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sitanshi talati-parikh

sitanshi talati-parikh

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I, Me, Myself and No One Else

06 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Published: Verve Magazine February 2015
Painting by Rahul Das

I-Me-Myself-Verve

In the chaotic social babble, we may have lost the ability to hear our inner voice. Verve ruminates on what it means for women to be alone today

‘I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.’ Famous words by Oscar Wilde. But do they stand true today? On the one hand, women are willing to be alone and not be defined by a man or a friend or a family. And yet, as a society we remain dependent on other people – the human race is driven by relationships.

In an issue devoted to exploring the ‘I’ in a relationship, do we sing soulfully about ‘me’ time, or is it a beacon call of a lonely heart? A happily married lady of nearly 60, asks, “Should I have, all these years, loved myself more than my husband?” And the regretful answer may have been ‘Yes’. As we celebrate ourselves, we are looking to find our identity and space, collect our thoughts and be who we want to be (or do what we would like to do), without interference, judgement or questioning.

In our race to please everyone, we may have begun forgetting what it is that we want. And driven by peer and social pressures, the very way in which we define ourselves has changed.

Women On Their Own
Some would believe that being alone is a gift of liberty, without having to depend on or account to anyone. For many others, it’s a lifestyle shift, a dramatic change in thinking, emotionally and physically. With the growth of meditation camps, single-person travel tours and no-companion-required activities, we foster a sense of metropolitan independence.

There are many women who do things on their own, in order to ‘find themselves’ or to meet new people. Does that make them social pariahs? With employers like Google – willing to foot the bill for their female employees to freeze their eggs, so that they are not pressured by nature to find a companion – we find the road for ‘aloneness’ made easier. The biological clock doesn’t need to tick in a foreboding manner any more; women can be free of the pressure to settle.

And yet it does not fall that we would like to be alone. Women have begun celebrating their personal time; but are women embracing an involved relationship with themselves? For instance, do women feel comfortable eating a meal by themselves, or watching a film in the cinema on their own?  Perhaps the decision is linked to safety – we feel more secure being with someone, we feel protected.

Maybe we feel the need to establish to society that we are not alone. And in that lies the insecurity where we draw our self-worth from another being. The very fact that someone would choose to be with us makes us worthy. We are always seeking approval; we don’t have to deal with the ‘shame’ of being seen without another person.

Isolation Is Punishment
The primeval need to be a part of a community or have a companion – the reason why humans created societies – is so genetically deep rooted, that we are uncomfortable in isolation. After all, one of the rigorous imprisonment tools is solitary confinement. The inability to make conversation and share thoughts is considered a punishment. It is as if we are afraid of being alone with our own thoughts and feelings. What would we do without the people around us distracting us from ourselves? The claustrophobia of solitary confinement leads to the desperate need of togetherness.

Can Indians Do It?
As a society (and with the risk of generalising) Indians are more likely to be uncomfortable doing things like eating, going to a bar or watching a movie alone in their home city, unless they are travelling or living away from home. This draws from the fact that Indians believe in community life and an outing as a family or group. No one plans to step out alone – if they are alone, they stay home. Going out is intrinsically linked to socialising. They may find it easy enough to stay in on a Friday or Saturday night; while in the West, culturally among the single lot, it is considered uncool to be home alone on nights reserved for hanging out or partying. You angle for a date – as the Saturday-night culture portends that you ‘be there or be square.’ It is not unlikely for single women to be out at a bar abroad, or women willing to pick up a date just to go out, while that is not the norm in India. Locally, women – unless they have company – will most likely stay back rather than be seen alone outside, due to social taboos based the perceptions of how ‘good’ women should behave.

Are We Ever Really Alone?
Keeping aside social conventions, at one time, it might have been considered boring to hang out alone. Today, it has come to pass that we are really never alone when we have our smart phone with us. In a world full of gadgets that speak to us, engage us, challenge us and constantly supply us with information, we may find the communication of another person not required or even worse – not sufficient.

The physical distance between two people in conversation through social media provides security and anonymity to be yourself and push the limits more than you could have when meeting someone face-to-face. Will that change the next generation’s ability to ‘face’ people?

And yet, in an alternative study to technology creating social misfits, Australian researcher David Clark suggests, ‘People become less dependent on their families and need more specialised skills, which could lead to less interest in social support and more self-sufficiency. Over time, people are more individualistic, more extroverted, and have higher self-esteem.’

What Is Fulfilling?
We begin to compartmentalise our lives into time spent with people and time spent alone. Which is more valuable? A woman in her 30s, recently married (and potentially commitment-phobic), believes that it is possible to go an entire life, with a good job and international sojourns, without the need of a man. (Not counting casual sex and friends-with-benefits.)

But independent nights or weekends are a world apart from choosing to live and be alone. When you take a few nights off, you do so with the security that you have someone to come back to. That someone is a willing companion to the things you may want to explore and do. Without that security, are we lost and flailing or are we more aggressively ourselves?

We have yearned for a companion with whom we can be ourselves. But today, in a world of compromise, it may be easier to be yourself with yourself rather than change your personality to match someone else’s! Is a relationship with someone too much work?

The Fight Against Silence
While more people are comfortable being alone, because of the connectedness they feel at any point of time with their gadgets; they are automatically uncomfortable in silence. At a party, theatre, restaurant, even waiting for the lift, people find themselves whipping out their phones and ‘listening in’, ‘liking’, ‘sharing’ and ‘commenting’. They are uncomfortable with idle time or stillness. They must reach out to someone, somewhere or do something. The virtual world provides us sound and distraction at every turn. And we find ourselves choosing that distraction, because our uncontrolled thoughts quickly tap into a world of loneliness and insecurity. Do our cultural connections allow us the freedom to remain alone?

The Fine Line    
For society to grudgingly consent that it is acceptable to be alone, it may become easier for people to take their time over choosing – or never choosing – a companion. Traditional relationships may move over to long-term friendships and multiple relationships. It is likely to create a lower threshold for tolerance – we don’t need to work on a relationship or a compromise if we can be happy alone. It is the fine line between finding yourself and moving beyond self-centeredness. A line that we must tread carefully, so that we may retain a strong sense of self, with the empathy, understanding and a desire to create a society of amiable coexistence.

A Bad Boy Crumpet: Wentworth Miller

03 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Published: Verve Magazine, February 2014, Features, Romance Diaries
Illustration by Hemant Sapre

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Wentworth Earl Miller III best known as Michael Scofield in the hit American television drama, Prison Break, definitely is good-looking – he made it to People magazine’s 100 most beautiful people in the world. Impressive seeing how he spent much of his screen time bald. We know clean-shaven is sexy, but bald? It’s not that there aren’t sufficient handsome heroes that rock my boat – from Ryan Phillippe, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Gabriel Macht, Zac Efron to our local boys, Imran Khan and Ayushmann Khurrana.

