Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Food and Family (in order of importance)
Sometimes I feel that if my family had a coat of arms, it would depict a plate heaped high with food, surrounded by the motto ‘Jamvaa Chaalo Jee’ – the literal meaning of the phrase is a mild ‘let’s go to eat’, but the actual interpretation when used is closer to ‘Let’s Head for the Food, Troop’. Few in our clan can resist tasty food, and all are willing to travel the extra mile for good food, especially of the used-to-be-alive, i.e. non-veg variety.
I have a cousin who seldom wakes up before 9 a.m., even on a working day. Yet this person gets up at 4 a.m. to catch a train at 5:45 a.m., travels four hours sitting in a chair - car when he could be cosily curled up in bed, another hour suffering numerous jolts on bad roads in a rickety auto – all to reach an obscure village called Soranda that is famous for the quality of Parsi food served at it’s Gambhars (community meals where everyone eats as much as they can and pays whatever amount they want to).
This same cousin and his brother are a walking-talking encyclopedia on sources of food in Bombay. From the pao-bhaji at Sardar (Tardeo) to the golas at Girgaum Chowpatty, seekh kababs at Sarvi (Nagpada) to Biriyani in Byculla, Chinese in ‘Legacy of China’ (Saat Bangla) to rajma-chawal at Guru-da-dhaba, Goan Sauasages in New Martins (Colaba) to Shawarma in Picadilly (Colaba), they’ve been there and eaten that. Mention the kind of food you want to eat and the area you are in, and faster than you can check burrp.com or call just-dial, these guys have the answer – and they can suggest different places as per the capacity of your wallet !
I have a cousin who seldom wakes up before 9 a.m., even on a working day. Yet this person gets up at 4 a.m. to catch a train at 5:45 a.m., travels four hours sitting in a chair - car when he could be cosily curled up in bed, another hour suffering numerous jolts on bad roads in a rickety auto – all to reach an obscure village called Soranda that is famous for the quality of Parsi food served at it’s Gambhars (community meals where everyone eats as much as they can and pays whatever amount they want to).
This same cousin and his brother are a walking-talking encyclopedia on sources of food in Bombay. From the pao-bhaji at Sardar (Tardeo) to the golas at Girgaum Chowpatty, seekh kababs at Sarvi (Nagpada) to Biriyani in Byculla, Chinese in ‘Legacy of China’ (Saat Bangla) to rajma-chawal at Guru-da-dhaba, Goan Sauasages in New Martins (Colaba) to Shawarma in Picadilly (Colaba), they’ve been there and eaten that. Mention the kind of food you want to eat and the area you are in, and faster than you can check burrp.com or call just-dial, these guys have the answer – and they can suggest different places as per the capacity of your wallet !
Not only do we all love our ‘bhonu’ (food), those of us who marry, find spouses from families that love food as much, if not more. Which is great for my conscience ! Whenever I consider cutting down on the amount of non-veg I eat, I think of a relative-by-marriage who eats non-veg at every single meal. Often his wife coaxes him to eat some subji and dal to by cooking it with chunks of meat added in. Dinner at their place is often a blissful experience - there will be a dish of fish / chicken, and then there would be subji with meat in it or dal with meat in it. What more could one ask for in a meal ! (Except maybe roti stuffed with kheema.)
A few years ago, I decided to go on a high altitude trek in the Himlayas. I was not trekking too high – only upto 13,500 ft, but given my lack of both physical fitness and trekking experience, my parents were quite worried about my safety – whether I would survive the cold, altitude sickness, be able to walk so much, climb so high etc etc. However this relative was worried about only one thing : “But are you sure you will be able to survive without non-veg for two weeks ?!”
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Friday, June 20, 2008
Annoy-o-meter
Regular readers of this blog will be aware of the special relationship I share with Aishwarya Rai. Namely, I can't stand her acting. I find her plasticky, annoying and the target of my prayers for being an early victim in any movie having any chance, however minuscule, of killings.
Given that Ash usually just has to make a physical presence in a movie to make her annoying, in Dhoom 2 she managed to take her "my-annoying-self" performance to sterling levels. Five minutes into her appearance, I was wanting to throw something at the screen. Ten minutes later, I was pulling my hair out in frustration. Fifteen minutes later, I hoped Hrithik or Abhishek or even random character on the road #3 would have the good sense to bump her off.
