My earliest memories of Reader's Digest date back to the time I was in kindergarten. Contrary to what you may have concluded, I was not a child prodigy, able to read the magazine from cover to cover at the ripe old age of 3. Rather, I used to find in the magazine's pages, a pretty convenient place to write "check" marks with a red pen, finally giving "scores" at the end of each article with flourish, just like Sandhya miss in my LKG class did in my notebooks. Of course, as soon my parents discovered this new hobby, it died a premature death.
Reader's Digest(RD) has been a part of my household for as long as I remember. Dad started subscribing to it from the time he started working, much to my mom's delight. It meant that she would not have to give up reading RD (which my grandfather used to subscribe to) after marriage. Little wonder then, when sis and me came into existence, this family interest got passed on to us too.
Starting around age 7, I was able to read the simpler page fillers and the simpler jokes in the various features like "Life is like that", "Laughter the best medicine" and so on. As I grew older, I started reading pretty much the entire magazine. I also had fun reading interesting old RD article collections (which mom had patiently clipped out and bound) as well as the collections published by RD itself (I still have fond memories of a book of short stories which had stories like "Lamb to the slaughter", "The selfish giant" and "The wedding gift").
Irrespective of the number of transfers my dad went through, RD subscriptions always followed. When a new issue of RD arrived, there would be a tussle as to who would read it first. Mom was soon relegated to late mornings and noon as the only time when she could get her hands on it (when the rest of us were at work/school). Sis and me would fight over it when we got back from school - soon, a reading schedule was brought into existence to restore peace in the household. Dad of course, could choose anytime he wanted (ah, the perks of being head of household :-)).
During exam time, while cable TV connection got disconnected at friends' and cousins' houses, it stayed untouched in my house. Instead, mom would hide new issues of RD! Of course, we subscribed to other magazines too but somehow RD had a special pride of place.
To my dismay, around the time I was finishing my undergraduate education, I started noticing a deterioration in the quality of the RD articles. But hey, it was by no means poor quality and besides, it was still The Reader's Digest!
Once I got to the US, RD was sporadically subscribed to by roomies. But it was no longer a constant, unchanging part of my life. Then, a couple of years ago, my manager gifted me a with subscription to RD. Yippee!
I started receiving RD regularly and continued subscribing to it. Good or bad, RD was a source of comfort, a sign of being at "home" - home being defined by as a place always having the latest issue of RD. Of course, I enjoyed reading it too. And so it has been since then.
Last week, I got into a fever of house-cleaning. I found that, true to my hoarding tendencies, I had stored *every* issue of RD I had ever got from the time I started subscription. In a way, I guess this was a legacy from my childhood days when RD magazines alone were not thrown away easily (you really did not think that I would miss an opportunity to squarely place the hoarding blame elsewhere, did you).
Anyway, hardening my heart, I gathered them all into a big plastic bag, to be taken to the dumpster. Then, I felt bad. Nice magazines - why throw them away? Maybe I could donate them to someone who wanted them. The local library seemed like a bad option. Google to the rescue! I discovered that apparently there were places to give away stuff. Then it struck me, Craigslist!
Late on Friday night, I placed an ad on Craigslist - "Free old issues of Reader's Digest magazine", it proclaimed - with little hope of response. My main aim was to assuage my guilty conscience by proving to myself that I had tried *not* throwing those magazines away.
To my pleasant surprise, within the next 10 minutes, I had a response from a lady saying that she wanted to pick them up the very next day. Before morning came, I had two more positive responses. The next day noon, the lady stopped by my house and picked up the RDs. Resolutely shaking off my last bit of possessiveness I handed over the bag of old RDs to her, just managing to not add in a choked voice, "Please take good care of them".
Vive la Reader's Digest!
By,
Archana B.
(http://archana.blogspot.com)
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Peeping Tom, not I
During a recent trip to Sikkim, I fell ill halfway through a trek and descended to a village called Tsokha with a friend while the rest of our group went on. My friend and I spent three days in Tsokha whilst waiting for the others to return. Tsokha is a village that exists only for the purpose of adventure tourism - located at a height of 9000-10,000 ft, it is one of the halts on the popular Dzongri – Goecha La treks. All Tsokha has is a few houses, a camp-site, three shacks that call themselves ‘cafes’ and sell trinkets and snacks to trekkers, a lot of itinerant trekkers – most of them firangs, and a small monastery.
In Tsokha, we rented a room from a villager; it was big enough for us to empty our backpacks and spread out our stuff untidily rather than do the daily drill of unpack sleeping bag – sleep – wake up – unpack new set of clothes – pack used clothes – pack sleeping bag. As I was unwell, one of our porters had descended with us and he ensured that we had a pampered existence. He would bring us tea at 7:30 a.m. and breakfast at 8:30 a.m. After breakfast, my friend would go off on a long hike while I lazily strolled around Tsokha – visiting the monastery, sitting at the chai shops and chatting endlessly with total strangers etc. My friend would return around one, and we would have lunch together and chat a bit. Each day, by 2 in the afternoon, a mist would roll in accompanied by a sharp, biting wind that encouraged all but the most adventurous to stay in – either in tents or in their rooms. By half past two, we would be huddled in our sleeping bags in the rooms. Once more, we would depend on our porter to brave the cold and bring us evening tea as well as dinner.
