MOVIE REVIEW - DHOOM 3

Recipe: Take Uday Chopra's dad's money, call some Hollywood stunt experts, spend hours copying scenes from the best action movies, and oh! ensure Aamir, and his carbon copy, and voila! Dhishoom....no....Dhoom 3.

Gone in 60 seconds, The Dark Knight, Bad Boys 2, and the latest episode of Cops are what you get to see in this movie, mixed with desi masala. In fact, the BMW and its modifications are impressive, but compared to The Dark Knight, the bike looks like Hot Wheels. Tamils are made fun of again, with the scene introducing Yash and Abhishek Bachchan. He goes through walls punching criminals, like his father did, trying to be the angry young man of the 70s again. But, for some reason, the makers decided to do a wheelie in a Bajaj auto, and even drive it on rooftops, like Will Smith did in Bad Boys 2, in a jhakhaas yellow Hummer. This scene however, is just jackass.

Yes, your girlfriend can drool over Aamir, you over Katrina and your mum over Jackie Shroff. The circus acts remind you of Cirque du soleil. The role played by the child artist Siddharth Nigam is just endearing. Pritam has given good music, and some scenes the background score is just perfect. The makers have done a good move by moving to BMW, instead of the usual Honda, Suzuki and Yamaha. How on Earth did they manage to pull off the surprise character of Aamir Khan and the twist in the story is anybody's guess. But, it is a job well done. Dhoom 3 is a must watch just for this, Aamir, or do we say Aamirs, at their villainous best.

But some things never change, as my co-critic pointed out. The police always show up late, even when they go abroad, they oogle at firangi girls, nothing happens to them even when a dozen bullets are fired, and they never miss their mark, even when dangling from a helicopter. Salaam Indian Police!
Also, the Transformers type scene, where the bike turns into a wave runner, is nice, but hard to believe. But, its an Indian masala entertainment; so, just scratch your head and leave it at that. Even America's finest are scratching their heads, figuring out how they lost so many squad cars, while Abhishek and Uday dodge them, without wearing helmets, on their bikes.

Is the movie worth your time and money? Yes, absolutely. Period. Kudos to Aamir for promoting helmets and riding gear. No points for Abhishek and Uday for clowning around, both in dialogues, acting and bike safety.

WINE, CAKE AND SOUL FRIENDS-THE BEST XMAS EVER

Fabian Cuffley, or Fabian uncle as i call him, showed up in his trademark Ray-Bans, monkey cap and a sleeveless jacket. With his 3/4th pajama and a strong smell of cigarette hovering on him, he was carrying two boxes of cake and two bottles of wine. He wished us a merry Xmas, and prayed for my dad and family. He praised dad as a good human being and a great cook and teacher.

I could not help but notice the warmth and love that was present in that moment. Fabian uncle is the guy one would remember when Loyal World first opened. He wore a crisp white shirt and tie, and with his round head would hover across the racks. He has known dad for a long time, and they have become good friends. Through his heart attack and dad's cancer, they have been there for each other. Fabian uncle, with his stories and choice of words, sends us into peels of laughter.

But, what surprises me is that their friendship has been forged without Facebook, e-mail, Wattsapp or even text messages. They talk briefly on the phone from time to time, but when they do meet, they talk for hours. This is something i'm glad to have inherited from dad. 

I envy my aunts and uncles. Yes, they have dabbled in Facebook and the maximum they have done to reconnect is to "poke", rather than send a friend request. But the friendships they have forged in their teens and twenties are still strong. Even if they haven't called each other in months or seen each other in years, whenever they meet, its like they met just yesterday. One would wonder if they had been friends for lifetimes, or Siamese twins joined at the hip at birth. They laugh, they giggle, they hug; sometimes you would pass them off as well dressed lunatics.