Of course no such thing happened. At the end of the movie, finding myself still sane, I felt like a survivor. I found a new appreciation for the tolerance levels of the entire crew of Dhoom-2. And though I woke up at night in cold sweat with echoes of "Funny guy" and "Sunehri like likes you" in my head for quite a few days afterwards, the frequency of these incidents gradually decreased.
The point I am trying to make is, after watching Ash in Dhoom-2 I thought the absolute zenith of an annoying performance in cinema had been reached. No matter how annoying any other actor was in any movie, beside Ash's spectacular Dhoom-2 performance, they were mere fireflies beside the sun. That Dhoom-2 performance would forever occupy the numero uno position in my Annoying Performances Hall of Fame.
Or so I thought. Then I watched Asin in Dasavatharam. Till she opened her mouth to talk, she looked very pretty. The words "En perumal-a kudu" were the harbinger of doom. High pitched, irritating, murder-inducing, annoying - Asin managed it all and more!
Why on earth could not the character Fletcher who seemed to kill everyone else at first glance not have killed Asin on a priority basis? I think it was his devious plan to try to drive Govindraj to suicide due to unbearable torture by giving him Asin's constant company. Seeing the sheer number of places where Asin could have been bumped off convincingly and yet was still left alive was like being denied candy after being taken all the way to the checkout counter again and again.
By the time the end of the movie rolled around, I was eagerly awaiting it. There did not seem to be any other way out of watching the torture called Asin.
To be fair to Asin, unlike Ash's role in Dhoom-2 which *might* have been saved by a better actress, *anyone* performing Asin's role in Dasavatharam would have been equally horribly annoying. Which is why I have decided to let Ash retain her title of most annoying performer ever. But let me tell you, it is a very very narrow victory.
By,
Archana (http://archana.blogspot.com)
Given that Ash usually just has to make a physical presence in a movie to make her annoying, in Dhoom 2 she managed to take her "my-annoying-self" performance to sterling levels. Five minutes into her appearance, I was wanting to throw something at the screen. Ten minutes later, I was pulling my hair out in frustration. Fifteen minutes later, I hoped Hrithik or Abhishek or even random character on the road #3 would have the good sense to bump her off.
Of course no such thing happened. At the end of the movie, finding myself still sane, I felt like a survivor. I found a new appreciation for the tolerance levels of the entire crew of Dhoom-2. And though I woke up at night in cold sweat with echoes of "Funny guy" and "Sunehri like likes you" in my head for quite a few days afterwards, the frequency of these incidents gradually decreased.
The point I am trying to make is, after watching Ash in Dhoom-2 I thought the absolute zenith of an annoying performance in cinema had been reached. No matter how annoying any other actor was in any movie, beside Ash's spectacular Dhoom-2 performance, they were mere fireflies beside the sun. That Dhoom-2 performance would forever occupy the numero uno position in my Annoying Performances Hall of Fame.
Or so I thought. Then I watched Asin in Dasavatharam. Till she opened her mouth to talk, she looked very pretty. The words "En perumal-a kudu" were the harbinger of doom. High pitched, irritating, murder-inducing, annoying - Asin managed it all and more!
Why on earth could not the character Fletcher who seemed to kill everyone else at first glance not have killed Asin on a priority basis? I think it was his devious plan to try to drive Govindraj to suicide due to unbearable torture by giving him Asin's constant company. Seeing the sheer number of places where Asin could have been bumped off convincingly and yet was still left alive was like being denied candy after being taken all the way to the checkout counter again and again.
By the time the end of the movie rolled around, I was eagerly awaiting it. There did not seem to be any other way out of watching the torture called Asin.
To be fair to Asin, unlike Ash's role in Dhoom-2 which *might* have been saved by a better actress, *anyone* performing Asin's role in Dasavatharam would have been equally horribly annoying. Which is why I have decided to let Ash retain her title of most annoying performer ever. But let me tell you, it is a very very narrow victory.