The thing about Miller is that he’s really unattainable. He sent estrogen on a downward spiral when he finally came out of the closet by declining to attend the St Petersburg Film Festival as he was ‘deeply troubled’ by the Russian government’s treatment of its gay citizens. 2013 saw him return to his writing roots and this private person isn’t afraid admitting to enjoying his time at The Art Institute of Chicago or staying at home playing Scrabble. He attempted suicide as a teenager, and has struggled with his roots coming from a bi-racial background –his parents have 11 ethnic origins between the two of them, including European and African-American.

And yet, his intensity as Michael Scofield, with the penetrating eyes, self-contained emotion and searing intellect all serve up a pretty hot mix. He’s a lean, mean, thinking machine. He’s a good guy trapped in a world that’s vicious; and he’s only trying to find his ‘safe’ place. Never thought I’d want a bald, multi-racial man who’s got major issues and is sure-fire gay…but then with women you just never know, do you? And he’s named after Captain Wentworth…from Jane Austen’s Persuasion.

The Secret Key

17 Tuesday Dec 2013

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Published: Verve Magazine, December 2013 (Nerve/Trend)

Any social climber worth her salt knows that you can’t ever be seen enjoying a movie premiere or its after party. It’s scoring the secret after-after party invite that catapults you into the big league

Every girl dreams of the invitation-only invite. The kind that has a security code or a special key, or a map to a secret location; which means that you are someone special, or at least special to someone important. Subterfuge of some sort would be necessary for the kind of party that only a select few go to – for the kind of party that everyone including the media is dying to get into, but can’t. To get there though, you have to know which party to miss. For instance, plebeians die to get into a movie premiere. But really important people never really have time to sit through an entire film viewing. If you actually watch the film, you don’t exhibit the kind of class required to be a red carpet personality. Anyone who makes an appearance on the red carpet for a movie premiere is only doing it because they owe the producer one, or are a friend of the lead, or they are dying to be in the director’s next film. What they will undoubtedly do is beat a quick retreat from the back exit set up just for that purpose. (The wise reader never believes the reviews they spout to the media about how great the film is.)

So if you aren’t the person the paparazzi is tracking, then you have a decision to make. Will you be the non-entity actually watching the film, or will you be preparing yourself to hit the celebration bash? Every movie premiere has an after party. To celebrate the success…because the producers already knew the film would be hugely appreciated before the premiere! It makes one wonder – does the hype sell the film or does the film make the hype? Anyway, there is an enormous after party, where the Who’s Who of the fraternity must be seen in attendance. The booze is flowing, the people are making merry, but suddenly, once the paparazzi have got their entry photos, it seems that the revellers are once again, non-entities. Middle-aged men, dupatta-twirling women seem to be hitting the dance floor and all the pretty people have mysteriously disappeared or bypassed the event entirely.

There is only one place they could be at: the secret after-after party. You need to be in the know to know about the location and time of this happening. Generally starting in the wee hours of the morning, this is where the show hits the road. Booze of a different dimension, party elements in their element, over-the-counter offerings and clandestine liaisons. Only the in-crowd and their trustworthy buddies can ever see the inside of this party. Held in the suite of the hotel where the after-party was hosted, or at the director’s house, or in some special inner private room, the movers and shakers are moving and shaking here. So when I got my special invite to the after-after party – I knew I’d arrived. I didn’t even look for the movie invite. Who wants to watch the film when you can be a part of the show?

Knotty Travails!

11 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Humour, Publication: Verve Magazine, Travel Stories

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Published: Verve Magazine, Feature, September 2013

What is a wedding but meticulously planned theatre for those in attendance, finds an aunt who helps arrange her niece’s destination soirees. A peek into her diary…

Going to a destination wedding is always buckets of fun. Planning one – not so much. I recently had to help my sister plan one at an exotic Thai locale. The beaches are fantastic, we’ve heard. The waves under our already-wrinkled toes, the sun on our already-tanned skin; well it’s what children want nowadays. Vows by the sunset and chiffon frocks instead of Swarovski lehengas. Poor Tarun, Sabya and Manish – they are going to have to work doubly hard to sustain their bridal couture business. And all of us – having to go shopping for things that steer clear of our ankles and don’t have a shimmer on them. How plebian it is to have a subtle wedding. It’s a good thing everyone won’t be there….

The guest list – well one mustn’t go there. The wedding is quite nearly called off because of the guest list. It seems silly, but there it is. It reaches the point where there is some vicious discussion about killing off some relatives in a timely fashion. The parents have a pretty tight list of invitees – it’s true, they do want to invite their tailor and the step-aunt that lives in Kenya whom no one has ever met, but then you can only do the daawat once in a lifetime for your only child, right? (Even if it goes to a second marriage – generally the sho-sha is generously muted.) And really – the tailor has known the bride longer than the groom – he has been stitching her clothes since the time she has been in diapers – so who deserves to be there more?

With the parents arguing over how many weddings they had been invited to and attended, the bride and groom insisting that it is their moment and only people they really know and care about should be there; as most things do, it all comes down to the bill. After much bloodshed, tears of betrayal and the drama to befit a Balaji Diwali special, they whittle the guest list down to 300. Of which 150 are under 30 and 75 of whom are foreigners from places I can’t pronounce, much less find on a map. So that leaves just a few of us to carry on the tradition of bitching out the other side, gasping with a faux scandalised air at the youngsters and weeping at the vidaai.

The wedding ceremony is so quaintly poised on the water, while a dress circle seat is reserved for us on the waterfront. Along with the little booklet to translate the shlokas and vows, the considerate family has also organised binoculars for the audience. It’s nice – we have our own space, can peer into the binos when we decide to catch what’s going on – in between bites of Thai cake and spicy gossip – and give the family their privacy. That way the entire occasion remains a rather private affair – if having only 300 at an Indian wedding isn’t private enough. Tiny speakers dot the waterfront, where we can hear what the Pandit is saying – noting the large number of non-desis in attendance, he ups his tricks by adding flair and doing his own little broken-English translations. After all, what is a wedding but a meticulously planned theatre for those in attendance?

