This movie for some reason is seen mis-categorized as a children's movie, I don't know why. Sure the main character is a little girl, but it is surely a movie for adults, perfect for adults looking for sensible cinema.
If you ever saw Malgudi Days and liked it, I strongly recommend you watch this movie on a unpirated disc. Cinematography is excellent, so are the actors. Pankaj Kapoor just excels, so does the umbrella and its owner.
The story has that rusticness that only the likes of R.K.Narayan and Ruskin bond(as in this case) could capture. At the right length of 90 minutes it is perfect for a relaxing evening. If you liked swami and his friends your tastes are like mine.If so go relax under the shade of this 'Blue umbrella'.
Now if you havent read 'Swami and his friends', I suggest you do so soon.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
In the News!!
We are in the news!! I dont think it's going to happen again ;) I thought I'll share it here. Check the links on the RHS of the screen
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Comprehending Politics
I generally like to steer away from politics. Most of the time its because I dont have anything intelligent to say about the topic. Often I find myself seeing political articles that very much look like one of those research papers that I am supposed to write that I dont expect anybody to read. But they are written because they are supposed to be. People supposedly care about the things that are written about and hence reporters and researchers like us exist.
With that said I came across this article which perfectly suited my political comprehension and I wanted to immortalize this in my blog.
here's the link to it and the article as well. Some times its ok to haven fun at your neighbor's expense ;)
http://www.rediff.com/news/2007/nov/06guest.htm
The case of Musharraf and the drunk uncle
Pakistan's General Pervez Musharraf [Images] deserves our sympathy.
Not because he has been forced to carry out a coup against his own regime, not because his troops are being kidnapped en masse by Pakistani Taliban and then awarded Rs 500 for good behaviour, not because he himself has become a prisoner in his Army House and can't even nip out for coffee and Paan as he used to, but because he has utterly lost his grip over grammar.
In my 15 years in journalism, I have covered three coups. And as I walked towards my office last Saturday, I had the cynicism of someone who has seen it all before. As I entered the BBC offices on a chilly Saturday afternoon in London [Images], a senior Pakistan hand, who like me had interrupted his cosy weekend to cover the story, wondered aloud why the general was taking so long before appearing on national television and explaining his actions.
"His speech writer is too old for all this excitement. He is probably taking his time," I said. Barrister Sharifuddin Peerzada has midwifed every single coup in Pakistan and when General Musharraf took over in 1999, we had to wait until 3 am for him to address the nation. The nation listened to his 10 minutes of neatly turned out verbosity and, relieved, went to sleep. Peerzada may lack in democratic credentials, but he cares about his syntax.
Last Saturday as I arrived at my desk, Musharraf had already started his address. And it was immediately clear to me that he had fallen into that aging dictator's familiar trap: He had written his own speech.
I exaggerate because he only occasionally glanced at his notes and for 40 minutes talked, well, gibberish; the kind of stuff that only journalists and think-tank-wallahs would take seriously.
I was so unsettled -- not by what he was saying, but by the way he was saying it -- that I listened to the entire speech again last night.
I have been accused of punctuation abuse often enough to take these things in my stride, but for the 40 minutes that General Musharraf spoke in Urdu, he didn't use one proper sentence.
He replaced his verbs with hand gestures, nouns slipped off his shrugged shoulders, adjectives quivered under his desk.
And when he said, "Extremists have gone very extreme," it suddenly occurred to me why his speech pattern seemed so familiar. He was that uncle that you get stranded with at a family gathering when everybody else has gone to sleep but there is still some whisky left in the bottle. And uncle thinks he is about to say something very profound -- if you would only pour him one last one.
Consider this; in the middle of his speech when everyone was silently urging him to get to the point, losing the thread of his diatribe about how judicial activism was responsible for the rise of jihadis in Pakistan, he abruptly said, "I have imposed emergency," then looked into the camera, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and said, "You must have seen it on TV."
He forgot to mention that he had pulled the plug on all television channels except the State-run television. It might sound like old-school dictator talk, but just imagine if somebody took away your television and then told you, 'Oh, did you see that thing on TV?'
For those who haven't suffered General Musharraf's regime directly, he can come across as a rakish figure, a daredevil who easily switches between his camouflage commando uniform and designer suits and then half sleeved shirts for attending fashion shows -- his favourite cultural activity before he was forced to abandon it because of security concerns.
His CV is impressive: Here is a man who can manage the frontline on America's war and terror, get rid of three prime ministers and scores of generals and still find time to write an autobiography and then get George W Bush [Images] to endorse it in front of the world media.
