Cars/bikes parked on the roadside conveniently have the ignition key in the right place for the hero to use
Horses are meant for 2 purposes only – a) to be headstrong and be tamed by the hero after threatening to overthrow the heroine b) to come home wounded, as a loyal messenger that danger/death has befallen the hero’s brethren
Heroines shall wear short dresses during the happy hours; come tragedy and salwar kameez becomes the dress code
Unsuitable girlfriends (whom the hero eventually discards for the heroine) always wish to become models/film actresses
Daughters undergo a surprisingly swift turn-around of emotions soon as their daddys’ villainy is established
Heroines are extraordinarily fertile – often merely one night stands lead to pregnancy
Even the poorest hero’s mom shall offer lovely leaf tea to the rich heroine’s dad in a proper china tea set
College Principals are invariably buffoons of the first or second order
Rape victims wear dresses with easily detachable sleeves
Successful suicides – hanging. Unsuccessful suicides – the kerosene-on-body-in-the-kitchen act and the breaking-wine-bottles-on-wrists act
Monday, 28 January 2008
10 Bollywood clichés
Sunday, 27 January 2008
10 original quotes/quips
If you believe in God you are a creature of realistic dreams
That which inspires Poetry is Beauty
Arrogance is a virtue if you can afford it
If you write well, you’ll bore your listeners
A good teacher was an average student
If life were easy each would have lived it
Most chefs are males because women cook for love
A Blackhole is the most selfish thing in the universe
A condom is an anti-evolution invention
What the camera-shy subject told the photographer – “I hate getting snapped at”
Friday, 4 January 2008
Liar Liar Pants on Fire!
Dr. (Mrs.) M., a Government Medical Officer gets posted in a small village A near the her city of residence B. On paper, she is staying right in that village A PHC (Public Health Center). In the eyes of the C.S.(Civil Surgeon) and D.M.(District Magistrate) of the district of village A, she is putting up in the modest town that calls itself the District Headquarter. For the M.O.I.C. (Medical Officer In-charge), she is there in the 'office' for half-a-day, twice-weekly. For truth's sake, she is living in her permanent residence, which is about two hours of motorable distance from her place of posting, in city B.
Within a few days of getting this posting, Dr. M. decides to buy a car. To buy a car from a showroom of city B, she has to apply for a loan from a national bank that has branches in that same city. Since banks do not give loans so easily, they deem it necessary to come and check out the donee's well-off-ness. Especially, since Dr. M. being joint-owner of a house in the said city is the guarantee of the loan. Hence, here are the harried instructions to yours truly - "When you answer the doorbell or the phone and someone asks for me, be very careful while answering. If it's the C.S. or D.M.'s office, then I am not living here. I am living there. If it's the Bankers, then I am not living there. I am living here."
Golmaal hai bhai sab golmaal hai?
Hear another one -A cousin of mine is fond of her little jokes. So much so, that if you get a much awaited phone call (say, a friend you happened to mention to her hadn't called you recently) and you get that call, it's likely to be her trying to pull off a prank. Or if you get a call from 'Kaun Banega Karorpati', think twice before you exult. Or if she tells you someone's coming tomorrow, that someone ain't likely to make an appearance in the next three months.You get the idea...
Now this dame gets herself a flight from Banglore to Calcutta in the morning, from where she has to board the connecting flight to our city in the evening. The flight timings are altered, because of which she has to board the airbus within 30 minutes of landing at Dumdum. Naturally, she gives us all a ring so that we can send the car to meet her flight at the right time. And, equally naturally, the conversation takes the following turn -
Cousin - Ma, my flight was re-scheduled. I am boarding the flight now. Come to pick me up in an hour.
Aunt - Hahaha...try another one.
Cousin - Ma! I am serious.
Aunt - Yeah, yeah. Bye beta. I understand you must be getting quite bored sitting alone at the airport.
Line disconnected.
My cousin franctically rings up my place.
Cousin - Didi, I am sitting in the connecting flight now - they re-scheduled the flight. Please tell Ma to send over the car.
Me - Heeheehee...who do you think you are talking to, darling. I know you.
Cousin - Di, please believe me. Can't you hear the pilot's instructions in the background?
Me - Oh yes, I can make out someone screeching his lungs out. Dumdum is an International airport honey. A busy one, too.
Cousin - Offo. Talk to this uncle who is sitting next to me. (Aside) - Uncle, please tell my cousin I am actually on board this flight.
Uncle - Hello? Yes, this girl is sitting next to me and we shall reach in an hour.
Me - Hahahaha. Good imitation, my love. You can't fool me any, though, am afraid.
Line Disconnected.
That day, my cousin came home by taxi, managing all the luggage with "uncle's" help, who remained very mystified and bemused throughout the journey.
And they say lies can help!