But isn't that the beauty of it? A friendship that is not based on whether you hit the 'like', 'comment', or 'share'; it doesn't matter if you did not reply to a text or did not speak for hours on the phone. These bonds truly stand the test of time. Its no longer the other person's caste, gender, belief, differences, mistakes; you transcend all that and become soul friends. You are happy just being there with him or her, and don't give two hoots to what the world comments on your relationship. To you, and your buddy, its one of the best things that could ever happen in life, finding a soul friend.

And so this Christmas, i wish you and your soul friend(s) the best of times and hope your bond strengthens and deepens. And if you haven't found your soul friend yet, I pray to Santa that he packages one for you. All you need to do is to keep an open heart. Your gift might be waiting for you right around the corner.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

THE POT BELLY BARD - SAMSON'S UGLY SISTER

Samson had a sister, her name i chose to forget

She had a big crush on me, and my lego jet;

Though it was one-way, and i was not gay

I let her go for the reason, she was just too God damn ugly.

Her breasts were sagging South

Her tummy bursting at the seams;

Thighs were the size of tree trunks

Her rump that of a well fed farm pig.

She smiled through her braces

Dirty shoes with grime and untied laces;

Her polka dot frock resembled warts on her face

Table manners were nasty and devoid of grace.

She waved her hand in unladylike glee

She jumped and strutted in manners that made buried moles flee;

Samson loved his sister too much and pampered her

It showed in her unkempt hair and dirty finger.

Alliances was called from lands far and near

No man dared to step forward, nor a Knight in shining armor;

The Bard was called and dictated, "A wife she is and a fine cook for you, good Sir"

"No thanks Mr Samson," said he,"She is just too God damn ugly".

THE POT BELLY BARD - THE KING IS NO MORE

Hear one, hear all; a tragedy on us has befall

Our beloved King, the docile giant and chubby prince

Yes the one we know as our beloved Wadiyar

Is no more...Is no more...

Down the shutters and close the registers

Douse the lamps and destroy the wicks

Let the streets plunge into darkness

The sun has set and shall rise never on the clan.

The streets are deserted and bereft of hub

Hearts with remorse, cannot digest a grub;

Let the women wail and beat their breasts

The men have important matters, wicked minds cannot rest.

The Palace has lost its glory and charm golden

Now forever, the red-beacon atop shall be lit;

Bring out the guns, 21 times shall they salute

To the last departed man, a legacy 400 years old.

Oh my brothers on Urs road, Kalidasa and Kuvempunagar

Heed my word, follow my advice

No more shall you drown your sorrow in alcohol

Hang-up the butcher's knives and bow your head.

Rumors are rife about a legendary curse

Loose tongues will spew blood on mud

This is no time for politics and hatred

The hearse has arrived, let us gather and bid goodbye.

Look in awe as a great fire engulfs the funeral pyre

Such was the Kings glory and magnanimity;

The Bard shall sing his praise in fields, markets and cities

May we echo his name and those of his Fathers for a thousand years.

LONG LIVE THE KING..........

THANK YOU READERS

It was with apprehension that i started to write my second blog. My first attempt at blogging was not that successful, though it paved the way for me to reach an audience i could not see. I wrote from heart, and still continue to do so. I have just used some tools and applied some time tested techniques to ensure my readership increases, and i'm still learning.

But all this would not have been remotely possible without your support and love. Be it Facebook, Google+ or Indiblogger, readers like you have kept my morale up. You, yes YOU, are the reason why i continue to write and am determined to continue in this path. Your comments have cheered me up and lifted my spirits. Each time you share my post and applaud, those few words feel like i have received the Booker prize. That's how important you are to me.

I started with 10 hits. Today, i reached the 10,000 milestone. Though many of you have hits more than this, for me, this is my first major breakthrough. I used to aim for the maximum hits, and would get dejected if it did not reach even a measly 15. Sometimes it was disappointing. But i realized its better to be original than to please an imaginary crowd. And it paid off.

