3 movies in 3 weeks

That we love watching movies is now a lore, you'd think these reviews are arriving rather late in the day. So, one, I usually don't write when everyone else is watching the movie and busy tweeting and reviewing the movie if it's a must watch or a dampener. I prefer writing when everyone else has gone home with reams in their head about this and that and everything else.

Raees

The last SRK film I watched on the big screen was Billu (Billu Barber) for it had Irfan Khan (and he is god). All further releases after that, I've watched them on TataSky or discounted DVDs that dear husband buys off during seasonal sales. My sister insisted we watch Raees in the multiplex. Part of me was worried because, we have never visited the multiplex ever with kids unless a children's movie is in question. Even The Jungle Book in 3D failed to woo our two home-theater loving boys. They kept complaining it was too dark. Well, that's another story for another day. 

Luckily for us, the boys had a hearty lunch so when the Udi-Udi Jaye song started they soared to a good afternoon siesta. Long story short, an aging SRK trying to do what Once Upon a Time in Mumbai did to Ajay Devgun. Ajay Devgun was class personified with his bell bottoms, long sideburns, stiff broad shirt collars and that mustache which took him to another level. Here, the only lingering memory of SRK was his kohl-ed eyes and tanned but pancaked skin, all in sepia. The lesser known support characters were good despite the strong editing which was to make SRK stand out - Nawazuddin's character of Majmudar looked too hurried to dispense justice and hence, did not move me so much despite the dialogues and Mohammed Zeeshan Ayub should come out of his checklist as a character actor and start taking more fleshed-out roles, he must know he is very good. Mahira Khan was all sound(given the pre-release controversy), anyone could have done her role and still stayed forgotten. So, there was no story. It was a badly made porridge riding on that one promotional line of the antihero- "baniye ki dimaag aur miya bhai ki daring". Too many topics scattered here and there- there was Gujarat, communal politics, bootlegging, mohalle ka savior, encounter killings and Sunny Leone trying to dance. SRK, oops you tried but you're tired.

Ratings- 1.5/5

Kaabil

I don't remember watching too many notable Roshan Jr movies except Zindagi Na Milega Dobara where he played a near perfect but arrogant investment banker who can sing, swim and dance and perhaps, Agneepath. I've read more reams of his divorce and his mud-slinging with Kangana Ranaut.

We all know by now that Kaabil is a rape revenge drama involving a visually-challenged couple and two corrupt and lawless Maharashtrian corporator brother-duo played by real life brothers, Ronit and Rohit Roy. The pace is fast - fairy tale romance of two visually challenged professionals, marriage, and a double rape which culminates in suicide of Yami's character even before the intermission. 

While it was encouraging to see a movie being made on visually-challenged people, the tepid way of dealing with relationships was disappointing and sexist to say the least. A self-reliant blind girl has to wear uncomfortable shoes to make her intended-to-be happy and familiar that she is around. Who cares about painful toes and wobbly walking and tripping on them? She has to let go of her walking stick in public because he is there for her only to get lost. She takes out her walking stick only to be interrupted by a love-is-in-the-air apology in the middle of a movie promotion in a mall. The worst is perhaps feeling sorry that she got raped twice and is no longer acceptable unconditionally because the man felt violated. So the suicide. The movie was a drag after that. Justifying it with the super revenge tactics is as lame as as believing that the world of the blind is a perfect world. But the disturbing part is, how do men deal with a raped spouse/relative? I do not have answers. Rohit Roy has not come out of his Swabhimaan avatar in terms of dialogue delivery and Ronit Roy is deliciously menacing as Bhausaheb.

Ratings - 1.5/5

Jolly LLB 2

Akshay Kumar has grown as an actor. Remember the hairy-chested Khiladi days where he gyrated nonsensically to Anu Malik songs? The turning point as a viewer happened with Ajnabee where he plays a villain to a dumb Bobby Deol and of course, the Hera-Pheri series. He started picking up smart scripts and kept pace with smart image makeovers. I've not missed too many of his movies after that. He looks relatable quite often and seems hardworking.

I really enjoyed Jolly LLB -1, Arshad Warsi was delightful as Jagdish Tyagi. I cannot think of anyone else as Jolly. And, I think I'm quite convinced about it. But then, it is Akshay Kumar this time and how could I not go!

