Life Lost

I look behind at the place I called home,
Now just a pile of rubble, a mountain of stone.
The place where my son laughed and played,
Now reeks of his blood and his pain.
We were happy, with the little we had,
Now left with nothing but sadness in hand.
It took one strike, just one blow,
To reduce us to another number, another story of sorrow.
The ground where we once played,
The street where we freely roamed,
All turned to a war zone,
A place that's just become a shadow of my home.
Now sirens fill the radio waves,
Smoke, the once starry skies,
In the fight for peace and humanity,
I lost my home, my identity died.
I held my bloodied son once when he was born,
Now I hold him again,
This time though his lifeless corpse,
Leaving me numb, leaving me bare...

By Zoha Tapia

Living in the shadows of hell

I sit alone shaking like a leaf,
Praying for someone to give me some relief,
Relief from the pain I have endured,
From the hell which has been my home for three years.

I came here to escape the exploitation at home,
To a country where poverty was supposed to be untold.
Where people were just and money would come by,
And I could bring light to my family and life.
But here I am stuck in what seems to be hell,
Living with my enemy and making darkness my friend.
 
I am frightened and unsure of whether I will live,
Ever see any life beyond the four walls I am in.
I have been threatened and warned not to move out,
Not to speak a word and stay locked up.
 
I crave for the days to put the dustbins out,
To get a glimpse of the sun and my whereabouts.
I ask for my wages to send back home
But all I get is abuses in return.
 
During the day all I do is sweep,
And when the mistress sleeps, I silently weep.
Hiding my tears when she is around
She said I will be jailed if I cry out loud.

I want to escape, to be set free,
But she said if I run they will arrest me.
I cry for help but there is no one to hear
And though it’s been three years, I feel I have wasted a lifetime here.

I am tired of cleaning, my body is giving way
My wounds aren’t healing but am still beaten every day.
I wish to talk to my family, know they are alright,
But my memories of them are diminishing and turning blight.

I tried going to the police, but was sent back
It’s her word against mine, and I am just a servant who is black.
Yes, I was poor but that was still home,
Today, for money I have lost it all.
I lost my family and my friends,
But more so my freedom to live like a human.
 
But here I am all alone,
Slaving for life and trafficked to clean someone else’s home.

Distraught in despair

She sat in solitude
With tears strolling from her eyes
Not knowing what to think
Who she was to stand by.
On one side was her dead daughter, wrapped in white,
On the other her daughters supposed father, who let her die.
Three months ago she gave birth to her bundle of joy,
Her baby girl for whom she had dreams, to whom she gave life.
But little did she know how short lived her happiness was
When grief struck her and she plummeted into remorse.
But to add to her pain and excruciating despair
Was the identity of the murderer, for whom she also cares.
She thought the tiny tot would bring about a change of heart,
The want for a son would be overwhelmed by her innocent laugh.
Her husband who was to be her child’s father and guide,
Made sure her presence from their life was wiped.
His hatred for her knew no bounds,
As mercilessly, in poison he let her drown.
Now grief stricken, and all alone
She lost not one, but two pillars of her home.
On one side her daughter lay before her dead,
On the other her husband with handcuffs, away from her was being led.
Who was she to cry for, for what was she to be in pain,
Her daughter who was no more or husband who was taken away?
Who was she supposed to complain to, on whom could she blame
Her husband who killed her daughter, or her ill fate?
Questions hounded her and a long life at her stared
Where was she to go from here and who would understand her state?
Generations of hatred and one ill fated day
Took both her pillars - her daughter and husband away.

By Zoha Tapia

Estranged

I stood still as you walked away,
Every step taken trampling the memories we made.
I hold out my hand wanting you to stop,
But all I could feel was my pulse drop.
I wish I could rewind the sands of time;
Bring back the happiness, get rid of the grime.
Live each moment like it will never end
All the way through till our last breath...

But now I stand here alone
Waiting for you to turn back but I know you won't.
I loved you for the person you were
But will remember you for leaving me at the altar.
From the moments of love we spent together,
It's the pain you caused I will remember forever.

I will never forget the twinkle in your eye,
The way you laughed and made me smile.
The way you saw me through my highs and lows,
Supporting every step I took.
But more than ever I will never forget
The way you turned my love into pain and regret.

By Zoha Tapia

A prayer for death

She stared out of the window, looking at the setting sun changing its colours and showering across the sea various shades of crimson. A tear rolled down her icy white wrinkled skin from her colourless eyes which seemed to be filled with thought and sorrow. She clenched her teethless jaws together and she shut her crumpled eyes tight. Her mind ran back into the past and she drowned herself into the oceans of the past. Those horrid but very vivid memories came back to her as though they had freshly taken place. Her mind reversed fifty-nine years into the past where she experienced one of the most inhuman activities of the world.

It was the month of July. Hiroshima was warm with a tinge of humidity in the air . Doctor Huts Nakamura stood near her kitchen window packing some botamochi: sweet rice dumpling with bean sauce for her daughter to take to school. It was around six in the morning. Her husband left her two years back and since then she lived a life of a widow and her life since then only revolved around her daughter, Mohawk. Mohawk was ten years of age and studied in the City Grammer School. She was a petite girl with the most amazing big grey eyes. Her poker straight shiny black hair was tied back into a thick braid and she had adorned her blue and white striped knee length uniform. “Hahaoya,” she called her mother, “is my lunch box ready?”
“Hai, darling. Here you go. Put this in your bag and let’s go.” They walked to the Yokogawa Station which was five minutes away from the house. “Hahaoya” said Mohawk. “Do not come to fetch me from school because Mrs. Yakamako will drop me since she wants to meet you.” Huts nodded and gave her daughter a smile. A loud horn in the background disrupted the silence in the air which was till now only occupied by the moving trains. A coloured bus came to a screeching halt right in front of them. The door opened and a friendly looking conductor popped his head out and ushered Mohawk inside. For some strange reason today Huts did not want to let her daughter go. She feared something which was not right was going to occur today. Her mind was in some sort of turmoil. On one side she termed this feeling as idiocy on the other hand she thought she should have listened to her mind and not let her daughter go.