Within a few days of getting this posting, Dr. M. decides to buy a car. To buy a car from a showroom of city B, she has to apply for a loan from a national bank that has branches in that same city. Since banks do not give loans so easily, they deem it necessary to come and check out the donee's well-off-ness. Especially, since Dr. M. being joint-owner of a house in the said city is the guarantee of the loan. Hence, here are the harried instructions to yours truly - "When you answer the doorbell or the phone and someone asks for me, be very careful while answering. If it's the C.S. or D.M.'s office, then I am not living here. I am living there. If it's the Bankers, then I am not living there. I am living here."
Golmaal hai bhai sab golmaal hai?
Hear another one -A cousin of mine is fond of her little jokes. So much so, that if you get a much awaited phone call (say, a friend you happened to mention to her hadn't called you recently) and you get that call, it's likely to be her trying to pull off a prank. Or if you get a call from 'Kaun Banega Karorpati', think twice before you exult. Or if she tells you someone's coming tomorrow, that someone ain't likely to make an appearance in the next three months.You get the idea...
Now this dame gets herself a flight from Banglore to Calcutta in the morning, from where she has to board the connecting flight to our city in the evening. The flight timings are altered, because of which she has to board the airbus within 30 minutes of landing at Dumdum. Naturally, she gives us all a ring so that we can send the car to meet her flight at the right time. And, equally naturally, the conversation takes the following turn -
Cousin - Ma, my flight was re-scheduled. I am boarding the flight now. Come to pick me up in an hour.
Aunt - Hahaha...try another one.
Cousin - Ma! I am serious.
Aunt - Yeah, yeah. Bye beta. I understand you must be getting quite bored sitting alone at the airport.
Line disconnected.
My cousin franctically rings up my place.
Cousin - Didi, I am sitting in the connecting flight now - they re-scheduled the flight. Please tell Ma to send over the car.
Me - Heeheehee...who do you think you are talking to, darling. I know you.
Cousin - Di, please believe me. Can't you hear the pilot's instructions in the background?
Me - Oh yes, I can make out someone screeching his lungs out. Dumdum is an International airport honey. A busy one, too.
Cousin - Offo. Talk to this uncle who is sitting next to me. (Aside) - Uncle, please tell my cousin I am actually on board this flight.
Uncle - Hello? Yes, this girl is sitting next to me and we shall reach in an hour.
Me - Hahahaha. Good imitation, my love. You can't fool me any, though, am afraid.
Line Disconnected.
That day, my cousin came home by taxi, managing all the luggage with "uncle's" help, who remained very mystified and bemused throughout the journey.
And they say lies can help!
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Tale of two belts
Folks, this one occurred right within an hour ago to me today.
And I am laughing hard even as I am typing.
Everything began with me seeking a belt for my favourite pair of jeans. Anyone who's been on a belt-hunt in Patna will agree with me that it's no mean task. From the footpath peddlers to the Lee/Levi’s shop assistant – each failed to sell me a belt that was buyable. Too broad, too bright, too tawdry, too expensive…this ‘too’ refused to stay away.
Except today, when while walking down the aisle of a nice mall, I came across just the right thing!
“Can you show me one just like this, but for adults?”
The shopkeeper kept looking at me stupidly.
“Huh?”
“One, just like this one”, (here I took the thingummy in hand), “but for adults, not children.”
Mom came behind my back, ever alert to prevent me buying something that I didn’t really need, as I am wont to do.
“What is all this, what do you need a belt for?”
“Mom, for my denims, what else do people need belts for!”
Before she could say anything the shop assistant chimed animatedly.
“But Madam, this belt is for dogs.”
And I am laughing hard even as I am typing.
Everything began with me seeking a belt for my favourite pair of jeans. Anyone who's been on a belt-hunt in Patna will agree with me that it's no mean task. From the footpath peddlers to the Lee/Levi’s shop assistant – each failed to sell me a belt that was buyable. Too broad, too bright, too tawdry, too expensive…this ‘too’ refused to stay away.
Except today, when while walking down the aisle of a nice mall, I came across just the right thing!
“Can you show me one just like this, but for adults?”
The shopkeeper kept looking at me stupidly.
“Huh?”
“One, just like this one”, (here I took the thingummy in hand), “but for adults, not children.”
Mom came behind my back, ever alert to prevent me buying something that I didn’t really need, as I am wont to do.
“What is all this, what do you need a belt for?”
“Mom, for my denims, what else do people need belts for!”
Before she could say anything the shop assistant chimed animatedly.
“But Madam, this belt is for dogs.”
Monday, 17 December 2007
Ek Ruka Hua Faisla.
