For better or for worse

Hello my gorgeous followers, how are YOU doin?!
Sigh. This line would’ve been so much more impactful had my list been longer than twenty two members strong.
My first post of the year, so let’s being with a big HAPPY NEW YEAR hug!!


Marriage. That dreaded word nobody sane, my age would want to associate themselves with. Marriage- what several of us believe we can do without. Marriage, that something which is meant to last forever.
This year my parents complete twenty five years of being together, and I was therefore compelled to give a thought to this holy agreement. Recently, I happened to come across some real life experiences that outlined WHY the M-word is as appropriately hyped as it is, in our society.



A couple aged 80 and 92.
With their children married off, this rather elderly couple has built for themselves a haven, a garden in full blossom as though in spring, in the winter of their lives. Thammu (grandmum) as we call her, is Dadu’s best friend, wife, doctor, nurse and mother. One winter afternoon in the rather elderly city of Calcutta, we went visiting them. After half an hour of aadda together, thammu put dadu to bed, and served us lunch. Suddenly we heard him scream! Dad rushed into the room to find dadu lying on the bathroom floor. The erstwhile scientist who went down mines during his younger days while researching about fuels, couldn’t stand for more than two minutes in the washroom. He wasn’t bruised one bit, but his 92 years old ego was hurt. She admonished him for being a baby and slipping on the wet floor, and adorably they bantered in their squeaky old voices on how and why he should not try being too independent.
19 or 90, a lovers tiff is something that stays on. Amen.


Next is another elderly couple aged around seventy.
Here’s a story of extreme sacrifice, and love. Something that inspires films. A perfectly happy Punjabi couple living in Chandigarh, an ordinary life, with nothing exceptional to talk about really. But five years ago, aunty was hit by a speeding car that flung her into the air, and she landed on her head, in the middle of the road. As she lay unconscious, there wasn’t a drop of blood around her. It was a miracle she survived without a scratch on her body! But on further inspection it was discovered that she had lost her memory. 70 years of memory was erased to nothing, with her shocked family painfully resigning to fate.
Today, uncle has changed his prayers from – “please make my wife healthy again” to “please keep me healthy, so I can look after her for as long as she lives”. Aunty recognizes nobody. Not even herself. She believes herself to be two years old. Her own reflection upsets her because she doesn’t understand how she has greyed so much when she’s barely an adolescent. Uncle, who she believes to be her father, bathes her, changes her diapers, and holds her hand tight as he takes it one day at a time, knowing well that there is no hope. He has dedicated his life to attending to and loving a woman who knows him not anymore, and is doing so with absolutely no regrets.


A middle-aged couple in their mid forties.
A beautiful family of four, that smiled, laughed, sang, joked, and laughed even harder along with one another. Despite being terribly busy, along with their two boys, they’d pack their bags for weekend getaways ever so often. The walls of their cheerful home were plastered with beaming family pictures through the years. Until one day, calamity struck. Tragedy of the worst kind imaginable. Their older son, who had only just moved to undergrad college in a different city, met with a road accident. He died on the spot they say. As their world began to fall apart, and their cheery bunch was tragically reduced to three, we knew not how they could possibly rise from the ashes that now surrounded them.
But today, two months later, with much pride I can say- They are indeed on the road to recovery. The husband and wife have stood by each other rock solid. Trying to keep sane they still did things together. They try laughing together, reminiscing the old days, and above all they hold each other and the family tight through the darkest nights, erasing the pain one day at a time, trying hard to fill that void left behind with hope, love and further strengthened family ties. They know their baby will never return, but being the happy bunch that they have always been, they find strength in one another, reconstructing the broken pieces that are likely to take a lifetime to repair.


Marriage, companionship. It’s something to embrace with joy, insurance for when you are old, or when you hit rock bottom. A match made in heaven they call it. Today, I agree whole heartedly.