Unfortunately, this was one trip on which I had forgotten to bring a book to read and I found myself at a loss for things to do to keep myself occupied once we were cooped up in the room. Then, on the second such afternoon, I remembered the number of birds I had seen in the thicket near the common toilet, which was behind the block of rooms we were staying in. It was quite a pretty location for a loo – mountains all around, a valley below, and in the adjacent thicket there were rhododendron bushes, magnolia trees, some bamboo and lots of bushes; the richness of the flora accounting for both a large number of birds that twittered and chirped away the day and an interminable procession of bees/wasps that droned on in a threatening manner and encouraged one to hurry up with one’s business lest they decide to attack.
Luckily, one of the windows of my room faced the thicket and I settled down at the window that afternoon to see whatever birds I could before the mist became too thick. Aah, I thought, the luxury of seeing birds without being exposed to the cold mist and the wind. I saw a magpie or two, and some unidentified small birds. Mostly though, I saw crows flying to and fro in a most frazzled manner, as if searching for something they had lost. I could chart the approach of the mist by looking at the flowers on the magnolia tree nearby. As the first tendrils of the mist crept over the tree, they only served to highlight its vibrancy – bursting-with-life, voluptuous, bright white magnolia flowers contrasted against a background of dull, grayish-white, amorphous mist. Slowly the jealous mist called up reinforcements and grew thicker, fewer and fewer of the lively magnolia flowers were visible; until finally the curdled-with-jealousy thick mist hid them altogether.
At this point I turned away from the window to describe the change in scenery to my friend. I turned back to the window a minute later, only to view the not-so-appealing sight of the ample rear end of some man lowering his trousers. My initial response was irritation with the man for intruding on a scene of such beauty; for a moment I toyed with the idea of scaring him by tapping eerily on the window pane, or of embarrassing him by opening the window and asking him the time.
Then I realized that to any external observer I was the intruder, sitting with my nose pressed against the window-pane, at a window that overlooked the path to the loo - probably one of those weird kinky psychos, the type who get their thrills by trekking 10,000 ft high to secretly observe other people answering the call of nature. Given where I was sitting and what I seemed to be doing, I could hardly accuse the man with his pants down of being uncouth or boorish, so what if he preferred watering the trees to using a man-made facility !
I wondered then whether other people approaching the loo had been embarrassed / shocked into abandoning plan when they saw a face wearing an earnest, keenly observant expression in the window-pane. Did they scuttle back to their rooms to report in shocked tones the weird behaviour being exhibited by the lady (??) in room no. 3 ? In case they did, and you heard about it too, this is the true and accurate version of events – I’m not a despo Peeping Tom, it’s all a simple misunderstanding.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
In Tsokha, we rented a room from a villager; it was big enough for us to empty our backpacks and spread out our stuff untidily rather than do the daily drill of unpack sleeping bag – sleep – wake up – unpack new set of clothes – pack used clothes – pack sleeping bag. As I was unwell, one of our porters had descended with us and he ensured that we had a pampered existence. He would bring us tea at 7:30 a.m. and breakfast at 8:30 a.m. After breakfast, my friend would go off on a long hike while I lazily strolled around Tsokha – visiting the monastery, sitting at the chai shops and chatting endlessly with total strangers etc. My friend would return around one, and we would have lunch together and chat a bit. Each day, by 2 in the afternoon, a mist would roll in accompanied by a sharp, biting wind that encouraged all but the most adventurous to stay in – either in tents or in their rooms. By half past two, we would be huddled in our sleeping bags in the rooms. Once more, we would depend on our porter to brave the cold and bring us evening tea as well as dinner.
Unfortunately, this was one trip on which I had forgotten to bring a book to read and I found myself at a loss for things to do to keep myself occupied once we were cooped up in the room. Then, on the second such afternoon, I remembered the number of birds I had seen in the thicket near the common toilet, which was behind the block of rooms we were staying in. It was quite a pretty location for a loo – mountains all around, a valley below, and in the adjacent thicket there were rhododendron bushes, magnolia trees, some bamboo and lots of bushes; the richness of the flora accounting for both a large number of birds that twittered and chirped away the day and an interminable procession of bees/wasps that droned on in a threatening manner and encouraged one to hurry up with one’s business lest they decide to attack.
Luckily, one of the windows of my room faced the thicket and I settled down at the window that afternoon to see whatever birds I could before the mist became too thick. Aah, I thought, the luxury of seeing birds without being exposed to the cold mist and the wind. I saw a magpie or two, and some unidentified small birds. Mostly though, I saw crows flying to and fro in a most frazzled manner, as if searching for something they had lost. I could chart the approach of the mist by looking at the flowers on the magnolia tree nearby. As the first tendrils of the mist crept over the tree, they only served to highlight its vibrancy – bursting-with-life, voluptuous, bright white magnolia flowers contrasted against a background of dull, grayish-white, amorphous mist. Slowly the jealous mist called up reinforcements and grew thicker, fewer and fewer of the lively magnolia flowers were visible; until finally the curdled-with-jealousy thick mist hid them altogether.
