANS OF THE DEWARISTS
TV Series

Soulful, inspired and constantly evolving, The Dewarists, the musical series running currently on national television (in its second season), is part music documentary and part travelogue. Musicians hailing from different parts of the world jam together to create fresh beats and lyrics while travelling through India. By itself, it’s a concept that popularises the creativity of the Beat artistes. The Cannes Lions award-winning series is hosted by Monica Dogra and packed with musicians like Anoushka Shankar, Trilok Gurtu, Salim-Sulaiman, Shafqat, Amanat Ali and Shaa’ir + Func. With a sense of the culture of the world, nuances and fragrances of India and the strong musical foundation brought by the various musicians, the show makes for the unfolding of a great musical story, with satire, political barbs and the crises of society today finding their way into the chapters, for example the one a few weeks ago titled, Tom, Dick and Harry (Piyush Mishra feat Akala).

HAPPY CREATIVE SERVICES
FlipKart Ad Campaign

You start by thinking, ‘Are they serious – are those kids with a bad voiceover and too-big clothes?’ And then you get drawn in, and are slightly incred
ulous, wondering who thinks up this stuff? And then, bam, you are cackling with laughter at the campaign from ‘No Kidding, No Worries’ to ‘Shopping ka naya address’. In a world of jaded ads and Katrina Kaif’s mango-flavoured lips, the innocence of this campaign is refreshing. The worldliness of the children – so much like the tech-savvy kids of today, the simple wants, the back-to-the-basics sort of philosophy all comes together in a clever way in the FlipKart trust-building ad campaign that started with ‘No Kidding, No Worries.’ The third installment released last September and in keeping with the flavour of the previous ones, continued the story of two kids dealing with adult jobs, dressed like adults and with child-like wish fulfillment wants. Of course, FlipKart can make that happen; it’s as easy as child’s play. The Bengaluru-based agency acquired the account last year and has continued the saga to make it memorable.

SABYASACHI MUKHERJEE
Fashion designer, Spinning yarns through textiles

He’s become a household name, and his threads are distinctive, classic and woven with nostalgia. But what really makes his fashion ideology iconic is the fact that he carries it forward into the distinctive ambiance of his stores. With the clocks and the traditional cluttered tiles, his stores make time stop, and make you retrace your steps to a time forgotten – of knotted hair, big bindis, the feminine grace of beadwork, delicate gold and bold contrasts in a classic palette. Keeping up with the tradition of his other stores, Sabyasachi has recently launched a new store in Hyderabad: with hundreds of clocks on the walls, evidence of his art foundation and beautiful lampshades. It’s as if he wants time to stop and rewind every time one enters his store.

MILBURN CHERIAN
Artist, Story Weavers, series of paintings, Acrylic on Canvas

Milburn Cherian’s detailed works build narratives of life, pulling from relationships, religion, carnival and daily life. There are textual narratives in every minuate, woven into the brush strokes. In a world of abstract expressionism and post-modern art, Cherian’s works are reminiscent of Peter Brueghel, Dali and German expressionism, with bold colours, slanted lines and strong perspectives. And through these strokes, lie truths – masked or otherwise – that reflect upon religion, society and the mundane rituals of daily living. While Cherian pulls from her own life, in her works one sees the recurrence of certain faces, with differences – possibly denoting the afterlife and rebirth, which the artist is known to believe in, creating a strong central narrative that binds her works together, despite the carnivalesque mise en scene and distorted brush-strokes.

Verve Man: The mysterious appeal of these men…

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Published: Verve Magazine, October 2012, Verve Man supplement

The Mysterious Appeal of These Men: Salman, Chetan, Rahul, Karan and Sachin. (Admit it – you knew their last names as you read it.)
In a perfect world, we want to see people who are famous because they know their craft exceedingly well – the ones who are untouchable because you can’t surpass their talent. It puts them on a pedestal of excellence and it silences detractors. Sometimes there are those who may or may not have talent, but have an x-factor, which makes them incredibly appealing to a large number of people. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh decodes the controversial appeal of five successful men across industries

Salman Khan, actor
In a recent TV interview, Salman Khan said something that sounded ridiculously ostentatious. But if you take it in context of who he is as a person – simple and direct – you would understand that he was just stating the obvious. Ek Tha Tiger’s release and people’s reaction to that movie and others before it, Dabangg and Bodyguard in particular, lend complete strength to the fact that Salman Khan exists in the industry for his fans. (And he has many of them.) As he points out, if you need an actor to play a role, there are many people to choose from. A director and producer will think of Salman Khan, only when they want the full Salman-Khan-ness in a particular film. He’s unapologetic about who he is or what makes him popular among the masses. He’s also matter-of-fact about his popularity, without being self-propagandizing. It doesn’t matter whether the movie has a story, or whether the film is completely OTT, or even that the character does the strangest things – like manage to pop the buttons of his shirt as he struts. His style of dancing – not updated over the years, but true to form with certain pelvic thrusts or iconic hand gestures; his action sequences, where he isn’t a hero, he is a super hero; his romancing – which is stilted and subdued; are all aspects of the Salman Khan phenomena that his viewers expect. It’s suggested that he dresses like James Dean and picks nuances from Dharmendra; two actors he believes should be closely watched. And in his smile, lies his resemblance to Dean, though he doesn’t smile enough – off screen and on it. While his cinema may be regressive in it’s form, it’s appeal – rather his appeal – remains eternal. He has consciously chosen to be a performer and entertainer, and removed himself from being an actor. And yet, maybe it was his cleverest move, the secret formula to being one of the biggest movie stars of the Indian film industry. Behind his rather simplistic appeal, quotes and choices, lies a sharp brain that has managed to find a bankable spot in the industry. He has, very possibly gauged his strengths and weaknesses, and put his money in just the right place.