The movie suddenly throws up a super progressive whisky-chugging Human Qureishi as Pushpa Pandey, wife of Jolly Pandey, originally from Kanpur now in Lucknow who rents a Gucci dress. I have no problem with her whisky act but it was such a miss and blink role from clapping for her husband in court which looked stupid to going through legal papers and evidence to find the fifth cop in the Ipbal Qasim/Qureishi (played achingly by Manav Kaul) encounter killing/murder and eating garma-garam rotis prepared by her husband. 

My in-laws thoroughly enjoyed the movie given its hinterland flavor though Papaji thinks Arshad Warsi is miles better than version 2.0. We also reasoned that Arshad Warsi played a proper Dilliwala and that has its own spice and flavor. Akshay Kumar tried as Jolly version 2.0 and he maybe earning accolades but the actual star of the movie is our adorable teddy bear judge sahib, Saurabh Shukla who loves Alia Bhatt in all forms. You have to watch the movie for him. His mannerisms, his quirks as a father, a heart patient and a judge transferred from Delhi to Lucknow are bang on. The bunch of veteran actors who make up for the ensemble cast are not disappointing at all as Akshay's flaws get hidden by their craft. Kumud Mishra as a villain, yes. You also learn lyrical Lucknowi Hindi through Annu Kapoor who never fails to surprise you.

Ratings - 3/5

3 fathers and a king

There are fathers

With bittersweet love for their fathers

Who beget painful memories for their children

And there are fathers who loved their fathers

Who their children look up to with pride.

They write happy pages to read in old age.

A Pakistani who thinks he is a father first.

His young lad goes to school while his wife keeps vigil.

In a distant land he drives from morn till his bones creak.

He asked me one question - why so much hate between our countries?

I told him the mistakes of our forefathers.

And the radio blared - Long live the King!

While dear Indie told me about the late Sheikh,

How good a father he was, how good a statesman he was.

The roads are named after him - isn't that proof?

Tree house - memories from Mawlynnong

So today's Hyderabad edition of the Times Crest has a travel feature on tree-houses in India and the need-to-know info around it. Sometimes, I wonder who writes for them, of course the quality and standards need not be questioned. But, I am dismayed to find the options are too cliched and definitely, do not cater to all and sundry. It panders to a trying-to-be desi firang crowd who would want to find weekend options to get away from the hullaballoo. The title of the feature is such a giveaway "Posh Perches" (guffaws) and there is a small inset which reads "up,up and away" - aspirational people, I tell you. 

If one has time, one may look up Mawlynnong. It is a small village of about 200 people, about 3 hours drive from Shillong. Now don't ask me where Shillong is. It is the capital of Meghalaya, the abode of clouds and it is in India. This quiet and definitely, not sleepy hamlet will generate some interesting Internet trivia like Asia's cleanest village after a NG travelogue writer has covered it.

The journey to Mawlynnong is a very memorable one. I saw Mawlynnong pictures of my colleagues, boss and students of my last workplace -- all haa haa, hee hee, a beautiful waterfall in the background and lot of raw green bamboo cups for water and tea. Refreshing.

I was home for an Autumn vacation. Got details from my ex-boss how to reach there. Small world. An old classmate from college ran the tourist wing.Joyous.I went to see her at her office. There was not a single vacant treehouse for the next 4 days and I just had that much time to see the place. But touchwood, I always end up quite lucky, I got a double room treehouse all to myself at half the price for 2 days (some last min cancellation) and it was raining cats and dogs!Luck too.

My friend told me, she could arrange a chartered cab to and fro for a decent price. She handed me a letter in Khasi which I am supposed to hand it over to some gentleman once I landed in Mawlynnong. I decided let's hitchhike ala Swades. It was more fun than ever. Went to Iewduh aka Bara Bazar. There is a sumo stand there, a yellow patch - all locally pliable sumos are yellow in colour. We took a share sumo to Pynursula, 40 rupees per head or probably less. The drive is divine. Floating clouds, undending dales and valleys, sudden showers, beautiful bends, gurgling streams and the imposing sky. At Pynursula, we get off at the market, a small bustling square. Lot of Maruti 800 local taxis. And, yes I did feel slightly happy high after the winding drive at 40km/hr. After getting back some rhythm, I had to figure out how to reach Mawlynnong.My smattering knowledge of Khasi was put to good use that day. 

