How can I not write about the monsoon? For many endless months, Bombay is slow cooked by the sun (I am resisting the thought of giving the sun some suitable well-deserved adjectives here), in seething humidity, like the dum style of cooking. Dum Aloo, or Dum Pukht. Soon it is time for schools to reopen and the sky is not even turning grey. The monsoons are late. Again. Maybe they should now officially declare the date of arrival of monsoons a couple of weeks later than the usual time. And the weather bureau of our fair city has a fine sense of humour. Either that or it is a sadistic wretch. Every week the bureau predicts rains for next week. For quite a few weeks.
You can see the tension building up. Everywhere, in every conversation, the weather has a compulsory mention. Often, a guest appearance turns into a full fledged discussion involving the past years, sometimes past decades or even spanning back to a few centuries when the monsoons were much more obliging. People like me talk about how the first couple of days of school was almost always called off due to heavy rains. My uncles and aunts would recall their school days when they had so often literally waded to school holding each others’ hands and how my youngest uncle once nearly drowned near Gandhi Market. And my assorted grandmothers and great aunts… well, they mostly ramble, so never mind them, the sweet souls.
And in the meantime, the clouds stoically refuse to visit us in their usual wayward fashion. The RJs on radio try to cheer us up by declaring a new “monsoon magic” contest, or doing a countdown although every couple of days they have to rearrange the numbers. MRF tyres have their “x number of days to the rains” adverts which again have to be modified a bit now and then. Then the geographical countdown begins. “Rains lashed the southern tip of Kerala. This means Mumbai will get some relief within a week.” The next day: “A trough of depression in the southern Konkan coast means that the monsoon onslaught may be delayed by a further few days.” (or something like that) Alright, you can put that umbrella-oiling off for another week.
My aunt in Udupi informs us next that their town is nearly drowning in the rains. Right. The past few years have taught us not to take this as a positive sign. It may or may not mean good news for us here. Presently the sky starts darkening its brow. The atmosphere feels heavy, literally. Like some suspense building up, waiting to explode. The heat and humidity is oppressive, unbearable.
And finally, at long last, the skies break open. It is sheer bliss raining down on us. The RJs go crazy and perform a little jig. Every second song on every radio channel is on the rains. The ones that are not themed on the rains are labelled as tributes to the monsoon anyway. People forget to carry their umbrellas, get soaked, get scolded by their mothers or wives and love it. Children get their first taste of heaven for the season when school is called off because of heavy rains. The waves grow gigantic and threatening in Marine Drive and Worli seaface and youngsters try to be brave and walk along the parapet nevertheless. Bhuttawaalas materialise from nowhere and we have hot, yummy, charcoaly corn to munch on while trying to balance the open umbrella simultaneously with our other hand.
Of course there are minor inconveniences like stuffy buses and trains, sludge and unspeakable objects floating by the footpaths, black grime that refuses to be washed off our clothes, sewage water mixing with the rain water… but let’s talk about all that later, perhaps after the skies have turned blue once again.
For now, Mumbai is magical and romantic in the monsoons. Please turn up the volume, Mister RJ, that is my rain song you are playing.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
I am Pagan
Today is summer solstice. In short, it is the longest day of the year (unless you are in the southern hemisphere where it would be winter solstice – the longest night. I never realised it till I sent a sms to my friend Amit in Perth wishing him a happy summer solstice and he wrote back saying it is winter there right now! Duh!)
Summer solstice is a pagan festival. Created in those times when man (oh please, all you politically correct people, I am using the term “man” and all other gender-specific words for sheer convenience, alright?) had not yet felt the need to create a God who reflected his own image. When people realised that nature is the all-powerful force on whom everyone depend, no matter how hard they tried not to. Those were the times when people recognised the omnipresent influence of nature and worshipped her (again, all you PC people, it is just a term of convenience) to the best of their understanding. Events like the solstices and equinoxes, harvest rituals - all such festivals and rites paid homage to the nurturing Earth, moon, sun, stars and all the unknown worlds beyond which played a part, however small, in shaping our lives.
I do enjoy and draw a lot of inspiration from all the different religions. But somehow the idea of creating a god in the image of man, with his own qualities, doesn’t appeal much to my spiritual side. I find that there are two extremes. One is where God is a human who walked the Earth, did all the things an average man would do in addition to the extraordinary feats that distinguished him from the average man. The other extreme is where the omniscient force is supposed to have absolutely no form whatsoever. It is just that: a force, a power, energy.