It did take time, but slowly i built my audience, who accepted my words for what they are. Though small, it is an integral part. And you are an important piece of that. Be it Australia, Germany, Korea, Maldives, USA, UK and many countries from where you read, i'm happy you appreciate the thought process and immense mental and physical work that goes into publishing those few paragraphs.

However, i for one, could not have reached this stage without the help of a few people. They helped me in ways i thought was selfless of them:

My mum and dad. Thanks for the providing the creative freedom to write and the atmosphere of learning.

The team at Facebook, Google, Blogger and Indiblogger. It's because of you that i have an online existence.

Gautam. He suggested the name Murgi Baba....the rest is history. God made you from a mould and then threw it away. There is none like you mate.

Surya Kiran. Suri gave comments and hit the like button for all my blog posts. He is the God Father of Thus Spake Murgi Baba.

Vijendra aka ViJi. You know me since i was an obese teenager. Thanks for always being there for me old pal.

Dileep. Narsimhan, as rough as you look, you have a heart made of apples and honey. Thanks for kicking me in the butt whenever i was low. I needed it.

Shruthi. If there is one family member who encouraged me to write more, it was my favorite cousin Shruthi.

Serena. Many of the topics, specially for The Pot Belly Bard came during conversations with her. Hope some of your amazing will-power rubs off on me.

Tutti aunty. An occasional phone call from you appreciating my writing meant a lot to me. Thank you aunty.

Manohar. Manu, you egged me on for every post. Cheers to you friend.

Thanks to all of you, and the unknown reader out there. Murgi Baba loves you all.

THE POT BELLY BARD - MEN IN THE MIRROR

One of the most embarrassing things that could happen to a girl is landing in the men's washroom. It has been the subject of many jokes and pranks. This is the account of my friend who found herself in the unlikely situation:

Dressed easy yet nervous for the interview

I drank water so much the receptionist went "Phew!"

All of 23, this would be my first job

Though data entry, i wouldn't be branded a slob.

The company was multinational and huge

It's boss and his wife were Mr and Mrs Scrooge;

Tapping nervously as my name was yet to come

I could not help but notice the next guy's cute bum.

The AC and a full bladder were a deadly combo

The urge to pee was like duct tape to silence a jumbo

I made a dash to the washroom and turned the tap

"Gee", i said,"The water's warm" and washed my face in a zap.

As i lifted my head, faces in the mirror stared at me,

Our eyes met, i could count the male gaze and persons three

I turned my body, but they did not

"Uh oh!" said one to the other,"We have a lass in the men's urinal, Scott".

I had committed an inexcusable folly,

Barging into the only space a man finds jolly;

"I'm sorry, so sorry" said i and ran helter skelter

I could hear zips and belts fastening, "Steve, get her!"

In a safe spot i pulled myself calm and steady

A Bard heard my story and chuckled like a lady

I heard thy name called once and yelled twice

To give my best i strutted in, like Swiss cheese for mice.

The door swung open and i gave my resume

Little did i know the cruel joke destiny would play

"Ah yes! you remember us don't you?" and i trembled in terror

"We are your bosses, the men in the mirror".

THE INDIAN MAN'S PERIODS

"Hush! you don't talk about this stuff"
"Ayyoo! who told you that? I will speak to her parents about this"

A woman's menstruation cycle, or periods, is the last thing the India male should talk about. It is a taboo to even take that word. When a girl comes of age, in Indian culture, the women of the household, distant aunts and ladies from the neighborhood Tupperware club drop in. Hindu traditions indicate that she is worshipped, sort of, with a camphor, thali and aarti. The males are conspicuous by their absence. They are often huddled in some corner of the room, discussing the 'period' of Indian economy, politics and scandals.

Watch the TV ads of sanitary napkins. No where will you find a guy buying his mother, girlfriend or wife a Stayfree. The same rule applies for mistress. The soap operas have the same thing too. Kyunki Saas Bhi..., Kasuti Zindagi Ki..or take Saraswathichand; for all the clash of traditions and melodrama, this topic never makes it to the script. Sexy lingerie? Yes. Weight loss pills? Definitely. Condoms? Eureka! Sanitary napkins? I've never seen you.....

