Those of you who liked Omkara (and especially, Saif in it) may have been pleasantly surprised by what Shri Khan pulled off -I for one, was hunh-was-that-reallySaif-amazed.
I remember hating him in his "Ole -Ole" days - primarily because I couldn't determine if he was the leading man or lady. Secondarily because of his voice that could set most car alarms off.
So we had another star kid asserting his star kid-ness upon us. Ho hum. Click. Next channel.
Sometime in this period of generally ignoring him, I happened to watch Ek Hasina Thi. Being a Ramu film, it didn't seem too unsafe an option to commit a couple hours to. So I went - and was pleasantly surprised to find that Shri Khan had finally found a hiarstyle that conveyed gender unambiguously, clothes that looked nice on him, a worked-on physique that made those martial arts moves extremely credible, and importantly, a role that suited him well (he plays a suave, rather brash conman who deceives belles for his pleasure and twisted ends)!
The know-it-all that I clearly am, I remember telling myself then - This guy has finally found his groove. After Omkara, he certainly has. And how.
I could never have imagined him playing the role of Langda Tyagi the way he did. From the 10 plus word expletive (translation available upon request) while playing marbles, to the brutally rural (or rurally brutal) hairstyle, to the properly yellow teeth, to the theth accent all through. The chhota nawaab in him doesn't surface for a second.
Of course, credit in no small measure to Shri Bhardwaj for making another haleem-esque, emotionally rich film, which lets such characters shine out. And kudos all the more to him for (in Shri Khan's words) "...believing that somebody like (Saif) could've done something like this..."
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Codename Kringle
I don't mind the candy in the stocking, but I must admit - I've been wondering about the true identity of Santa Clause.
Been reading a Jack Higgins page turner, and can't help but think Kris Kringle is merely a cover-up. True greatness often emerges out of mixed influences. I was also watching The Great Indian Laughter Challenge over dinner, so:
Here are my top 3 conspiracy theories:
#3: He is a Maharashtrian.
Why?
Ho Ho Ho.
#2: He is black and a rapper. - [Thanks friend Ganji for pointing this out]
Why?
hoe hoe hoe.
#1 (I think I've finally nailed it): He's actually Bappi Lahiri!
[Rumba] Hoh Hoh Hoh.
To see how true this is, try the following word-association game:
1. fat man
2. happy man
3. decorated christmas tree
Sorry to have garrotted the child in you. But the truth must emerge. After all, with great boredom comes great responsibility.
Been reading a Jack Higgins page turner, and can't help but think Kris Kringle is merely a cover-up. True greatness often emerges out of mixed influences. I was also watching The Great Indian Laughter Challenge over dinner, so:
Here are my top 3 conspiracy theories:
#3: He is a Maharashtrian.
Why?
Ho Ho Ho.
#2: He is black and a rapper. - [Thanks friend Ganji for pointing this out]
Why?
hoe hoe hoe.
#1 (I think I've finally nailed it): He's actually Bappi Lahiri!
[Rumba] Hoh Hoh Hoh.
To see how true this is, try the following word-association game:
1. fat man
2. happy man
3. decorated christmas tree
Sorry to have garrotted the child in you. But the truth must emerge. After all, with great boredom comes great responsibility.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Jigsaw
----------
The following story starts off in a pseudo-literary, self aggrandizing fashion, and stays that way till the end. Somewhere in the middle however, it turns a bit gruesome. So, for those who aren’t comfortable with that, may I suggest you stop reading now. Or read until the part where it gets gruesome. But then, what’s the point?
-------------
Do you like jigsaw puzzles? I personally, don’t have much patience with them. Most people who relish putting these pieces together don’t realize what they are re-enacting.
Not me.
I like to know my facts. But there I go digressing. This isn’t about me. Back to the jigsaw.
Back in the medieval ages, there used to be a wealthy landowner by the name of Bierbaum. A man of some scholarship, he wasn’t the laid-back landowner watching the daffodils grow. No sir - Bierbaum had wealth and he had every intention of growing it manifold, for he believed it was his calling to increase his power and influence as his life progressed. He was thus a shrewd merchant, not averse to taking bold risks when the situation so demanded.