By,
Archana (http://archana.blogspot.com)
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Dasavatharam – The ten horrors or I want my money back
The problem with being Kamal Hassan is you eventually get consumed by your own ‘thinking man’ image. Kamal Hassan is undoubtedly a good actor. Some of his movies have you crying your heart out, like Mahanadhi. Or laughing your guts out like Michael Madana Kama Rajan. But then, he comes up with these grandiose plans to make an ‘intelligent’ movie and you are crushed by the collapsing reels of his ambition – Guna, Alavandan, Hey Ram. Dasavataram is as ambitious as he gets. And unfortunately, it fails as badly as it can.
I can only think of one reason for this tendency of his to make such bloopers – a mega ego which probably tells him that he is up there in the list of the world’s intellectuals. Sure, he is intelligent. He has some very well thought-out views on a lot of topics. He probably reads much more than ninety percent of the Tamil film industry. Sadly, being a good actor or an intelligent person is not adequate criteria to write a good script or screenplay. Kamal fails to realise this. Like a third year, precocious, graduate student, eagerly grabbing his chance to voice his rapidly forming world views, Kamal throws idea upon idea at the audience, more to impress than to explore. One minute he hints at the dangers of biotechnology. Another minute he is urging us to live in harmony with the environment. The third he questions the existence of God. He talks about untouchables and about historical religious wars between Shaivaites and Vaishanvites. Also in the mire is a reference to Muslims being typecast as terrorists (Oh Boy! is he the one to talk about typecasting. Watch out for a Japanese character called Yuka who is from Hiroshima, is a Kung fu goddess and has a brother who runs something like a Shaolin school) .
It is not just the ideas that swing wildly. It is also the mood of the movie. The first fifteen minutes try to establish a serious tone. Then presumably, the director realises that the audience would probably find the whole thing too intense and the track switches to comedy. You grin uneasily when funny lines follow gruesome killings, wondering what to make of it. The movie can’t quite make up its mind till the end on whether it is supposed to be serious with funny thrown in or the other way around.
If Kamal the scriptwriter has bombed, what about Kamal the actor? After all, the movie is supposed to be a vehicle for his impressive range of emoting. This is probably where the plot could have been structured better. The ten roles that Kamal plays do not seem integral to the plot line. Some of them are totally irrelevant and seem to be there just to showcase Kamal the actor. Why did you need the Grandma or Avatar Singh (dancing with an aged Jayaprada, reminding you that it is not just the movies that are going to the dogs and you may as well take a moment to worry about politics)? The other roles could have been played by other actors. Kamal as George Bush looks as silly as Hrithik Roshan as the queen in Dhoom 2. Kamal as the villain, Christian Fletcher looks strangely out of proportion, with a large android head and a punier body. All that money spent on make-up would have been so much better spent on special effects. The scenes of the sea surging and cars and trees being tossed around look like the work of someone who has just completed the first level of Arena Multimedia’s courses.
The protagonist Govind is a role Kamal can sleepwalk through and he does exactly that. Balram Naidu, the RAW officer is the most impressive of them all, actually bringing a few chuckles. The dalit environmentalist also manages to convince us that it is not Kamal playing the role. Fundamentally though, a lack of clarity in the plot renders most of the characters superfluous and hence lessens your ability to admire the disguises or the voice modulations or even a surprising leap from the usual put-on accent Kamal uses when he speaks English. Govind is supposed to be a scientist, trying to prevent a deadly virus from falling into the wrong hands. Christian Fletcher is supposed to be working for the wrong hands. So, are the characters played by Kamal supposed to be aiding the destruction of the virus? Or are they proof of the fact that there is good and bad everywhere?
With even the characters played by Kamal floundering, there has been little focus on other roles. Leading to some downright annoying ones like that of Asin. Towards the end of the movie, you want to grab the bronze statue she holds for most part of the movie and hit her on the head to get her to shut up. Peripheral characters like Sethu, the greedy head of the biotech firm selling out to foreign hands are laughable. Why does the evil dealmaker run around for 15 minutes lugging a VIP-like suitcase straight from the 80s?
The bottomline is that Kamal, the scriptwriter has bitten off more than he can chew leading to Kamal, the actor getting a raw deal.