I visited Delhi soon after Musharraf's failed Agra [Images] summit and he seemed to have earned the grudging respect of the Delhi elite. My Indian colleagues looked at stone-faced Vajpayee and wondered, why can't the new shining India have a handsome leader like Musharraf. One south Delhi resident claimed his wife had started watching Pakistani channels obsessively just to get a glimpse of our commando President.
I reminded my Indian friend of Musharraf's Kargil adventure. "How come you have forgotten your Kargil widows so soon?" I said. "Well come off it, he is a bit of a matinee idol from the fifties," I was told. I am not a big fan of period Bollywood, so I kept quiet.
As I watched the speech this Saturday, I wondered if my Indian friend's wife saw the same Musharraf that I saw on my screen. He was like that uncle that I mentioned earlier, who after a couple of drinks not only wants to explain the meaning of life, but also why he is the most misunderstood man in the world, how your aunt never valued him, why the world is run by a cabal of Jewish gays and why Japanese technology is a disgrace.
You want to take the bottle away and tell him to get some sleep. He wants to tell you he loves you more than his own son and now can you pour him another drink.
I am not even remotely suggesting that Musharraf was drunk when he addressed the nation. No, it was something far more sinister. He seemed to be having an out of body experience, there he sat in his sherwani reading an order written by his uniformed alter ego, wagging a finger at himself, accusing his own government of spreading terrorism.
And let's not forget that when I say Pakistani government, I mean General Pervez Musharraf.
Here are some random things he said. And trust me, these things were said quite randomly:
Yes, he did say, "Extremism bahut extreme ho gaya hai (extremism has become too extreme)."
"Hum se koi darta hi nahin (nobody is scared of us anymore)."
"Islamabad mein extremist bharay houay hain (Islamabad is full of extremists)."
"Hakumat ke andar hakumat bana rakhi hai (there is a government within government)."
"Har waqt bas court ke chakkar lagatey rehtay hain (officials are being asked to go to the courts every other day)."
"Officials ki beizzati kartay hain (officials are being insulted by the judiciary)."
At one point he appeared wistful when reminiscing about his first three years in power -- "mera total control thha (I had total control)." You were almost tempted to ask: What happened then, uncle?
But obviously, uncle didn't need any prompting. He launched into his routine about three stages of democracy. He claimed he was about to launch the third and final phase of democracy (the way he said it, he managed to make it sound like the Final Solution). And just when you thought he was about to make his point, he took an abrupt turn and plunged into a deep pool of self pity.
This involved a long-winded anecdote about how the Supreme Court judges would rather attend a colleagues' daughter's wedding rather than just get it over with and decide that he is a constitutional President.
As I said, I have heard some dictator speeches in my life, but nobody has gone so far as to mention someone's daughter's wedding for imposing martial law in the country.
When for the last few minutes of his speech he addressed his audience in the West in English, I suddenly felt a deep sense of humiliation. This part of his speech was scripted. Sentences began and ended. I felt humiliated that my President not only thinks that we are not evolved enough for things like democracy and human rights, but because we can't even handle concepts like proper syntax and grammar.
Abraham Lincoln was quoted. The slow and painful evolution of Western democracy was evoked. Idealists were told to manage their expectations and then there was the obligatory poetic flourish: "I would not let this country commit suicide."
Sure, a colleague chipped in, I would rather strangle it with my own hands.
As he closed his speech with a rather poetic "forever Pakistan, forever," and the national anthem started to play, it occurred to me that our whole nation is probably feeling like a Kargil widow by now.
With no cable television to console her sorrows.
Mohammed Hanif is the head of BBC's Urdu Service. His novel A Case of Exploding Mangoes will be published by Random House India next year.
With that said I came across this article which perfectly suited my political comprehension and I wanted to immortalize this in my blog.
here's the link to it and the article as well. Some times its ok to haven fun at your neighbor's expense ;)
http://www.rediff.com/news/2007/nov/06guest.htm
The case of Musharraf and the drunk uncle
Pakistan's General Pervez Musharraf [Images] deserves our sympathy.
Not because he has been forced to carry out a coup against his own regime, not because his troops are being kidnapped en masse by Pakistani Taliban and then awarded Rs 500 for good behaviour, not because he himself has become a prisoner in his Army House and can't even nip out for coffee and Paan as he used to, but because he has utterly lost his grip over grammar.
In my 15 years in journalism, I have covered three coups. And as I walked towards my office last Saturday, I had the cynicism of someone who has seen it all before. As I entered the BBC offices on a chilly Saturday afternoon in London [Images], a senior Pakistan hand, who like me had interrupted his cosy weekend to cover the story, wondered aloud why the general was taking so long before appearing on national television and explaining his actions.
