Aaja Nachle

Didn't have much of a script. The one moment of interest was when the landlady mourned her state; “main ek file hoon” (imagine a sniffling howl of discontent here- its important to the effect). It was rather brilliant, actually, and sort of made the movie worth it. Along with Madhuri Dixit and her dancing, which in any case was the subject of the movie- as the title demonstrates. Perhaps its because I’m old fashioned and think that dancing should be about both hands and legs- but it did seems as if the choreography barely tapped into the skilful footwork that Ms Dixit is capable of. Most of the title track was composed of shots of her walking away from the camera and turning towards it luring the audience with her smile. Which though very alluring is not the only good thing that she can do on screen.

The supporting roles were very well cast, especially Irrfan Khan- who I would like to see more of. He really was good as the bad guy. So was Akshay Khanna as the not-really-bad guy. Though it is too much to expect an urbane, incorruptible, Mp, who looks like Akshay Khanna, is of royal descent and does think of himself as reflecting the opinion of the people. But then again, as one born into money why would he need the extra cash, as offered by shady businessmen? He has enough of his own and a golf course at home- must save on the club membership. The dialogue between the two of them was very fun and sexy- more of it would have been nice, but that would have meant less dancing-smiling and more story.

One thing bothered me about the film. The landlady wanted to audition for the musical, to participate and enjoy herself. The clerk-husband stops her, and on seeing that he has hurt her (the action of a ‘boring’ man) he decides to offer himself instead. Effectively stealing his wife’s thunder- parasite- feeding off her desire. She wanted to be in the limelight. She was told that she couldn’t and then he did it instead of her. Even when the position opened up for Laila’s mum, a second time, she wasn’t considered- not by Madhuri Dixit who knew the situation and is presented as one of superior talents and intelligence in the film, and certainly not by her husband. Basically she remained a file, just opened and closed by a less ‘boring’ man. I think it was her state as a file she was trying the change- not the clerk’s.

The volte-face of the corrupt businessman and politician (who wept what I thought were crocodile tears at the end) because of a musical-pageant thingy wingy was too much to swallow. Perhaps we could send all our politicians and businessmen of dubious moral character to watch the film, or a colourful show at an amphitheatre. Is this what the film is suggesting about the powers of Diya’s dancing and direction?

But then again it was a nice film to watch. If only for the energy. Right after a bout of foul exams, just what I needed. Not to read Le Divorce, the cover of which fooled me into thinking that it would be a French version of Under the Tuscan Sky. Soul-searching masquerading as a fun-flick. This I do not approve of.

Go away and turn left

Generally I lean left,on issues, and sometimes rather forcefully so. But the way they function, as obstructive entities instead of a constructive task force is just maddening.
Sometimes The United States isn't the most dangerous foe. It's just the most vulgarly visible one.
Sometimes all that jhola-panti is just talk.
And men who go to lectures on Foucault and Derrida and say things like "ye sab to hamare dada hain- Marx-bhai, Lenin-bhai"
...
That's just wrong.
Marx is not your bhai. You may think he wrote a lot of stuff that made a lot of sense, and that more people should adore him then do at present.
But he is not your bhai.

Amusement

For fun, go here.
Thank you Aishwarya. :)

School

This is what school looks like in October. For once I was carrying a camera. The classrooms are to the left, junior hostels to the right and the games field comes up if you follow the path.

Reality Check

Have been horribly addicted to Zee Sa Re Ga Ma Pa for the last few months. Seem to be among those who both eagerly awaited the final result of the music competition, and, rather dreaded its end. now what will I do on Friday nights? Yes I have no life.

The much advertised 'live telecast' was, as foreseen, a bit of a washout with too many glittery-spandex clad back-up dancers and too much lip syncing. Much of my time was spent wondering at the absurd clothing on display,

-Bappi Lahiri really does wear too much gold. I know many must have said this in the past but its so true that it can stand the repetition. Really.
- Akshay Kumar came wearing a coat and muffler but no shirt. Was he feeling cold or not- and why didn't he know?
- Himesh Reshammiya, who isn't an index of good taste in any sense, and shouldn't be taken seriously anyway, has foregone the better part of the front of his shirt for most of the season. A dose Himesh-cleavage regularly on Fridays and Saturdays- just what every girl needs to feel complete. The new sorta-shirtless look seems to be doing the rounds and it really bothers me, aesthetically it just seems wrong. If you don't want to wear a shirt don't wear one. Don't wear half of one.

Zee Tv and its numerous Zee spawn are shady and to be suspected. In blogging about them I feel shady and dubious myself. Though the post is about clothes- can I defend one form of frivolity with another?

But, I am on holiday. In a week I shall return to the real world- that alternate existence where there is no desire to send votes for Amanat. I'm sad he lost. And he gave away the watch he receieved as a consolation prize for six months of singing, to his mentor. I wouldn't have. How very sweet. In one week I shall mock those who react as emotionally as I have to a probably-rigged reality show. In one week.

poocha prashanam: the cat question

One rather large, dappled cat has appropriated my bed.

Its a tiny room, and since September is still unreasonably warm we leave the windows open at night. There is a cooler- but it makes such a racket, and needs constant (ok maybe not so constant, but we are lazy) refilling.

Every morning I wake up to find a large and heavy furball at my feet. When I get up it does too, hisses at me and exits through the window. Never through the balcony door, which is also, always open. Why?

Now this cat is a rather wild one, given to hissing and hunting pigeons- which it does with great skill. There are feathers on the landing by mid-morning. It spends much of its time stalking about the corridors after dark, and yowling at the clothes that are hung out to dry. It can't be too clean as I have seen it foraging in the most questionable of areas. It doesn't look ticky. But how can I tell for sure? It arrives after I fall asleep and leaves when I get up. I must stop calling it 'It'. Maybe Orlando- as I have no way of telling whether he is a he or she is a she. Maybe Kiran- also nice and non commital. Maybe Princess Leia- it has delusions of grandeur. Maybe Jabba- as the Hutt is the unwieldy, slobbering, lecherous monster that this sleek, chic hunting machine is not.

What must I do? Should I let it be and thereby leave the window open for all sorts of mysterious cat-borne infections (my imagination runs riot)? Should I cart it, or rather metro and auto it to a vet in Khan Market? I can barely greet it in the day time, having to get it into a basket and be calm would be quite a task. And then the scene at the metro station:
-madam bag check karaiye
-bhaiyya iske andar billi hai. nahin khol sakti

ha

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