Good riddance 2011

When tomorrow comes as it shud,
I know you will not be there for us,
the sun will rise and spread the glow,
hey kid, we aint gonna be low.

                                                                                -A mourning dad.

It’s that time of the year.

Winters, the holiday season, Christmas, New Years Eve celebrations,counting on your fingertips all the wonderful things that happened to you over the year.

But this year, quite unlike my usual ever-optimistic, silver-lining-seeking self I would like to say – thank God it’s over. Go sc**w yourself 2011.

We read about the world coming to an end in 2012, but 2011 saw the worlds of too many people end. A tech genius, a ghazal singer, a legendary artist, two nonpareil actors from the Indian film industry, an illustrator….. and my brother Varun Roy. 

Varun Roy, our baby.

He was a handsome, very bright, young man of 18, who met with a fatal accident in Manipal. A young guitarist with the most beautiful smile, a voice so soothing, a gym toned physique, and a demeanor so charming. Without any warming, just like that, he was torn away from his family and friends.

Satan, who clearly ruled this year, got his due. Enough tears have been shed this year, and some wounds are so deep that no amount of time will heal those wounded hearts. I know nobody who can look back and call 2011 a happy, sunny year, because it was anything but.

So as you depart, you cruel, atrocious, wretched year, just know that you will certainly not be missed.

A handcrafted celebration of colour

Set in the sixties, a young fashionista, in a classic black dress with elbow-length gloves, hair perfectly tied into an enviable knot complete with a sparkling tiara and very sophisticated black sunglasses, steps out of the cab and walks into Tiffany’s.

“Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!”

- Holly Golightly, Breakfast at Tiffany’s

… Epic lines from the Hollywood classic starring the very sexy Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly, a charming, vulnerable young girl, who explains to Paul Varjak the sense of quaint delight she found in a visit to the Tiffany’s store.

I had a Holly Golightly-like moment today.


“Vidhi’s”, a store in the upwardly locales of south Delhi is in plain simple terms is a saree shop.

But “plain simple words” is not me! Created by Kotah revivalist Mrs Vidhi Singhania, designer and textile exponent as she prefers to call herself, the store sells you an experience. On display are sarees, the most beautiful and seductive garment, available in a riot of colours, hung across the cozy little showroom. Red, pink, yellows, green, purple, blue, black, gold, silver, earthen browns – name it and the store has it. Each piece gleams with a hint of bling mostly classily subtle and sometimes loud almost as though a celebration of everything that Indian festivities stand for. I frankly know close to nothing about sarees, but the store is a museum displaying art I have never witnessed on the saree, the creation of which I perceived as a rather serious, no nonsense piece of work.

But Here - I was Fascinated.

Women of all ages walked into the showroom, glanced through the masterpieces, entangled themselves into a web of silk and gold thread-work and two hours later, left with a triumphant smile. Each face had a sign of absolute satisfaction, delight and shone with excitement, almost begging for congratulatory handshakes on their alluring new purchases.





These were hand woven textiles that played with a very interesting colour palette, a wedding of colours previously unimaginable. The embroidered prints and weaves were inspired by everything from birds and flowers to fun things like tyre marks and Thai baskets! A showcase of Indian tradition packaged in a chic fashion, with creative detailing, Vidhi’s was indeed a tempting place to be at! Like an excited little girl I ran my fingers along the soft silk fabrics, picking out my favourite, marvelling at the exquisite designs, rich colours, and was completely utterly spellbound at the craftsmanship and dedication, which every piece boasted of.

And suddenly today wasn’t a Monday anymore.

In the famous words of Holly Golightly, once at Vidhi’s store- “nothing very bad could happen to you there.”

My Hero: A swan song.

When you put on that jersey, the name on the front is more important than the name on the back.

Dravid, nobody has given that line more meaning than you have.