"His speech writer is too old for all this excitement. He is probably taking his time," I said. Barrister Sharifuddin Peerzada has midwifed every single coup in Pakistan and when General Musharraf took over in 1999, we had to wait until 3 am for him to address the nation. The nation listened to his 10 minutes of neatly turned out verbosity and, relieved, went to sleep. Peerzada may lack in democratic credentials, but he cares about his syntax.
Last Saturday as I arrived at my desk, Musharraf had already started his address. And it was immediately clear to me that he had fallen into that aging dictator's familiar trap: He had written his own speech.
I exaggerate because he only occasionally glanced at his notes and for 40 minutes talked, well, gibberish; the kind of stuff that only journalists and think-tank-wallahs would take seriously.
I was so unsettled -- not by what he was saying, but by the way he was saying it -- that I listened to the entire speech again last night.
I have been accused of punctuation abuse often enough to take these things in my stride, but for the 40 minutes that General Musharraf spoke in Urdu, he didn't use one proper sentence.
He replaced his verbs with hand gestures, nouns slipped off his shrugged shoulders, adjectives quivered under his desk.
And when he said, "Extremists have gone very extreme," it suddenly occurred to me why his speech pattern seemed so familiar. He was that uncle that you get stranded with at a family gathering when everybody else has gone to sleep but there is still some whisky left in the bottle. And uncle thinks he is about to say something very profound -- if you would only pour him one last one.
Consider this; in the middle of his speech when everyone was silently urging him to get to the point, losing the thread of his diatribe about how judicial activism was responsible for the rise of jihadis in Pakistan, he abruptly said, "I have imposed emergency," then looked into the camera, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and said, "You must have seen it on TV."
He forgot to mention that he had pulled the plug on all television channels except the State-run television. It might sound like old-school dictator talk, but just imagine if somebody took away your television and then told you, 'Oh, did you see that thing on TV?'
For those who haven't suffered General Musharraf's regime directly, he can come across as a rakish figure, a daredevil who easily switches between his camouflage commando uniform and designer suits and then half sleeved shirts for attending fashion shows -- his favourite cultural activity before he was forced to abandon it because of security concerns.
His CV is impressive: Here is a man who can manage the frontline on America's war and terror, get rid of three prime ministers and scores of generals and still find time to write an autobiography and then get George W Bush [Images] to endorse it in front of the world media.
I visited Delhi soon after Musharraf's failed Agra [Images] summit and he seemed to have earned the grudging respect of the Delhi elite. My Indian colleagues looked at stone-faced Vajpayee and wondered, why can't the new shining India have a handsome leader like Musharraf. One south Delhi resident claimed his wife had started watching Pakistani channels obsessively just to get a glimpse of our commando President.
I reminded my Indian friend of Musharraf's Kargil adventure. "How come you have forgotten your Kargil widows so soon?" I said. "Well come off it, he is a bit of a matinee idol from the fifties," I was told. I am not a big fan of period Bollywood, so I kept quiet.
As I watched the speech this Saturday, I wondered if my Indian friend's wife saw the same Musharraf that I saw on my screen. He was like that uncle that I mentioned earlier, who after a couple of drinks not only wants to explain the meaning of life, but also why he is the most misunderstood man in the world, how your aunt never valued him, why the world is run by a cabal of Jewish gays and why Japanese technology is a disgrace.
You want to take the bottle away and tell him to get some sleep. He wants to tell you he loves you more than his own son and now can you pour him another drink.
I am not even remotely suggesting that Musharraf was drunk when he addressed the nation. No, it was something far more sinister. He seemed to be having an out of body experience, there he sat in his sherwani reading an order written by his uniformed alter ego, wagging a finger at himself, accusing his own government of spreading terrorism.
And let's not forget that when I say Pakistani government, I mean General Pervez Musharraf.
Here are some random things he said. And trust me, these things were said quite randomly:
Yes, he did say, "Extremism bahut extreme ho gaya hai (extremism has become too extreme)."
"Hum se koi darta hi nahin (nobody is scared of us anymore)."
"Islamabad mein extremist bharay houay hain (Islamabad is full of extremists)."
"Hakumat ke andar hakumat bana rakhi hai (there is a government within government)."
"Har waqt bas court ke chakkar lagatey rehtay hain (officials are being asked to go to the courts every other day)."
"Officials ki beizzati kartay hain (officials are being insulted by the judiciary)."
At one point he appeared wistful when reminiscing about his first three years in power -- "mera total control thha (I had total control)." You were almost tempted to ask: What happened then, uncle?