It’s all very well now, but getting Panditji here has been a task in itself. Now I’m quite proud of this – I organised this part of the journey. Panditji couldn’t travel to the destination alone, so I figured the saffawala (person who ties the turbans over the men’s heads) could accompany him. You mustn’t ask me whether they wanted to travel business class or not, but it is a special feat that I convinced them that economy is altogether better and safer. It turns out that the saffawala is quite a fellow. He’s rather in demand for this specialised art, and is hopping off to America before the ceremony has even ended. So Panditji and the saffawala end up having a favourable journey to the destination – it’s all in the stars, after all. I think they are now friends on Facebook

I need to track down the missing wedding photos – it was quite a sweet affair after all, what with the jello-shots and the beach raves. I couldn’t feel my toes after a point of time. Three months later, the photographer hasn’t sent us the photos yet. He is quite a spiffy number – doing mood shots and natural light silhouettes. I know it sounds like a condom ad, but photography these days is very different from our layered make-up, bright lights, hands-held-together poses, bling-and-click moments. It’s a bit wanton nowadays, to be honest. After my mother harassed me for photos, I began trying to track down this hotshot photographer. It seems he has been all over Europe attending functions and clicking away that he hasn’t had time to get home and regroup! So after basking in the Riviera sunshine, he has promised to send some over to us via ISendYou.com or something like that. Is it a specialised (and expensive) courier service? Will have to see how one can pick the photos up from there. Must share them with you sometime.

Living off my Art: Comment

10 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Humour, Publication: Verve Magazine

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Published: Verve Magazine, July 2013 (Illustration, Farzana Cooper)

Can the world that we live in become more valuable simply by the company we keep? Surrounded by the Masters, Sitanshi Talati-Parikh finds that happiness can lie in the brushstroke and in its bottomline

Image

As the Sensex crawls indefinitely, I have decided to buy art. Gold is too over-priced, and frankly, a wee bit middle class. I’m not particularly classist; it’s just that thing – clutching onto a shiny nugget hoping that when the Income Tax guys come and raid your house, you can slip it into your pants and hide it, is not quite my scene. I’d much rather play it cool – in the Thomas Crown way…where his heart was linked to his art and his art was all linked to his masterpieces of theft. But he didn’t really steal, he just borrowed and often did this cool barter thing, where he left one of his own paintings there and took theirs. Basically Pierce Brosnan made art cool. He loved Monet, and one of those is far more beautiful than anything Hirst (Damien, for the uninitiated) could ever dream of doing. Whatever you may say, installation isn’t quite art. I know it’s a huge topic of debate, but art should be old-fashioned and romantic, the kind that you have to painstakingly hang on a nail, look at, and think – ‘How beautiful, I so can’t do that!’ as opposed to, ‘Hmmm, interesting. But really, my dog could have pooped better than that splat.’

While I’m not a big collector or anything, I just like filling up space – the walls, the corners; the void inside me. So I live in this rent-controlled apartment, (at Rs 1800 a month for a one-bedroom in SoBo, it’s a total steal), and I pour all my money from being a finance geek into the art world. Sure, I know the anomaly – someone who gets money doesn’t really get art, but I’m one of those weird breeds that actually earn to spend on a bit of culture. Not that you can buy culture, but it’s cool to pretend. Basically, every inch of my house that was previously exposed is now covered – and I mean the ceilings, too. I believe in optimum use of space, so you’ll find Paresh Maity’s Kerala and rain-washed De charcoals next to Riyas Komu’s large portraits. I’m not a big name dropper, so I won’t go into the details of who else lives in my house with me. And I’m not fussed about the positioning, except when a curator-friend sort of talked me into buying Subodh Gupta’s installation. That’s when I got a bit annoyed with art. I know he’s doing some clever stuff, but my pad doesn’t really have any space and if I need to put his works in the kitchen, may not the universe object to his objectification? The problem with art is that there are way too many problems. But I figured that I put down good money to buy the stuff, so can’t I put it where I please? And thus, in the kitchen they are lodged.

And then, a well-meaning friend – I don’t know what he was suggesting – from the UK actually organised a replica of Damien Hirst’s Unmade Bed to be sent to me. (I don’t know why he bothered, because the real one is probably worth less than the fake right now. Didn’t you hear? The art world has totally shunned Damien.) When people hear on the grapevine that you are into art, firstly they assume you are into the new-age stuff. Secondly, they assume they can impress you with some of their outlandish picks. Thirdly, they think you won’t care if the stuff is a fake. Sure, I’m no Jobs, but I’m the real deal. I treat art the way a tree-hugging environmentalist would treat, well, a tree. Or a figure-hugging fashionista would treat Beckham. OK, so I was referring to David…I’ll change that to Herve Leger instead. Basically, I want the original. Which is why I stick to what I can afford. Hirst – real or not, is a con job either way. I mean now I have to actually sleep in his Unmade Bed, because I don’t have anywhere else to dump it!

Eventually, as life would have it, my mum stopped by to meet me one day. She generally avoids my home, because she thinks it’s a bit overwhelming and no amount of protesting that the condom on the bed was Hirst’s and not mine made her change her mind. She believes I have been dating some Shantaram-type character called Hirst (she keeps asking what his last name is) and refuses to step foot in my boudoir since. Oh well. Let’s be thankful for small mercies. Anyway, so she decided to freeze some food for beta, because beta isn’t getting enough home-cooked food. (I’m a girl, but I’m still beta. She doesn’t discriminate that way.) She sort of used Subodh’s stuff…I don’t really have any use for my kitchen, when the universe has kindly invented take-out. She didn’t understand why I looked so horrified that she would use Subodh’s stuff, she thinks Subodh is an irritable cook who doesn’t like anyone touching his utensils. (There may be some Freudian thing there with the real Subodh and his utensils. To be discussed over wine with curator-friend later.) When no amount of convincing my mom that she should just express mail food to me instead worked, I just decided to let it wash away. It didn’t seem worth the effort, and who’s going to snitch on me and tell Subodh? Who knows, maybe Bharti does it too. Though she doesn’t seem the cooking kind, to be honest.

So that was two months ago, and I’m thinking of starting my own business. I like to sleep in, and reaching my job on time has become increasingly difficult. The wannabe Hirst bed came with a great spongy mattress that doesn’t make me want to leave, ever. So I figure that if I start my own venture, I can also start at my own time? The only deal is that I need to put in a sum of money, as a goodwill gesture. I haven’t been able to leverage off anything, but as I lie thoughtfully on my unmade bed, I can’t help but notice a rather over-crowded wall. I could easily pluck one of those out, hand it over as my part of the investment and not even feel the difference. It’s like having one too many bags. When you are shopping you can never have one too many bags, but when you look at them all lined up at home, you wonder if it would matter if you had the peach Prada when you already have the beige Birkin. Culture, after all, isn’t like any other material acquisition. The more you give away, the more the world recognises that you have it.

I got my curator-friend in to help me choose. While she suggested hocking the obvious, I was rather loath to part with the household items that had now found a home. So, goodbye concentric circles…. May you find another home that loves you the way this one did. And while we are on the topic of blessings, one day, when I have a child who will be born in a material world, may she learn to appreciate the legacy I leave behind for her: of painstakingly brush-stroked wealth, of seasoned culture and a diary to my life, choices and moods, all on my walls.