A consummately sensual man, he loved his food, his wine and his women. Especially his women. And there were a lot of them, coming and going like leaves on a seasonal tree. In a world where material wealth was as plentiful as sand on a beach, the company of women was equally plentiful for the master of it all. It was rumored that he kept three dozen women and was used to having dalliances with many more, each year, audaciously defying the church.
But among these women, there was Godiva.
Ah, Godiva. Taken up by Bierbaum when she was barely out of her girlhood, Godiva soon flowered into a beauty far beyond what many a wealthy lady of Bierbaum’s society could hope to become. Her rich, sensual allure was matched only by her fiery temperament - something which Bierbaum saw as the touch of an exotic spice in an otherwise commonplace delicacy. And so it went - Bierbaum showered all material comforts and generous gifts on Godiva, as she in turn showered her god-given beauty on him - her only capital in those dark, unforgiving times.
The, shall we say, arrangement lasted for six years - even the most wizened stable-hand in Bierbaum’s staff was amazed. Some even hinted at their master’s finally gravitating towards - gasp! - monogamy.
I know what you’re thinking by now. You’re saying - “Something’s got to come undone. Something always comes undone in these stories…”. And you’d be dead right.
Reviloc, a young, handsome, earnest stable hand with that most severe genetic defect - poverty, made an entry in this picture-perfect setting. Filling-in for the sick senior stable-keeper that early morning, he laid his unfortunate eyes upon Godiva, as the lady was mounting her favourite mare. Oh! was he smitten by the beauty he thought so ethereal, he could hardly concentrate on the reign he was supposed to be handling.
She, in turn did not seem revolted by his frankly mesmerized stare and, some say, even returned his steady gaze unabashedly.
What started as a casual flirtation, developed into a tryst, then an affair, and finally, a flagrant case of forbidden love that even Bierbaum found hard to deny the existence of.
Blind as love is, the young couple thought it was their true destiny. Godiva professed such notions to Bierbaum, with whom she was now accustomed to taking liberties. When entreaty, reason and threat failed to deter her, Bierbaum knew something had to be done.
If there is one thing you should know about Bierbaum, it is this: Bierbaum was a cruel man. He gave generously to those in need, and yet, exacted only the most exorbitant interest in return. Cursed was the black cat that crossed his path as he was on his way to inspecting his vast lands. Cursed was the poor novice slave, who drew his bath a tad too hot for his liking. And especially accursed were those who dared to stake claim on anything he considered his own.
Was there a dearth of comely women in the adjoining villages? Was punishing the errant Godiva with house arrest or even severe flogging not good enough? No. This was not a stray case of adultery. This was about Bierbaum’s absolute right to possess anything he chose to possess within the bounds of his rather large jurisdiction.
An example must be made.
Like any respectable landowner, Bierbaum had his hatchet men. But for this, he chose his finest. A French mercenary by name of Jacque Pirout. Jacque was an efficient man. And yet, a man with the thoroughness of a scientist as he went about the job he was appointed for - ruthlessly eliminating anyone who stood in his master’s path.
Vested with total impunity in carrying out the task, he threw Godiva and Reviloc into the dungeons and starved them for weeks. He then had them tortured and abused, debased in the most vile ways his master could imagine. But this was not what he had in mind as the final punishment.
For that, he had especially chosen a weapon that would not do the job efficiently. It was, after all, about the deliciously tortuous journey his victims would make towards their final doom, that would set the example.
The piece de resistance finally came. As his cruel master watched, he hacked the still living couple into small pieces using a large, rusty saw - the kind the butcher used in preparation for grand banquets. As he did this, he took care not to mangle any of the pieces so as to deter recognition.
When he was finished, and soon after the last screams had died out, he had the cobblers sew up the pieces together with thick, dark leather cords. In a lovers’ embrace, no less. The bodies were whole again, in a sense, but it was clear to all who beheld it, how they once had been.
He had this macabre work of his evil art put up on the busiest town square, as a clear warning to those who even remotely questioned his master’s complete authority, or dared step on his toes. As shocked townspeople walked past it daily, they clearly knew which dark tool had resulted in this creation.
Jacque’s Saw - corrupted over the years into one mashed phrase - Jigsaw!