At this point I turned away from the window to describe the change in scenery to my friend. I turned back to the window a minute later, only to view the not-so-appealing sight of the ample rear end of some man lowering his trousers. My initial response was irritation with the man for intruding on a scene of such beauty; for a moment I toyed with the idea of scaring him by tapping eerily on the window pane, or of embarrassing him by opening the window and asking him the time.
Then I realized that to any external observer I was the intruder, sitting with my nose pressed against the window-pane, at a window that overlooked the path to the loo - probably one of those weird kinky psychos, the type who get their thrills by trekking 10,000 ft high to secretly observe other people answering the call of nature. Given where I was sitting and what I seemed to be doing, I could hardly accuse the man with his pants down of being uncouth or boorish, so what if he preferred watering the trees to using a man-made facility !
I wondered then whether other people approaching the loo had been embarrassed / shocked into abandoning plan when they saw a face wearing an earnest, keenly observant expression in the window-pane. Did they scuttle back to their rooms to report in shocked tones the weird behaviour being exhibited by the lady (??) in room no. 3 ? In case they did, and you heard about it too, this is the true and accurate version of events – I’m not a despo Peeping Tom, it’s all a simple misunderstanding.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
About a Monastery
The quaintest Buddhist monastery I have seen is tucked away in a corner of a tiny village called Tsokha in the picturesque state of Sikkim. Tsokha is a village that exists only for the purpose of adventure tourism - located at a height of 9000-10,000 ft, it is one of the halts on the popular Dzongri – Goecha La treks. All Tsokha has is a few houses, a camp-site, three shacks that call themselves ‘cafes’ and sell trinkets and snacks to trekkers, a lot of itinerant trekkers – most of them firangs, and the aforementioned monastery.
The monastery is situated on top of a hillock that is adjacent to a small lake. In order to reach the monastery, one has to walk across the lake on a makeshift bridge made of rickety wooden logs stretched out over blocks of stone placed in the water – this minor adventure adds to the overall charm of the visit.
Tied to the trees bordering the lake, stretching out across and around it, are strings of prayer flags in the usual five colours – yellow, green, red, white, blue; the bright colours a vivid contrast against both the blue-white cotton-cloud sky and the dull green waters of the lake in which they are reflected.
Near the lake is a small meadow that has horses grazing on it. Occasionally a horse strays into the monastery grounds and nibbles on the grass there – the doors to the monastery are closed and barred in order to prevent the horses from entering the building. The only sounds to be heard at the monastery are the gentle tinkle of the bells around the horses’ necks and the fluttering of the prayer flags in the wind. Occasionally one hears the reluctant rumble of the row of rusty prayer wheels along the monastery’s walls as they are rotated by a visitor.
To the right of the monastery is a small path which curves around it, and which if followed, leads one to a hillside covered with trees bearing red rhododendron flowers and white magnolias. Amongst the trees and bushes dart a multitude of birds, chirruping and tweeting softly. The only other sound is the muted roar of a waterfall, visible in the distance on another hill.
While I was there, I did consider taking a few photographs of the monastery and its surroundings, but finally decided against it as no photograph could do justice to the beauty, tranquility and serenity of the place.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
The monastery is situated on top of a hillock that is adjacent to a small lake. In order to reach the monastery, one has to walk across the lake on a makeshift bridge made of rickety wooden logs stretched out over blocks of stone placed in the water – this minor adventure adds to the overall charm of the visit.
Tied to the trees bordering the lake, stretching out across and around it, are strings of prayer flags in the usual five colours – yellow, green, red, white, blue; the bright colours a vivid contrast against both the blue-white cotton-cloud sky and the dull green waters of the lake in which they are reflected.
Near the lake is a small meadow that has horses grazing on it. Occasionally a horse strays into the monastery grounds and nibbles on the grass there – the doors to the monastery are closed and barred in order to prevent the horses from entering the building. The only sounds to be heard at the monastery are the gentle tinkle of the bells around the horses’ necks and the fluttering of the prayer flags in the wind. Occasionally one hears the reluctant rumble of the row of rusty prayer wheels along the monastery’s walls as they are rotated by a visitor.
To the right of the monastery is a small path which curves around it, and which if followed, leads one to a hillside covered with trees bearing red rhododendron flowers and white magnolias. Amongst the trees and bushes dart a multitude of birds, chirruping and tweeting softly. The only other sound is the muted roar of a waterfall, visible in the distance on another hill.
While I was there, I did consider taking a few photographs of the monastery and its surroundings, but finally decided against it as no photograph could do justice to the beauty, tranquility and serenity of the place.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Monday, February 25, 2008
Queej Tayme
Hello All,
To cover up for a total drought of ideas and lack of creativity on my part, have decided to run a quiz on the blog this time. Please try to answer the following questions without using google. Answers in the comments section. Ready..Steady...Go!