The men duck behind newspapers, magazines, or pretend they did not hear the word. We, the men, are really glad and thank Nature and God that we do not have to go through "the cycle". It would be traumatic to hear that Salman could not host Big Brother because of it was his "that time of the month", or Sharukh could not do Lungi dance 'cause of his cramps and crabs... that's just unacceptable. But nature did give sympathy in a pathy (husband). The man of the house, i believe, should not shy away from discussing this. Better sons will made good boyfriends, husbands and fathers. And the first step is to shake-off the taboo of even mentioning the word.

Yes. There is a small coterie of women, some who will launch a tirade against this blog post too, that support the status quo. "These are matters of the ladies. You should not interfere in it." To make matters worse, the local Kirana shops give the sanitary pads in black polythene covers, the ones reserved for rubbish. Women will refuse to step-in to temples as a menstruation is considered unclean and uncouth.

This in a country where more than half of our Gods are females.

I've seen girls wait for a long time to ensure that the billing counter is empty in a grocery stores, and no one is watching while they buy a pack of sanitary pads. And once its done, they quickly shove it inside their bags, too fast even for the security cameras to capture. Their mothers hang around, keeping a watchful eye for creepy cashiers and helpers.

Arunachalam Murugatham  is an idol for this topic. Not only did he discuss this topic with his wife, for which she left him, he ushered a revolution in rural India. With a balloon made of animal blood tied to his lower abdomen, he tested it on himself how a woman feels during menses. With this experience, probably the only man to claim this on his resume, he started low cost sanitary pads. These pads cost less than the ones in the market. This has changed the lives of girls in villages in India, Africa, South America and counting.

 Before you snigger and type LOLs, remember that unclean cloth, commonly used in menses, is a leading cause of infection and death in young women. Ignorance kills.

Instead of reducing this chapter and that on sex to a few paragraphs in text books, with words and images that confuse than create awareness, let us make our boys sit down and explain to them what exactly goes on in a woman's body. Sure, they might run screaming out of the living room, with updates on Wassup and Facebook, not to mention the emoticons that will add to the melodrama. But once the euphoria and embarrassment wears off, you will actually have a sonny who respects women, a lad who will stand up for an equal and just society, and still listen to Rap God a hundred times.

Dear mam, its time the Indian male started to have his period.

WHEN BALLS OF THE POWERFUL ITCH

Tejpal says he got it wrong when his junior told him that it needs to go 'up'...
A Congress MP messed with the wrong kutti, when he groped her in an election rally...
Bill Clinton meant something else when he wanted Monica to do deals under the table.... 
Asaram Bapu was practicing on disciples the wrong asanas....

One cannot help but wonder why men in power lose it in when a damsel comes along, and why all hell breaks lose in enclosed spaces. It has to do something with an itch in the balls. An outlet is either scratching, or getting it scratched by the opposite and weaker sex. Women and children are the most common victims. From the White House to an elevator, men whom we erect on a high pedestal lose it when they have an erection.

Even your senior in the office, with casuals bought from thrift shops on Commercial Street, thinks he is the Raymond's Complete Man in looks. As long as he is earning a few rupees more (and even paise), the machismo attitude kicks in. He may not have the right attitude to reach the top, but rest assured, stares aka the male gaze in expectation to get the top position in bed.

There is only a zip between pubic and public. And men in power know this very well. Behind closed doors, they are the self appointed heroes of loose libido and morals, and they go gung-ho on that. Drunk on power and local vodka, they see women as more than subordinates; they see them as the next Sunny Leone and Poonam Pandey. Take the recent Park Avenue ad of their deodorant. A man marks his territory. And he sprays the magic potion on the girl sitting on the bar stool. Yes, our carnal desire is that of animals. But, i have never seen any species on National Geographic spraying its urine on its potential mate and "marking" her.