MasterChef On My Plate

17 Saturday Dec 2011

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Humour, Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Published: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicle, December 2011
(Illustration by Farzana Cooper)

If you are the latest in the line if PYTs to send your hubby a tiffin that contains pan-seared foi gras with a champagne berry jus, then you know you’ve arrived onto a culinary scene that’s flush with promise and ready to launch. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh describes the necessity of taking a kitchen rendezvous to the next step

 

Verve-masterchef

 

‘Do you cook?’ She whispered. ‘Of course not!’ I retorted scornfully.  Great parties are never about knowing what to cook; they are all about finding the right caterer. Gloved hands, butler coats, flitting in and out: the spanking German-designed modular kitchen is meant to be seen, not used. Must you fret whether pesto has pine nuts or pistachios? I’m quite certain it’s the latter, logically, isn’t pesto the green one?

 

Lately though, newbie home-makers carry recipes in their Ferragamo totes, and while sneezing up a bomb at the local Nature’s Basket, can easily tell one nut from another. Blame it on the latest reality TV craze: MasterChef Australia – far superior to its Indian franchise. As the country watches with bated breath which one of the accented Australians go down under and which ones make it to the top, the ladies are picking up a few tricks along the way, and the men are finding a new itch to scratch: the kind which involves a cutting board and a chef’s hat. After all, those men in chef whites skim over the fine line to count as men in uniform – and the way into a woman’s boudoir may well be through her stomach. Many a young man has now leaned over the bar and whispered suggestively into his lady love’s ear, ‘Your kitchen or mine?’

 

Now, you can’t visit a friendly home without getting a sprig of parsley in your Brie, or a dose of balsamic vinaigrette in your chilled watermelon balls. Recipes are snitched from one of the mushrooming gourmet restaurants in the city – the toasted pine nut, goat cheese and watermelon salad is The Tasting Room, I believe – and every meal is judged on the outlandishly clever gourmet competency of the home-maker-turned-chef. Does your beetroot come laced with chevre? Has it been garnished just so? If not, it’s not good enough to be plated up?

 

Play dates (for the uninitiated: the time like-minded infants spend getting to know each other) are also a fine chance to show off those pa(i)ring skills: preparing the finest meal for your child’s little friend – what could be a better sign of love? Ten-month-olds are developing a spectacular taste for the healthy good life – in the form of broccoli-and-spinach risotto garnished with fresh basil, a traditional (low-spice of course) massuman curry and zucchini-and-parmesan ravioli, washed down with a tall bottle of elaichi-flavoured formula milk.

 

And it’s not just the chic young men and women flaunting their culinary skills, it’s about ensuring that you have a system in place to replicate this sensational food – anytime and with the least bother. And to that end, my Bihari cook is now struggling with understanding my desire to replace a Bombay grilled chutney sandwich on Britannia bread with a Mediterranean sandwich on multigrain herb focaccia.  And not even adding his own home-made paneer? Instead, layering the green meat of a tasteless fruit that he imagines to be Bengali baingan together with hefty hunks of feta, grilled zucchini and eggplant licked with a killer harrissa paste! He grudgingly grasps that the need of the hour – and the possibility of survival – means his knowing his parmigiana from his au gratin.

 

Chefs are now finding themselves akin to moviestars: in a recent MasterChef India (Season 2) show, one of the contestants cried because she got to meet her idol Michelin-starred, New York-based, Indian chef Vikas Khanna, whom she then proceeded to serenade. With Indians and Sri Lankans making their token presence felt on international cooking shows stirring up a curry-and-flatbread once in a way, and with Michelin-starred chef Vineet Bhatia attempting to challenge the desi taste buds, it appears innovation is the call of the day. You can’t serve up chana-bhatura any more, but what you can do is throw in chickpea couscous, broccoli khichdi and bhatura-flavoured sorbet. Now that would be a meal worth writing home about.

 

No longer is it about spices – it is about tempering taste buds with the appropriate levels of flavour so that they (your taste buds) can regain their virginity – and discard the massacre of years of generous masalas and chilli powder. And it isn’t really about eating – or stomaching to satisfy – as it is about teasing and cajoling the culinary senses into a pleased stupor. Hunger is for the middle-class. Palate-teasers are what fine dining is all about. It is no wonder that young chefs returning from Manhattan, dipping their fingers into genteel party catering, serve up hors d’oeuvres the size of peanuts. So smoked mozzarella flatbreads are actually coin pizzas, the size of, well, the shiny new 10-rupee coin. Tapas are in, or haven’t you heard? A meal in one of Mumbai’s trendy restaurants can consist of merely ordering 17 tapas and needing a hefty bottle of wine to wash all that tiny, tasty food down to feel deliciously full. 

 

Wine pairing can’t be missed of course. No self-respecting 30-something will serve anything less than the perfect limited-edition international sipper that goes best with the course being served. All along, the conversation tinkles with very profound discussions on Chinese politics, Rushdie’s literary smackdowns, and whether the Riesling would work better with the coconut soufflé or the champagne tart. My ultimate brain wave is to serve up a passion-fruit-and-lemongrass Sangria. It’s the easy way out of pretentious course-drinking – and is somehow that crass, bohemian sort of thing one can do, to remain cool after all that soul-searching food.

 

Talking about soul-searching food, the gourmands believe in cooking from your heart, and with a dollop of love. How much can you cook from your heart, when your stomach is empty and how much love can emanate from that drop of extra virgin olive oil that you mayn’t get from your grandmother’s hand-churned ghee?

 

The thrill lies in the pleasure-seeker and the social climber. After all, can you really be eating khana-khazana-type makhani food in your Jimmy Choos and Herve Leger? It is worth sharing Gouda and Roma tomato notes, if merely to prove that the world is your personal oyster and you have an international, exclusive and very uber chic stew cooking in your state-of-the-art kitchen. And after that dinner party full of whispered conversation, clinking flutes and a sense of social accomplishment, where the senses have been thrilled with that one lactose-free beetroot foam tortellini, you are more than likely to find yourself kicking back furtively with a hearty macaroni baked dish, folded with about 250 grams of Amul cheese, and a little kiss of ketchup.