As she was walking back home she heard a warning siren. A shiver shot down her spine. “Oh my goodness we are under attack,” she thought. “Oh Tentei please take care of Mohawk.” She prayed as she ran for shelter. The siren cut short and relieved she emerged out of her hiding thanking God for answering her prayer.

She reached home and made some tea. She had taken an off from the hospital today. Huts sat in her veranda sipping her jasmine tea. The sun had completely risen by now and it seemed to be promising a pleasant and calm day. She laughed at her earlier intuition but little did she know that this day would be completely different and would not only change her life but also the life of the entire country.

The morning was still, warm and beautiful. The shimmering leaves reflected the sunlight from the cloudless sky. She was admiring the environment around her when suddenly, a strong flash of light startled her and automatically her hands rose to shield her eyes. The stone lantern in the garden lit up brilliantly. She debated whether this light was caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a passing trolley.

Where a moment before the view had been bright and sunny was now dark and hazy. Through the swirling dust she could see a huge mushroom shaped cloud of smoke form in the sky. The wooden pillars of her house were leaning crazily and the roof sagged dangerously. She moved instinctively, and tried to escape, but the rubble and the fallen timbers barred the way. She fought her way through the debris and ran out into the garden. A profound weakness overcame her. She stopped to regain her strength. Very reluctantly she turned back to have a look at the pile of shattered debris which was sometime ago her house. She looked down in despair and noticed torn pieces of cloth attached to her arms. Huts, in total agony was wondering what happened which not only destroyed her house but also shredded her clothes. When she glanced again she noticed that it wasn’t cloth which hung loose on her hands but it was, her own flesh. To her surprise she discovered that she was almost naked. “How odd!” She thought, “Where is my kimono?”

The right side of her body was cut and bleeding. A large splinter was protruding from a mangled wound in her leg, and something warm trickled into her mouth. Her cheek was torn and her lower lip cut. Embedded in her neck was a glass fragment which she managed to remove. After she regained her strength she got a sudden brain wave and thought, “My daughter, Mohawk. Oh gracious Tentei please save her.” Saying this she scrambled onto the road and walked towards her daughters school.

In thirty minutes or so she reached her daughters school only to be devastated to see it in crumbles. Teachers and students were trying to get out of the debris while ambulances from the red cross hospital surrounded the place. “My daughter, where is she?” She thought and yelled, “MOHAWK, where are you my baby.’

Blood began to spurt. A vein in her neck had been cut. “Would I bleed to death?” Frightened and irrationally she thought and called out for her daughter once more. A pale and frightened Mohawk appeared staggering towards her. Her clothes were torn and blood stained. The very sight of seeing her reassured Huts that her daughter was alive but yet her heart weakened at the sight of her daughter. The poor little thing was exhausted and in pain. She took her daughter into her arms and ignoring her panicked mind she assured her daughter of life. “We'll be all right,” she exclaimed. The minute she said this Mohawk dropped unconscious into her mothers arm. Huts heart pounded and she quickly reached out for her daughters wrist to feel her pulse. “She is alive” she sighed in relief.

She accumulated all her strength and she carried her to the nearest hospital. She had to make much effort from not stumbling. Tears rolled down her cheeks. An overpowering thirst seized her but she ignored it as she ignored her naked state. She couldn’t think beyond her daughter, her only reason for living. Her journey to the hospital was horribly slow. Suddenly the clot on her leg got dislodged and blood started spurting out again from there. She stopped in her tracks and tore out a piece of cloth from her daughters ragged uniform and tied it tightly onto the wound.

It was like a nightmare. Her movements were slow but time of life seemed to be passing fast and her mind running was racing. She didn’t want to think of the possible but it was the only thing that kept hitting her.

She finally reached the hospital. There were shadowy forms of people walking like scarecrows, their arms held out from their bodies with forearms and hands dangling. They had been burned. A naked woman came into her view. She averted her gaze. It occurred to her that some strange thing had deprived them of their clothes. Suddenly from the back someone called her. It was a ward boy. Through him she got to know that the hospital was in a bad state and going in would be useless. She got up to fetch for medical aid but something stopped her. From the time her daughter had fainted till now, Mohawk had held on tightly to her finger. Huts eyes welled up and her heart formed a lump in a throat. She bent down and held her hand. Her worst fears had come true. The world around her shattered into pieces. Huts clutched onto her daughter tightly and cried her lungs out. “I couldn’t save my daughter. What use is being a doctor when I cant save my own daughter. Oh Tentei you have taken my Mohawk from me, now take me.” She wailed but there was no one to sympathise with her. Her entire world turned hollow. She dropped unconscious as though dead but unfortunately she wasn’t.

The traumatic episode she experienced fifty-nine years back never left her thoughts. The hapless and pale face of Mohawk still revolved around her eyes. She opened her eyes. Her leg had been amputated and her face was disfigured. Her body was small and seemed lifeless. She prayed to Tentei hoping he would answer her prayer today. Her eyes closed.

Will Shiney Ahuja know life behind bars?

Bollywood and crime have always had a strange connection, not only in reel life but also real life. Recently, Shiney Ahuja’s conviction to seven years of jail for raping his maid, made many celebrities cry foul stating that they are being made soft targets and at the same time the common man rejoicing the fact that maybe, finally it is the end of celebrity feudalism.

To be quite honest, yes, many times celebrities are easy targets and at times them being famous doesn’t go in their favour. With people filing frivolous PILs (public interest litigations) over unimportant issues and sometimes the paparazzi going overboard highlighting their scandals to garner more eyeballs, some what justifies their viewpoint. But in the case of Shiney Ahuja, with not much money riding on him, and with not many hit films to his credit, what will one get by framing him and secondly parts of the industry that are vehemently supporting him, will they remember him and if he is released will they give him roles following a bad public image?