I don’t like to think of the power that we call God as utterly detached and formless nor can I accept a God in the form of a human, or for that matter, an elephant or a half-man, half-lion, or whatever else. I am personally most comfortable believing that nature is The One. Nature with all her seasons, her moods, her children - animate and inanimate. Not a serpent that churned the ocean, but one that I see slithering across in my native village. Not the mighty mountains that were at last humbled by a short sage but the mountains that cradle my beloved Mumbai and give her rains. Not a sun which shone relentlessly on a kingdom for years on end to teach a lesson to some arrogant king, or the subsequent rains that blessed him after he saw his folly. But a sun that brings a nice glow to a child’s cheeks when it has been playing outside, and rains which are dear to farmers growing grain and children who are let off from school early due to possible flooding. In fact I knew nature is the only real God long back when I would pray fervently for the rains on the days I did not do my homework and it actually rained so hard that we were given an off from school. If that is not God for you, then I don’t know what is.
Summer solstice is a pagan festival. Created in those times when man (oh please, all you politically correct people, I am using the term “man” and all other gender-specific words for sheer convenience, alright?) had not yet felt the need to create a God who reflected his own image. When people realised that nature is the all-powerful force on whom everyone depend, no matter how hard they tried not to. Those were the times when people recognised the omnipresent influence of nature and worshipped her (again, all you PC people, it is just a term of convenience) to the best of their understanding. Events like the solstices and equinoxes, harvest rituals - all such festivals and rites paid homage to the nurturing Earth, moon, sun, stars and all the unknown worlds beyond which played a part, however small, in shaping our lives.
I do enjoy and draw a lot of inspiration from all the different religions. But somehow the idea of creating a god in the image of man, with his own qualities, doesn’t appeal much to my spiritual side. I find that there are two extremes. One is where God is a human who walked the Earth, did all the things an average man would do in addition to the extraordinary feats that distinguished him from the average man. The other extreme is where the omniscient force is supposed to have absolutely no form whatsoever. It is just that: a force, a power, energy.
I don’t like to think of the power that we call God as utterly detached and formless nor can I accept a God in the form of a human, or for that matter, an elephant or a half-man, half-lion, or whatever else. I am personally most comfortable believing that nature is The One. Nature with all her seasons, her moods, her children - animate and inanimate. Not a serpent that churned the ocean, but one that I see slithering across in my native village. Not the mighty mountains that were at last humbled by a short sage but the mountains that cradle my beloved Mumbai and give her rains. Not a sun which shone relentlessly on a kingdom for years on end to teach a lesson to some arrogant king, or the subsequent rains that blessed him after he saw his folly. But a sun that brings a nice glow to a child’s cheeks when it has been playing outside, and rains which are dear to farmers growing grain and children who are let off from school early due to possible flooding. In fact I knew nature is the only real God long back when I would pray fervently for the rains on the days I did not do my homework and it actually rained so hard that we were given an off from school. If that is not God for you, then I don’t know what is.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
A wash of emotions
Long forgotten things suddenly force their way into my mind with unexplained urgency. My mood changes slowly. The atmosphere seems to get a light wash of a different colour. First the thought comes back from the past. Then it drags me back there from the present. But this time the wash is not on a plain white wall. It is on top of a colour. The effect is different.
I haven’t bothered myself with guys for a long time now. Today unexpectedly I got the feeling that this certain guy has a soft corner for me but is shy about it. In the past I used to find it kind of cute and felt a little sorry for the guy. If he seemed decent enough, I would try to put him at ease and make myself approachable. Many a good friendship started this way. Then as time passed, if any guy sent such vibes, I stopped even registering it in my mind. Now when this guy seems to want to be more friendly but has some reservations, those days came back. I don’t know why. All those reactions, the notions, the uncertainties came back. Where it changed was the underlying feeling. It used to be a sweet and exciting sensation. And I definitely felt it this time. But it was just for a moment, after which it was replaced by a more unsavory impression. I found myself thinking what a waste of emotional energy such a repressive attitude can be. Why do guys behave in this immature and insecure way? Not only do they undergo this needless agony, but I too have to put up with their abnormal behaviour. Worst of all is that I have to pretend not to know when I very well do …and I was quite taken aback with my own thoughts. I never knew time could take away the gloss and shine of even such blameless episodes. Every human act sooner or later seems to be stripped bare of the clothing that our emotions and sentiments drape it with. Sooner for some than others.