Women Untamed

17 Thursday Feb 2011

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Humour, Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Verve Magazine, Musings, February 2011

Women wearing the pants is passé, but now we find men holding onto their women’s pants with quiet desperation, afraid they will fly the coop even before the nest is made. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh muses on the metamorphoses of women in a liberated society

The Queen Bees of society are silent killers – men have for centuries been braggarts and women have found a way to get their own back. Who actually goes to a bachelor party expecting to get lucky and laid? The boys-trying-to-be-men come back with tall tales of passion galore, but the paunchy Indian men of the day (who need a compass in matters of orgasmic satisfaction) are hardly going to be the source of irresistible temptation to svelte Scandinavian women – unless a good deal of money is thrown their way. And if you need to pay for it, it doesn’t count. Indian women, who are generally in much better shape compared to their male counterparts, have an exciting, exotic appeal that makes a bit of harmless flirtation nothing more taxing to the purse than the bat of a mascara-ed eyelid. The PYTs of today can roam the cobbled streets of Europe kicking up a merry ruckus and returning quite the merrier. But we won’t go deep into the details – what happens at a destination bachelorette party, should be forgotten the moment you board the flight back home.

Women today are unselfconsciously raunchy, unafraid of their sexuality and are more than willing to take the leap in expressing it. As last year’s release, Aisha, suggests, gauche is out, and manipulative girl power is in. And of course, a foreign locale makes indiscretions completely acceptable – think Sex and the City 2 (2010) where Carrie steals a kiss with ex-boyfriend Aidan, in lieu of hubby Mr. Big being around. Or Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008), where straitlaced Vicky gets sorely tempted into an affair before marriage – even considering calling her wedding off. And while selling kisses for change at a Scottish bar at her hen night, Hannah in Made of Honour (2008) is left weak in the knees for her best friend, not her husband-to-be.

It’s not as much about infidelity and indecisiveness (that’s a thought for another day), as it is about choices. Where once women either didn’t have those choices, or didn’t give themselves the right to make those choices, now women are all for options. If men are like ice cream, women have the entire range of flavours to pick from. And choices that have to do with emotional involvement can get complicated, but we find it surprising that women can be quite the cold fish – unemotional about their liaisons and irreverent about the heartbreak they may leave in the wake of their decisions. A 20-something girl of my acquaintance was regularly chased after by men of all shapes and sizes. She flittered in and out of relationships, with unbelievable emotional ease, while trying to unravel the knots in her on-again, off-again relationship with her long-distance ex-boyfriend. Eventually, after years they decided to get married – and she seemed freaked out by the idea of ‘settling down’! She allowed herself, in that moment of cold feet, one last (we hope) indiscretion abroad. Her now-husband apparently understood her perfectly well and thought it would be most prudent to get it all out of her system. And this – acceptance of women’s wild oats that need to be sowed – is not uncommon in relationships today.

You can’t help but be slightly amazed at this development – since when did cold feet become a paddle ground for men and women, and decisions made on the call of these frozen extremities allow for getting your toes wet in alternate waters? Women today are afraid to take the plunge – in committed relationships, in marriages, towards motherhood…. It is the time when women want ‘space’ and ‘freedom’ to explore boundaries and create new ones, to feel free of the impositions that they have seen other women suffer for generations; and in that very experimental stage, often swing to the other end of the pendulum before slowly clawing back to level ground. At exactly what stage they decided to give themselves the same rights in indiscretion and fun that men have had for years, one can’t quite be sure, but the metamorphoses has firmly taken place and the butterflies are spreading their wings and flying the coop. Women do make up about 50 per cent of society – and realising this, they began to take liberties and make decisions for themselves, subservient to none but their own moral and possibly immoral code.

And this isn’t exactly bothering the men – while it may make them insecure and quite whipped, what turns men on is the winning combination of ‘girls gone wild’ – the hottest selling video in America of women crossing the line (what line?) at foam parties, Spring break, bachelorettes, sleepovers is of the same name. Women for the longest time have had silent power over men, in bed and out of it; it’s just the matter of wielding it, and wielding it right. There is something vicariously pleasing about women going wild, and something entirely irregular about men doing the same. Maybe it’s the fact that men have been having their slice of cheese on the side for years; or maybe it’s the bit where we don’t really give two hoots about a sausage fest in a bowl of hot soup? In fact, the best kind of woman is the naughty moral one: the delicious anomaly defined by the kind who isn’t afraid to kiss, but won’t tell and won’t cheat.

You can tame the man, but can the man tame his New Age, expressive woman? It’s the era of female domination – what existed in the echelons of the kitchen and household has moved to the bedroom and workplace. It’s not really about who wears the pants, rather who finds himself holding the skirt.

Purrfect Relations

17 Saturday Jul 2010

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Features & Trends, Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Published in: Verve Magazine, Musings, June 2010

The woman behind or rather in front of the powerful Somebody, is a true gatekeeper: she can smile and grant you permission to interface with Somebody, or unleash the claws as you scramble to find cheese for your daily bread and butter. In the Tom & Jerry-esque melee, Sitanshi Talati-Parikh circumspectly lets a few cats out of the bag

You’d think you would be up against brawny armed guards that patrol the corridors of their high-profile clients, but you’d be surprised to discover that it takes but a wee woman to muscle her way into the upper echelons of high profile relations and become what we fondly call the ‘gateway’ to the terribly famous. These women can vary in designation from PR, personal assistants, secretaries, girl Fridays, media managers, simply managers…you name it and you will find that they exist. What’s interesting is the relationship quotient that exists between these people (gatekeepers or GKs and the Famous Person or FP), with whom the latter spend a good amount of their time – liaisoning, tantrum-throwing, exhibiting their inner idiosyncrasies and unflappable spirit. One of the biggest GKs of the movie industry is possibly Farzana, Rekha’s personal assistant of many years, without whose approval no one can get remotely near the reclusive actress.

You would imagine that the main idea of having this sort of a liaison officer is to make the FP look good – to steer FP’s eccentricities and indiscretions away from the public eye, and to keep them ‘clean’ and ‘lusted after’ as particularly perfect role models. While some GKs manage to do so quite effectively, ensuring that through major string-pulling certain delicious facts are never unearthed and exposed, others in fact, choose to use their shield to create an aura of star presence.

A glittering mirage is not always the aim, though. Actress Priyanka Chopra doesn’t come across as a diva or a star, but rather (in part due to her own personality) as a friendly, hard-working girl-next-door. Natasha Pal, chief operating officer, Vitcom Consulting, is responsible for creating a well-rounded strong brand identity for Chopra which extends to the Internet as well.

But if we go back to those with star presence, what exactly are we talking about? Busy, tut-tut, of course they are. Calendars are never free, they are always either on shoot or constantly travelling or ‘busy’ with other alarmingly important activities. Benefit of doubt given, until you read a gossip rag talking about how they are vacationing and turning down offers because they are ‘waiting for the right opportunity’. This is the lot of the GK of an FP who may not be a public favourite at the moment, but must be made to appear to be!