I definitely look Mongoloid and chinky, lovingly and offensively called by my mainland brothers and sisters. I started blabbering in Khasi, literally even at Mawlynnong like a local Kong. The discomfort of not being an authentic local was pretty palpable after my city posh-ness. One Bah was kind enough to take us to our destination for a fair price, 200 rupees. I was already frolicking. That's probably the amount a local auto fella in Hyderabad would charge from me on a rainy day or a late evening for any distance between 10-15kms.A beautiful ride uphill.

There was no welcome as such but a horde of children playing all over a metalled parking space fenced by ornamental crotons greet you. There is a small tea stall at the entrance of the village. We stopped there for a cuppa and our gentleman was there to receive us. We handed over the letter, he took a small receipt book and asked for some subscription.The doubting Thomas that I am occasionally, a thought crossed my mind - is it some hafta wasooli? Trust my outsider instinct, damned! He told me community welfare and upkeep. I was trying to be convinced. We tried to be modestly generous, offered them 500 rupees. He was offended mildly. Asked me to take back the money and I was taken aback. Was it too less or what? He said, too much. He said he appreciates our thought and concern but it's a rule its only 100 rupees. My god, my heart just skipped a beat.Earnest.

A friendly dude took over. Henry is the best guide in the world, more athletic and controlled in his worn out Bata hawais and a piece of betel nut in his mouth than us who looked so out of place in our floaters and advennture wear. He was our personal, customised hospitality manager. He took us to our machan, this great imposing one under a gushing stream and a small waterfall amid the looming wilderness and I was definitely, flying. More than comfortable double beds, squeaky clean linen and blankets, mosquito-nets,just in case for the finicky ones and ample furniture, scrumptious and heavenly home-made food in the adjoining kitchen, nice toilets and bathrooms, evening walks, visit to the church and nearby places, early morning treks all the way to the Bangladesh border and the living root bridges, and the icing on the cake was a cool skinny dip in the backyard of our machan before lunch. I only heard the rain and wilderness at night, right in the thick of nature. Felt vulnerable and delighted at the same time that such things also exist. 

It was almost like I was in another yesterworld. Keeping the village clean is not a Municipal order for this village- it's a way of life. They export brooms and arecanut. There are no fences between houses and cottages. The land belongs to everyone, only the pigs belong to the owner so long they are well-behaved in their pens. If they are soiling, then they become pork for everyone. Couples marry and the entire village helps them set up their house and farm. I was touched by the close-knit social responsibility. Henry took us to his friends and wow, all of them with their hearts in the right place. Henry and his friend came to see us off till Shillong. They refused to take a paisa from us. They were so apologetic that I had motion sickness. We signed a cheque of 3500 rupees at the end of 3 days and wrote a paean to them in the visitor's diary. Never felt so at home. I want to go and meet Henry and take him those promised things that still await fulfilment.

Signs I tell you

Ok, so don’t talk today. Why? My right eye has been throbbing for sometime now. Bad time. Alright. My left eye, upper side has been throbbing for ever. Am I hallucinating, my upper left arm is also throbbing?

In Charles A. Kincaid’s Tales of Indian Cavaliers, Princess Rukmini is about to elope with dark and handsome Lord Krishna. She sends a proposal (more of a save-me-from-a-bad-marriage letter) to him through a trusted Brahmin. Her left eye, left arm and left thigh began to throb vigorously when she nearly lost hope. Of course, she married her Lord Krishna.

I see only one magpie, not a good sign. Let’s not do it today.Okay, what if the magpie is a baby or a bachelor or a widow. No, you must spot two to be lucky, otherwise..

No, I sneezed once which is bad. I mean what difference does it make if I sneeze twice or two times - well, the placebo effect, pure coincidence? Things kinda never went wrong. And things were never made to happen when the one-sneeze happened.

Ok, did you see any horses in your dreams? It means war and death. Oh yeah? In fact, I sat on one and rode like a Victorian princess to my castle. The moat is clearly visible now also. I remember sitting with my corseted-gown, I had a third-wooden leg on the other side of the horse.

Trust all the signs and superstitions.

A visit to the Police Station

The police station is 'forbidden' zone for so many.  I nearly had a first time when a student's overpossessive pistol-wielding lawyer boyfriend's misbehaviour on campus got a lil' out of hand. But thankfully, a  very vocal and senior faculty wanted to do the andolan*-reformation bit, so I was left out of it.Of course, the highlights were not pleasant - from a very thick-skinned students' union, my very foolish student and her apparent 'boyfriend' of a terror, there was an out-of-'court' settlement. That bastard lawyer who broke the law did not get punished, I hope he is reading this.