1) Name the stars who gave the voice-over for the characters of Shrek and Princess Fiona in the movie ‘Shrek’ ? (No, I don’t want to know who was the voice of the donkey; the first question should be easy, but not that easy)
2) What species of Fish was ‘Nemo’ from ‘Finding Nemo’ ?
3) Name the original founder of Pixar Animation Studios ?
4) Which was the first full-length feature film to be entirely computer animated ?
5) Name the first Disney movie to feature a non-white heroine ?
6) Name the duo that befriend the cub Simba after he runs away from the Pride Lands in ‘Lion King’ – their names in the movie and the name of the species they belonged to, both are required to get this one right.
7) Which was the first (and only) animation film to be nominated for ‘Best Picture’ at the Oscars ?
8) The ‘best animated feature’ is a category only added to the Oscars in this decade. Name the first movie to win an Oscar for ‘Best Animated Film’
9) ‘Persepolis’, a unique story about growing up in Iran, is one of the nominees for this year’s Oscar for best animated film. Name the author of the original graphic novel by the same name ?
To cover up for a total drought of ideas and lack of creativity on my part, have decided to run a quiz on the blog this time. Please try to answer the following questions without using google. Answers in the comments section. Ready..Steady...Go!
1) Name the stars who gave the voice-over for the characters of Shrek and Princess Fiona in the movie ‘Shrek’ ? (No, I don’t want to know who was the voice of the donkey; the first question should be easy, but not that easy)
2) What species of Fish was ‘Nemo’ from ‘Finding Nemo’ ?
3) Name the original founder of Pixar Animation Studios ?
4) Which was the first full-length feature film to be entirely computer animated ?
5) Name the first Disney movie to feature a non-white heroine ?
6) Name the duo that befriend the cub Simba after he runs away from the Pride Lands in ‘Lion King’ – their names in the movie and the name of the species they belonged to, both are required to get this one right.
7) Which was the first (and only) animation film to be nominated for ‘Best Picture’ at the Oscars ?
8) The ‘best animated feature’ is a category only added to the Oscars in this decade. Name the first movie to win an Oscar for ‘Best Animated Film’
9) ‘Persepolis’, a unique story about growing up in Iran, is one of the nominees for this year’s Oscar for best animated film. Name the author of the original graphic novel by the same name ?
Monday, December 17, 2007
Another Review of 'Khoya Khoya Chand'
The settings and the mood were brilliant. The clothes, the hairstyles, the songs, the music composing sessions so different from today’s technologically superior studios, the same casting couch problems, the Bengali director high on artistic integrity and liquor, the Punjabi producer shamelessly spouting commercialism and neither character coming across as stereotypes. Alas, the principal character is the victim of this attention to detail on everything else.
Nikhat (Soha Ali Khan) is supposed to be an actress who is exploited by everyone, manages to make it as a success in Bollywood and then takes up drinking as her career and personal life nosedive. Sadly it is a rare moment when you can understand or empathise with Nikhat. She looks the same whether it is confessing her first casting couch experience at 14, or discovering that her memories of a loving father are not true or buying liquor surreptitiously from a bootlegger. In a scale of ‘how much I empathized with the character’, if Mr Bean scored a 3, Nikhat would score 1. Especially considering that I was pre disposed to weep for her as she is supposed to be based on real life heroines like Waheeda Rehman who did suffer a lot of trauma.
Rajat Kapoor as the aging hero, Premkumar, has a great role and does it well. Shiney Ahuja as the self-involved writer Zafar again vacillates from realistic to uni-dimensional. Peripheral support characters like Vinay Pathak, Saurabh Shukla, Sonya Jehan shine.
The movie reminded me of some of the dinners I have been to. The table is set right, complete with excellent chinaware and filled with well-garnished, delectable looking items, but the actual food usually tastes average. Looks great for a photo shoot but you can never forget yourself in it.
By,
Anita B.
(Read other posts by Anita B. at http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
Nikhat (Soha Ali Khan) is supposed to be an actress who is exploited by everyone, manages to make it as a success in Bollywood and then takes up drinking as her career and personal life nosedive. Sadly it is a rare moment when you can understand or empathise with Nikhat. She looks the same whether it is confessing her first casting couch experience at 14, or discovering that her memories of a loving father are not true or buying liquor surreptitiously from a bootlegger. In a scale of ‘how much I empathized with the character’, if Mr Bean scored a 3, Nikhat would score 1. Especially considering that I was pre disposed to weep for her as she is supposed to be based on real life heroines like Waheeda Rehman who did suffer a lot of trauma.
Rajat Kapoor as the aging hero, Premkumar, has a great role and does it well. Shiney Ahuja as the self-involved writer Zafar again vacillates from realistic to uni-dimensional. Peripheral support characters like Vinay Pathak, Saurabh Shukla, Sonya Jehan shine.
The movie reminded me of some of the dinners I have been to. The table is set right, complete with excellent chinaware and filled with well-garnished, delectable looking items, but the actual food usually tastes average. Looks great for a photo shoot but you can never forget yourself in it.