Entourage? Check. I mean no self-respecting FP will travel without his/her motley crew of spot boy, bodyguard, bag holder, dog walker, coffee maker, hairdresser, make-up artist, mobile-holder, companion, GK/manager(s), chauffeur and ego-panderer. But often we discover that it may not be the FP who believes in crowd-sourcing as accruement of power but actually their GKs who encourage the general view that (a) It’s best to squeeze out the favours one can (b) By throwing one’s weight about one’s star presence increases even more, in fact it solidifies it (c) What’s the point of being an FP if you don’t act like it? The others all do!

At one time, FP’s mummy would say ‘baby ke liye lassi laao’, now the GK informs you ahead of time that FP will require such-and-such items, and that the young and hearty FP cannot under any circumstances climb a flight of stairs for a shoot, or walk ten seconds under the sun (despite the FP being a person known for her athletic prowess) – therefore the most expensive and convenient locations and rooms must be chosen or she will not turn up.

Not to forget that the staff – such as a chauffeur or spot boy – will often have their own letterheads with which they invoice the third party, because if an FP is expected to come to a shoot or interview, her staff must be paid for. So very often, the FP comes for about half an hour, and her staff is paid by the third party an approximate month’s salary. With an FP going regularly on shoots and interviews (supply and demand being such), it makes you wonder if the FP takes a cut from the staff’s earnings! Of course, the GKs, hairdressers and make-up artists when travelling with the FP will want to travel with the FP – i.e. business or first class. The tab, once again, is picked up by the third party. Pal feels that not all clients have insane demands. “This is actually more an archaic myth than a present-day reality. The evaluation of a client’s requirement is subjective really – what is a necessity could be seen as an undue demand.”

While the relationship between an FP and a GK is mutually beneficial, you can never be certain who the real diva is in the relationship. Is it the FP who believes in throwing his/her weight around, or is it the GK who insists on doing it this way? Maybe the FP – getting filtered information through the GK – is quite unaware of what the GK is up to and how he/she is being represented. And maybe, the GK is the innocent victim of the FPs demands, often feeling foolish having to represent these to the outside world as diplomatically as possible.

Archana Sadanand, proprietor of Imagesmiths, who ably handles high-profile clients like Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, Akshay Kumar, Imran Khan and top production houses, admits that it is not always an easy road for a PR person: juggling the time constraints of an FP as well as the requirements of the media. “At times it can get sticky: a failed film or a bogie in an interview that needs firefighting. At other times a journo rubs a maker or a star up the wrong way. We have to find ways to mend the situation; some of these moments can be hilarious. It’s like being in cage with a tiger and hoping he won’t have you for dinner, but that’s the fun of it!”

GKs are often way busier than the FP – many who are affiliated to a professional organisation are not dedicated to one FP alone, often manage multiple FPs in one shot. Try calling a GK…actually rephrase that to try ever getting in touch with a GK. It is practically impossible, unless they believe you are someone worth talking to, or have something valuable to offer them in return. And at any point of time, if you have taken the effort to massage their ego, or made their FP happy, you may find yourself welcome with open arms (hyperbole). And lo and behold! If you ever make the mistake of having a personal equation with their FP – and manage to make inroads in the future without the GK as an intermediary, you will soon discover the strange truth in the wise words ‘…a woman scorned….’ You may never get through the GK again, you may find the GK publicly and unabashedly admonishing their FP for ever allowing a friendship to develop, and you may find that GK’s entire remaining client list banned from your access.

Don’t for a moment imagine that the FP controls the strings of this equation. There is no one stronger than the aide of a FP, as you will soon reluctantly come to realise. FPs who are afraid of being alone on travels, have begun to use their GK or their hair/make-up artist as the chaperone that Mummy once used to be, and you will find them even going to the extent of sharing a room with the person for companionship, as evidenced by a minor actress and her hair-dresser. Where at one point of time, you couldn’t get past a top businessman’s secretary until she wanted to let you through, or when the way into an FP’s heart was through that of her Mummy’s (Luck By Chance ably proved that), you find more and more that now you have to break through the tough shield of a GK.

Natasha Pal has often been considered Chopra’s girl Friday – she’s developed a strong personal equation with the actress. “In most situations, friendships do develop. But, there is always a line that we draw between the job that we have to do and the friendship that has developed. In order for us to be fully effective we also have to be brutally honest and in all professional situations the friendship is relegated to after working hours.”

Amitabh Bachchan’s long-time secretary, Rosie is the model of efficiency. Once a request has been received by her, you don’t need to go through the torturous chase of follow-ups. A legit query will always be handled and she will respond promptly.

However, there are those – Who Cannot Be Named – who have taken their role as a gatekeeper much too seriously. Possibly the power has gone to their head a bit, leading to the detriment of their own standing and that of their FP. Unfortunately for all, the demand for FPs far outweighs the supply, so we are forced to continue to play the cat-and-mouse game as long as divas are around and people remain interested in reading about them.

Killing me softly with my own smog | Jaagore

03 Monday May 2010

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Social Chronicles

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comment, Environment, India, JaagoRe, Thoughts

Guest Post by Sitanshi Talati-Parikh, Features Editor, Verve Magazine

The problem with writing about issues is the fatalism that creeps in and tends to swallow you whole, where you want to scream to the world to wake up – before it’s too late, but you get the sense that they are simply not getting it. And makes you want to sink into a mire of desperation and helplessness. *Shudder*.

So, the idea is to calmly embrace the fact that the world as we know it, will really not last very long. I have a distant uncle who is geared into amassing family wealth for the next seven generations – and while I am truly proud of this generous gesture towards his family’s well-being, I feel that he is just a bit deluded. At the rate we are going – denuding the earth’s natural resources without a thought towards replenishment, ransacking and pillaging and foraging like barbarians, without once questioning what it implies for tomorrow, there will be no tomorrow. And I don’t mean like, oops I’m going to wake up and June 1, 2010 will no longer exist, but really, June 2, 2020 might not!

Do we really have as many years as we think we do on this planet? As we plan the next generation of pillagers, do we really believe they will make it through another 80 years of living in toxic hell? If the planet doesn’t implode on our own sins, we will definitely self-destruct in some way or the other.

1. We have waste disposal problems.

2. We have severe water shortage issues.

3. The air we breathe is so polluted that there’s no point smoking – you’re inhaling crap anyway.

4. We are rapidly consuming all limited natural resources without really figuring out alternate sources of energy, power etc.

5. Global warming is bringing in volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, earthquakes, tremours and a lot of other stuff that should shake us in our heads, not our houses.