Five years back I worried myself to death over my friend Shakti (name changed). I didn’t know what the boy would do with his life if he went on wearing his heart on his sleeve. Now I don’t worry much for him. I know he will survive and survive very well. Perhaps not in the way I wished he would, but now I know there are different ways and perceptions of success and ways to succeed. Things always turn out alright eventually. Previously my affection for Shakti was covered with sentiments and notions of friendship which made me worry myself to distraction, or go wild with rage at him or go dizzy with joy for him. Now all that has worn off and just my sincere feelings remain. Now my emotional graph is steady.
But that doesn’t mean it is universally steady. No, it is an individual thing. A different graph for each relationship, or even each object or phenomenon in my life. With some, the graph starts off very unsteady, fluctuating madly then slowly evens off. With others, it starts as a cool, unresponsive low line that steadily builds up as time passes, and crests and troughs start asserting themselves. Some graphs have phases of both patterns. But the past always plays some influence on these ups and downs, sometimes subtly, sometimes more pronounced.
With this shy guy, it definitely is more pronounced.
I haven’t bothered myself with guys for a long time now. Today unexpectedly I got the feeling that this certain guy has a soft corner for me but is shy about it. In the past I used to find it kind of cute and felt a little sorry for the guy. If he seemed decent enough, I would try to put him at ease and make myself approachable. Many a good friendship started this way. Then as time passed, if any guy sent such vibes, I stopped even registering it in my mind. Now when this guy seems to want to be more friendly but has some reservations, those days came back. I don’t know why. All those reactions, the notions, the uncertainties came back. Where it changed was the underlying feeling. It used to be a sweet and exciting sensation. And I definitely felt it this time. But it was just for a moment, after which it was replaced by a more unsavory impression. I found myself thinking what a waste of emotional energy such a repressive attitude can be. Why do guys behave in this immature and insecure way? Not only do they undergo this needless agony, but I too have to put up with their abnormal behaviour. Worst of all is that I have to pretend not to know when I very well do …and I was quite taken aback with my own thoughts. I never knew time could take away the gloss and shine of even such blameless episodes. Every human act sooner or later seems to be stripped bare of the clothing that our emotions and sentiments drape it with. Sooner for some than others.
Five years back I worried myself to death over my friend Shakti (name changed). I didn’t know what the boy would do with his life if he went on wearing his heart on his sleeve. Now I don’t worry much for him. I know he will survive and survive very well. Perhaps not in the way I wished he would, but now I know there are different ways and perceptions of success and ways to succeed. Things always turn out alright eventually. Previously my affection for Shakti was covered with sentiments and notions of friendship which made me worry myself to distraction, or go wild with rage at him or go dizzy with joy for him. Now all that has worn off and just my sincere feelings remain. Now my emotional graph is steady.
But that doesn’t mean it is universally steady. No, it is an individual thing. A different graph for each relationship, or even each object or phenomenon in my life. With some, the graph starts off very unsteady, fluctuating madly then slowly evens off. With others, it starts as a cool, unresponsive low line that steadily builds up as time passes, and crests and troughs start asserting themselves. Some graphs have phases of both patterns. But the past always plays some influence on these ups and downs, sometimes subtly, sometimes more pronounced.
With this shy guy, it definitely is more pronounced.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Praying for the rains
My sweet friend Ahalya yesterday sent me this sms:
Goodmorning!How,u?Mass,prayer,movement,for,rains@9.Remeber2be,stark,naked
I replied:
Can I at least wear my sun screen lotion?
She wrote:
Now,now,are,we,2,chickened,out,4,some,innocent,praying?Oh,and,get,the,vodkas,will,ya?Let’s,do,it,right:who,has,the,men,with,drums?
I wrote:
I’ll be there with bells on!
I found the whole thing really funny, so I decided to forward it to a few friends. Now Ahalya for some reason puts commas instead of spaces in her smses. Perhaps she abhors vacuum like nature does. Forwarding it as is might make reading difficult, or even scare off some people. So I modified her sms a bit and sent the following to my friends:
Good evening! How are you? Mass prayer movement for rains @ 9. Remember to be stark naked
Following are some of the replies I got:
Tamanna: Hehehe… hope to spot you among all that raw flesh
Kurt: I’ll try to be there… grin
Premi: Oh, sure, sure. My whole family will be supporting. Taking a half day especially for that :)
And Santosh is the best: Are we praying or protesting?
I wrote: Do whatever you want to. As long as everyone is naked, doesn’t matter
Santosh: Kahaan pe aana hai?