By,
Anita B.
(Read other posts by Anita B. at http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Review of 'Khoya Khoya Chand'
'Khoya Khoya Chand' attempts to recreate the magical world of Hindi cinema as it existed during the Guru Dutt era. I am tempted to say that it is a 'different' film, except there have been so many different films lately that the word can no longer be applied to most movies. It is an interesting story, and well told, though the second half could have done with crisper editing.
It is the story of the aspiring young star Nikhat, her journey from obscurity to fame and then her growing dependence on alcohol as her stardom lessens; of the men who accompany her / exploit her at various phases during this journey. According to news reports, the screenplay is loosely based on the story of Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rehman, sprinkled with excerpts from Meena Kumari and Madhubala's lives.*
The sets, costumes and music recreate the look and feel of an era. Apart from three absolutely delightful new songs - 'Khoya Khoya Chand', 'Yeh Nigahein' and 'Thirak Thirak', there are popular songs from old Hindi movies constantly playing in the background. There are references to stars of that time, and scenes that are respectful nods to classic movies of that era.
Each individual in the ensemble cast holds his own - Rajat Kapur, Vinay Pathak, Shiney Ahuja, Soha Ali Khan etc. Though Soha's acting has been panned by many reviewers, I thought she suited the role and was quite natural as Nikhat. The movie has some lovely dialogues - most of them delivered either by Saurabh Shukla essaying the role of a Punjabbi producerr, or by Shiney Ahuja as the writer Zafar. Soha Ali Khan, by contrast, has many overdramatised filmi dialogues, though she manages to make you believe in Nikhat in spite of them.
All in all, definitely worth a watch.
* (Note: Wonder why they left out Nutan ? Moral of the story : Good girls have no fun in their youth and no movies are made about them once they pass away.)
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
It is the story of the aspiring young star Nikhat, her journey from obscurity to fame and then her growing dependence on alcohol as her stardom lessens; of the men who accompany her / exploit her at various phases during this journey. According to news reports, the screenplay is loosely based on the story of Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rehman, sprinkled with excerpts from Meena Kumari and Madhubala's lives.*
The sets, costumes and music recreate the look and feel of an era. Apart from three absolutely delightful new songs - 'Khoya Khoya Chand', 'Yeh Nigahein' and 'Thirak Thirak', there are popular songs from old Hindi movies constantly playing in the background. There are references to stars of that time, and scenes that are respectful nods to classic movies of that era.
Each individual in the ensemble cast holds his own - Rajat Kapur, Vinay Pathak, Shiney Ahuja, Soha Ali Khan etc. Though Soha's acting has been panned by many reviewers, I thought she suited the role and was quite natural as Nikhat. The movie has some lovely dialogues - most of them delivered either by Saurabh Shukla essaying the role of a Punjabbi producerr, or by Shiney Ahuja as the writer Zafar. Soha Ali Khan, by contrast, has many overdramatised filmi dialogues, though she manages to make you believe in Nikhat in spite of them.
All in all, definitely worth a watch.
* (Note: Wonder why they left out Nutan ? Moral of the story : Good girls have no fun in their youth and no movies are made about them once they pass away.)
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Welcome Back !
I had a pleasant surprise on my way to office a few days ago. On the rear panel of a bus, I saw an ad for the programme 'Good Morning Mumbai' hosted by my favourite RJs Jaggu and Tarana. While mentally singing songs of joy and celebration, I utilised the next few minutes smsing my friends about their return. 'Jaggu and Tarana are back - 94.3 FM - 7 a.m. weekdays :-) '
Welcome Back, Jaggu and Tarana.
I missed you.
After 18 months in Bangalore, when i returned to Bombay, one of the things I was looking forward to was listening to Jaggu and Tarana chatter away in their inimitable style every morning on 'Go 92.5 FM'. There are mornings when I live up to the resolutions made the night before - wake up before sunrise and head out for an early morning walk before I hurry back to quickly get ready for another day at office. Then there are the mornings when I make myself a cup of tea, wrap my hands around the cup, sip slowly and savour the tea for at least 20 minutes while I listen to the radio and gradually wake up with a 'peaceful easy feeling'. It is on these fuzzy-wake-up mornings that I missed Jaggu and Tarana the most.
But no more.
They are back. Yippee !
The best part about Jaggu and Tarana on radio is how natural they sound and how much fun they seem to be having. The songs they play in between the chatter don't really count for much, they could as well be playing nursery rhymes.
Yesterday morning my mind swam back into consciousness while hearing Jaggue's lame excuse for being late to work, Tarana punching holes in his story and then both of them discussing the 'winter' in Bombay. (All of you that are tempted to pass snide remarks about the 'winter' in Bombay, desist ! Amongst Jaggu and Tarana's sterling qualities are an undying loyalty to Bombay; they have already discussed you and your brethren on radio this morning and I will be tempted to repeat what they said in not-quite-as-parliamentary language.)
This morning the person that rang in for their phone quiz was an I.T officer and both of them cracked the expected jokes about tax and tax evasion, but somehow they sounded so fresh that it didn't matter that the jokes weren't.
