Showing posts from November, 2009
Trains used to be decent fun. What happened? Can't sleep. Can't eat (what is with the two veg patties and a slice of bread for breakfast?).

Ik Omkara ... OYE!

What if Vishal Bhardwaj had made Omkara with Sunny Deol instead of Ajay Devgan? Let’s have a look at how different some of those unforgettable dialogues would have been … steady on … Omkara in the jail (yelling with an outstretched hand, with that trademark sideways glance): “Jo agvai ka kaam kare soh hijra, Bhaisaab. Agar inki beti mujhe jhoota bole toh maa kasam, saara PIND ko aag lagake ek-ek karke in KUTTON ka khoon pee jaaonga! Jo bole so nihaal!” Omkara to Vakil Sahib: ”Hamari jaat to khoob pehchani aapne Vakil Sahib, par apni beti ke dil ki baat nahi pechaan sake! Dolly sirf meri hai, sirf meri, aur koi bhi mai ka laal uski taraf aankh utha kar bhi dekhe na … toh haddi-paslee thod ke rakh doonga!” Omkara to Surinder Kaptan: “Badi lakdi mat ttha, Kaptan! Maa ka doodh piya hai toh asli mard se panja lada!” Omkara to Kichloo, who has been held up against a wall: (With an outstretched arm, pointed index finger wagging, eyes burning, nostrils flared, lungs being cleared wit

Run fat boy run

I’ve started running off and on – the off ration outweighs the on significantly – in the mornings after my gym membership expired in August. I can’t do this gym thing; I much prefer the outdoors. It’s been good because there actually is a place to run near my apartment in Bangalore and there are lots of joggers and walkers so I’m not the only person exercising at that hour. As expected when a white guy puts on a t-shirt and shorts and straps an iPod Nano to his arm in these parts, there are a lot of curious onlookers. By now a few of them - the regulars like the bicycle tire repair dude, the newspaper stand owner, the barber who opens his shop at 7 as I’m returning, and the army guards at the gates of the officers’ mess – don’t even bat an eyelid as I bustle past. A few people have struck up conversations whenever I stop to walk a little ways to cross the road or where the dirt path around the lake is dug up. There was the sardarji who crossed me in his Hyundai Accent – he’s als


It seems nobody is safe from those hooligan Shiv Sainiks. Not journalists, not Sachin Tendulkar, not even Kareena Kapoor's bare back. The latest episode is something the entire country needs to be ashamed of.  The attack on the IBN office was despicable and cowardly and terrifying. Is this what the Shiv Sena wanted Tendulkar to be proud of?


Torn jeans are in fashion but there's a rip in my favourite pair of 501s that was getting a big too ugly so went looking for a tailor to patch it up. Yes, I'm trying to get the patch back in fashion. Found one just down the road. Small little dingy place. I ask the guy sitting there, in Hindi, if he'll do the needful. He gives me the odd look I'm so accustomed to now, and says he can. He examines the damaged goods while I ask him whether he'll patch or sew it up. "Do you speak English?" he asks, looking very disgruntled. I tell him I do, and Hindi as well. "No, no Hindi. English is fine," he says. So we decided that he will sew up the rip. He says come back tomorrow at 5. Then: "Where you from?" I hesitate as usual before opening the dreaded can of worms. "America." "Where in America?" I go for Ohio. "Not New York? You know New York?" "Yes, I've been there." "You h

"Ten rupees extra, sir?"

So I've decided to start a Bangalore Auto Driver Hall of Fame section. I've had so many incidents with this breed - some hilarious, some quirky, some irritating and some horrible. It's the quirky I'd like to remember. Just to refresh the memory in case you missed previous posts. There was Syed Azam, who shared his views on how "ladies log" coming to Indian metros from smaller towns "bahut sexy-sexy dikhne pe dhyan deti hai" and wanted to know if I found Rani Mukherjee of John Abraham hotter; there was the guy who was hellbent on getting me to learn Kannada and offered to stop and show me the best Kannada-to-English tutorial books; there was the guy who knew of more of "my type"; there was the guy who spoke in crisp English whose son was in Texas; there was the former insurance agency clerk who had lost his job due to injury and who was rehabilitated and aiming to get a job with Bharti AXA; there was the chap with whom I discussed George

aatlu modhu kem the giyo bhai?

Bal Thackeray criticizing Sachin Tendulkar for his "Mumbai for all" remark. Lalit Modi shaking hands with the Indian team before the start of a Test.  India's two biggest fascists, under whose watch two of the country's most horrific acts of genocide were carried out, both whose credibility is on the wane, getting involved in the sport that is a religion here. India really is secular, isn't it?

'Kevin, I'm going to feed you to my tarantula'

Remember Buzz from Home Alone ? McCaulay Kulkin's older brother; freckles; spiky haircut; total jackass; "I wouldn't let you sleep in my room if you were growing on my ASS!"? Of course you do. I'd not seen him in a movie since but squinted my eyes while watching a crapfest called Surrogates today. It was Buzz, about 200 pounds heavier and looking like the offspring of say ... if Michael Moore and Roseanna Barr had a kid. He looks way different now but still is recognizable. I think it was an expression he made in one of his initial scenes, which for a flash resembled a look he'd give his younger brother Kevin in the classic movie he's most famous for. Anyways, it just reminded me of a time long gone by. It happens now and then. I'll see a movie from the past and immediately I'll associate it with a precise time and place. Mohra on Sony in 2009 = a rainy Saturday afternoon in Mussoorie circa 1994, after which Vinod and I did our best Akshay Ku

Another attempt ...

It's been well over a year and a half since my last post. Well, nearly 22 months in fact. Not good at this at all. The few of you who followed loyally and kept dropping comments and feedback, thank you. I hope to see you back here again. Simran, thats means you. Well, as you know there are just two things I can really talk about at length: cricket and movies. So let me begin with the former, for now.  It's Tendulkar's 20th year at the top, and I remember January 19, 1989 pretty well. I was a week shy of my eighth birthday and my father took me along to interview what he said was the next big thing in cricket, a guy who was going to shake up the sport. I wasn't in to cricket at the time, but was made to believe this was a going to be something big. I tagged along. It was at the Hindu Gymkhana ground on Marine Drive. It wasn't a very hot day, I recall. We got there, my dad and I, and there was a small camera crew. Just two people, I think. There was chit-chat