I wrote: The same place you started the marathon. Ambani too will be there wearing nothing but a cap
Today Santosh called up at 9 and said, “I am waiting here for you. All of us are. Hurry up.”
The whole thing is probably not a big deal, just a silly thing. But once in a while doing something crazy like this and involving your friends in it too kind of puts a zing into the days. Otherwise it is the usual, “How r u? I m gr8” types going back and forth.
Goodmorning!How,u?Mass,prayer,movement,for,rains@9.Remeber2be,stark,naked
I replied:
Can I at least wear my sun screen lotion?
She wrote:
Now,now,are,we,2,chickened,out,4,some,innocent,praying?Oh,and,get,the,vodkas,will,ya?Let’s,do,it,right:who,has,the,men,with,drums?
I wrote:
I’ll be there with bells on!
I found the whole thing really funny, so I decided to forward it to a few friends. Now Ahalya for some reason puts commas instead of spaces in her smses. Perhaps she abhors vacuum like nature does. Forwarding it as is might make reading difficult, or even scare off some people. So I modified her sms a bit and sent the following to my friends:
Good evening! How are you? Mass prayer movement for rains @ 9. Remember to be stark naked
Following are some of the replies I got:
Tamanna: Hehehe… hope to spot you among all that raw flesh
Kurt: I’ll try to be there… grin
Premi: Oh, sure, sure. My whole family will be supporting. Taking a half day especially for that :)
And Santosh is the best: Are we praying or protesting?
I wrote: Do whatever you want to. As long as everyone is naked, doesn’t matter
Santosh: Kahaan pe aana hai?
I wrote: The same place you started the marathon. Ambani too will be there wearing nothing but a cap
Today Santosh called up at 9 and said, “I am waiting here for you. All of us are. Hurry up.”
The whole thing is probably not a big deal, just a silly thing. But once in a while doing something crazy like this and involving your friends in it too kind of puts a zing into the days. Otherwise it is the usual, “How r u? I m gr8” types going back and forth.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Living and Learning
I quote Douglas Adams: “You live and learn. At any rate, you live.” Living is pretty much automated, we don’t need to bother much with it. Learning is something that we instinctively shun. From the moment we are born, when we ought to have learnt that this world is a bad deal, right till the time we die, we never learn. The Id in us teaches us that we know everything already. This is the only thing we learn, and learn reeeeaaal well. It is our solemn duty to teach. And our primal instinct to resist learning.
Sonu Nigam found out early on that the only way he could get people to notice him is by singing, not acting. Jaani Dushman!? Love in Nepal!!?? It was most pathetic to see him in that song where this girl is trying to seduce him (I think). He looked like a 7 year old boy who just turned a page of a magazine and found a topless woman glaring back, while his mother was sitting right beside him. No good. Did he get the point? No. Next step, he grew his hair long!! AAAHHH!! No good multiplied by two. Did he get the point? We’ll wait and watch. Rumours are rife that he will be doing something on television.
My friend Amit loves food. When we lived in Perth, away from family, food assumed more importance than usual, especially for boys. A little home made food goes a long way in satisfying your soul, but those poor boys could hardly even boil water without burning it. The only way they could feel good about life was to stuff themselves to bursting point with anything digestible so that there was no space in their souls for dissatisfaction. Now some of the stronger willed boys in the group decided to observe a month long fast (the month of Shravan I think). Amit declared himself part of the fasting gang. Amit was long on enthu, short on will power. I am not saying that he did not fast. He did. He skipped the first meal on the first day. After that… well, let us say that his was a hungry soul and it reflected on his stomach. But his conscience was not fasting. It didn’t want to give up without a fight. It was trying to look for loopholes. He asked if there was any food that was excepted from this fast. You know how flexible Hindu fasts are. Someone took pity and said that potatoes fried, and without salt are alright. So he chips some potatoes and fries them. First day taken care of. Did he learn anything? No.
Second day, he fries potatoes again. But this time it isn’t so appealing to his taste buds. No salt allowed. He puts some chilli powder on the chips and stuffs them down his throat. In the evening, he struggles inwardly for quite a while before finally deciding that some salt may be excused. After all he is not eating the absolutely forbidden foods. And mind you, all this in between the milk and fruits that you are anyway allowed to eat, and which he ate with great gusto. So now he eats potatoes fried, and with salt. Did he learn yet? Be patient and pray. The third day arrived bright and cheerful for most people. Amit could not take it any longer. He declared his will power bankrupt and jogged down to the local burger joint at double speed. Ah, at last! Amit learns his lesson, you say. Sad to see that you too have not learnt much.