'94.3' is well on the way to being my favourite radio station for their decision to host the comeback of my favourite RJs. And just in case someone from '94.3 fm ' is reading this : I love Glenn too - could you please bring him back for Sunday mornings at least ? T Man too.
That would make life just about perfect - with the lark on the wing, the snail on the thorn, God in his heaven etc.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Welcome Back, Jaggu and Tarana.
I missed you.
After 18 months in Bangalore, when i returned to Bombay, one of the things I was looking forward to was listening to Jaggu and Tarana chatter away in their inimitable style every morning on 'Go 92.5 FM'. There are mornings when I live up to the resolutions made the night before - wake up before sunrise and head out for an early morning walk before I hurry back to quickly get ready for another day at office. Then there are the mornings when I make myself a cup of tea, wrap my hands around the cup, sip slowly and savour the tea for at least 20 minutes while I listen to the radio and gradually wake up with a 'peaceful easy feeling'. It is on these fuzzy-wake-up mornings that I missed Jaggu and Tarana the most.
But no more.
They are back. Yippee !
The best part about Jaggu and Tarana on radio is how natural they sound and how much fun they seem to be having. The songs they play in between the chatter don't really count for much, they could as well be playing nursery rhymes.
Yesterday morning my mind swam back into consciousness while hearing Jaggue's lame excuse for being late to work, Tarana punching holes in his story and then both of them discussing the 'winter' in Bombay. (All of you that are tempted to pass snide remarks about the 'winter' in Bombay, desist ! Amongst Jaggu and Tarana's sterling qualities are an undying loyalty to Bombay; they have already discussed you and your brethren on radio this morning and I will be tempted to repeat what they said in not-quite-as-parliamentary language.)
This morning the person that rang in for their phone quiz was an I.T officer and both of them cracked the expected jokes about tax and tax evasion, but somehow they sounded so fresh that it didn't matter that the jokes weren't.
'94.3' is well on the way to being my favourite radio station for their decision to host the comeback of my favourite RJs. And just in case someone from '94.3 fm ' is reading this : I love Glenn too - could you please bring him back for Sunday mornings at least ? T Man too.
That would make life just about perfect - with the lark on the wing, the snail on the thorn, God in his heaven etc.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
NANDIGRAM - West Bengal's Ongoing Shame...
Having just returned from Calcutta, which is still shut down in protest of the ruling Communist Party's (CPM) hardline dealings in Nandigram, I am ashamed to say that this is nothing but a hard look in the mirror for those claiming West Bengal and Calcutta have meaningfully undergone political and economic liberalization.
The extent of the massacre last Saturday, in which CPM militias allegedly massacred suspected Maoist / Naxalite infiltrators in Nandigram, as well as innocent villagers, including women and children, is still unclear. Reports range from 20 to 200 dead, and may more wounded. Bodies were apparently burned and disposed off, and the media and central army peacekeepers are not being allowed in. Protesters in Calcutta, including leading social justice activists and intelligentsia, were arrested.
West Bengal's attempt to convert an erstwhile Communist machinery into a liberal, investment-friendly economy stutters to a halt at times like these. Worse, the Central Government has traded a blind eye for a loosening of the CPM's position on the nuclear deal.
If you want to read more, please check out the following links:
1) The latest spin on the CPM takeover:http://www.telegraphindia.com/1071113/asp/frontpage/story_8542825.asphttp://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/Red_terror_grips_Nandigram/articleshow/2536817.cms
2) What the CPM is saying:http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/Karat_blames_Trinamul_Maoists_for_violence/articleshow/2536814.cms
3) What Saturday was a reaction to:http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Nandigram_turns_blood_red/articleshow/1764786.cms
By,
Anamitra Deb
The extent of the massacre last Saturday, in which CPM militias allegedly massacred suspected Maoist / Naxalite infiltrators in Nandigram, as well as innocent villagers, including women and children, is still unclear. Reports range from 20 to 200 dead, and may more wounded. Bodies were apparently burned and disposed off, and the media and central army peacekeepers are not being allowed in. Protesters in Calcutta, including leading social justice activists and intelligentsia, were arrested.
West Bengal's attempt to convert an erstwhile Communist machinery into a liberal, investment-friendly economy stutters to a halt at times like these. Worse, the Central Government has traded a blind eye for a loosening of the CPM's position on the nuclear deal.
If you want to read more, please check out the following links:
1) The latest spin on the CPM takeover:http://www.telegraphindia.com/1071113/asp/frontpage/story_8542825.asphttp://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/Red_terror_grips_Nandigram/articleshow/2536817.cms
2) What the CPM is saying:http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/Karat_blames_Trinamul_Maoists_for_violence/articleshow/2536814.cms
3) What Saturday was a reaction to:http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Nandigram_turns_blood_red/articleshow/1764786.cms
By,
Anamitra Deb
Monday, September 24, 2007
Ganpati Bappa Less-ya
The fact that Ganesh pandals have sprung up here and there in Chennai is good evidence of a singular lack of imagination. As a primarily Maharastrian custom, it is not too popular here. Nevertheless the State units of the more ‘nationalistic’ political parties labour on every year in the hope of generating mass hysteria and cutting through to the vote base of the Dravidian parties. As most of their other laughable ideas, this has also not worked too well so far.