By,
Anita B.
http://royalvilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/dasavatharam-ten-horrors-or-i-want-my.html
I can only think of one reason for this tendency of his to make such bloopers – a mega ego which probably tells him that he is up there in the list of the world’s intellectuals. Sure, he is intelligent. He has some very well thought-out views on a lot of topics. He probably reads much more than ninety percent of the Tamil film industry. Sadly, being a good actor or an intelligent person is not adequate criteria to write a good script or screenplay. Kamal fails to realise this. Like a third year, precocious, graduate student, eagerly grabbing his chance to voice his rapidly forming world views, Kamal throws idea upon idea at the audience, more to impress than to explore. One minute he hints at the dangers of biotechnology. Another minute he is urging us to live in harmony with the environment. The third he questions the existence of God. He talks about untouchables and about historical religious wars between Shaivaites and Vaishanvites. Also in the mire is a reference to Muslims being typecast as terrorists (Oh Boy! is he the one to talk about typecasting. Watch out for a Japanese character called Yuka who is from Hiroshima, is a Kung fu goddess and has a brother who runs something like a Shaolin school) .
It is not just the ideas that swing wildly. It is also the mood of the movie. The first fifteen minutes try to establish a serious tone. Then presumably, the director realises that the audience would probably find the whole thing too intense and the track switches to comedy. You grin uneasily when funny lines follow gruesome killings, wondering what to make of it. The movie can’t quite make up its mind till the end on whether it is supposed to be serious with funny thrown in or the other way around.
If Kamal the scriptwriter has bombed, what about Kamal the actor? After all, the movie is supposed to be a vehicle for his impressive range of emoting. This is probably where the plot could have been structured better. The ten roles that Kamal plays do not seem integral to the plot line. Some of them are totally irrelevant and seem to be there just to showcase Kamal the actor. Why did you need the Grandma or Avatar Singh (dancing with an aged Jayaprada, reminding you that it is not just the movies that are going to the dogs and you may as well take a moment to worry about politics)? The other roles could have been played by other actors. Kamal as George Bush looks as silly as Hrithik Roshan as the queen in Dhoom 2. Kamal as the villain, Christian Fletcher looks strangely out of proportion, with a large android head and a punier body. All that money spent on make-up would have been so much better spent on special effects. The scenes of the sea surging and cars and trees being tossed around look like the work of someone who has just completed the first level of Arena Multimedia’s courses.
The protagonist Govind is a role Kamal can sleepwalk through and he does exactly that. Balram Naidu, the RAW officer is the most impressive of them all, actually bringing a few chuckles. The dalit environmentalist also manages to convince us that it is not Kamal playing the role. Fundamentally though, a lack of clarity in the plot renders most of the characters superfluous and hence lessens your ability to admire the disguises or the voice modulations or even a surprising leap from the usual put-on accent Kamal uses when he speaks English. Govind is supposed to be a scientist, trying to prevent a deadly virus from falling into the wrong hands. Christian Fletcher is supposed to be working for the wrong hands. So, are the characters played by Kamal supposed to be aiding the destruction of the virus? Or are they proof of the fact that there is good and bad everywhere?
With even the characters played by Kamal floundering, there has been little focus on other roles. Leading to some downright annoying ones like that of Asin. Towards the end of the movie, you want to grab the bronze statue she holds for most part of the movie and hit her on the head to get her to shut up. Peripheral characters like Sethu, the greedy head of the biotech firm selling out to foreign hands are laughable. Why does the evil dealmaker run around for 15 minutes lugging a VIP-like suitcase straight from the 80s?
The bottomline is that Kamal, the scriptwriter has bitten off more than he can chew leading to Kamal, the actor getting a raw deal.
By,
Anita B.
http://royalvilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/dasavatharam-ten-horrors-or-i-want-my.html
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Random Self-Help Book
According to news reports that I have read, the best-selling, most widely read category of books is the self-help/self-improvement genre. Hence, I have decided to start writing dribs and drabs, bits and pieces of a self-help book here. Have decided to make it one of those where a page only contains one (supposedly) insightful and profound statement, and the page facing it contains details related to that statement, or some cartoon illustrating it. This serves the dual purpose of making it seem very high-brow and arty (sort of), while allowing me to escape with just 50% of the work.
Below is the first installment of the book, will keep adding to it as I go on. Do feel free to send in your contributions too – as always, maximize collaboration and minimize work is my motto. Also, do let me know if you can think of a good title for the book, all I can think of is the ‘The Random Self-Help Book’, which is honest, but is probably not conducive to sending sales soaring.