Next year the young fool again declares his intention of joining the Shravan fasters with enthu to beat a five year old who is asked if he wants to go to the fair.
Oh, and did you ask if yours truly, after making this deep study of human nature, has bowed to nature’s wisdom and imbibed any knowledge? If I were to learn from all this, I wouldn’t be human would I? With great humility, I pronounce myself one of the biggest pig-headed fools you’ll ever have the good fortune to meet. Perhaps one day we’ll all be equipped with the right kind of brain when we are let loose into this world. But then the first thing we’ll learn is that this world is a bad deal… what will we do then? Refuse to even start living? If every baby does that, what next?
Perhaps it’s a good thing after all that we don’t learn.
Sonu Nigam found out early on that the only way he could get people to notice him is by singing, not acting. Jaani Dushman!? Love in Nepal!!?? It was most pathetic to see him in that song where this girl is trying to seduce him (I think). He looked like a 7 year old boy who just turned a page of a magazine and found a topless woman glaring back, while his mother was sitting right beside him. No good. Did he get the point? No. Next step, he grew his hair long!! AAAHHH!! No good multiplied by two. Did he get the point? We’ll wait and watch. Rumours are rife that he will be doing something on television.
My friend Amit loves food. When we lived in Perth, away from family, food assumed more importance than usual, especially for boys. A little home made food goes a long way in satisfying your soul, but those poor boys could hardly even boil water without burning it. The only way they could feel good about life was to stuff themselves to bursting point with anything digestible so that there was no space in their souls for dissatisfaction. Now some of the stronger willed boys in the group decided to observe a month long fast (the month of Shravan I think). Amit declared himself part of the fasting gang. Amit was long on enthu, short on will power. I am not saying that he did not fast. He did. He skipped the first meal on the first day. After that… well, let us say that his was a hungry soul and it reflected on his stomach. But his conscience was not fasting. It didn’t want to give up without a fight. It was trying to look for loopholes. He asked if there was any food that was excepted from this fast. You know how flexible Hindu fasts are. Someone took pity and said that potatoes fried, and without salt are alright. So he chips some potatoes and fries them. First day taken care of. Did he learn anything? No.
Second day, he fries potatoes again. But this time it isn’t so appealing to his taste buds. No salt allowed. He puts some chilli powder on the chips and stuffs them down his throat. In the evening, he struggles inwardly for quite a while before finally deciding that some salt may be excused. After all he is not eating the absolutely forbidden foods. And mind you, all this in between the milk and fruits that you are anyway allowed to eat, and which he ate with great gusto. So now he eats potatoes fried, and with salt. Did he learn yet? Be patient and pray. The third day arrived bright and cheerful for most people. Amit could not take it any longer. He declared his will power bankrupt and jogged down to the local burger joint at double speed. Ah, at last! Amit learns his lesson, you say. Sad to see that you too have not learnt much.
Next year the young fool again declares his intention of joining the Shravan fasters with enthu to beat a five year old who is asked if he wants to go to the fair.
Oh, and did you ask if yours truly, after making this deep study of human nature, has bowed to nature’s wisdom and imbibed any knowledge? If I were to learn from all this, I wouldn’t be human would I? With great humility, I pronounce myself one of the biggest pig-headed fools you’ll ever have the good fortune to meet. Perhaps one day we’ll all be equipped with the right kind of brain when we are let loose into this world. But then the first thing we’ll learn is that this world is a bad deal… what will we do then? Refuse to even start living? If every baby does that, what next?
Perhaps it’s a good thing after all that we don’t learn.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Picture perfect? Not really
Ever notice how any place usually looks better in a photograph?
I always noticed this in pictures we friends took in each others’ homes. An inevitable comment would be, “wow, my home looks so pretty in this photo!”
I remember looking at pictures of foreign lands and wondering how any place could be so beautiful. Just before I went to Perth, I did some research on the place and came across pictures of the city. Seemed to be the epitome of cleanliness and neatness. Everything was so bright and picture perfect. When I went there, I saw that the place was certainly lovely, but somehow not the same as in pictures. Like some magic dust was wiped off. Downtown Sydney was so different in the movie “Dil Chahta Hai” from what I had seen of the actual place. The dirt, the filth, the dust – all seemed somehow to have receded into the background in the movie.
