The Tale of Mistaken Identities

I have sometimes wondered why our actors in Bollywood put on the get up of certain stereotyped characters e.g, a Sardar or a typical layman or an Imam etc for a self boost (?) in the industry! I cannot help talking about the most recent instance of the same - the awkward look of Shahrukh Khan in 'Rab ne Bana di Jodi'. Wearing the garb of the common man, side parted hair, a pair of black framed spectacles and most awkwardly and contradictorily, exhibiting the typical Shahrukh Khan-like gait and gab do not get along too well. In other words, the get up fails to bring out the layman in SRK.

The prances and dances of Surinder Sahni (SRK's role in RNBDJ) just cannot get over the frisk and frolic once projected by Rahul Khanna (SRK's role in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai) or Raj (SRK as in DDLJ). I am sorry to say it is very difficult to differentiate the roles apart from the contributions lent by the costume designer and the story.

Well, SRK is not the only in the run of donning new avatars. Akshay Kumar (sardar) in Singh is King, Salman Khan (sardar) in Heroes have started it...the list has just begun much like any of the common dhoti salwar/slacks/plastic bangles trends (which more often die down after an initial flurry). This trend is okay as long as you depict the right essence of the role. Grow up, men; it is more about getting into the identity of the role than into the outfit (literally) of the character you are playing.

Any similar or opposite views are more than welcome...do chip in with your opinions.

Thanks Orkut!

What is the weight of Orkut? An established two year old craze for social interaction? Or more than that? Ashima, one of my friends has been particularly vocal about its utter uselessness and irrelevance to any kind of 'constructiveness' as such. She even nicknamed it 'Morkut' in her initial stage of handshake with the 'friendly neighborhood', Orkut and preferred age-old emails to this socializing option. I used to think the same but now I think otherwise. It was due to Orkut that I got to reconnect with her as well as a host of my other school friends...

I cannot be more thankful to this otherwise non productive site for helping me get together my adolescent days, golden school memories and my oh! so special friends. And my once-upon-a-time anti-Orkut friend really loves it too.

Today, the once-in-a-month adda sessions that we are blessed with when we hit one of those reasonably priced family restaurants in Park Street (so that we can rattle on incessantly without attracting too much of attention from other customers as it mostly remains empty), the sharing of highs and lows and most importantly, the boon to laugh together, are very special to me.

Thanks Orkut! Today Ashima and I and a whole lot of initial Orkut haters share an invisible bond with you.

Maradona – the Living Legend

The City of Joy was, as expected, booming and bubbling with love, respect, emotion and affection for the legendary Maradona when he was here on a short visit a few days back. Soccer, for me has been nothing much beyond the sensationalism and adrenaline pumping; but Maradona surely was special ever since my school days.

Certainly having brought back sweet adolescent memories of my past, when I was in Std V, in 1986, it was almost like revisiting the days of yore:). The sky blue and white striped dressed little Maradona sliding and gliding through the defenders' den of the opposition looked like a newly whetted knife going through butter.

What was most striking about that World Cup was that it threw up a whole new battalion of soccer freaks overnight, courtesy, Maradona. Even one of my friends penned down a poem on this star footballer. Believe it or not, the last lines of it ran as, 'Maradona you are number 10; my pen comes to an end.' His pen might might have not progressed any further but Kolkata's love for the man himself grew taller and stronger...His visit and our grand response stood as a testimony to that.

Relation – Nieces and Nephews

Nieces and nephews were always a matter of great love, affection and a strange genetic understanding. My little niece, Sneha, all of four, is a little glob of happiness in my otherwise loveless life. A relation so difficult to outline, it surely lends an inexplicable joy and contentment in anybody's life (or should I say most people).

I have tried jotting down some possible reasons for this strange affinity of aunts to nieces and nephews.

• Firstly, since you get to see, know, nurture and watch them grow inch by inch (if they are staying in the same house or at least in the same city, that is), you are more often than not attracted to these little things on a personal level. Given that he/she is your sibling's child makes the sentiment grow stronger.
  
• Secondly, bearing the same gene in your system leads you to an uncontrollable attraction towards the tot. Due to biological as well as emotional reasons the child is drawn towards its aunt or uncle. Sad, but a lot of clinical reasoning goes into this.
  
• Thirdly, a child in the family is a treasure for all. Starting from its grandparents to parents to aunts and uncles, all extend constant and loving attention to the little child, making him/her feel a special thing and stimulating an attraction in them towards their affection-givers.
  

