Alpha Beta Gaga

Feeling bummed about things, too, is an illusion. You feel bummed because you want to, but a time comes when you realize, the stupidity of it, the importance and loveliness of your own life, and that frankly being bummed for too long is a bit boring. Plus you end up taking a short trip to New Delhi, enjoying fabulous food, movies, alcohol, other stuff, and most importantly great company. Things fall into place; a little perspective, it seems, really works.

The Great Khali is coming to India; it is a significant development and a matter of immense national importance. Aaj Tak and India TV, till now have given loyal viewers deep insights into the life and mind of the Great Khali, the first Indian to enter the big bad FAKE world of the WWE, (I think I might be stabbed by a kid for this); for example his training schedule consists of three hours of weight training, morning and evening, every day. Maintaining his size requires a strict and intimidating daily dietary regimen: one gallon of milk, five chickens and two dozen eggs, along with chapattis, desi ghee, juice and fruit. His wife looks after him, drives him to the Gym, supervises his training and is jealous of all the female attention her husband gets. Please find attached a photograph of the man, the living legend, and an epitome of tremendous grace, immaculate good manners and breathtaking beauty, no wonder women can’t help but fall for him.

So rest assured that the concerned channels, the beacons of hope in the country and the sources of intelligent and thought provoking journalism are going to provide us with round the clock coverage of the ‘gentle’ giant’s every move, as he returns to the country where he was born and where he smashed stones for a living, before working as a bouncer and then for the police. God, how many kids are going to grow up to become bouncers because of this idiocy? Yes, no one wants to join the police, not even if the Great Khali himself is an ex-policeman. You have to thank years of cinematic slur hurled at the cops for this uninviting status enjoyed by our thullas. So brace yourself for a month of madness as the son of the soil returns home.

Oh, last night though, I sensed some signs of future controversy. Apparently The Great Khali backed out of a bout against The Big Show, when the latter showed him his fist; Aaj Tak lamented, “Mahabali Khali ne Desh ki Naak Kataiyee!!” India TV zoomed into the life of a regular East-Delhi based family caught in the midst of spectacular circumstances (Khali’s cowardice); the kids were completely shattered and found no meaning in life and had all refused dinner to express their remorse. The parents seemed quite proud of their kids. The journalist asked the parents whether they’d let the kids join wrestling; they said that they would be happy but that studies came first. Indian parents, they never change, not even when they are on TV, studies always come first. God save all of them, journalism, kids, parents, Khali, his wife and me.

What is wrong with Bollywood? I had the extreme fortune of watching the directorial debut of one of the greatest actors of the era that spanned the few weeks around which Omkara was released. Ajay Devgan. The movie in question is U, Me aur Hum. The film sheds a sensitive light on the life of three couples. The director wanted to do the right thing, and makes a conscious effort towards avoiding all clichés – one couple is in a bad marriage, the next one can’t keep their hands off each other, and the last and most important one has the wife suffering from Alzheimer. The lady, a waitress is wooed by the hero on a cruise ship. The fact that this happens on the cruise is purely incidental, of course all credit goes to the director for making the effort to select a setting where skin, songs and harsh light did not seem out of place. Most directors wouldn’t have bothered. But I guess everyone is completely thorough with their first work of art, in terms of research and everything.

What is it about Indian movies and light?? Why can’t we imagine any situation without it being flooded by the strongest light?

Well, I turned and twisted and fully enjoyed the whole process of being frisked, and even made Ah Ah sounds so that the security guy was the one blushing, not me, I even figured that filling one’s mouth completely with popcorn without biting them, and then pouring in Pepsi makes them melt into the gooiest yummiest thing. Oh and then I predicted things like the disease before hand, because the director was placing these stupid clues like the actress forgetting the time for an appointment and bringing Tequila shots instead of Vodka. And then I predicted the end too, much to the amazement of BB.

But I wasn’t too amused with my natural flair for understanding the thought behind such films, damn, what kind of movies will I make anyway?

