Thursday, May 21, 2015

Fasten Your SeatBelt



Holiday season is here. Monaco beckons. Dubai dazzles. But with rising ticket prices my dream of flying just made a crash landing. So, I sit back in my heated cockpit in Gurgaon, brood over my boring life, and wonder about Modi’s foreign trip, RaGa’s Bangkok sojourn and Sonam’s Cannes rendezvous.

It all began when Captain NaMo landed in South Korea without the tail wind of the mainstream media. His Modiluft was cruising comfortably until he strayed off the trajectory and went on a bragging trip. The adulation of emotional NRIs chanting NaMo, Namo, created such turbulence that the love for his own voice awakened the patriotic Indian among Modi’s detractors. Suddenly, everyone writing SAT and GMAT became a proud Indian on Twitter. Well, in Modi we have an able pilot. I only hope Captain NaMo knows that the fuel in the tank is limited. And gravity is universal.

So while NaMo was flying high, RaGa gained groundspeed on the Amethi runway. The smartest thing RaGa’s flight handlers did was to cloud his 56 day mysterious disappearance from the radar. Only a Black box can tell us what he did, where he stayed and what he wore (a suit, boot? shorts?) while in Bangkok. I can’t deny that there was some relief in watching RaGa sweat it out in dusty hinterland with a dozen farmers clapping even before he spoke. After the recent mid air crash of the Food Park flight one gets a feeling that the frequent pilot errors are likely to ground the Congress airline unless they stick to politically profitable routes.

Summer is also that time of the year when Bollywood beauties line up the international runway at Cannes. Being human, it seems is not as important as being Anil Kapoor’s daughter when you become relevant for five days every year. At the 68th Cannes film festival, fashionista Sonam Kapoor’s sortie suffered a bird hit when she appeared in an Elie Saab feathery gown resembling an ostrich draped in Maggie noodles. In contrast, the alleged repeat offender, someone who according to Sonam was “an aunty from another generation”, Aishwarya Rai stunned the fashion runway two decades after winning the Miss World crown in 1994. 

While I died a little watching all the high fliers, I enjoyed Meri Jung being played in Delhi. Trust pilot Kejriwal to entertain us with his anarchic sorties on the Delhi runway. Belted on his seat, Captain Kejriwal fought with the co-pilot, locked the cabin crew and landed at the President’s doorstep. With passing time, Kejriwal resembles a disgruntled flier who creates fuss each time the airhostess takes time to respond. Plus the penchant of flying his low cost airline into the crash is a sign for Delhi-ites to trust the captain, but keep the seat belt fastened. Wonder why the politically savvy Delhi-ite didn’t anticipate turbulence with Kejriwal as the pilot and the BJP as the air traffic controller?

Anyway, since I can’t visit foreign shores, I derive comfort from the fact that it is always better to be on the ground wishing you were up in the air, than being up in the air wishing you were on the ground. Right? 
Image Coutesy: Here

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Drinks and Memories


My Collection
This post was published on the Huffington Post.

When lyricist Gulzar says, ‘Bachpan Ki Yadon Ko Phir Se Bahao, Badi Chatpati Hai, Inhe Phir Se Pilao’, his raspy voice nudges you to taste memories. Of all the seductions of childhood, the most memorable ones are associated with food and drinks. Like most, my drink memories are rooted in childhood. In summer, the answer to, “What would you like to have?” wasn’t a choice between chilled beer and white wine. It was a choice between Rooh Afza, Khas sherbet, Aam Panna, Mango Shake, Cold Coffee or good old Nimbu Paani - minus soda. Funny, how we were able to digest stuff without the urge to guzzle soda based drinks with every meal.

As kids, the 4 PM drink after an afternoon siesta was either Lassi or Rooh Afza. What drink could be more decadent than a tall glass of sweetened Lassi on a sweltering afternoon? After a grueling day at school, we were supposed to wake up by the tinkling sound of stirring the glass with a steel spoon. Since it was also time for home work, the sugar surge helped in lifting the sagging spirits. But now when I see the bottle of Rooh Afza, all I see is sugar, color and empty calories. But then, that’s the thing with most sweet beverages, including fruit juice. Moreover, with age calories do begin to resemble those dreadful creatures that sew your clothes a little tighter every night. Which is why coconut water remains a timeless ageless drink. Which is also why bottled water is set to overtake fizzy sodas to become the world’s favorite packaged drink.