Rahul Dravid, Jammy, The Wall- The man who has captured my imagination for twelve years now. The cricketing legend, the most humble, dedicated and amongst the best looking cricketers our generation has had the privilege of knowing. Rahul Dravid- the first words I typed in the Yahoo search engine when  internet was introduced to my household. Rahul Dravid- the man who’s face has adorned my walls for the longest time imaginable. He was the reason Pepsi was the aerated drink that won by loyalty, and it was him who made me fall in love with jam. He is the reason I became an avid cricket fan, and it was for Rahul Dravid that as 10 year old kid, I sat through an entire day of a live test match between India and South Africa in Chinnaswamy stadium, Bangalore.

This post is not about Rahul Dravid the genius, because that’s something everyone knows only too well. It’s about Rahul Dravid- my hero.

As a child I found his email address somewhere on the web, and was in constant contact with “him” for a few months. Yes, I believe that was Dravid, and not an imposter, only because it made me happy. He was born on January 11, 1973, and that date therefore has major significance in my life. Demonstrating grit, modesty, brains, class and complete passion for his game, Rahul Dravid has been a pleasure to watch. "The unsung hero who has never got his share of accolades" they say. I beg to disagree. The man has established a huge fan base consisting of critics, experts, former players, and followers of the game, who have stood up for him, and applauded him at every step in his career. He has earned every ounce of respect coming his way. Stylish, dedicated and an epitome of technical perfection- he is in a league of his own. From Jammy of yesteryears, to the man who has consistently been Mr. Reliable, an Anchor for the frequently sinking Indian cricket ship, to a husband and father, Rahul Dravid is what heroes are made of.

Fitting comfortably into whichever shoes he was given- batsman, wicketkeeper, vice-captain, captain, T20 cricket, and then stripped off from all of these only to be handed them right back to him- he has taken it all in his stride, gentleman style.

And today, after a career spanning fifteen years, and close to 11,000 runs later, it’s time for a curtain call for my Hero, in the shorter format of the game. Today, he plays the final one dayer in India’s disastrous tour of England, his last time donning the blue Indian cap, but there isn’t a hint of remorse in his words. True Dravid style, with perfect timing he decides to close a chapter of his very illustrious career. And as he does that, crazy as it sounds, I feel- sad. For me, it’s the end of an era, the white flag being waved by a warrior- his way of moving on.

I spent 12 years of my life waiting and praying that I could meet him some day. I have worshipped him, fought for him, celebrated him and today I say a brave goodbye.

We Are Like That Only

Picture this:

I was standing outside a store during the last day of my week long intensive retail therapy session at the mall when suddenly I see easily a hundred people- men, women and children running for their lives from one end of the mall to another. Pushing, jostling, screaming, calling out to one another, falling down while they’re at it, everyone wanting to be ahead of everyone in that mad herd of human beings. Is it a fire you wonder? Or maybe a militant attack? Or Gold bricks being distributed free of cost, as part of IMF Chief Christine Lagarde’s PR campaign in India?

“The answer my friend is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing the wind.”
(Pardon me for getting musical, but I attended a Bobby Cash performance last night, and country music is all I can think of)


The reason for all that mad commotion was: Mall promotional event of latest Bollywood film, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara which is due to hit the silver screen this Friday. The lead actors of the film who are also amongst the most sought after stars in tinsel town were at the mall bestowing their worshipping audience with a minute long glance of themselves. There were hordes of people waiting with bated breaths for their stars to shine down upon them, blocking escalators, emptying stores and leaving untouched food in restaurants just for the sake of that one glimpse.
A group of us were sipping coffee at Costa Coffee, discussing the unnecessary hysteria that had engulfed the mall, as we sat far away from the noise in our normal, uninterested in the glam-sham Bollywood world. Until suddenly, we heard the noise and whistles draw closer. The mad mad crowd that was all this while, so far away from us had moved closer, implying that action (read: celebrities) had come closer too.