Chapter Titled : ‘The Basic Difference Between People’
1) Only one alphabet – cLass vs. cRass
2) Some people are comfortable with silence filling the gaps in conversation, whereas others rush in to fill every gap with chatter
Chapter Titled : ‘Experience Says’
1) If you sit under an apple tree, mangoes will not fall into your hands; seek out a mango orchard for those
2) First confirm whether you possess the right set of keys, then bang the door shut behind you
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Below is the first installment of the book, will keep adding to it as I go on. Do feel free to send in your contributions too – as always, maximize collaboration and minimize work is my motto. Also, do let me know if you can think of a good title for the book, all I can think of is the ‘The Random Self-Help Book’, which is honest, but is probably not conducive to sending sales soaring.
Chapter Titled : ‘The Basic Difference Between People’
1) Only one alphabet – cLass vs. cRass
2) Some people are comfortable with silence filling the gaps in conversation, whereas others rush in to fill every gap with chatter
Chapter Titled : ‘Experience Says’
1) If you sit under an apple tree, mangoes will not fall into your hands; seek out a mango orchard for those
2) First confirm whether you possess the right set of keys, then bang the door shut behind you
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Monday, June 09, 2008
Response to 'IPL'
Venky’s post here got Arunabh to comment – at length. I felt his response might get lost as a comment, hence here it is as a post :
I liked this post so much that I had to read it twice. And I totally agree with whatever you have said to the last word. IPL is nothing but one giant corporate monster that is slowly but steadily going to swallow traditional cricket. Expectedly, people thronged the stadiums in large numbers to watch this ultimate cricketing tamasha. The sad part is that a majority of the audience went there to catch a glimpse of the Preity Zintas and Shahrukh Khans rather than watch the 'Cricketing Gods' in action. Not to forget the omnipresent Vijay Mallya with the dumb Katrina Kaif in tow. As if this was not enough, there were the girls from Washington Redskins gyrating to numbers which made no sense to them. And the capacity crowd leered and cheered!
T20 is silly because you are expected to hit a six off every ball. Batters wield the bat like a sledgehammer throwing all cautions to the winds. A bowler can only hope to bowl a containment line. Warne need not produce a "ball of the century" to snare a wicket. If he's lucky enough, the batsman will be caught in the deep. Otherwise, he is unlucky. Guys like Swapnil Asnodkar, who score runs only via edges and nicks, become instantaneous prodigies. While the real batting greats like Dravid and Kallis are subjected to public humiliation by a man who doesn't even know the C of Cricket.
Once in a while, T20 is understandable. Having a T20 spread over more than a month is only going to kill the traditional but thoroughly enjoyable forms of the game viz. test cricket and the one-dayers. But then, T20 rakes in the moolah and in all probability, is here to stay. Meanwhile, the diehard fans should start following 'Golden moments of World Cricket' on Star Cricket.
By,
Arunabh
(http://fitsoffantasy.blogspot.com)
I liked this post so much that I had to read it twice. And I totally agree with whatever you have said to the last word. IPL is nothing but one giant corporate monster that is slowly but steadily going to swallow traditional cricket. Expectedly, people thronged the stadiums in large numbers to watch this ultimate cricketing tamasha. The sad part is that a majority of the audience went there to catch a glimpse of the Preity Zintas and Shahrukh Khans rather than watch the 'Cricketing Gods' in action. Not to forget the omnipresent Vijay Mallya with the dumb Katrina Kaif in tow. As if this was not enough, there were the girls from Washington Redskins gyrating to numbers which made no sense to them. And the capacity crowd leered and cheered!
T20 is silly because you are expected to hit a six off every ball. Batters wield the bat like a sledgehammer throwing all cautions to the winds. A bowler can only hope to bowl a containment line. Warne need not produce a "ball of the century" to snare a wicket. If he's lucky enough, the batsman will be caught in the deep. Otherwise, he is unlucky. Guys like Swapnil Asnodkar, who score runs only via edges and nicks, become instantaneous prodigies. While the real batting greats like Dravid and Kallis are subjected to public humiliation by a man who doesn't even know the C of Cricket.
Once in a while, T20 is understandable. Having a T20 spread over more than a month is only going to kill the traditional but thoroughly enjoyable forms of the game viz. test cricket and the one-dayers. But then, T20 rakes in the moolah and in all probability, is here to stay. Meanwhile, the diehard fans should start following 'Golden moments of World Cricket' on Star Cricket.