My brother ran away from home on two occasions, those growing-up adventures. Reasons were predictable - that man-to-man fight with dad over pocket money and confiscation of Batman comics, then that famous and occasional "Get-out!" which was taken seriously, and literally. Thankfully, the FIR never happened and pray, that never happens.

Recently, a colleague of mine lost about 8 tolas of gold, hard-earned toil of her late mother. The suspect is her baby-sitter cousin who is doing the victim act and there is no doubt, she is the one - the victim act only confirmed it, she has a growing kid. My colleague who is a couple years younger than I, told me it was weird doing the FIR thingy and all the futile interrogation shit. She did feel uncomfortable and there is no reason to explain that.

I lost my favourite camel-leather wallet last year on my way to the airport. Some few grand, my ATM-Debit cards, credit card, my PAN card,my health insurance card, my Univ ID-card and my library cards - quite some fortune! I recovered the most important ones but I need to kick myself for procrastinating to recover the rest. Anyway, I went to the PAN card center for a replacement. They told I need an FIR.

The Laitumkhrah PS, I decided to go there. When I got off the taxi, I just sprinted to the PS in lightning speed so that no one saw me going to that 'forbidden zone' for whatever reason. You never know which nosey Uncle of Dad's office spies and even better, report it to Dad before I reach home. No, I am not scared. Dad knows I have to visit the PS, it is not a 'shameful' thing.

 It is a newly constructed 2-storeyed building with ample parking space, and a spacious compound. The stairs were not very dirty, barely swept that morning. The walls had posters of AA, Anti-Drugs and public awareness messages. The station in-charge office in the left wing was empty, no one in the chair.The right wing had people, I walked in with the customary, "Excuse me, may I come in?"

A dapper and good looking sub-inspector turned around, asked me to come in. There were a few other uniformed people whose 'stars' and 'ribbons' I could not see so that I can tell you their designation. I swear I felt very queasy - there was not a lady constable around! The SI asked me to sit down, when that evening round of chai-jingbam** came by. Impromptu, he asked me if I wanted to have a cuppa. I was pleasantly surprised - No, thank you. That is very kind of you. Very politely, he asked me what brought me there. I relayed, he was kind enough to lend me a sheet of paper to file a request for an FIR. Asked me to come the next day to collect the same. 

As the paperwork was going on, I scanned around. There were two cells - one for females and one for males. There was also the very interesting  'Rogue's Gallery' - a nice and neat collage of all the weird and very weird looking criminals with those slates of information, a random 'Wanted' tag on one and the like. There was also a wireless machine and a blackboard full of cryptic information, almost like a complicated weather report chart.

I also chipped in another request to give me the file reference number of an ancient report.The whole station got down to pulling out all the old files without a murmur. They traced the file number after a patient search. The cautious cynic that I am, I never expected such prompt service especially for something so Jurassic. I could not thank them enough. I wish they had a feedback box. Many govt. offices have one but too many complaints than compliments can be morale-damaging. The bulky-brained (or lack of it) people think they are exercising their rights educatively enough but alas! The only and biggest disadvantage of democracy - one has to live by mediocrity, every dimwit feels important and has an opinion. Fatigue creeps in. Anyway, I got my FIR the next day, there was an attractive lady SI, very beautiful eyes and a steely frame who signed my document.

This is an open channel - Laitumkhrah PS, you guys are one in a million. Thank you, you have restored my faith in the system. You are responsible and efficient. You are nice and friendly to the common layperson. Way to go!

*andolan - protest/activism in Hindi
**chai - tea in most Indian languages
**jingbam - something to eat/goodies in Khasi