On a dusty winter weekday I took a picture of our very own VT (or CST) station. No one would believe that it was the same place we are all used to seeing in real life. It was almost like I had first dusted and mopped the place and washed the very atmosphere before I clicked the picture.
Well, so now I know that all the different places that I see pictures of in magazines and the internet are not nearly as lovely as in the pictures… sigh. Perhaps I should not visit the places I found most beautiful in those travel brochures. Let the magic dust stay in my eyes a little longer.
I always noticed this in pictures we friends took in each others’ homes. An inevitable comment would be, “wow, my home looks so pretty in this photo!”
I remember looking at pictures of foreign lands and wondering how any place could be so beautiful. Just before I went to Perth, I did some research on the place and came across pictures of the city. Seemed to be the epitome of cleanliness and neatness. Everything was so bright and picture perfect. When I went there, I saw that the place was certainly lovely, but somehow not the same as in pictures. Like some magic dust was wiped off. Downtown Sydney was so different in the movie “Dil Chahta Hai” from what I had seen of the actual place. The dirt, the filth, the dust – all seemed somehow to have receded into the background in the movie.
On a dusty winter weekday I took a picture of our very own VT (or CST) station. No one would believe that it was the same place we are all used to seeing in real life. It was almost like I had first dusted and mopped the place and washed the very atmosphere before I clicked the picture.
Well, so now I know that all the different places that I see pictures of in magazines and the internet are not nearly as lovely as in the pictures… sigh. Perhaps I should not visit the places I found most beautiful in those travel brochures. Let the magic dust stay in my eyes a little longer.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Designs on your mind
Saw Bunty Aur Babli last night. AAAAHHHH!! I want my money back! I know I am a strange person; I feel tired just listening to a talkative person, like I have run a marathon. I didn't think I would feel so exhausted after watching garish costumes for nearly three hours. Aishwarya Rai was a welcome relief, even if just for a song.
I wish they all would stick to Manish Malhotra. I mean really, this Aki Narula guy is supposed to be such a famous designer, but why that riot of colours (candy stripe salwar??!! rainbow sari with, horrors, a silver sequined blouse!!??) and embarrassingly unflattering cuts for Rani Mukherjee?
I wish these famous guys would restrict unleashing their terrors to the India fashion week, or Lakme fashion week, or whatever it is called. There, after you have paid exorbitant money for the tickets, you probably cannot afford to get shocked and shaken and thoroughly stirred by the costumes. (Who are the people who go for these shows anyway? Masochists?) But I did not pay a hundred and one score hard earned money... well ok, dad's hard earned money, to be assaulted by neon scrunchies and a million bangles and an army of colours doing a free-for-all.
Sure, Suraj Barjatya too loves colour in his movies, but there they are all peace with one another. Pehle aap, pehle aap attitude. And the designs are content staying the background, smiling benignly. Or, Sanjay Leela Bhansali lets the designs do the shouting. The colours take a backstage. The colours are bold but have the right upbringing. A dignified harmony between the two, in both cases. But here in B&B... you get my drift.
Oh, for the good old Yash Chopra days of Chandni and Mohobbatein and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai... is that last one Karan Johar? They all look the same to me.
I wish they all would stick to Manish Malhotra. I mean really, this Aki Narula guy is supposed to be such a famous designer, but why that riot of colours (candy stripe salwar??!! rainbow sari with, horrors, a silver sequined blouse!!??) and embarrassingly unflattering cuts for Rani Mukherjee?
I wish these famous guys would restrict unleashing their terrors to the India fashion week, or Lakme fashion week, or whatever it is called. There, after you have paid exorbitant money for the tickets, you probably cannot afford to get shocked and shaken and thoroughly stirred by the costumes. (Who are the people who go for these shows anyway? Masochists?) But I did not pay a hundred and one score hard earned money... well ok, dad's hard earned money, to be assaulted by neon scrunchies and a million bangles and an army of colours doing a free-for-all.
Sure, Suraj Barjatya too loves colour in his movies, but there they are all peace with one another. Pehle aap, pehle aap attitude. And the designs are content staying the background, smiling benignly. Or, Sanjay Leela Bhansali lets the designs do the shouting. The colours take a backstage. The colours are bold but have the right upbringing. A dignified harmony between the two, in both cases. But here in B&B... you get my drift.
Oh, for the good old Yash Chopra days of Chandni and Mohobbatein and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai... is that last one Karan Johar? They all look the same to me.
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