----------------------END CREDITS-----------------
The following story starts off in a pseudo-literary, self aggrandizing fashion, and stays that way till the end. Somewhere in the middle however, it turns a bit gruesome. So, for those who aren’t comfortable with that, may I suggest you stop reading now. Or read until the part where it gets gruesome. But then, what’s the point?
-------------
Do you like jigsaw puzzles? I personally, don’t have much patience with them. Most people who relish putting these pieces together don’t realize what they are re-enacting.
Not me.
I like to know my facts. But there I go digressing. This isn’t about me. Back to the jigsaw.
Back in the medieval ages, there used to be a wealthy landowner by the name of Bierbaum. A man of some scholarship, he wasn’t the laid-back landowner watching the daffodils grow. No sir - Bierbaum had wealth and he had every intention of growing it manifold, for he believed it was his calling to increase his power and influence as his life progressed. He was thus a shrewd merchant, not averse to taking bold risks when the situation so demanded.
A consummately sensual man, he loved his food, his wine and his women. Especially his women. And there were a lot of them, coming and going like leaves on a seasonal tree. In a world where material wealth was as plentiful as sand on a beach, the company of women was equally plentiful for the master of it all. It was rumored that he kept three dozen women and was used to having dalliances with many more, each year, audaciously defying the church.
But among these women, there was Godiva.
Ah, Godiva. Taken up by Bierbaum when she was barely out of her girlhood, Godiva soon flowered into a beauty far beyond what many a wealthy lady of Bierbaum’s society could hope to become. Her rich, sensual allure was matched only by her fiery temperament - something which Bierbaum saw as the touch of an exotic spice in an otherwise commonplace delicacy. And so it went - Bierbaum showered all material comforts and generous gifts on Godiva, as she in turn showered her god-given beauty on him - her only capital in those dark, unforgiving times.
The, shall we say, arrangement lasted for six years - even the most wizened stable-hand in Bierbaum’s staff was amazed. Some even hinted at their master’s finally gravitating towards - gasp! - monogamy.
I know what you’re thinking by now. You’re saying - “Something’s got to come undone. Something always comes undone in these stories…”. And you’d be dead right.
Reviloc, a young, handsome, earnest stable hand with that most severe genetic defect - poverty, made an entry in this picture-perfect setting. Filling-in for the sick senior stable-keeper that early morning, he laid his unfortunate eyes upon Godiva, as the lady was mounting her favourite mare. Oh! was he smitten by the beauty he thought so ethereal, he could hardly concentrate on the reign he was supposed to be handling.
She, in turn did not seem revolted by his frankly mesmerized stare and, some say, even returned his steady gaze unabashedly.
What started as a casual flirtation, developed into a tryst, then an affair, and finally, a flagrant case of forbidden love that even Bierbaum found hard to deny the existence of.
Blind as love is, the young couple thought it was their true destiny. Godiva professed such notions to Bierbaum, with whom she was now accustomed to taking liberties. When entreaty, reason and threat failed to deter her, Bierbaum knew something had to be done.
If there is one thing you should know about Bierbaum, it is this: Bierbaum was a cruel man. He gave generously to those in need, and yet, exacted only the most exorbitant interest in return. Cursed was the black cat that crossed his path as he was on his way to inspecting his vast lands. Cursed was the poor novice slave, who drew his bath a tad too hot for his liking. And especially accursed were those who dared to stake claim on anything he considered his own.
Was there a dearth of comely women in the adjoining villages? Was punishing the errant Godiva with house arrest or even severe flogging not good enough? No. This was not a stray case of adultery. This was about Bierbaum’s absolute right to possess anything he chose to possess within the bounds of his rather large jurisdiction.
An example must be made.
Like any respectable landowner, Bierbaum had his hatchet men. But for this, he chose his finest. A French mercenary by name of Jacque Pirout. Jacque was an efficient man. And yet, a man with the thoroughness of a scientist as he went about the job he was appointed for - ruthlessly eliminating anyone who stood in his master’s path.
Vested with total impunity in carrying out the task, he threw Godiva and Reviloc into the dungeons and starved them for weeks. He then had them tortured and abused, debased in the most vile ways his master could imagine. But this was not what he had in mind as the final punishment.