Homeward bound and anchored

Mom and my mobile alarm woke me up at 5, a call from 7 seas away brought a smile. Early morning haggling with the auto guy to reach the airport shuttle point, some festival tip to the maid and in 10 mins I was there, took my ticket and was too too excited to reach the airport - home, in some hours. 40 mins of light sleep and there I was, wheeled my stuff in, got my boarding pass. Looked around, a lot of Bengalis on flight, lot of saree bags and gifts for loved ones, newly-weds returning home for their first puja and some first time parents who din’t know how to keep their baby quiet thanks to wrong carrying postures or just plain indifference to understand what the toddler wants.
Kolkata stopover was brief but cool, I boarded the flight to Ghy and realised my wallet was missing. All my cards, 2 grand in cash and my identity papers were there. Flashback dint help me either. Tense and restless, the plane also hovered mid-air trying to dodge bad weather. Ghy was relieving, ran into papa’s arms. He still looked as handsome and vibrant as ever. The journey to Shillong brought back a flood of memories. I feel I am no longer as resilient, god, I threw up a couple times. I had not eaten a thing. Reached home, chilled to the bone. Mom looked a lil aged but both of us were so happy to see each other. Mama’s hug and I wept like a child. The missing wallet story upset everyone. I was busy calling helplines and blocking misuse of my cards. All well and a quip from papa, that I had extra money and some taxes to pay…that’s why divine intervention of the missing wallet. The precious things were my family pictures and a Ganesh ji pic given by a loved one. Dinner and I was fast asleep. Mobile switched off and bags half unpacked.
The next morning was a huge surprise, I saw papa in a kitchen apron wake me up with my toothbrush in his hand and asked me to go freshen up and that breakfast was ready. Woohoo, a propah English breakfast and we were expected to finish all ablutions before 11am. I did nothing but unpack and handover gifts. I slept again some unfinished sleep. The next one week was pure bliss. Mom and papa went to see the doctor, happy tidings. Mom wanted to cook and doc was more than happy she should do some light work. We took care of the heavy cleaning and washing. The only cooking legacy I took from Hyd was how to prepare upma and yes, one morning was upma breakfast. They thought it was the quickest preparation. The only thing missing was curry leaves and almonds.
Mom prepared my favourite momos and noodles. Week long feast. They insisted I must shop for a puja dress and shoes and of course, a wallet. I must have had some 20 at one go, chutney was home-made. Tongue-tickling and whacking.
Puja was fun, I met Surajit and his folks. I caught up with Koyal and Sujoy, Digvijay and Doyel. Bro and sis wanted to treat me. Both days of eating out, I paid the bill. One at Bar-be-Q and the other, my personal favourite, City Dhaba. Met some old students. We were asked to come have khichhdi at some mandaps. We got home dabbas of them, had them for breakfast. Mom and papa wanted to have dosas. Jeez, I was so taken aback. I packed 2 masala dosas and one paneer dosa from Madras Café, Chennai Junction dint serve very good chutneys. Lot of sweets, mishti doi and kheer.
I begged my sister to get me some aloo chat from that old time bhaiya who sits near Lady Hydari Park. She informs, he no longer sits there but near the Survey gate. Whatever, she never had time to get any and I was never motivated to walk there alone. So mom and I prepared something similar at home, it lacked the street side masala-tic appeal but it was many times safer and hygienic.
So, I approached my brother to get me egg-rolls from the Keatinge road chap, and yes, he dint disappoint me. Trust me, it is the best in India, it beats the Kolkata guys on Park Street. All for 9 rupees. I remember paying 3 rupees when I was in class 2. But it still had the same charm and taste, that small place is still a furnace and people don’t stop coming there. I had loads of egg rolls.
The Glory's Plaza pani-puri man has more competitors, I went beserk having a plateful at Lite Bites. The stuffing is glorioius and the pani tangy.
Irresistible weakness for eggs, I became a lil’ conscious and I was petrified of some break-outs on my face. They did. But my puja was not ruined. I still had more of them.
On Navami, I wanted to be at the Polo Matri Mandir. My favourite Lord Shiva and Ma Durga. I did some spring cleaning at home, since my feet were sore from walking in new shoes.
My bro and sis were pretty mad with me coz I dint walk enough with them. Shillong is ageing. The road-car ratio is the second highest in India. We waited for ages to get a cab, the Maruti 800. We paid 50 bucks, more than 3 times and came in an auto. How we laughed at our grandness. In Shillong, you cut a sorry figure if you travel by auto.My sis vowed to do pandal-hopping the next year in a car. Papa does not want to buy one now coz there is no parking space.
Lunches and rendezvous with dear friends. Some frozen moments for keepsake. I felt a lil’ miserable to be not waking up to papa’s brush alarm.
There were those sibling fights and they made it lovingly ouch for me by calling my age aloud that I have not changed nevertheless. Of course.A Shillongite never does.
Shilllong, I love you.
Mom, dad, I love you a lot.
Bro and sis, muah muah.