Well, that’s a separate issue all together. The question here is this has our judiciary finally agreed on the fact that justice needs to be the same for all, or are celebrities still allowed to be let off the noose.

Going into flashback mode, one of the first few actors to be caught up in the cops tangle was Sanjay Dutt. Being the son of yesteryear actors Nargis and Sunil Dutt, Sanjay Dutts arrest under TADA for owning AK-47 rifles in 1993 was a big blow to the industry. Currently, he is still fighting for his innocence in the Supreme Court against his 6 years punishment. As of now he is out on bail and though he withdrew his candidacy he did wish to contest for the 2009 Lok Sabha elections. However, what about the others who aided him or who were caught for the same offence? Either they are still languishing in jail or have completed their term. But Sanjay Dutt still continues to enthral us with his Munna Bhai acts.

Speaking about the 1993 riots, how can one forget Bollywoods love story with the underworld. Dawood Ibrahim Kaskar, a small time criminal who later became one of Mumbai’s dreaded dons, shifted his focus to the film industry with actress Mandakini. The glamour struck don organized parties in Dubai and Sharjah, which were attended by major Bollywood stars, either due to pressure or out of choice, thus, showing the legal system that he still ran Mumbai even on foreign shores. However, with the arrest of diamond trader Bharat Shah in 2001 and the underworld and Bollywood nexus being exposed, the Mumbai police claim a reduction in the underworld involvement in films. However, what happened to all the actors who were spotted with the don and the producers who made movies for him?

When talking about crime one cannot not talk about Bollywoods proverbial bad boy Salman Khan. The actors first brush with the law was when he was charged with hunting black bucks in Jodhpur. Ironically, he is the only actor who faces the consequences, while Saif Ali Khan and Sonali Bendre who were also accused have been let off the hook. Though he was handed a 5 year jail term in 2006, he has been out on bail since 2007. If that wasn’t enough he was later held guilty for rash negligent driving causing death of one and injuring four people. Though he was found not guilty he still has to stand trial for lesser charges, pertaining to the same case. Ironically, enough we lauded him for his cop act in Dabbangg and speak of him as a messiah due to his Being Human charitable trust.

Even Feroz Khan’s lesser known son Fardeen Khan was caught under the narcotics act. However, a few apologies and a fine set him free in the world of filmdom. But to think of it, if we were ever even suspected of any of these acts, would we have been let loose so easily? I don’t think so. Well, the verdict in Shiney Ahuja’s case has managed to restore some faith in the judiciary and the fact that justice is the same for all, but then again its not like he is a big star.

Well, the least we can do is be hopeful it’s the end of celebrity feudalism and that like Shiney Ahuja we would like it if other high and mighty politicians and bigwigs too face the music.

The power of words

They say the pen is mightier than the sword
There couldn’t be anything truer than this thought.
While wounds with a sword may heal themselves
Words get etched in the memory of the inflicted.
Wounds will bleed and will naturally cover up
The pain felt is then and then gradually leaves without a mark.
Words stay on ringing in the head
Repeating themselves again and again.
Not only has it etched and imprinted itself
But engraves itself deeper as time goes by.
While superficial wounds are forgotten with time
These are refreshed and stay for always in the mind.
Why is it difficult to forgive and forget
Though at times forgiven, there still is that remembrance
The remembrance of that hurt that one word caused
The remembrance of the effect on your psyche and your heart.
Things seem to be normal and life moves on
But the past is there forever and is always brought to the forefront.
Happy memories and words are cherished
But even if regretted, the words which hurt, are remembered with spite and hatred.

The rise of the Zen

Through their small eyes, its devastation they see around
In seconds everything demolished and gone.
As per tradition they stood firm
And bowed their heads to the on coming storm.
Their wrinkled eyes, crinkled further
As generations of hard work crumbled to powder.
But they still stood stoic, and faced the thunder,
With patience, forbearance and profound valour.

The tsunami seemed to have washed away their tears
Just as it did their homes and ones who were dear.
The earthquake seemed to have shaken them off fear
Though it formed cracks within their land and water.
The radiation caused frenzy all over
But within them ignited a spark to recover.

While others looked upon them with sympathy and regret
They took charge, fought and started to move ahead.
While the rest of the world seemed dumbfounded and shocked
They continued living life with a pinch of salt.
What is the difference between us and them
Is it their spirit or their resonance?
Yes, we are human and they are too
But we would beg for sympathy, while damage control is what they started to do
Our vision would be hazy with images of the past,
While they look to the future while resurrecting the past.

Like an epitome of calmness they stand still
The tsunami came but not a tear spilt.
The earthquake shook the entire world
But the Japanese stood their ground and faced the world.
Their sadness and loss knows no bounds
But their silent resistance covers up their wounds.
11 March 2011, could be marked as the fall of the yen
But it also marked the rise and power of Zen.

The toothless tiger

The Shiv Sena was lying pretty low for a while, which was too good to be true. However, true to their image this publicity hungry party decided to tell the people they exist during this cricket frenzy season. One comment from Shahid Afridi saying an India-Pakistan final would be a good watch was enough to trigger of their anti-Pakistan sentiments and for Bal Thackeray to decide if he will allow the Pakistani team to play at the Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai if they reach the finals.

Till Bal Thackeray headed the Shiv Sena, the party did have somewhat a strong hold in Maharashtra. However, after his son Uddhav Thackeray took over the party reins and the formation of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (which unfortunately works on similar lines), the party soon became a toothless tiger.

Starting of as a cartoonist for a newspaper the politician Bal Thackeray was given birth to in the late 60’s thanks to the Congress who gave him a free hand to do whatever he wanted to in order to tighten his grip on Mumbai’s industrial unions. At that time too Thackeray was leading an anti-migrant campaign (which he is mostly known for). Though at that time it was against South Indians and Gujaratis and now it’s against Biharis and UPites.