6. There is severe overcrowding and over population, which is merely compounding the crises mentioned in 1-4.

Specifically talking about Mumbai, do we realise that as the incorrigibly corrupt government and municipal corporations allow illegal construction of sky-rises in already sandwiched areas, it’s not just the pressure on the land, it is also the impossible question of the pressure on infrastructure? Our infrastructure is quite simply redundant – there are old pipes, rusted and cracking under the pressure, drinking water getting mixed up with sewage and refuse, there is already insane amounts of fuel, water and power shortage; and with the advent of that many more homes, families, people and cars, the problems on the surface and below will only compound. So as spanking new buildings start popping up left, right and centre, who plans to deal with the repercussions of these short-sighted activities? Forget problems like soil erosion, pollution and cloud cover thinning that you can’t comprehend, but think of the really basic stuff. Say you spend multiple arms and legs buying a flat in a nice Sobo area, in a brand new building, with a great view. What are you going to do when the pipes burst with the pressure and you get filthy water to drink and bathe with in your new luxurious haven? What are you going to do when the already choked area doesn’t allow for you to take your brand new gas-guzzler out because there’s a perennial jam of cars being taken out for unnecessary spins?

The problem is that we think that it’s not our problem yet. It’s not relevant now. It’s not about me. As long as we continue with the current status quo, living in mass oblivion, we are barely able to grasp – despite Hollywood’s barrage of disaster ‘2012’ flicks – that everything is very real, everything is NOW. Tomorrow is not just another day in the grimy city; tomorrow may be a day where we no longer exist. And it would be entirely our fault. No amount of words can make you sit up and take action – until you realise that it’s your and your family’s life at stake, not your neighbour’s.

via jaagore.com

Pixie-dust Romances

17 Wednesday Mar 2010

Posted by sitanshi talati-parikh in Art, Literature & Culture, Features & Trends, Publication: Verve Magazine, Social Chronicles

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Avatar, Bella, comment, Edward Cullen, International Fiction, Literature, Sophie Kinsella, Stephanie Meyer, Trend, Twilight, vervemagazine

Verve Magazine, Culturescape, February 2010

The immense worldwide success of the Twilight vampire love series and James Cameron’s epic film Avatar have made fantasy a romantic prerequisite. Fangs, love bites, fairy dust and aliens pour out of the Pandora box of magic potions, brewing tales that sell imaginary love to bewitched humans. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh finds herself taking love-struck bites

As humans get more barbaric as a race, romances tend to swirl around a fictional character of an imaginary species. What is it about Pandora and the Na’vi tribe that makes them so beautiful and desired? Or about the blood-sucking undead that makes them the modern version of Byronic or Darcyian romantic heroes? Or what attracts us to a ghost, a spirit or a powerful figment of our imagination? It’s not just the fact that their being unreal or non-real, gives me the ability to superimpose the characteristics that I wish to see in the person I love. It is also the fact that by virtue of being unreal, they can be more than we are. Either as humans we are deeply ineffectual at romance; or as people we need, nay we demand more. The inability of romantic deliverance from a human race appears to send our hearts racing towards the inhuman – in true escapist fashion.

Escapism at one point of time was candyfloss romance – where the romantic hero was kind and considerate and loved you for the woman you were, not the woman he wanted you to be. It was human to be imperfect, it was human to accept these imperfections and it was human to love them. Women have always been suckers for the knight-in-shining-armour story – it is as if, we are still waiting to be rescued if not from atypical danger, then from ourselves, and our deep-rooted insecurities. The age of Feminism masked these things under the coat of smart trousers, shorter hair, and a career. Scratch the surface though, and you will find a rather unapologetic little romantic girl hidden inside every driven woman. As Vatsala Kaul Banerjee, editorial director, children and reference books for Hachette India, publishers of the Twilight, House of Night, Sookie Stackhouse, Blue Bloods, Vampire Diaries, Night World and other such series states, “Feminism is not, and should not be, exclusive to the idea of love. Not everyone who chooses to love a male or be loved by him, even if occasionally beyond all logic, is a needy little twerp. C’mon, we’ve all been there – fallen for someone so bad, it’s been hard to think of anyone or anything else, including school or friends or family. But eventually, you get real.”

What is Edward Cullen, the famous vampire hero of the Twilight saga by Stephenie Meyer, if not a paternal caregiver to the rather insipid heroine Bella Swan? His primary role is in protecting her, because he is that much stronger and more powerful than she can ever be (until she turns into a vampire, that is). As she gets embroiled repeatedly in danger, he appears miraculously to save her – because she means the world to him. When he can’t be around, it is the young werewolf Jacob Black, who, again with greater powers, remains her protector. Bella, it appears, is in love with security, and whichever good-looking, charming man who can provide that kind of security to her. It is primarily the love of a teenage girl for an older, stronger man, a benefactor, a lover, and a protector.

With the fact that there is a burgeoning cult of ‘Twilight Moms’, the notion that this is merely the infatuation of teenage girls is immediately put to question. As some of these 30-plus women grudgingly admit, there is something deeply hypnotising about this romance – which fulfils their own unrequited high-school love. The trials of high-school romances and self-doubts never change – Bella, in her rather characterless state becomes an easy avatar for the reader to identify with. As an avid reader from France in her 20s, Myriam Belkis admits, “We can empathise with Bella particularly because of her unremarkability.” The reader, hopefully a stronger Bella, can morph into a young girl, who just wants the perfect guy to love her unconditionally. And so what if the guy is a blood-sucking, cold-blooded (literally) vampire? The very fact that he finds her blood intoxicating and thirsts for it, fights a moral battle every time he is with her, struggling to control himself to be with her, kisses her and withdraws from her raw passion, is inherently sexy. It is guilt-edged, morally unsound and dangerous desire that leaves the reader panting for more.

What is bothersome is Bella’s lack of control and vapidity as a heroine – at least in the first three books. While it may be easy for girls to slip into her character because it’s an empty shell, it’s rare to find readers rooting for Team Bella. The men superimpose the woman, and despite it being her story, she remains vacuous and annoying at best, irritatingly dependent on a man to make her life credible (except for the fourth book, Breaking Dawn, where she comes into her own). ‘Even after half a year with him, I still couldn’t believe that I deserve this degree of good fortune,’ says Bella in New Moon. We can’t believe it either, because she never considered herself worthy of anyone. On a very superficial level, her crisis is that of any teenage girl’s deafening insecurity and self-doubt; on a deeper level, it is disturbing to see the protagonist in one of the most popular romances of the time behave like a suicidal sacrificial lamb at the altar of love. It makes you wonder if women have come a full circle – willing to do anything for love and for a man – and does that make it endearing or frightening?