One of the Ganesha pandals I managed to pass by this year was an example of why these State units should seriously consider dropping the idea. The pandal owner had neatly come up with various avatars of Ganesha depending on what had caught his fancy. I noticed a ‘nut’ Ganesh, a ‘grass’ Ganesh, a fruity Ganesh, a coconut Ganesh and turmeric Ganesh. In case you are reaching out for your Penguin book of Hindu mythology, let me assure you that all these are definitely not sanctioned avatars of the elephant god. Clearly an overactive imagination had been at work. The only problem was that the level of competence had clearly not matched the level of enthusiasm. The turmeric Ganesha was alright, merely looking like he was suffering from an advanced case of Hepatitis B. The nuts and fruits Ganeshas were also reasonably fine. The grass Ganesha looked like a mutant child of a union between Ganesh and an Ent from Lord of the Rings. What really took the cake was the coconut Ganesha. The statue was embossed on all sides with empty coconut shells all covered in a fine layer of mud. The effect was of watching Ganesh suffering from some unspeakable disease, no doubt contracted by being promiscuous with the Apsaras. Just looking at it made me want to shut my eyes and sing songs to calm myself down.
I am not the one to quibble about Ganesh being given new forms. Infact, assimilation of new ideas is probably the cornerstone of a religion’s survival. As a child I had heartily applauded when I saw Ma Durga riding a dinosaur in a pandal in Kolkatha (Jurassic Park had just been released that year). However I do protest against my aesthetic senses being offended like this.
The irony was that despite the stark ugliness of the whole range of Ganeshas, devotees were still passing by them in a steady line, touching the feet of the statues. Boy, religion sure sells!
By,
Anita B (more by her on http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
One of the Ganesha pandals I managed to pass by this year was an example of why these State units should seriously consider dropping the idea. The pandal owner had neatly come up with various avatars of Ganesha depending on what had caught his fancy. I noticed a ‘nut’ Ganesh, a ‘grass’ Ganesh, a fruity Ganesh, a coconut Ganesh and turmeric Ganesh. In case you are reaching out for your Penguin book of Hindu mythology, let me assure you that all these are definitely not sanctioned avatars of the elephant god. Clearly an overactive imagination had been at work. The only problem was that the level of competence had clearly not matched the level of enthusiasm. The turmeric Ganesha was alright, merely looking like he was suffering from an advanced case of Hepatitis B. The nuts and fruits Ganeshas were also reasonably fine. The grass Ganesha looked like a mutant child of a union between Ganesh and an Ent from Lord of the Rings. What really took the cake was the coconut Ganesha. The statue was embossed on all sides with empty coconut shells all covered in a fine layer of mud. The effect was of watching Ganesh suffering from some unspeakable disease, no doubt contracted by being promiscuous with the Apsaras. Just looking at it made me want to shut my eyes and sing songs to calm myself down.
I am not the one to quibble about Ganesh being given new forms. Infact, assimilation of new ideas is probably the cornerstone of a religion’s survival. As a child I had heartily applauded when I saw Ma Durga riding a dinosaur in a pandal in Kolkatha (Jurassic Park had just been released that year). However I do protest against my aesthetic senses being offended like this.
The irony was that despite the stark ugliness of the whole range of Ganeshas, devotees were still passing by them in a steady line, touching the feet of the statues. Boy, religion sure sells!
By,
Anita B (more by her on http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
Reality Weekend
Thanks to a TV addicted family, and multiple sms from my mother telling me when to watch TV, I ended up spending three hours this weekend watching reality shows on TV. This post is an attempt at catharsis.
My reaction to ‘Nach Baliye 3’ can be summed up thus – ‘cut the cr**, get them on stage and start the dancing’. I am just not interested in what Kashmira said (intentionally or unintentionally) about Rakhi Sawant’s silicon (or lack of it), neither in whether the ten couples think it fair to include Juhi and her yet-undiscovered-Baliye in the competition. ‘Yeh Na Socho Sirf Nach Hoga’, they warned us in the posters, but they did not disclose that what we in for was more ‘Big Boss’ and less ‘Nach Baliye’.
