Friday, November 23, 2007
I've been occupied otherwise, have you noticed? With what I cannot tell you - but I will admit that my only activity of note these days has been buying vegetables for my mother, and I'm afraid my competence in that area is not yet worth a mention. [Other women go and ask, "Tamatar kaisa? Beans kaise?" and get an honest answer because they pick up the basket and start throwing the best ones in there. I go and ask "Tamatar kaisa?" and the vegetable vendor takes a sideways look at me and smiles, anticipates a windfall disproportionate to his wares because honestly, I don't know what a good vegetable looks like unless it's already cooked.]
Other than that my obsession with Bollywood has become a large, unmanageable thing: Mithun bore the brunt thereof on Wednesday night when I forced him to spend his evening watching Saawariya barely a while after a previous outing involving the equally self-involved No Smoking; my mother has been with me to see Dhamaal, Jab We Met, Loins of Punjab and Chak De India twice. And I'm sure I'm forgetting something over here.
[Saawariya is one disappointment after the other. Completely puts you off drapery. The shattering of Sonam Kapoor's grave, statuesque loveliness the minute she lets escape her tinkly THIS IS MY PRETTY ACTRESS LAUGH laugh escapes from her is akin - and I'm being kind here - to whatever finally broke Ozymandias. Ranbir Kapoor, as the heir to the legacy of the Kapoor clan that has done to Bollywood what the Bombay Times does for Indian journalism, does not disappoint, flying a full complement of vapidities as the flags of his fathers. But possibly the greatest tragedy of all was seeing Chak De India's Krishnaji reduced to a bouncer - a BOUNCER! - in this one.
When do Sanjay Leela Bhansali's complaints that people don't understand him and his work begin, incidentally? Extrapolating from past utterances I can hear the one about 'why does no one comment on the Mumtaz Mahal mural on the walls of my dream city OMG?!?!?!' already. I would like to be there to pre-empt this and other wails of angst by confirming the fact that as he no doubt suspects in his heart of hearts, our silence is compelled by kindness rather than ignorance.]
Still, into each film industry some rain must fall. As I recall it is still patronised by the mouthbreathers who did not recognise Jhoom Barabar Jhoom for the masterpiece it is. We make our own destinies.
More anon. Hope casual readers and passersby are all doing very well.