Director - Basu Chatterjee
Actors - K.K. Raina, Annu Kapoor, Pankaj Kapoor, S.M. Zaheer, Hemant Mishra, and others
Nature - Telefilm
Year - 1986
Channel - Doordarshan
One man against eleven, in a closed room. One man, arguing peacefully, in the face of heated oppostion, for what he believes is right - viz. any human life is expensive and should not be jeopardized without ample thought.
His weapon - logic.
His asset - doubt. A doubt which he recognizes, tries to clarify rationally and unbiasedly.
His enemies - eleven men, some of whom are sarcastic, some angry, some indifferent and all of them impatient.
The end - His victory.
This is a hindi re-make of 12 Angry Men, a 1957 Hollywood movie which is in turn based on a play of the same title penned by Reginald Rose.
My review will take three words only - An Objectivist's delight.
Check out the movie on You Tube.
The lone-ranger protagonist played by K.K. Raina is an architect by profession!
Actors - K.K. Raina, Annu Kapoor, Pankaj Kapoor, S.M. Zaheer, Hemant Mishra, and others
Nature - Telefilm
Year - 1986
Channel - Doordarshan
One man against eleven, in a closed room. One man, arguing peacefully, in the face of heated oppostion, for what he believes is right - viz. any human life is expensive and should not be jeopardized without ample thought.
His weapon - logic.
His asset - doubt. A doubt which he recognizes, tries to clarify rationally and unbiasedly.
His enemies - eleven men, some of whom are sarcastic, some angry, some indifferent and all of them impatient.
The end - His victory.
This is a hindi re-make of 12 Angry Men, a 1957 Hollywood movie which is in turn based on a play of the same title penned by Reginald Rose.
My review will take three words only - An Objectivist's delight.
Check out the movie on You Tube.
The lone-ranger protagonist played by K.K. Raina is an architect by profession!
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Where did the new age Hindi writer go?
I went to visit the Patna Book Fair today (11/12/2007). And trust me, I was impressed. A voice blaring on the loud speaker told me that it was the second-largest book fair in the nation – second only to Kolkata’s book fair – and I was inclined to believe it. Some of the best publication houses had their stalls and had chosen to come up with some rare collections and publications at concession rates, much to the bibliophile’s delight.
Stall after stall I walked slowly, almost awed by the collection. I had not read many Hindi books after Hindi stopped to be a part of my academic curriculum nearly ten years ago. A beautiful feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled the half-forgotten names like Yashpal, Sumitranandan Pant, Krishan Chandar, Mohan Rakesh, Jayshankar Prasad, Mahadevi Verma, Subhadra Kumari Chauhan – whose short stories, essays and poems had been part of my syllabus. More names popped up before my eyes that I remembered hearing in my grandpa’s literary discussions with his friends. Fanishwarnath Renu, Jainendra, Aashapurna Devi, Ramvriksha Benipuri, Harimohan Jha. Then some familiar names, with unfamiliar books. Munshi Premchand, Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar', Maithilisharan Gupt, Surykant Tripathi ‘Nirala’. (Arey ye bhi unki kitaab hai? You get the feeling?)
As I heard my grandpa exchange pleasantries with the stall-keeper, I rued.
Hitherto, I have considered my library a nice big fat one, having everything from Mahabharata to Julius Caesar and from Mirza Ghalib to Gulzar.
I rued that I had ever thought my library to be complete.
Hitherto, I have thought that I have done justice to Hindi – my grandpa did not let me read English until I was twelve years of age, and had mastered my mother tongue. And it is not for nothing that my post graduate classmates call me ‘naniji’ till date.
I rued that I had thought I had done justice to Hindi.
For my library missed the books and short stories and poetry written by the gems I named above! Where I should have possessed the complete works of most of these men and women of glory, I had only Dinkar’s Rashmirathi! How did I even dare to think that my library was complete? True, my grandpa has most of those books in his own library, but I hadn't explored even 1o% of his collection, thinking there was all the time in the world and that I should try to buy something that he did not have.
What had I been reading in the name of Hindi all my life? Translated works from English and vernacular Indian languages! Fie on thee, Miss Singh!
And then another shocking truth hit me.
All the names on display were old names. All the names were parts of fond memories.
I began to wonder why the 21st century had failed, until now, to yield its pound of young flesh to Hindi Literature – and since the thought had come on the heels of my own inadequacies, I got my answer fast enough!
Who reads Hindi these days? I asked this of myself.
The Premchands, the Dinkars, the Yashpals, the Mahadevi Vermas are asking the Vikram Seths, the Anita Desais, the Arundhati Roys –
Who writes in Hindi these days?