Yes mam, the alpha male, and the omega too, has not learnt to control his itch. When a man's got to do it, he does it with impunity. This is not confined to mere mortals, even Gods and sages have fallen prey to the inevitable itch. Unwind through the epics and history books. Examples are aplenty. What followed them were curses. Ravana was cursed that any woman he tries to molest will have his head blown off, Presidents have been impeached and now, a media Mogul is going to stand trail. Hopefully, he will face justice.

Be it a possessive boyfriend, pervert husband or creepy boss, unless the good ladies do not raise their voice, and use their heels to slap and smack, this atrocity will continue. There is no God in a foxhole, and no etiquette in an elevator.

The next time you come across the guy with an itch in his balls, do not hesitate to give him a piece of your mind, pepper spray and a good kick, right where it hurts.

THE POT BELLY BARD - NO TEARS FOR THE DEPARTED

You raised my father to be a good man

Nay, the best husband and devoted father;

In my veins run the goodies you served on a summer afternoon

Yet i had no time for your cremation.

My mother still remembers you

Daughters carry the legacy the men who sired them;

She was there, as you lay, counting the end of days

Of the four shoulders to embark on your last journey, none were mine.

Your tears i shall collect and hold tight your hand

My eyes remain moist, yet not a single drop shimmers;

Neither sympathy nor empathy tugs the heart

Though made of gold, it is but a stone.

As one more pair of beloved eyes is shut

Loved ones huddle in grief and pain, beat their breasts and wail;

"Let it all out, Ol' friend; pain within you shall not hold"

And without a blink nor sigh: Listen Bard, i shed no tears for the departed.

THE POT BELLY BARD - THE EMPTY CORNER

"Face the corner" was my reprimand'

Memories good and bad are embedded

Of you lifting me, caressing me, kissing me;

That very space where we huddled, I the child and You the parent.

In that corner you read me stories, folklore of yore

Enemies aplenty, heroes few, as i tugged the blanket

In your arms i fell asleep, as gentle as a tiger cub

The warmth and love, equal to a thousand campfires.

But time takes its dues, death and taxes are its ruthless agents

You collapsed single, but returned draped in white

I watched from that very corner, as your legacy was placed on four shoulders

A lamp was lit as you embarked for a better world.

Cartoons silly and nilly stand etched, unwashed and untouched

That space we shared is my sanity and sanctum

"Furniture is the need of hour" to me is declared

Not at all, my dear Bard...that is more than an empty corner.

MOVIE REVIEW - RAM LEELA

The background score for the opening titles ensured that i was in for a treat. And so it was. Bhansali has taken a cue from Anurag Kashyap and turned his 'Gangs of Wasseypur' into a musical.
Yes sir, the film begins by wanton shooting, of guns and beer bottles. Placed in Modi's Gujrat and given a fictional name, the film proves why the future PM chose to be a Bachelor. As Ranveer Singh (Ram) says, "Family hi dushman hai" (the family itself is the enemy), not to mention the red chilly and gun crazy sasural.

Deepika Padukone, as Leela, plays the mood swinging and body flexible belle with ease. She is daring daughter of the enemy tribe, unrelenting bride, no-holds-barred lover, damsel in distress, chieftain; confused? So was i. But then again, the raunchy dialogues and her curves made me forgive that. If Bhansali wished an 8-pack warlord who could play the role of a warlord, playboy and dejected Devdas, Hritik would have been a better choice. But, it is what it is.
Ranveer tries hard to be the pacifier, both with the script and between the two tribes. He dares to fall in love with Deepika from the enemy's side, and what follows is dating behind enemy lines. It is filled with sexual innuendos, a reason why a neighboring family with a kid left the hall. Sleazy sounds and phrases are aplenty, after all, Ram runs a "dirty picture" video rental (see the irony?).