Sneha's love for her pipi is a sheer testimonial to this article. Come each Saturday and I wait as much as she does when she comes down to our place with her parents to visit her grandparents. Call it a strange relation - nieces and nephews do matter a lot.

Interview – Shivers?

Not that this blog deals with a very recent happening but nevertheless, I must pen it down for your pleasure and my satisfaction. Two months back when I was undergoing the agony of job hunt and rejections and job hunts again, I landed up at one of the interview scenes here in Kolkata that was more than just scare and fear.

As directed by the person at the venue, I took an auto to the place from where I had to take a rickshaw. Started off with a greeting of non stop drizzle and the inadequate conveyance options, I edged on to my destination. Having boarded the rickshaw I found myself amid heaps and piles of dirt, trash and rubble on both sides of the road as the vehicle moved along. I was just beginning to wonder where was the awful stench coming from and was soon enlightened – there were pig sties on both sides of the road with clusters of pigs, piglets and sows ambling along the sidewalks. At long last I was there at my address, in front of a building in shambles, almost.

To add more woe to my already acquired anxiety, there were these two bespectacled interviewers volleying questions at me followed by the written test which required me to scribble an article on 'Qutab Minar and Lollypop'. But to my utter amazement and joy, I thoroughly enjoyed writing the piece. Did somebody say 'assigned works turn out more interesting than the spontaneous ones'? I enjoyed my interview! Tough tests are not all that bad anyways!

Lunch out of Office

As it is I was getting bored having my home packed fare of chapatis and bhaji everyday at lunch in the office. To top it, the maid was absent yesterday and mom had to go out for her eye surgery tests. I was almost forced by destiny to have my lunch out of office.

Thanks to a couple of my colleagues who suggested a nearby restaurant down the park side lane along the main road at Jodhpur Park. The eatery was a small yet clean one, safe for a wretched soul with a weak stomach like me to have a good nosh at an unbelievably modest price.

I ordered a paper masala dosa and my table was ready in no time. Hot and crisp, the huge wrap of fried rice-powder paste filled in with potato curry, accompanied with two bowls of chutney and sambhar each, were quite easy for my pocket at twenty four bucks! Having had my fill in no more than twenty minutes, I was back in office much before time. Not bad to skip home food once in a while!

Mumbai Terror – Effects on Non-Mumbaites

A week and a half have passed and the terror still grips on to one and all around the country and beyond. My cousin and his wife in London are as much amid a cauldron of worry and anxiety for their parents in Mumbai as we are, sitting here in Kolkata in the very nation of terror attacks. Analysts can easily pass it off saying it is hardly a scare for people in this otherwise lackadaisical city of joy, but trust me, it is worse.

I was at a house warming function last week and one of the little invitees was almost rampaging around the apartment posing like the terrorist he had been viewing on television for the past few days. God save these tots, but what on earth are they imbibing – terror is the best form of entertainment!!!

The maid and her daughter, the other day, landed up with an ax peeping out of their bag which they regularly carry. When asked about it, she prompted, 'don't you see in the papers and the TV there is a constant fear of life everywhere and we travel by train daily. Isn't that reason enough? You too should keep some weapon, didi, they say attacks can happen anywhere in India.'

What are we living with? Fear, hatred, disbelief? Can anything under the sun change this crisis situation that gives eerie goose bumps to one and all around?

Phuchka - the Ball of Fire

Guys, you have got to believe this. I made Sara have her first run of phuchkas in one of the by-lanes of Kolkata, India. Hang on, this is something I will gradually unfurl and you will suck in bit by bit to have a hell of a time laughing for the next twenty five minutes.

Sara, my American friend through a chatting site, happened to visit India a few days ago and for obvious reasons, dropped in at my place to have a good round of this communist kingdom.

So much for the phuchka episode...A good six feet tall, Sara looked awful beside my diminutive magnitude of a bare five feet in front of the hugely built mustachioed potbellied phuchka vendor along Vivekananda Park. The scene in itself was hilarious as ever, but more was to follow.

The boss of the situation as I was, I ordered some five of those roly-poly crispy covered spicy stuffed balls of semolina for each of us. As the first ball of fire dipped in tamarind water crawled into Sara's mouth, to our amazement and her woe, briny waters began rolling down her cheeks – Sara was crying. Guess what! Touched by her comic gloom, the phuchka vendor offered her some sugared phuchka balls, sans the filling of spicy mashed potato and she loved it. Or should I say she was relieved! But something in those little little globules of fire must have allured her so that she proposed another round of phuchka gobbling session before leaving for the US.