Given the free hand to do whatever he wanted at that time, soon Thackeray considered himself the uncrowned king of Mumbai and promoted his brand of hate politics to such a level that people and other political parties in Maharashtra feared him and were forced to bend down to his flawed policies. However, during his entire political career his main problem was that his issues were never consistent. From the anti-migrant issues it shifted to anti-muslim. Then when that lost steam he went back to the anti-migrant and then the anti-Pakistani rant of his and of course the in between campaigns against western culture especially Valentines Day. The only think consistent about him is the way he communicated his messages – violence, hate speeches, fiery articles and vandalism.

However, things have changed. The party which is supposed to be for the Maharashtrians never really managed doing anything to uplift the Maharashtrians besides changing the names of cities, flyovers etc. All they managed to gain was the peoples hatred and honestly enough is enough with his hate and divisive politics. In Maharashtra, there may still be a few Maharashtrians who look up to him but anywhere else in India, I don’t think his views even matter.

So what does the party do now – resort to eyeball grabbing tactics, all of which have backtracked on him. He first shot his mouth off by slamming Sachin Tendulkar for saying that Mumbai belonged to all. The end result of that he was forced to eat his words. Next he condemned Shahrukh Khan for his comments on Pakistani players playing for the IPL and hence called for a ban on his movie. End result of that – the movie went on to become a blockbuster. Then he opposed Rahul Gandhi’s visit to Mumbai and called it a publicity gimmick, well, Rahul Gandhi at least managed to win the Mumbaikars hearts by bonding with them which the Shiv Sena never managed doing in all these years.

Now coming back to the present, Bal Thackeray has shot himself in the arm yet again by saying he will not allow the Pakistani team to play if they reach the finals. Firstly, he should have thought about this when Wankhede Stadium was decided as the finals venue, frankly not that his opinion makes a difference. Secondly, who exactly is asking for his permission? He isn’t exactly in power and no one really cares about his hooliganism anymore, so what makes him think the people will support him? And if this is supposed to be his idea to prove his nationalist sentiments, then he should realise that by disrupting the finals he will only cause worldwide shame amongst all the cricket playing countries. Lastly, do not mix politics in sports, as a matter of fact any form of entertainment and certainly not cricket. In this cricket crazy country, where cricketers are held at a higher pedestal than any politician, talking about causing problems during the World Cup is akin to playing with fire. This time Maharashtrian or non-Maharashtrian, no one will tolerate it.

So in conclusion, keep politics away from sports, because honestly enough is enough, I think we all have had enough of your hate politics and your parties deteriorating political standing is proof enough for that.

Cricket madness: India’s media frenzy

The number of people playing cricket on the streets has increased.

The ICC World Cup 2011 is just around the corner and the hysteria has already kicked in.

Issues of the grounds and change in certain venues haven’t dampened the spirit in a country where cricket is close to being religion. With a Rs1.2 billion insurance cover to an estimated Rs 6.3 billion of betting money riding on this game, this year the mania is a little different from the previous years.

Undoubtedly, India is being counted as one of the hot favourites to win the World Cup. After the 2003 team led by Saurav Ganguly, this team captained by M S Dhoni seems to be in the running to reach the final this year.

Captain Cool (as Dhoni is popularly known) has led the team to many a victory in the recent past but the win in the warm up match against Australia has increased the nation’s confidence in him and his team.

Even in the North-eastern region of India where cricket is not that popular, the ensuing ICC World Cup has aroused an overwhelming interest among sports enthusiasts.

A billion dreams will rest on their shoulders as they seek to become the second Indian team, after the 1983 Kapil Dev team, to win the top prize in one-day cricket.

However, there seems to be a media overdrive of sorts, with every news channel and paper coming up with World Cup centric shows and promotional campaigns of winning the World Cup.

Each one seems to be in a race to outdo the other by getting an experts panel practically every day to talk about the nuances of the game. And if that doesn’t garner enough eyeballs, the Bollywood brigade has also joined the bandwagon. Not only have all major Bollywood film releases been pushed to after the World Cup but stars are also sharing their cricketing knowledge with the world.

There is speculation that the reason behind one of the film industry’s most prestigious awards breaking their 50 year tradition of holding the awards end of February and holding the event early, is due to the World Cup.

Advertisers aren’t far behind, with cricket based advertisements thronging the tube all at once. Even before a ball is bowled, there is a pitched battle among business groups vying for attention.

It is estimated that over one billion viewers will witness the third largest televised event from their homes across the globe. A similar number of viewers are expected to watch the fourth season of the Indian Premier League that follows right after this. It is an unparalleled season of media frenzy, millions in cash changing hands during these three months.

Suddenly, the number of people playing cricket on the streets seems to have risen and TV set sales are also on the rise. This time, it’s not just men who are interested but the women too.

This is not only because India is one of the hosts or a favourite but because it is probably the Master Blaster’s last World Cup. The only thing that has been eluding the record breaking Sachin Tendulkar is a World Cup victory. This time around, not only do we want India to win the World Cup but we want the World Cup to be won for that one man who has managed to unite the entire nation. We want him to bring the World Cup home for us.

However, having said that this team is carrying the pressure of expectations of 1.2 billion people for whom cricket is not just a sport but close to being a fanaticism of sorts.

After the opening ceremony, the entire nation is going to be glued to one sport and will watch with baited breath as Tendulkar will play his last World Cup, hoping that he wins it.

Post the opening ceremony, the entire nation is going to be glued onto one sport and all televisions on one channel, and will watch with baited breath as Sachin Tendulkar will play his last World Cup and will hope that he and the team win the tournament for the country.

One gesture

At times things seem to be going wrong

And this world seems upside down.

Harsh words said seem to etch deep into the mind

And no one seems there by your side.

Sometimes when you feel misunderstood

Or when the closest people think of you as no good

At that time when all you can feel is loneliness and despair

A feeling of rejection, feelings which cannot be repaired

But all of a sudden from no where you came

Like an angel on earth who came to vanquish the distress that prevailed

Its not like you knew, there was something wrong

The ill feelings were never spoken out, expressed or shown.