Simple circumstances, and complex songs later, they become separated and become united, sort of, on Dussehra, and their story completed as Ram-Leela. The songs are shot well, with Clint Eastwood sketch in one, and folk dance with moves like Mike Jagger in the other. You can check your messages and email and even throw in Level 1 of Temple Run during the songs. Ram Leelas' run for days in North India, and this is what i felt as i came out from the multiplex. Why, i had even grown a beard. JaiHo Sanjay Leela!

What stands out is the portrayal of women. Bhansali does an excellent job of showing them as more than mere Leelas or Sethanis'. Baa (Supriya Pathak), not the Kyunki Ki Saas Bhi version, but the chieftain dressed in black and popping a gun version, takes your breath away, especially the scene where she shows Deepika who's the boss, using a nut cracker. This is priceless and only Bhansali could have pulled it off. The two windows, of opposing tribes, come forth with guts, guns and gumption, and the camera work, dialogue and background score proves this.  A scene where the wife removes bullets from her husband's body, because she is ordered that no piece of lead from the enemy tribe should enter the house, stops your breath and moves you. This is where Ram-Leela excels, and why you should watch it at the multiplex.
The Runn of Katch, during sunrise and sunset, is a bewitching. The lanes and by-lanes of Udaipur are another treat. The costume is sure to change the fashion industry, and the sexy choli is back. The songs will bring glory to our folk singers and the gems of music and voice they have; this is why i endorse this movie.

P.S: More than the booking counter, the washroom was filled. Three hours of movie, and air-condition will do that to you, and a word of advice: if you get front row tickets for this movie and you are a first timer in those seats, REFUSE INSTANTLY. Gyaan gained: Gandhi class, be it 200/- per seat multiplex or some dingy 25 bucks theater in an ally, is a pain in the neck.

THE POT BELLY BARD - THE SINS OF OUR FATHERS

I stare at the lifeless bird, one which i shot

No more will it take flight, or welcome the sun

Not a hunters hands these are, lest you think;

I'm just a torch bearer to the sins of our Fathers.

The family looks on as we bulldoze their memories

A bleak future on their eyes, Ray-Bans on mine

Rummage through the rubble, while my palace will rise

Its more than good business; these are the sins of our Fathers.

I hear the muffled wails of my beloved

Shaken and bruised, like a cornered animal

She courted an illusion, while i hid the real me,

In her place was my mother, and i repeat the sins of our Fathers.

I see my son, the junior one, chasing hares in the garden

He scratches his mane and claps his hand in glee; toothless grin

"And what legacy will he carry good sir?", points the Bard

Snuggling a gun among his tiny fingers, i say: The sins of our Fathers. 

THE POT BELLY BARD - GIFT WRAPPER

In functions and carnivals, in the midst of lights and buffets

Guests with masks of happiness greet, with make-up for an entire year

Gifts, big and bright, and some conspicuously small for an over sized host

Stared at and exchanged, all in various hues glittering wrapper.

Some tear it to shreds, while some preserve it for a summer night

The miser steals it to be used for the next gathering of show-offs

Toddlers shred it, the remains adorn their books and walls,

Gifts gather dust, while the wrapper is crumpled.

Strange are the ways of men

No expense spared on the gift, puppy smile and grin on haggling the price of wrapper

Great care taken to ensure no folds or tears,

Only to be torn in three seconds, the giver forgotten in a few years.

It is the thought that counts of the giver,not his riches

The wrapper, after all, is but a piece of paper

"Oh ignorant Bard, in a world which believes in deception",

Snaps back a lovely dame," looks matter more that intention."

THE POT BELLY BARD - THE ONE WITH THE MAN BOOB

Jingle boob, Jingle boob, Jingle Jingle boob
Here's a song outrageous, its a prime-time media scoop
A phrase so repeated, feels like neck in a loop
Here's to the guy who stands out, the one with the man boob.