Stall after stall I walked slowly, almost awed by the collection. I had not read many Hindi books after Hindi stopped to be a part of my academic curriculum nearly ten years ago. A beautiful feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled the half-forgotten names like Yashpal, Sumitranandan Pant, Krishan Chandar, Mohan Rakesh, Jayshankar Prasad, Mahadevi Verma, Subhadra Kumari Chauhan – whose short stories, essays and poems had been part of my syllabus. More names popped up before my eyes that I remembered hearing in my grandpa’s literary discussions with his friends. Fanishwarnath Renu, Jainendra, Aashapurna Devi, Ramvriksha Benipuri, Harimohan Jha. Then some familiar names, with unfamiliar books. Munshi Premchand, Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar', Maithilisharan Gupt, Surykant Tripathi ‘Nirala’. (Arey ye bhi unki kitaab hai? You get the feeling?)
As I heard my grandpa exchange pleasantries with the stall-keeper, I rued.
Hitherto, I have considered my library a nice big fat one, having everything from Mahabharata to Julius Caesar and from Mirza Ghalib to Gulzar.
I rued that I had ever thought my library to be complete.
Hitherto, I have thought that I have done justice to Hindi – my grandpa did not let me read English until I was twelve years of age, and had mastered my mother tongue. And it is not for nothing that my post graduate classmates call me ‘naniji’ till date.
I rued that I had thought I had done justice to Hindi.
For my library missed the books and short stories and poetry written by the gems I named above! Where I should have possessed the complete works of most of these men and women of glory, I had only Dinkar’s Rashmirathi! How did I even dare to think that my library was complete? True, my grandpa has most of those books in his own library, but I hadn't explored even 1o% of his collection, thinking there was all the time in the world and that I should try to buy something that he did not have.
What had I been reading in the name of Hindi all my life? Translated works from English and vernacular Indian languages! Fie on thee, Miss Singh!
And then another shocking truth hit me.
All the names on display were old names. All the names were parts of fond memories.
I began to wonder why the 21st century had failed, until now, to yield its pound of young flesh to Hindi Literature – and since the thought had come on the heels of my own inadequacies, I got my answer fast enough!
Who reads Hindi these days? I asked this of myself.
The Premchands, the Dinkars, the Yashpals, the Mahadevi Vermas are asking the Vikram Seths, the Anita Desais, the Arundhati Roys –
Who writes in Hindi these days?
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Sushree Deepika ji ko samarpit
Okay, I have almost been hounded into this, for my friend Piyush has demanded several times that I dedicate a blog, on his behalf, to the love of his life – Ms. Deepika Padukone. The silly brat ought to have chosen a male to do this job for him, but it seems that most males are smitten themselves and though they may write ‘n’ number of blogs to the diva, they won’t do it on his behalf.
So Piyush, buddy, here she comes, just for you, in this humble little blog page of mine.
Mr. Om Prakash Makhija swoons and faints twice in the first half of OSO, and no man should blame him for doing so. If a male is treated to a sight as lovely as the dimpled, zillion-watt, pearly-white revealing smile of the Dreamy Girl – Shanti Priya – then he must be stone personified if he does not faint.
There is definite beauty here. Mere make-up and artificiality cannot account for the eyes that seem to move all around her face, the smile that deepens those dimples, the artistic, long-fingered hands that make her wave to her fans a regal gesture and that elegant height of hers that makes one look up to her, figuratively and literally as well for some. J.
One wonders how many artistes this young dame will inspire. We sure want more odes like ‘Kisi zubaan me wo lafz hi nahi ki jinme tum ho kya tumhe bata saku’ and ‘Chaand teri roshni ka halka sa ik saaya hai.’ We want M.F. Hussain to have a muse better than Amrita Rao. We want India’s doddering sculptors to come to life.
Show-stopper, heart-stealer, eye-candy, India’s new Venus – more such nouns shall be provided by the male readers!
So Piyush, buddy, here she comes, just for you, in this humble little blog page of mine.
Mr. Om Prakash Makhija swoons and faints twice in the first half of OSO, and no man should blame him for doing so. If a male is treated to a sight as lovely as the dimpled, zillion-watt, pearly-white revealing smile of the Dreamy Girl – Shanti Priya – then he must be stone personified if he does not faint.
There is definite beauty here. Mere make-up and artificiality cannot account for the eyes that seem to move all around her face, the smile that deepens those dimples, the artistic, long-fingered hands that make her wave to her fans a regal gesture and that elegant height of hers that makes one look up to her, figuratively and literally as well for some. J.
One wonders how many artistes this young dame will inspire. We sure want more odes like ‘Kisi zubaan me wo lafz hi nahi ki jinme tum ho kya tumhe bata saku’ and ‘Chaand teri roshni ka halka sa ik saaya hai.’ We want M.F. Hussain to have a muse better than Amrita Rao. We want India’s doddering sculptors to come to life.
Show-stopper, heart-stealer, eye-candy, India’s new Venus – more such nouns shall be provided by the male readers!
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