Chetan Bhagat, writer
Some time ago, on an episode of Love2HateU, the celebrity guest was Chetan Bhagat. The poor girl – the ‘hater’ – stood no chance against Bhagat’s generous Gandhi-ism, so beatifically patronizing and condescending. But that’s Chetan Bhagat – a huge icon and idol to some and an even huger eyebrow raiser to others. Bhagat’s success – and he is astonishingly successful – is because he has crawled through the cracks and found his target audience. And what a target audience that is. The non-readers. Instead of churning out a highbrow book filled with beautiful metaphors and aiming for the Booker-reading intellectuals, Bhagat does what he does best – appeal to those that have admittedly never read a book before. And therein lies his claim to fame. Bhagat has automatically found his safety in numbers. While Bhagat makes no pretentions about his literary aspirations, he basks in his own stupendous success, often lying on a raft of self-appreciation. And what irks people is that his raft never, ever capsizes. Top models can have a bad hair day, brilliant directors can have a box office flop, the Sensex can crash, but Chetan Bhagat only goes from strength to strength. As he smugly states, ‘I’m happy to be on this show (Love2HateU) because my new book has just released and I want to know that there are people who don’t like what I do, not just people who enjoy my books.’

Rahul Gandhi, politician
Is it possible to bank a country’s future, its political aspirations on a set of irrepressible dimples? While our democracy is far more discerning than that (we hope) it is true that as the younger Gandhi scion grew up, a great deal of hope was vested on his future. He had the political pedigree, and most importantly he looked the part. It didn’t really matter what he said – or didn’t say – he was just so easy on the eye. Every woman could imagine him at the helm of India, attending the topmost international discussions and global summit roundtables looking stupendous representing India. And yet, that hasn’t really played out well for him – while remaining a member of Parliament, he hasn’t proven himself as a strong candidate for the topmost office of the country – despite the looks. Whether he manages to get any further, we can only wait and watch, and hope that there is more depth to him than his dimples, or India may end up having her own frat-boy-politician in the making, served up American style.

Karan Johar, director
You watch Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge and you see that plump friend of the hero, put there so that the hero can shine. A school misfit, no one would have guessed that Karan Johar would become a phenomenon. Johar has lived his high school misses through his films – creating the candy-floss make-believe world that he would have liked to be a part of, making his protagonist (more often than not played by his buddy Shah Rukh Khan) the popular kid in school. The kid Johar should have been, going by his current personality. What he may have been unable to achieve in his school years, he’s more than managed in his adult life. He is the force behind one of the biggest production houses in Hindi cinema, Dharma Productions, his movies do record business, he can make or break an actor or director, and often can control the future of a movie star, as evidenced by his power over the future of one top actress who wound up in his bad books. His talk show became an iconic talking point at every Koffee-table conversation. His rapid-fire questions allowed for his sharp wit, humour and personality to shine through, even if he did demonstrate that he lives happily in his own industry bubble. Only on Simi Garewal’s show did any of his vulnerability come to the fore. Johar is a complex animal, but his success is because of these complexities and layers to his personality. With Student of the Year in the offing, we wish we would move beyond the chasm of his youth to the brilliant success of his grown-up years in his directorial offerings. But would that be a cathartic story worth telling?

Sachin Tendulkar, sportsman
The Master Blaster. Anything said against him is akin to blasphemy. How did a supremely talented teenage kid manage to bear the weight of a nation’s hopes on his young shoulders? One who should just concentrate on the game is made to feel like the savior of the country. Every poor man’s hopes, every rich man’s dreams are with Sachin Tendulkar as he takes strike after strike. As if that were not enough, he had to attempt captaining the Indian cricket team. It’s a wonder he didn’t retire early, just to find inner peace. He has dealt with it all with equanimity – reminiscent of great players like Roger Federer in tennis – where nothing sways him. Victory brings a smile
, and when he’s down, he’s generally outwardly calm. Children are named after him in quick succession, he is revered to the point of blind faith, and he can do no wrong. Even if he gets out in duck thrice in a row, it’s okay because he has given us many centuries before. People cannot be logical around Tendulkar, he is more than human, he is God. With anyone else it would be dangerous, this blind idolization. As Wright Thompson in an insightful study on his charisma pointed out – Tendulkar’s meteoric rise took place in parallel to India as a country and economy opening up. He symbolizes everything we dream and wish for, all that is balanced and good. He steadies our racing hearts; he lives our greatest hopes. And he does it all with a clean chit. He makes people feel good – about themselves and their country, and he gives people a sense that we can be better, that we can be the best. And he forms the bridge – between the insecurity of the past and the brash confidence of the future.

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