In the early eighties, glass bottles of Campa Cola, Gold Spot and Limca invaded our refrigerators. I remember wooden crates stacked in the store room, only to be served on special occasions. Who knew that a winky wonky baba was about to rubbish the precious beverages as toilet cleaners? Or that our idea of an exotic drink was allegedly calcium draining, tooth staining and kidney straining. 
Bael Fruit- Stone Apple
And then there was Bael sherbet considered as a panacea for stomach ailments. Since there was a Bael tree in the backyard and breaking the shell by dropping it on the ground was more fun than drinking the sherbet, my job was to break and scrape the shell for its sweet flesh.

As it happens, life comes back full circle. For those who are not alcohol friendly, Paper Boat beverages have created a buzz in the non-alcoholic drink segment. One particular drink Jamun Kala Khatta, revived childhood memories and made me pen this post. If I close my eyes and try to look back, I see myself sneaking out for fallen Jamuns and idiotically sticking out my purple tongue. However, I can’t eat the damn thing today. Too rough for my taste.

Like everything else, the entire beverage matrix has changed. With more than a dozen booming micro breweries in Gurgaon, locally brewed beer and sherbets combined with liquer are a hit with the newly minted lot. Which is great, for beverages have evolved not merely to quench the thirst but to tantalize the taste buds. To ease the stress and to intoxicate the senses. As Hemingway said, “I drink to make other people interesting.” 
But the magic of childhood lied in the fact that we didn't need drinks to make life interesting - intoxication of childhood is enough. 

This is NOT a sponsored post.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Pee, Poo and Piku


Image Courtesy Indiatoday.com
Also on  The Huffington Post.
 
Though unsavory, there is something about pee and poo that makes us laugh. After Nitin Gadkari’s revelation of using pee to nurture plants created mirth on twitter, Shoojit Sircar uses poo to evoke laughter in Piku. Much like Vicky Donor, Shoojit exploits bodily secretions to take us on a journey of unsaid love between stuck-up characters in a dysfunctional family.

When I saw the trailer where an unkempt Amitabh Bachchan frets about emotion being linked to motion, I wasn’t actually enticed. I mean, who wants to watch a movie sans breathtaking scenery, melodious songs and a charming hero? Regardless, I ventured in Audi5 of PVR Gurgaon, clutching the rave review showered on Piku by Anupama Chopra. After The Times of India began doling three stars for Rohit Shetty and Sajid Khan directed movies, I go either by Anupama Chopra or Facebook recommendations. 


Watching Piku is akin to relishing homemade daal chawal sprinkled with desi ghee and spiced with fresh coriander chutney. One bite and it reminds you of Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s movies where the ride was more enjoyable than the destination. In Piku, Shoojit maps Bengali idiosyncrasies with such love that he continues to play with his characters without wanting to go anywhere.

Far away from item songs and glossy locales, the director creates riveting drama between a hypochondriac father and his irritable daughter Deepika Padukone. To me, Deepika hasn’t looked prettier even though she is neither wearing makeup nor navel revealing saris. Although, she strikes a jarring note by screaming a notch higher than was actually required. But that is, perhaps because I am sensitive to people who speak loudly. Surprisingly, Deepika emotes to match up to the formidable duo - Amitabh and Irfan Khan. And her love for her father is to be judged by her actions and not her words. Perhaps, there is an exasperated yet selfless Piku in most of us who take care of elderly parents. 


In Piku, Amitabh is a tour de force. Except on occasions when his Bengali gets mixed with his inherent UP accent, Amitabh as Bhaskor Bannerjee is a selfish, irritating yet endearing old man. Eventually it is his acting that makes this movie worthwhile. 

 Somehow, I believed that Irfan Khan was an overrated actor. But he proved me wrong in Piku. Who wants six packs or dimpled cheeks when one can emote with eyes? His unsolicited warmth and restrained acting lights up the screen. The fact that Irfan Khan is not Salman Khan adds to the charm.

Any movie devoid of a great story has to be about magical moments. Piku is sprinkled with many such mundane yet magical moments. Like when Moushami talks about not wearing a bra inside a nightie, when Amitabh gets drunk or when Irfan comes up with ingenious solutions for Amitabh’s recurrent constipation. Of course, Irfan's idea to make Amitabh sit on a western style toilet the Indian way cracked me up.

The script by Juhi Chaturvedi is ahead of its times. I don’t remember any Indian father introducing his daughter as financially and sexually independent (strictly need based). Moreover, Amitabh’s liberal views about women, though twisted according to his own quirky personality are refreshing.

If movies about small moments intrigue you, go for it. This is not to say that Piku is flawless because after a point it becomes more of the same. Piku is perhaps not for teenagers because the sixteen year old next to me was busy playing games on his mobile while his dad guffawed and his mother quietly wiped her moist eyes.