By,
Arunabh
(http://fitsoffantasy.blogspot.com)
Saturday, June 07, 2008
IPL
I distinctly remember that morning. I opened the news-paper and read that Juhi Chawla, among others, was buying her own cricket team! Cricket, for me, died that a.m.
What the hell was wrong with the world? Why was a Kurkure-salesman buying a cricket team? And she probably spelt the game with a K! The ball had begun hurtling down the slippery-slope. Soon there was talk of million-dollar salaries being offered. That’s when I realized what IPL stood for. International Prostitutes’ League.
With each passing day, I saw with dismay how the sports-writers/television anchors/media-pundits were going into frequent orgasmic frenzies, talking (very infrequently) about how this would help the game, and frothing (very frequently) about the money being spent! And all this, in our typical way, was in some perverse fashion an indicator of India’s coming of age. The new India!!! A resurgent world-conqueror (who’d stay benign, nevertheless) who was on the march. An irresistible march. And I was reminded of the old Confucian saying, ‘Thumping chests makes ribs crack!’
And then the big stars entered the league. A pseudo-playboy who makes money out of selling hooch; a superstar whose gamut of expressions runs from A to B; a billionaire whose broad shoulders carry the mantle of Corporate-India; an ex-drug convict posing as an executive in charge of the carnival; a dimpled actress who suffers from terminal hug-itis ………the list grew and grew as I watched in fascinated horror.
The not-so-poor cricketers were photographed alongside these stars, and their discomfort was evident in the sheepish smiles they flashed. There is something completely artificial about a ‘successful’ businessman/actor that these players couldn’t fathom, yet they were taken in by the bonhomie-act that both types put on so well. Soon, the sheepish smiles gave way to an arrogant smirk as the cricketers found their feet. And I watched on in dismay.
Then the tournament began. Nearly every newspaper carried almost 4 pages of news about the International Prostitutes’ League. The stadia were full. There was talk of a new generation being drawn to the game. This new generation included boys who wore their caps backward and flashed hand-signs popularized by rap-artistes. And girls who thought saying, “He’s soooooooo delicious” meant they finally understood the game! And I watched on in anger.
The commentators whipped the crowds into a frenzy. Every ungainly shot was applauded, cheered, placarded, and no matter where the camera turned, there were the same faces. Lips drawn back in a rictus that was supposed to convey enjoyment, eyes bulging out, hands splayed in the air, and jumping up and down. All around. Everywhere. Faces mirroring faces. And the commentators droned on about how the game had entered a ‘new era’. About how important it was to ‘move with the times’. About how excitement could be so easily manufactured! And I watched on in frustration.
Till one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. And I began conducting an informal survey of my own. My questions were very simple, that anybody who’d followed the game genuinely would easily answer :
Who were the three Ws?
Would Bill O’Reilly be considered great if he were to play today?
Why was Sobers’ first test century so very special?
Have you ever been to a stadium to watch a test-match?
And a few other questions. It was simple, ridiculously so. The idiot-generation, the new-converts to cricket hadn’t a clue!!! And I smirked!
I shouldn’t have been horrified, though. I would complain about the decline of test-cricket loudly and frequently to my friends. I believe the first step was taken with the introduction of helmets in the late 70s. While everybody will tell you that the sport is about talent and stamina and patience, not many will tell you that it is also built around fear. The fear of being hit by a ball can act as a wonderful spur to a batsman to be technically correct. And that fear was lessened considerably when helmets made their appearance. The natural result of this, over the decades, is the quality of players today.
There was this wonderful novel called ‘My God Died Young’ dating back to the late sixties by a Sasthi Bratha. I think the title is perfect for my relation with cricket today. Cricket is dead. Long live the poofters who wax their eyebrows and perm their hair and call themselves cricketers. At a pinch, they could probably shed their gear and join the gyrating cheer-leaders at the boundary!!!!
There are already acrobats, fire-eaters, motor-bike riding stutmen and other assorted clowns at cricket grounds nowadays. Why don’t they throw in a couple of elephants, call it the GRC and be done with it?
GRC, you wonder? That’s an acronym for Great Rayman Circus.