But obviously, uncle didn't need any prompting. He launched into his routine about three stages of democracy. He claimed he was about to launch the third and final phase of democracy (the way he said it, he managed to make it sound like the Final Solution). And just when you thought he was about to make his point, he took an abrupt turn and plunged into a deep pool of self pity.
This involved a long-winded anecdote about how the Supreme Court judges would rather attend a colleagues' daughter's wedding rather than just get it over with and decide that he is a constitutional President.
As I said, I have heard some dictator speeches in my life, but nobody has gone so far as to mention someone's daughter's wedding for imposing martial law in the country.
When for the last few minutes of his speech he addressed his audience in the West in English, I suddenly felt a deep sense of humiliation. This part of his speech was scripted. Sentences began and ended. I felt humiliated that my President not only thinks that we are not evolved enough for things like democracy and human rights, but because we can't even handle concepts like proper syntax and grammar.
Abraham Lincoln was quoted. The slow and painful evolution of Western democracy was evoked. Idealists were told to manage their expectations and then there was the obligatory poetic flourish: "I would not let this country commit suicide."
Sure, a colleague chipped in, I would rather strangle it with my own hands.
As he closed his speech with a rather poetic "forever Pakistan, forever," and the national anthem started to play, it occurred to me that our whole nation is probably feeling like a Kargil widow by now.
With no cable television to console her sorrows.
Mohammed Hanif is the head of BBC's Urdu Service. His novel A Case of Exploding Mangoes will be published by Random House India next year.
Friday, September 21, 2007
with the Hair Dresser
If the title of the blog doesnt remind you of a classic story, 'With the Photographer' by Stephen Leacock(?), I hope the following will bring back some memories of the classic short story.
Do you ever get the feeling some times people seem to have a kind of power over you, the kind that you never bestow upon them... I get that feeling a lot in a dentists' chair, being a woman in gynecologist's office and off late the feeling is mounting whenever I..err.. my hair is in the hands of a hair dresser. A kind of power that make you want to say 'Mercy Pleaaaase'
The feeling is fresh in my mind having just returned from a salon. Not knowing where to bury my face so I can go unnoticed, I decided to bury it into this screen.
The guy in whose care I left my hair for what seemed like a moment, looked normal enough. I didnt for one moment on seeing him think that he had plans to transform me into a rock star. Well, the less said about the result the better.
He engaged me in some light conversation, fair enough, that was one way he could make his job interesting.. but this guy had several other ways as well. First he told me he was thinking of a hair style like that of 'Posh Spice' on my head. I figured with some effort that he was talking of Victoria Beckham.. now how the hell should I know what she looked like or what her latest hair style was. "that is like.." I asked with hesitation and he gave me a simple explanation which seemed sane enough.
As he worked some more he kept saying.. 'I am beginning to like this look.. dont you!' ... I must have been blind or something, I saw nothing.. I had no idea what he was doing with my hair, in the front it seemed he did nothing and behind he probably chopped off everything.. and then at a point where it seemed like everything was half done he said.. how do you like it.. I asked him ' are you done?!!!!!' he said 'yeah I think so..' 'OK but I think it doesnt look symmetric' and he said 'Symmetric is boring'..Now! that topic would have made for a great debate but not under this condition.. and I was starting to feel hopeless for myself.
I pushed myself to tell him that I need atleast something more.. 'Mercy Please' was what I was thinking. He did a little something but was not happy to do it.. I was abashed at my loss of words, expression.. the hair dresser and I were so out of synch. He thought he made me look like I am from this age and I left thinking 'If this is the state of the world.. I dont belong here'.
Ofcourse everybody around in the salon, complimented me on how good I looked.. but in my state of mind it all seemed liked planted evidence.. every body looked to me like accomplices in a murder..
Its not all so hopeless... as is most of life. My hair will grow and I will soon come to forget how frightening it all was. Some damages are not permanent. Knowing myself very well this will not be the last time this will happen ;) If somebody were to ask me 'who are you?' the simple answer would be 'I'm not myself!' atleast for now
Do you ever get the feeling some times people seem to have a kind of power over you, the kind that you never bestow upon them... I get that feeling a lot in a dentists' chair, being a woman in gynecologist's office and off late the feeling is mounting whenever I..err.. my hair is in the hands of a hair dresser. A kind of power that make you want to say 'Mercy Pleaaaase'
The feeling is fresh in my mind having just returned from a salon. Not knowing where to bury my face so I can go unnoticed, I decided to bury it into this screen.
The guy in whose care I left my hair for what seemed like a moment, looked normal enough. I didnt for one moment on seeing him think that he had plans to transform me into a rock star. Well, the less said about the result the better.