But it still seemed you knew something wasn’t right

You knew you couldn’t change it, but you were ready to give it a fight.

You saw that anger, that hurt in the eye

You saw the misery of each tear which fell from the eye.

You didn’t question, you didn’t reason

You quietly understood the awkward silence.

And all of a sudden calm and serene,

You just smiled and warmly hugged me.

I don’t know whether you knew that something was wrong

Whether the gesture was premeditated or a sudden urge

But whatever it was, it was genuine and warm

Maybe to forget those words, the gesture I craved for.

It seemed to encapsulate all those feelings of despise

Bring them together and throw them aside.

That caring touch, that innocent smile

Was all it took to make things right.

To make me feel wanted, to make me want to give things time.

Sometimes words can have such an impact

They stay in your mind and in a whirlwind of emotions you collapse.

But one sweet soft gesture from someone close

Is all it takes for them to be forgotten and slowly go.

Koffee Bollywood Style

So finally Koffee with Karan is back with season 3 and for all those self confessed Bollywood fans, who are obsessed to know all the action and behind the scenes drama of their favourite and not so favourite stars, straight from them, up close and personal with their chatty rather catty host, well, Indian televisions most loved chat show is back.

Well, at least I was quite excited to see the show coming back on air, reason, well yes, I do like the Dharma Productions candyfloss dramas, and I do like the way Karan Diplomatic Johar gets the stars, who otherwise cover their real selves behind layers of makeup and reel, to let the cat out of the bag and get absolutely candid. Yes, there are those boring few, but most seem to shed their inhibitions and showcase their real selves.

Unlike the previous two seasons, this season didn’t kick-start with Shahrukh Khan being one of the guests; however, he did make his presence felt with the introductory all the best speech. Instead we had Bollywoods so called first couple Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. Though they can’t match up to Shahrukh Khan’s jibes and jokes, to their credit and surprisingly so they were quite candid and not that boring as I had expected, especially Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. For a change she looked good (yes, I know she is the “worlds most beautiful woman” but no I don’t like her) and she even spoke her mind without being diplomatic, of course on the downside her annoying giggle could be heard all along and during the rapid fire round she suddenly turned vague (split personality I presume). On the other hand husband Abhishek Bachchan seemed to be at his diplomatic best during the chat session, wherein he even gave some Guru gyaan to the new boys - Ranbir Kapoor and Imran Khan (I wish he used some of it himself too). Seems like both their qualities have rubbed off each other making them forget whose quality it originally was.

Anyways forget them and coming back to the show. Karan Johar as usual was at his best, from the wardrobes, to the questions to the guests everything seems picture perfect. However, I prefer the set of the previous two episodes, some how the table between the host and “his couch” as he put it seemed to be quite a hindrance and made the place look cramped up. Also there was way too much adulation. Yes, we know Aishwarya Rai is beautiful and we know of Abhishek Bachchan’s lineage, seriously does it need to be mentioned in every second statement. So yes, stop the sweet talk, because I am pretty sure that’s not what the audience wants.

Well, with Ranbir Kapoor and Imran Khan coming together, followed by Deepika Padukone and Sonam Kapoor, this season like its predecessors seems to have quite a few quotes in store. However, that only time will tell.

Memories

As I sat sifting through,
Papers old and new,
I came across words...
Words which transported me back to my school and college world.
There was a sparkle in my eye
And my lips twirled.
A smile crept up
As I scanned across.....
Across pages which I had imprinted on
Thoughts, feelings, experiences and moods
Happy moments, sad ones and anger too.
During school days, college days, those days of my childhood.
Those memories came and flooded my mind
The situations, those times, I could see crystal clear
Things which I had forgotten, miraculously appeared.
Those times which I left far behind
Suddenly seemed so important, so near.
I was overwhelmed
And embarrassed at some of my writings.
Smiled at some, chuckled at many.
I wish I could rewind and go back then.
Then when everything was so simple and fun.
Even sad moments never seemed to last
And problems and troubles were tackled with a laugh.
Those times with friends talking gibberish and nonsense
The teacher’s shouting’s and at times praising,
Our parents fussing and behind us running.

Those childhood memories made me so ecstatic
That I couldn’t stop flipping those pages.
I didn’t want that moment to end
Between me and myself.
Sometimes we stock things without realising
That years later when you happen to find it
It brings a glow on your face
A glisten in your eyes.
The child within us begins to evolve
And everything around seems so serene and so calm.
All those memories big or small,
I want to keep them as close as I can.
And hope each passing day
Is cherished this way.
So tomorrow, maybe when I’m feeling down and low
The today’s now, brings a smile on my face tomorrow.

The complexity of the mind

The human mind is so complex
Difficult to understand it is, immaterial which gender it is.
When it’s happy, when it’s sad
When it’s depressed, when its glad
When it’s funny and ready to swing,
Or serious, it’s difficult to speculate.
There are million things as a common man,
What even you do, sometimes you can’t understand.
Why ones sad on someone’s death
While the corpse is happy to be cremated?
Why someone’s laughing a minute ago
And all of a sudden is depressed and low?
Why don’t we practise
Sometimes what we ourselves preach?
Shout at someone for their mistakes
When we have been guilty of doing the same?
Why do we make someone our best friends
And then betray them in the end?
Why is it that people who love each other so much
Part in between for measly tiffs and act tough?
Sometimes people who we think we know better than ourselves
Seem to be those we understand very less.
Why feel happy, when someone’s in tears
Or feel happy when someone’s losing someone dear?
Why are we speechless when there is so much to tell
And let emotions take over ourselves?
So many whys such few are the because’s
So many things we do which have no causes.
Our own minds we cants understand
For something’s no reason the human mind has.