And for all the morons who think this is cricket, you also probably believe in the whole ‘India Shining’ bit, too. Oh well, delusions are good. Let us all delude ourselves and live happily ever after!!!
JAI EVERYTHING!!!
By,
Bhankee
What the hell was wrong with the world? Why was a Kurkure-salesman buying a cricket team? And she probably spelt the game with a K! The ball had begun hurtling down the slippery-slope. Soon there was talk of million-dollar salaries being offered. That’s when I realized what IPL stood for. International Prostitutes’ League.
With each passing day, I saw with dismay how the sports-writers/television anchors/media-pundits were going into frequent orgasmic frenzies, talking (very infrequently) about how this would help the game, and frothing (very frequently) about the money being spent! And all this, in our typical way, was in some perverse fashion an indicator of India’s coming of age. The new India!!! A resurgent world-conqueror (who’d stay benign, nevertheless) who was on the march. An irresistible march. And I was reminded of the old Confucian saying, ‘Thumping chests makes ribs crack!’
And then the big stars entered the league. A pseudo-playboy who makes money out of selling hooch; a superstar whose gamut of expressions runs from A to B; a billionaire whose broad shoulders carry the mantle of Corporate-India; an ex-drug convict posing as an executive in charge of the carnival; a dimpled actress who suffers from terminal hug-itis ………the list grew and grew as I watched in fascinated horror.
The not-so-poor cricketers were photographed alongside these stars, and their discomfort was evident in the sheepish smiles they flashed. There is something completely artificial about a ‘successful’ businessman/actor that these players couldn’t fathom, yet they were taken in by the bonhomie-act that both types put on so well. Soon, the sheepish smiles gave way to an arrogant smirk as the cricketers found their feet. And I watched on in dismay.
Then the tournament began. Nearly every newspaper carried almost 4 pages of news about the International Prostitutes’ League. The stadia were full. There was talk of a new generation being drawn to the game. This new generation included boys who wore their caps backward and flashed hand-signs popularized by rap-artistes. And girls who thought saying, “He’s soooooooo delicious” meant they finally understood the game! And I watched on in anger.
The commentators whipped the crowds into a frenzy. Every ungainly shot was applauded, cheered, placarded, and no matter where the camera turned, there were the same faces. Lips drawn back in a rictus that was supposed to convey enjoyment, eyes bulging out, hands splayed in the air, and jumping up and down. All around. Everywhere. Faces mirroring faces. And the commentators droned on about how the game had entered a ‘new era’. About how important it was to ‘move with the times’. About how excitement could be so easily manufactured! And I watched on in frustration.
Till one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. And I began conducting an informal survey of my own. My questions were very simple, that anybody who’d followed the game genuinely would easily answer :
Who were the three Ws?
Would Bill O’Reilly be considered great if he were to play today?
Why was Sobers’ first test century so very special?
Have you ever been to a stadium to watch a test-match?
And a few other questions. It was simple, ridiculously so. The idiot-generation, the new-converts to cricket hadn’t a clue!!! And I smirked!
I shouldn’t have been horrified, though. I would complain about the decline of test-cricket loudly and frequently to my friends. I believe the first step was taken with the introduction of helmets in the late 70s. While everybody will tell you that the sport is about talent and stamina and patience, not many will tell you that it is also built around fear. The fear of being hit by a ball can act as a wonderful spur to a batsman to be technically correct. And that fear was lessened considerably when helmets made their appearance. The natural result of this, over the decades, is the quality of players today.
There was this wonderful novel called ‘My God Died Young’ dating back to the late sixties by a Sasthi Bratha. I think the title is perfect for my relation with cricket today. Cricket is dead. Long live the poofters who wax their eyebrows and perm their hair and call themselves cricketers. At a pinch, they could probably shed their gear and join the gyrating cheer-leaders at the boundary!!!!
There are already acrobats, fire-eaters, motor-bike riding stutmen and other assorted clowns at cricket grounds nowadays. Why don’t they throw in a couple of elephants, call it the GRC and be done with it?
GRC, you wonder? That’s an acronym for Great Rayman Circus.
And for all the morons who think this is cricket, you also probably believe in the whole ‘India Shining’ bit, too. Oh well, delusions are good. Let us all delude ourselves and live happily ever after!!!
JAI EVERYTHING!!!
By,
Bhankee
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)