He engaged me in some light conversation, fair enough, that was one way he could make his job interesting.. but this guy had several other ways as well. First he told me he was thinking of a hair style like that of 'Posh Spice' on my head. I figured with some effort that he was talking of Victoria Beckham.. now how the hell should I know what she looked like or what her latest hair style was. "that is like.." I asked with hesitation and he gave me a simple explanation which seemed sane enough.
As he worked some more he kept saying.. 'I am beginning to like this look.. dont you!' ... I must have been blind or something, I saw nothing.. I had no idea what he was doing with my hair, in the front it seemed he did nothing and behind he probably chopped off everything.. and then at a point where it seemed like everything was half done he said.. how do you like it.. I asked him ' are you done?!!!!!' he said 'yeah I think so..' 'OK but I think it doesnt look symmetric' and he said 'Symmetric is boring'..Now! that topic would have made for a great debate but not under this condition.. and I was starting to feel hopeless for myself.
I pushed myself to tell him that I need atleast something more.. 'Mercy Please' was what I was thinking. He did a little something but was not happy to do it.. I was abashed at my loss of words, expression.. the hair dresser and I were so out of synch. He thought he made me look like I am from this age and I left thinking 'If this is the state of the world.. I dont belong here'.
Ofcourse everybody around in the salon, complimented me on how good I looked.. but in my state of mind it all seemed liked planted evidence.. every body looked to me like accomplices in a murder..
Its not all so hopeless... as is most of life. My hair will grow and I will soon come to forget how frightening it all was. Some damages are not permanent. Knowing myself very well this will not be the last time this will happen ;) If somebody were to ask me 'who are you?' the simple answer would be 'I'm not myself!' atleast for now
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Celebrating Rakhi, Janmashtami and September Birthday
I am uploading a string of videos.. first Rakhi for chaitra and advait. You will see that chaitra's left handedness is raising issues on the grandparent front.
advait is content with the world around him at the moment but chaitra is beginning to question the same. she like to put her foot down and make sure that all is just for her in this world. you will see in the birthday celebration she makes sure that her name is included in the birthday list even though it was meant to celebrate mom,grandmother's and advait's half birthday.
Even in the Rakhi video she made sure that her Rakhi choice was justified.
Have a laugh.
New Photos have been uploaded on the picasa web. Link is on the rhs. Check them out
advait is content with the world around him at the moment but chaitra is beginning to question the same. she like to put her foot down and make sure that all is just for her in this world. you will see in the birthday celebration she makes sure that her name is included in the birthday list even though it was meant to celebrate mom,grandmother's and advait's half birthday.
Even in the Rakhi video she made sure that her Rakhi choice was justified.
Have a laugh.
New Photos have been uploaded on the picasa web. Link is on the rhs. Check them out
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
'Cheeni Kum' leaves a bland taste - atleast for me
Its probably the storyline that catches attention and may be only that. An aged man(Amitabh) falls in love with a woman half his age(Tabu) and the aged man and his lover happen to be one of the most accomplished actor and actress in bollywood. The movie was all hype and no thrill. The lead pair lacked any chemistry. Very far from looking blasphemous their affair ofcourse was devoid of sugar, far worse lacked any spice.
I am not exactly sure why desi film makers love to cast children in roles that dont befit their age and maturity. Sexy as the 9 year old kid is called in the movie, was unarguably the most unwatchable character, she was mouthing dialogues that would have suited an arrogant adult. ( See Pan's Labyrinth, Ofelia can easily be any kid's dream role)
Thats almost nothing good I said about that movie. In my defense I have to say that I may have had some praises for the cinematographer, but my pirated DVD recorded from the back seat of a movie theater wouldnt allow me to assess that. As for the music I was disappointed that Ilayaraja repeated some of his old songs, no novelty in that but still were pleasant to hear. Bollywood film makers are exploring newer territories but are probably far from doing anything explosive about them.
I am not exactly sure why desi film makers love to cast children in roles that dont befit their age and maturity. Sexy as the 9 year old kid is called in the movie, was unarguably the most unwatchable character, she was mouthing dialogues that would have suited an arrogant adult. ( See Pan's Labyrinth, Ofelia can easily be any kid's dream role)
Thats almost nothing good I said about that movie. In my defense I have to say that I may have had some praises for the cinematographer, but my pirated DVD recorded from the back seat of a movie theater wouldnt allow me to assess that. As for the music I was disappointed that Ilayaraja repeated some of his old songs, no novelty in that but still were pleasant to hear. Bollywood film makers are exploring newer territories but are probably far from doing anything explosive about them.
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