Bella is unnaturally attracted to the supernatural, making us wonder if she is inherently other-worldly (they suggest she was born to be a vampire) or if she is battling a normal teenager’s rebellious nature with an uncanny curiosity for trouble. Isn’t it more likely for Bella’s love to be infatuation than the unflinching deep love it is proclaimed to be? As a 17-year-old she takes the kind of hazardous decisions – in the name of love – that a 27-year-old would shudder to contemplate. Belkis confesses that, “At that age you are often reckless, and personally I remember my teenage feelings as the most intense I’ve had in my life.” While its appeal to a teen audience is understandable, its appeal to an older audience is Potteresque – fantasy captures the imagination like nothing else does.

And it asserts the notion of being attracted to the bad guy, and wanting to ‘fix’ the bad guy. Edward (and later Jacob) try to make Bella believe that they are dangerous and therefore shouldn’t be anywhere near her, but that just draws her to them even more, testing their endurance. We understand why she loves them, but why, oh, why, do they love her? Is it meant to be a beacon call of hope for all the spineless women out there who want to believe that Mr Perfect is hovering somewhere, even if he is an alien?

We are constantly reminded that Edward is beautiful and perfect, Jacob is warm and attractive – and it seems to be okay, particularly from a sound feminist point of retribution, to objectify men under the pretext of unconditional love, in this three-way interspecies romance. No regular teenage boy (or man for that matter) would stand a chance against a sophisticated vampire or powerful werewolf with super powers and a burning, intense, monogamous love.

It is in much the same way that the Na’vi tribe and the female lead Neytiri are objectified in Avatar – their other-worldliness, devoid of the trappings of human failings, the beauty in their every movement and relationships with their environs is viewed with reverence, envy and admiration by the voyeur-protagonist Jake Sully. It is easy for Jake to be reborn as a freer soul, powerful in ways that a human cannot be, and in tune with a better moral and ethic fibre. He is escaping from a rotten life to a better world. Aren’t we all hoping for an avatar that can help us escape the monotony and failings of our world? There is the obvious call for humans to be better, to rethink their priorities and non-ideals, because if not, all the good men are going to be falling in love with good aliens!

The love affair in Twilight is as, another reader in her late 20s, Megha Gupta, believes, “unrealistic and teenage, even stalkerish in the real world – but oh so romantic! What attracted me initially to the first book was the fantasy element, but what kept me hooked was the star-crossed lovers theme. I wanted Edward and Bella to stay young and beautiful and in love, ‘every single day of forever’.” The romance of eternity is an obvious attraction with the love of the undead: to be frozen in time appears to be an acceptable price to pay to remain eternally bound together – even if it is at the risk of losing your soul.

In Carole Matthews’ It’s a Kind of Magic, the protagonist, Emma wishes the love of her life, Leo, could magically turn into a better boyfriend, and lo behold, he does, but with an impossibly fabulous fairy girlfriend, Isobel, in tow, whom Emma cannot possibly compete with. Love has some sort of magical element attached to it that leads you to do uncontrollable things; and yet often rights things that are wrong – because as humans we are sometimes incapable of doing so.

Lara leads a desperately boring life in Sophie Kinsella’s Twenties Girl. It takes the advent of the ghost of her great-aunt Sadie to create delicious havoc and weave a wand of romance in Lara’s life, with the touch of a nostalgic past – that of a more chivalrous time. Are we harping back to a time of better – different, more meaningful love? Is something old-fashioned genetically imprinted in us, where we wish for a time where things were simpler and more complicated all at once?

Banerjee finds that the attraction lies in “an unusual, unreal, unearthly, extraordinary romance, against all odds, enticingly impossible, potentially dangerous and possibly forbidden. Whether it’s shape-shifters, ghosts or vampires…it’s dark, action-packed and sexy. Because it’s not just ordinary men and women, the parameters of romance itself become fluid, different and challenging. The emotional and physical interfaces between two people are transformed…that’s quite thrilling, I daresay. It raises the unpredictability bar and makes for exciting unknowns to unfold.”

 

It is as if we, as humans, yearn for everything good that doesn’t exist in our own version of the world. Is it a deep existential quest for a better world, a better life and a better romance that we are now looking at extraterrestrial fantasy? Or is it just that a Clueless-type romance doesn’t meet our thirst for romantic fulfilment as much as the thrill of a blood-sucking or alien fantasy might? Edward has the trappings of a perfect romantic hero – he has the lineage and hails from a time of great chivalry, he is the strong-silent type, loves unconditionally and is deeply faithful, morals and ethics mean the world to him, has all the right educational qualifications, is knowledgeable and artistic, is extraordinarily rich and doesn’t ever age! It’s true – he isn’t real. It is easier to establish perfection in one that is not human – because isn’t by definition the idea of being human equal to being interestingly imperfect? And yet, Bella and Edward are a romanticised version of award-winning film, American Beauty’s (1999) Jane and Ricky – freaks to the world that doesn’t understand them.

 

So what are we saying? Women thoughtlessly yearn for men they can never have? The fantasies will remain largely unrequited and there will be a deep sense of dissatisfaction with their men – who will, being human, be unable to live up to these other-worldly expectations. Which human man, because he may hurt her with his brutal strength, will be willing to abscond from the pleasure of sex eternally? While Meyer’s Mormon background leads her to spell out a strict moral code of abstinence and a romance of deep fortitude, I wonder if the spellbound teens may follow suit. In a racy age when sex scandals and illicit love are the order of the day, Meyer, Kinsella and to some extent Matthew refrain from it. The sensuality is derived from restrained kissing, controlled passion and stemmed desire. It is the contemplation of the act that leaves one wanting more – it is the romance of mental and suggested foreplay. It draws one to a time where love precluded lust, where instant gratification was frowned upon.

 

These books are not making excuses for what they represent. There is no deep-rooted agenda, no desire to change or improve the world, but in that very sense, as popular fiction, they are making a statement about society as a whole. As Banerjee points out, “Fiction is not about being prescriptive, didactic, apologetic or redemptive…not for publishers, and not for authors. The protagonists are characters, not examples for edification. Readers may subscribe to the subtext in their personality or personal life, and that’s their choice; but for some, saying that they are what they read may be akin to saying something as simplistic as they are criminal-minded if they read crime fiction or bile-blooded freaks if they like horror. Many mothers/parents use books such as those in the Twilight series to discuss issues of love, relationships, boundaries and choices with their girls – now there’s an unexpected good thing.”

 

Whether you consider alien fantasies escapist fare of the worst kind or a subversive pleasure in the other world, the fascination towards romance, whether human or interspecies will remain one of the most popular forms of writing to come. As we explore galaxies, planets and the dark side of human nature, we open our minds to that which may exist outside the realm of our understanding, imagination and acceptance. It’s just heartening to know that romance isn’t dead, even if it is with the undead.

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