For that, he had especially chosen a weapon that would not do the job efficiently. It was, after all, about the deliciously tortuous journey his victims would make towards their final doom, that would set the example.
The piece de resistance finally came. As his cruel master watched, he hacked the still living couple into small pieces using a large, rusty saw - the kind the butcher used in preparation for grand banquets. As he did this, he took care not to mangle any of the pieces so as to deter recognition.
When he was finished, and soon after the last screams had died out, he had the cobblers sew up the pieces together with thick, dark leather cords. In a lovers’ embrace, no less. The bodies were whole again, in a sense, but it was clear to all who beheld it, how they once had been.
He had this macabre work of his evil art put up on the busiest town square, as a clear warning to those who even remotely questioned his master’s complete authority, or dared step on his toes. As shocked townspeople walked past it daily, they clearly knew which dark tool had resulted in this creation.
Jacque’s Saw - corrupted over the years into one mashed phrase - Jigsaw!
----------------------END CREDITS-----------------
The Name
Naming your blog can be a frustrating experience.
Others will probably read it, hence you want to make it project a persona you'd like to project. You have to try 399 coolsmartsexy names before realizing anything worth taking has already been taken. Although this was not the experience I had (I got it - yes - first attempt).
You want to consider factors such as being search engine friendly, phonetically spelt, easily remembered, and language independent (to the extent possible).
As is the case with most weighty decisions in life, which involve taking into account a lot of factors, a lot of information pertaining to those factors, and then carefully weighing each generated alternative in order to choose the most prudent one, I did what I usually do - relied on randomness. Evidently, it worked.
Being in somewhat quirky state of mind, what passed through my mind at the time was the incredibly cheesy and irritating paint company ad with the tagline "Mera Vala Green" (or Pink or whatever the heck it was). Without much further ado, I tried it, and the rest, as they say...
Others will probably read it, hence you want to make it project a persona you'd like to project. You have to try 399 coolsmartsexy names before realizing anything worth taking has already been taken. Although this was not the experience I had (I got it - yes - first attempt).
You want to consider factors such as being search engine friendly, phonetically spelt, easily remembered, and language independent (to the extent possible).
As is the case with most weighty decisions in life, which involve taking into account a lot of factors, a lot of information pertaining to those factors, and then carefully weighing each generated alternative in order to choose the most prudent one, I did what I usually do - relied on randomness. Evidently, it worked.
Being in somewhat quirky state of mind, what passed through my mind at the time was the incredibly cheesy and irritating paint company ad with the tagline "Mera Vala Green" (or Pink or whatever the heck it was). Without much further ado, I tried it, and the rest, as they say...
Why?
At some point in time, this question bothers everyone.
Expressions of Profound inquisitiveness such as Why me? Why now? Why can't I get another ice-cream, mommy? et al have their place in our lives.
Which brings us to "Why this blog?"
Frankly, you may not give an act of copulation articulated rudely, but still allow me to explain.
As Clive Owen once said, "Because I can."
And, as some band so insightfully put it, "Everybody's doing it so why can't we?"
Being someone not adept at keeping in touch with people via, say,e-mail, I'd like to see if I can keep this up. Let's see if this sticks.
Meanwhile, don't bore us and get to the chorus.
(I am fully aware that by now you are gnashing your way through "Allrightnowweknowwhatkindofmusicyoulistentoschmuck", and hence I will end this little intro right here")
Till next time...
Expressions of Profound inquisitiveness such as Why me? Why now? Why can't I get another ice-cream, mommy? et al have their place in our lives.
Which brings us to "Why this blog?"
Frankly, you may not give an act of copulation articulated rudely, but still allow me to explain.
As Clive Owen once said, "Because I can."
And, as some band so insightfully put it, "Everybody's doing it so why can't we?"
Being someone not adept at keeping in touch with people via, say,e-mail, I'd like to see if I can keep this up. Let's see if this sticks.
Meanwhile, don't bore us and get to the chorus.
(I am fully aware that by now you are gnashing your way through "Allrightnowweknowwhatkindofmusicyoulistentoschmuck", and hence I will end this little intro right here")
Till next time...
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