The Queens Necklace

The dusky sea, the starry night
Meet at a point far from the eye.
The shore welcoming the crawling sea
With a necklace of lights and glitterati.
The tetra pods seems to be embracing the water
With its open arms.
The red , blue and golden lights
Contrast the cloudy sky
Which seem to be giving away the sea
In the form of waves to the land.
So calm, so pleasant, so serene
But yet a rustle echo’s in the air.
An echo of peace, an echo of life,
An echo of mystery, an echo of the noise of the lights.
As time passes one wishes it would stop
As the shadow of the silver circle on the sea forms.

Snail

As delicate as a baby or even more
As hard and brittle as corals are
Sitting quietly on the lush green grass
With dew drops covering its brown carcass.
Slowly emerging from its cocoon shaped shell
A brown and slimy body resembling gel.
Raising the shell from the ground
A solidified fluid slithers out.
Forming a triangular shaped headhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=1741465725733386169#
With a featureless face looking above
As though squinting its imaginary eyes due to the sun
Its face crunching as wrinkles form.
Two deformed antennae cropping up from its skull
Like liquid pouring out and freezing under the sun.
Once its out of its protective cover
Slowly it slides pulling its cover.
Its shell seems so heavy at the speed it pulls
But doesn’t stop to rest till it reaches its food.
Munching and relishing on fallen leaves
Like a pure vegetarian living on greens.
But a sudden touch on its skin
Causes an alarm and frightens it.
Moving its sensitive body into its shell
The want for privacy beckons it in.
Ugly yet beautiful, hard yet frail,
A complex creature is this snail.

(Mis) Representation on television

Indian television has suddenly seen a surge of Indo-Pak bonding in the last month. What started of as a peace building initiative through music by singers Sonu Nigam and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan in the form of Chotte Ustaad seemed to set a trend of sorts, with Bigg Boss 4getting two Pakistani artists to be a part of the show. However, the first being a novel and a brilliant idea, the second I have a problem with.

Chotte Ustaad as we all know has one Indian singer and one Pakistani singer team up and compete with 11 other such pairs of children. While Sonu Nigam and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan played mentor, the special guests on the show ranging from Abida Parveen, Shankar Mahadevan, Shafqat Amanat Ali, Sonam Kapoor, Shaan, Priyanka Chopra, Mahesh Bhatt, the Kapoor khandaan etc too lauded the efforts and the talent.

The show was unique in many ways. Firstly, it made Indians and Pakistanis team up and not compete against each other. Secondly, many Pakistani families managed to accomplish things they just dreamt off, like visiting the Ajmer Sharif Dargah, watching their children share the same platform with biggies like Asha Bhosle and meeting stars like Rishi Kapoor which otherwise they would only see onscreen. Thirdly, it propagated peace and promoted talent and fourthly it was a show which ran on talent and an overwhelming message and not on controversies, drama and sleaze. Yes, it was high on emotions but in the right way.

The show not only gave a great opportunity to the young singers to showcase their talent but also showcased Pakistanis in the right light in India. For a change Pakistani’s weren’t looked down upon but were looked at in a positive light. Finally, most Indians realised that yes, people there are not terrorists or fundamentalists like they are made out to be, they are nice, they too have emotions, they are friendly basically they are the same as us and extremely talented too. Also when the voices of both the countries met in unison the songs just sounded more soulful and melodious.

On the other hand you have Veena Malik and Begum Nawazish Ali entering Bigg Boss. Now, firstly anyways Veena Malik is scandal ridden, and secondly, for your personal interests I hope they realise they are putting an entire country’s reputation at stake. Unlike the other contestants who are just representing themselves, these two have an extra burden of representing their country. Yes, for 2 weeks it’s easy playing Mother Teresa, but putting up a farce for 90 days is kind of difficult. And to top it all one small even genuine mistake of theirs will be lapped up by the media like there is no tomorrow.

Unfortunately, thanks to the relations between both the countries, not many Indian’s get to visit Pakistan and vice-versa; hence the level of misconceptions about both the countries amongst the masses is quite high. And television rather a show like Bigg Boss is catering to the masses, who will believe everything they see. So at the end of the show most will turn around saying that Veena Malika and Begum Nawazish Ali represent the general Pakistani. Well, I don’t know how they or any common Pakistani would take that, but as an Indian, who has friends and relatives there and has visited Pakistan, its so not true.

For once I would say Colors please listen to Shiv Sena and get those 2 out of there soon. Okay maybe that’s going a bit to far, no I don’t support Shiv Sena, but the reason I want them out of there is not because they are Pakistani but because Colors, with your editing skills, and want to catch eyeballs and TRPs you may just end up straining relations, not at a diplomatic level but on a people to people level. I agree the two are there for their personal gains, like maybe getting into the Indian television industry and so on but hello, you are kind of maligning the image of your country in return.

On one hand you have people like Wasim Akram, Ali Zafar, Atif Aslam, Rahat Fateh Ali Khan and so much so Pakistani kids creating a positive image and on the other hand the two of you in Bigg Boss which is known for sleaze and controversies. Till now no one has exited the show with a positive image, not even the winner, so what makes them think they will.

So, kudos to shows like Chotte Ustaad and hope many more such shows are introduced to build people to people relations.

Bigg Flop - 4

It’s been almost 3 weeks now, and one of Indian televisions most over hyped and much speculated shows – Bigg Boss 4 turned out to be quite a damp squib compared to the previous editions. Yes, one expected Salman Khan’s magic to work just like Dus ka Dum, well actually that’s the only thing which works for the show – considering the lacklustre line up of inmates who gave an even more lacklustre opening to the show.

Those expecting Shakti Kapoor, Rajesh Khanna, Shiney Ahuja, Chunkey Pandey, Sangeeta Bijlani, in return got a dacoit, a thief, a cross-dresser, a lawyer, two television actresses, two out of work actors, some Bhojpuri tadka and a supermodel. Talk about diversity.