I also watched Juno. And hereby declare my true and complete love for Ellen Philpotts-Page and the character she so beautifully and ably portrayed . I have a feeling she is very similar to the character in real life, it’s written in her voice. Hmm I wish I had found a similar girl while in school, I’d have turned out smarter and cool. But I am pretty certain no such girl was available, and even if by some incredible chance such a girl was available, I’d not be able to do anything. Or maybe over the space of four long years, I’d manage to talk to her once and tell her in the most complicated, nervous, convoluted manner that she should, well, umm, I don’t know… Just… Be… Bye…

Antique White, Silk Glow, White Moon, Pale Ivory, Windsor Cream, Almost Ivory, Ivory Ivory, Ivory, are all shades of White, or so Messrs Asian Paints would want us to believe. They look exactly the same, so do the three hundred other shades of White, I am sure nobody can tell the difference.

You’d need a superhero whose super power is the ability to tell the 81 different varieties of black found in a single strand of hair. We could call him The Palette. Of course, he is not going to have many kids as his fans, plus what is he going to do when the bad guy is dangling the girl from the rooftop? The Palette might be reduced to giving directions to Spiderman, “Eh Spidey, he is right behind the beam, the Ash Grey beam, oh no sorry, the Half-Silver Grey one. Oh? Oh! Oops, sorry…” So our friend might not be movie material, but he is the only person Asian Paints is catering to. Oh well there is another, my Dad. My father though is being pursued by Columbia Tri-Star and David Dhawan for film rights to his life.

Our new flat is receiving its first coat of color, and he has finally lost it. Every morning, he sits with tea, dry fruits and catalogues that have been borrowed from every paint store in the city. Then he worries, and frowns, and exclaims and takes the opinion of my mother, the dog, the maid, the maali, the paper-wallah, and an assortment of the most annoying neighbours. After which he selects colors which none of the above suggested.

Then he sits at the computer and in a virtual room provided by the evil people at Asian Paints, tries different combinations of colors he shortlisted. This process continues forever. He is the only person I know that uses a process of elimination that actually increases the number of shortlisted candidate-colors. So much so that after two days when the site crashed I have sufficient reason to believe that the cause was the immense stress my father put on their virtual resources. My father then proceeded to make a firm call to the Calcutta office of Messrs Asian Paints and registered his protest. Later he told me, looking sufficiently disgusted, that the lady was shocked that a customer actually used the complaint line.

Of course he doesn’t ask me for my opinion, because we always end up fighting like school kids and he wishes I had never come back home, and I yell that I had never wanted to.

My father was a professor, but he is interested in everything else but teaching. Retirement has offered him the time and opportunity to follow his true passions. These include, talking loudly on the phone to everyone in the world, giving expert opinion to experts, like telling the painters how to hold the brush or how much thinner to use, getting the bank passbooks up-to-date every day, worrying about the stock markets, and behaving in a manner that suggests that the market movement is determined by his own portfolio, watching all the Balaji Sitcoms, being more interested in them than my mother, and being excessively happy when any of the evil women get slapped or temporarily murdered, criticizing food, the weather, my job, my brother’s job, any corporate job, world politics, global warming, the younger generation, his father’s generation, his own generation, and generally being a bratty kid.

Okay, so he has decided, in his own words, to be a trend setter and to get the ceilings of our lovely new house painted in dark colors, while the walls receive coats of the lighter shade. So his room has an Oxford Blue ceiling supported by Coral Blue walls. The effect is like walking into a room that has been turned upside down, the ceiling seems too heavy and on the verge of collapsing because the walls appear excessively frail. I saved my room from this monstrosity, but he took evil advantage of my absence over the weekend and I returned only to find the ceiling over the dinning space colored in shimmering Indian Copper. A battle is expected tonight, my father against me, the dog, my mother, the maid and common sense. The outcome will determine the nature of our conversations over meals till the next paint job is required.

Ah, so such is life. Yeh thi khabre Aaj Tak, Intezaar kijiye agle baar tak.