I want foot-tapping music, entertaining dancing and good, wholesome drama – all of which ‘Nach Baliye 1’ delivered. For instance, there was Varun Badola dancing to ‘Khaike Paan Banaraswala’, a version far superior to the Shahrukh Khan one that was in ‘Don’. Remember Varun and Rajeshwari dancing to ‘Banda Yeh Bindaas Hai’ – the salsa / tango they did was amazing ! And there were the comic numbers – Archana Puransingh and Parmeet Sethi dancing to ‘Dariya kinaare ek bangle hoga’ where Archana did a hilarious take-off on a woman applying make-up, and Parmeet dancing to ‘Koi Kahe, Kehta Rahe’ in shorts and a bright yellow shirt. There was tons of drama and emotion too – Archana and Parmeet brought their kids along for almost every episode and always addressed them on-stage after their performance or blew kisses at them, Poonam and Manish cried after every decision – irrespective of whether they were praised or criticised, Saroj Khan added to the drama content by making a 100 rupee note a symbol of success, Delnaz Paul showed us what sycophancy was every time she spoke of Saroj Khan etc etc. There was no dearth of drama ‘in Nach Baliye 1’ but none of it was crass (at least, not that I can remember). ‘Nach Baliye 3’ would do well to incorporate more elements of ‘Nach Baliye 1’, though avoiding crassness might be a wee bit difficult for some amongst the current set of contestants.
Immediately after ‘Nach Baliye 3’, I switched channels to watch an hour of ‘Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa’, and I must admit, it seemed to promise much more energy, fun and D A N C E than ‘Nach Baliye 3’. From a loyal ‘Nach Baliye’ fan, I may switch to ‘Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa’. (Makers of ‘Nach Baliye’, please note, I grant you a grace period of one more episode to get your act together.)
Sunday night I devoted to watching the ‘Indian Idols 3’ final. One hardly got to hear Amit and Prashant sing – most of the time the other contestants, judges, guest stars etc were on stage. It seemed more like a dance programme than a singing programme – are all the ‘Indian Idol’ final episodes like this ? All the dance numbers chosen were recent tapori hits – less melody, more noise - so I didn’t enjoy those much. Alisha chose to appear in medieval-queen-whose-split-personality-is-a-whore outfit – it was just awful. The last straw was Mika appearing on the stage for a number – I switched off the TV then and decided to read about the results in the newspaper. I will leave comments about the merits of the winner to Aqua, for a loyal Prashant supporter like her will definitely blog about it (link to Aqua’s previous post about Prashant - http://aquadreamer.blogspot.com/2007/07/prashant-rocks.html).
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
My reaction to ‘Nach Baliye 3’ can be summed up thus – ‘cut the cr**, get them on stage and start the dancing’. I am just not interested in what Kashmira said (intentionally or unintentionally) about Rakhi Sawant’s silicon (or lack of it), neither in whether the ten couples think it fair to include Juhi and her yet-undiscovered-Baliye in the competition. ‘Yeh Na Socho Sirf Nach Hoga’, they warned us in the posters, but they did not disclose that what we in for was more ‘Big Boss’ and less ‘Nach Baliye’.
I want foot-tapping music, entertaining dancing and good, wholesome drama – all of which ‘Nach Baliye 1’ delivered. For instance, there was Varun Badola dancing to ‘Khaike Paan Banaraswala’, a version far superior to the Shahrukh Khan one that was in ‘Don’. Remember Varun and Rajeshwari dancing to ‘Banda Yeh Bindaas Hai’ – the salsa / tango they did was amazing ! And there were the comic numbers – Archana Puransingh and Parmeet Sethi dancing to ‘Dariya kinaare ek bangle hoga’ where Archana did a hilarious take-off on a woman applying make-up, and Parmeet dancing to ‘Koi Kahe, Kehta Rahe’ in shorts and a bright yellow shirt. There was tons of drama and emotion too – Archana and Parmeet brought their kids along for almost every episode and always addressed them on-stage after their performance or blew kisses at them, Poonam and Manish cried after every decision – irrespective of whether they were praised or criticised, Saroj Khan added to the drama content by making a 100 rupee note a symbol of success, Delnaz Paul showed us what sycophancy was every time she spoke of Saroj Khan etc etc. There was no dearth of drama ‘in Nach Baliye 1’ but none of it was crass (at least, not that I can remember). ‘Nach Baliye 3’ would do well to incorporate more elements of ‘Nach Baliye 1’, though avoiding crassness might be a wee bit difficult for some amongst the current set of contestants.
Immediately after ‘Nach Baliye 3’, I switched channels to watch an hour of ‘Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa’, and I must admit, it seemed to promise much more energy, fun and D A N C E than ‘Nach Baliye 3’. From a loyal ‘Nach Baliye’ fan, I may switch to ‘Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa’. (Makers of ‘Nach Baliye’, please note, I grant you a grace period of one more episode to get your act together.)
Sunday night I devoted to watching the ‘Indian Idols 3’ final. One hardly got to hear Amit and Prashant sing – most of the time the other contestants, judges, guest stars etc were on stage. It seemed more like a dance programme than a singing programme – are all the ‘Indian Idol’ final episodes like this ? All the dance numbers chosen were recent tapori hits – less melody, more noise - so I didn’t enjoy those much. Alisha chose to appear in medieval-queen-whose-split-personality-is-a-whore outfit – it was just awful. The last straw was Mika appearing on the stage for a number – I switched off the TV then and decided to read about the results in the newspaper. I will leave comments about the merits of the winner to Aqua, for a loyal Prashant supporter like her will definitely blog about it (link to Aqua’s previous post about Prashant - http://aquadreamer.blogspot.com/2007/07/prashant-rocks.html).
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
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