What do you think we did next?
Yes, that’s right. Like crazy girls we squealed and ran out of the coffee shop, abandoning our food and bags, squeezed in between the crowd, leaned outside the railing of the third floor, and cheered our hearts out! The very handsome Hrithik Roshan was going up the lift, in the same mall as us. How could we not be a part of this madness?! How could we pretend as if that 5 seconds glimpse of the Greek God Roshan was not the most exciting thing to happen to us all month? :P


After all, we are like that only.

Recipe for a happy day: Friday + Drizzles

"Hello. My name's Forrest, Forrest Gump. You want a chocolate?"- Forrest Gump

You know its the perfect day when:

• You wake up and see your best friend on one side, and little sister on the other.
• The first song that comes to your head in the morning is- "Ringa Ringa" from Slumdog Millionnaire
 



Raindrops keep falling on my head!


• It rains first thing in the morning, but you still manage to get an auto to work
• You walk into office, and see smiling, happy faces. Yes you have guessed it- its Friday!!!
• You have films lined up to watch on your hard disk, and a new book to give you company over the weekend
• You bumped into friends from so long ago, just the night earlier, at a VERY fun hangout place
• You're thinking about splurging on chocolate, desserts, calorie shakes and are anything but guilty!
• You have plans to visit the shopping mall fourth day in a row during end of season sales
• You enter office and say to yourself: I like my job.
• You're bare footed in office because your shoes are drenched (morning rains), but you're still not pissed with the world
• The air conditioning is just perfect
• You know you're going to Mumbai next weekend!
• You're worried you'll start dancing at your work station at the sound of any music!

Films for entertainment

If my films don't show a profit, I know I'm doing something right.

- Woody Allen



Delhi Belly is a laugh riot of the kinds you haven't watched in a while! Remember the very adorable Vinay Pathak in Bheja Fry with his hilarious simple one-liners, and the innocent "idiot" act where every mannerism had you in splits?

Delhi Belly

Delhi Belly is quite like that. It is an hour and ten minutes of guffaws, grunts and other synonyms of mad-laughter! Cheers to a film that does not need a murder/ romance plot to rope in 95% day one openings at the box office. Delhi Belly is a tale of 3 friends and the series of unfortunate events that follow in their lives after the lead actor Tashi is informed that he's getting married in a month's time. It all begins with his air hostess (rather blonde) fiancee agreeing to deliver a passenger's package to a certain address. What she didn’t know was that the package was pieces of rare, very precious diamonds to be dropped off to a dangerous smuggler. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the package got exchanged with a stool sample of Tashi's roommate and well, "shit happened".

Here's a mindless comedy that completely gets the niche audience it is meant for by being so simple. Delhi belly has mad characters you can identify with; speaking the language you and I speak every day, but going through the kind of shit we'd rather not try imagining ourselves in. The background score is completely in tune with the film, with Switty Switty playing during a sweet romantic scene between the lead actor and his dusky journo colleague.

Another film I would like to speak of is Anurag Kashyap produced Shaitan that hit the screens about two weeks ago. A gritty narrative of four bratty youngsters living a racy life complete with drugs, alcohol, sex, parties, without being apologetic about it. Life is rather colourful for them as they zip around the maximum city in rich boy KC's yellow Hummer, until one incident changes their lives forever throwing them into a mucky pool of crime and horror, changing their lives forever.

Lights, camera, FUN

Say hello to a league to directors who have the courage to make a film for reasons apart from roping in the moolah. Here are film makers and producers with a strong gut feeling and an understanding of cinema, who bring to the silver screen movies that they themselves would like to watch. This breed of film makers understands music to be not a tool for promotion of the film, to fill in the holes in their script, or to make up for limp acting, but a fantastic accessory to lend more meat to the storyline. Film-makers like these, do not feel the need to rely on star power to generate interest in their films, rather, they have identified the growing size of that niche audience, that is well versed with global cinema and expects similar (high) standards from the Bolly films they go in to watch.
You watch them not to take home a message or a moral. Self-help books do that. Films are meant to be for entertainment. Let’s just leave it at that.