So we had a terrorist’s lawyer, rather ex lawyer Abbas Kazmi, who thankfully like he was thrown out of the case was also thrown out of the house, and later on from a few circles in his personal life. Well seeing him roam around in sleeveless tshirts, complaining about less food wasn’t entertaining anyways. Then you have former bandit queen Seema Parihar, who not only looks scary but its difficult to understand what she says that when she does (and I think she too finds it difficult to understand what others say). Then you have a scandal-ridden star son Rahul Bhatt (apparently David Headleys gym buddy) who seems to be on a maun vrut of sorts most of the time. A former thief Devinder Singh or Superchor Bunty who couldn’t even last for a day thanks to his excess usage of expletives also made his presence felt. Suddenly, Bigg Boss’s house seemed more like jail in the literal sense.

Now coming to the list of entertainers - we have a traumatised divorcee and once upon a time soap queen Shweta Tiwari, who seems to be busy smothering everyone. Then there is Pakistani TV host Begum Nawazish Ali, who is sometimes referred to as Begum and sometimes Ali, I am pretty sure if she stays in that house a bit longer she will come out of there turning schizophrenic. Adding to Shiv Sena’s furore is another Pakistani actress Veena Malik who is better known as a world famous controversy queen especially after blowing the cover of Mohammed Asif. So basically one episode she spent crying about him, the weekends she spends trying to flirt with Salman Khan and the rest of the days either fighting or flirting with Hrishant Goswami. One minute, who is Hrishant Goswami??? I know a model but his claim to fame? Well talking about wannabe’s they even had Splitsvilla winner Sakshi Pradhan in the house for a while. Doesn’t speak much about the reputation of the show even when you have a Salman Khan hosting it.

With his endearing smile and pearls of wisdom is Bhojpuri actor Manoj Tiwari whose favourite song seems to be Munni badnam hui (Doesn’t he know it’s the audience he has to impress and not Salman Khan). Besides that there is Mr super calm Sameer Soni. Yes, his nomination last week was quite surprising, but he seems like one of the only sane people in the house besides Anchal Kumar. Supermodel Anchal Kumar, sweet and helpful and has a great wardrobe too, but why exactly did she cry so much once Abbas Kazmi was evicted, and why was he praising her so much on all radio channels once he was out of the house?

When it comes to speculation though the only thing which managed to grab if not many a few eyeballs was Sara Khan and her damsel in distress act which is highly irritating and her proximity to the jobless Ashmit Patel who loves talking or flaunting his six pack abs but still complains that he is fat. Well, their closeness has surely left her boyfriend actor Ali Merchant stressed out and left him with a lot of questions to answer on his personal life. He even went on record saying “Sara treats Ashmit like a father.” Really now? Yes, Ali we believe you. And last but not the least the latest entrant 7 feet 3 inches Khalli. Firstly, how is he fitting in that house, and secondly how is this otherwise down to earth, shy wrestler going to stay in that house? Well, at least we know his reason for entering – he hurt his foot and can’t wrestle so let’s make some money instead.

With a line up like this, you don’t need to be Einstein to figure out why the show hasn’t been able to generate enough fireworks to sustain viewership. Then if you didn’t have Shiv Sena causing a black out of the show for a week, you had Amitabh Bachchan coming back with KBC, and for the weekends Akshay Kumar with Master Chef, and if that’s not all soon Rakhi Sawant will be giving them competition with Rakhi ka insaaf (this has just got to be the heights of stupidity on Indian television). Even a unisex bedroom hasn’t been able to add any masala, which separate ones could in the last 3 seasons. Well, the only saving grace is the weekends with the aakhri salaam with Salman Khan. His antics and jokes, which sometimes border on being crass managed to raise the TRP’s and also keep the viewers interested. Till now three weeks have been quite boring and sitting through one entire episode is a drab, and there are still 70 more days to go. Sigh.

When my newspaper spoke to me

Tuesday morning begun like, well, every Tuesday morning. I woke up as usual after putting my alarm on snooze at least thrice. Then half in my sleep picked the newspaper from outside the door and threw it on the sofa. Made my cup of coffee and sat down to read the paper. I picked the paper unfolded it and began to read. However, as soon as I unfolded the paper I heard someone croaking in the background, giving some gyaan on Volkswagen and I was like “What the hell?” My newspaper was talking, and like many others I too was caught off guard with The Times of India’s latest innovation the “Speaking Newspaper”.

True to its image of always bringing about changes in the print media, TOI in association with Volkswagen released their latest innovation – The Speaking Newspaper. The speaking chip inserted in the paper on September 21st was a “blockbuster” of a kind as claimed by the publication ensuring that Tuesdays will never be the same. Supposedly, the world’s first speaking newspaper had a pre-recorded message on the new Volkswagen Vento, which played the moment an unsuspecting reader opened the four page special supplement. This innovation startled most of the readers. Some found it interesting while some irritating and in some cases it led to funny situations.

Reactions:

• “My paper is haunted”: Watching too many late night horror flicks? Well, if you were one of those maybe that was your reaction. People in some parts of the city thought their paper was possessed or haunted and immediately threw it away after which some people went ahead and conducted puja’s and havans to rid their place of all evils.
• Bomb alert: Many places witnessed calls being made to the police as some suspected the device to be a bomb. In Mumbai, someone heard a beeping sound and alerted the police. The bomb squad reached promptly and cordoned off the area only to find an audio-ad. Soon the commissioner of police in Mumbai and Delhi alerted the people not to get stressed. Well, at least something kept our pot bellied cops busy and on their toes.
• Collector’s Item: No sooner did the word go around, that many people wanted to lay their hands on the first speaking newspaper. Beg, borrow, steal or buy the Times Group did witness a surge of sales and interest amongst the people. Everyone seemed to want one copy for themselves. Maybe a few years from now someone will find it in their khazana and probably tell their grandchildren tales on the first speaking newspaper.
• Prank paper: Many people used the paper as Tuesday morning pranks, wherein they startled or scared unsuspecting readers.

Pros:

• Innovative: The concept is not only interesting but quite innovative. Though this was an ad, for the future for those running late for work or are too sleepy and are unable to scan the news, it would be helpful to have someone read it out to you instead. After all you can’t carry your TV along with you and not everyone has net on the go.
• Generate interest: What the speaking newspaper did do was create a buzz around town. Not only was it a great promotional tactic for Volkswagen as I am sure everyone took notice of their new vehicle but also for the paper. People who never read papers actually made it a point to read the paper that day, even if it was just that supplement.
• Smart move: The smart move was made from the Times Groups point of view. This 4 page supplement shared the same masthead with different stories as the front page of the main paper and The Bombay Times was enclosed within these 4 pages, thus, making it look like the main paper and many regular readers mistook it to be the main paper too till they heard the voice.
• Marketing strategy: However, irritating it may have seemed to some, one had to admit it was a novel and a great marketing strategy for both the paper and Volkswagen. People actually took notice of both the brands, and this led to an increase in circulation in the paper as well.
• New age media: In today’s day and age when newspaper readers are declining as they are switching to newer forms of media, this if developed on further can bring about a respite to the declining readership. A newspaper you can read and hear does sound like an interesting concept.

Cons:

• Intrusive: Yes, it is a good concept and a great idea but couldn’t we be forewarned instead of being taken by surprise. Honestly, when a person wakes up in the morning, they do like that “alone morning time” which is filled with some form of serenity and being caught off guard with a man croaking in the background seems a bit intrusive. And imagine the quest of the person who has a habit of reading their daily morning dosage of news in the loo.
• Instructions please: Okay you wanted to surprise us, point taken. However, couldn’t the Times Group be generous enough to donate some edit space to instructions on how to stop the speaking chip from speaking? Though all one had to do was cover the speaker to stop the sound, not everyone realised that. This led to people breaking the device and throwing them out of the streets.
• Better voice quality: Any which ways you ended up spending I am sure quite a bit on the speaking chip, so why couldn’t you do us a favour and get an instrument whose voice quality was better. I would have really appreciated it if I heard a person talking instead of croaking early in the morning.
• Newspaper or Ad-paper: Volkswagen got a four page supplement, plus an ad in the main paper, so why did the speaking chip only have to talk about Volkswagen. The Times of India is a newspaper not an ad-paper and if they wanted this to be called the speaking “news”paper then maybe they should have had someone narrate the headlines followed by “this was brought to you by Volkswagen”. Alas! Money talks.

Aisha – Slick and stylish but lacks substance

My sole purpose of watching Aisha, was to see how someone (Sonam Kapoor) who claims to be an avid Jane Austen reader, recreates her master piece ‘Emma’ on the silver screen. Alas! Aisha is no ‘Emma’, though it’s an adaptation of it, but it could very well be touted as the desi Sex and the City.

Aisha Kapoor (Sonam Kapoor) is the archetypical uptown girl from super rich Delhi. She's smart and sassy, spending her time on animal rights, art exhibitions, polo matches and shopaholic sprees along with her newly found obsession – matchmaking. The film takes us on her journey on finding a suitable match for small town Shefali (Amrita Puri), by trying to hook her up with the mithai scions son Randhir Gambhir (Cyrus Sahukar). But first she must transform this behenji into a diva with the help of her BFF Pinky Bose (Ira Dubey). This challenge of hers just gets a tad bit difficult because of her childhood friend Arjun Burman (Abhay Deol) who terms her new social work projects as a meddlesome mess is always on an ‘Aisha’ criticising spree. Well, he doesn’t seem to be the only hindrance, the entrance of NRI bombshell Aarti (Lisa Haydon) along with feelings of jealousy, pride, ego and love seem to create quite a flutter and send our protagonist into a scurry. So are marriages made in heaven or can they be stage managed and does Arjun’s opinion really matter and most of all does Aisha succeed is what forms the crux of the story.

Firstly, the film completely dazzles with its style quotient. Rhea Kapoor comes across as quite a benevolent producer with each frame being picture perfect. Secondly, welcome to the life of the high flying rich young Delhi chicks that are sweet, svelte and stylish. Thirdly, finally we have one fun youth oriented female centric film wherein the concerns seem so recognisable and rib-tickling for anyone who has been through the match making game. And then, there is your distinct social divide of the uptown dude and dudettes and your downtown bhenji’s and bhaiyyas.

Along with this you have a brilliant soundtrack from Amit Trivedi which sets your feet tapping instantaneously and some memorable performances. Abhay Deol is a charmer throughout the movie and churns out another impeccable performance. Sonam Kapoor plays the role of a rich spoilt brat to the T minus her nasal tone which proves to be quite a hindrance when it comes to the dialogue delivery. Funny man Cyrus Sahukar manages tickling your funny bone as always, as the rich mithai scions bhaiyya type son, while Lisa Haydon and Arunodoy Singh provide the eye candy. Though the surprise package are Ira Dubey and Amrita Puri who give a power packed performance as the bindaas city babe and the behenji trying to turn mod respectively.

However, there is a flip side too. Unfortunately, the film is treatment oriented and not substance oriented and hence relies heavily on the dialogues, performance and the styling. The storyline remains untouched but the depth is missing. Though the film looks great it lacks substance. The love story though simple, the characters are complex and that was the highlight of the book. However, at times Rajashri Ojha (Director) makes the characters seem superfluous and overly obsessed with the L’Oreal’s, Chanel’s and Ferragammo’s along with the story taking a bit of the backseat. To add to the woes of those who have come for some meaningful cinema, well the film rides slowly in some portions on its high heeled stilettos.

Well, anyone who did go to see the movie (mind you it got a good opening) obviously went to see it for the wardrobes, the styling and the latest fashionista in tinsel town Sonam Kapoor. So for those expecting a dose of glamour and glitterati well you wont be let down, but those expecting a brilliant film full of soul and life, well, maybe you should give this one amiss, however, it’s a good time pass chick flick, hence a one time watch only for the girls.