He cannot wear tight Tees nor sport a vest
"Suckle my baby," says the bully, "cause you have Pamela's breast"
Everyday he cried and wailed, 'cause he failed the manhood test.
Remarks the neighbor to mother: Is he your son, the one, with the man boob?

As he came, cleavage visible, friends ran afar
Even the doctor groped with a wink, said, "Where's your bra?"
No longer does he smile or say his prayer
Overheard was his father saying: He has man boobs, and is no Tom Sawyer.

So he took a knife to rid off those bags of shame
His last thought was lame, that of his dame
Passing by a coffin and fresh flowers, "Who lies there in-vain?"
And to the Bard was answered, "Here lies the boy, the boy with the man boob."

MOVIE REVIEW: CAPTAIN PHILLIPS

When you see Director Paul Greengrass's unkempt hair, you understand the man takes his work seriously. No time for a haircut. Obviously, he was miffed when he learnt that an intermission was added to his movie in India. He may send Jason Bourne (directed by him) to serve an "ultimatum" to the Censor Board.

Tom Hanks plays a role that completely contrasts his role in Cast Away or The Terminal. As Captain Phillips, he tries to bring order to an undisciplined crew. Before you think that is what Captain Phillips is about and wish you had rented a DVD of Captain America, you are taken to the Somali Coast.
Greengrass shows why he has been selected as one of the 50 smartest directors in Hollywood. Breaking from the norm of showing America (or California) as the right and the flag burners as wrong, Greengrass leaves you to decide who's right. The plight of Somali fishermen, forced to take up piracy because of poverty, pressure and a global fish trade which has driven them to the edge, is well shown, explained and kept to the point. No preaching here.

Tom Hanks, though a diabetic, plays his role to the T. The action sequences, be it the on board the cargo ship, or trying to escape the clutches of his captors, is reveting. This is what keeps you to the edge of your seat.

Cinematic excellence is given by Barkhad Abhi, playing the role of the captain of the small crew of Somali pirates. This lanky and skinny actor, a first timer, steals your heart with his expressions, and his deep stares. Throughout the movie, his words are kept to a minimum. Some of his lines are worth a mention here: "Listen, i'm the Captain now," a line which was not in the original script and he came up on his own. And here's another gem. When Tom Hanks asks him why he doesn't choose another profession, he replies without flinching an eyelid, "Maybe in America Irish. Maybe in America". Irish, that's what Barkhad calls Tom Hanks in the movie.
From Cargo ships, pirate vessels, escape pods to US Navy destroyers, this movie has it all. With the vast blue ocean in the background, the intermission is more of a nuisance. Your pulse is raised when the Navy Seals drop into the ocean, and your breath stops at the scene where the Navy Seals end the operation. This scene, trust me, is downright sexy, and a must for military buffs.
Captain Phillips is a must watch. If you are not an action movie lover, do watch it anyway. How a man goes from worrying about his son's college to breaking down, shell shocked at his ordeal, will teach you a thing or two about the important things in life.

Here's to Captain Phillips, the movie and the person.

THE REAL AND THE REEL CAPTAINS

THE POT BELLY BARD - THE BIKER GOD HAS ARRIVED

Over the horizon racing with the rays of the sun

I see a speck growing in size and sound

He touches your soul as he whizzes past

For sure, The Biker God has arrived.

As he dismounts from his mechanical stead

He is greeted with admiration, awe and jealousy

Couldn't care less, as he takes a deep puff and let's out rings of smoke

The circle of life of mortals; The Biker God ponders on his next destination.

The scars on his face and lines on his forehead

Remind that he is no showoff but a respected rider

One who has cheated death at corners and made peace with the Devil

Yet seen sights and people to behold; experience and wisdom his pillion.

His bike is his legacy and he a legend

The helmet and gloves his armor' as he throttles and pulls down his visor

The Bard sheds a silent tear of joy, and with folded palms cries out

"Make way ye novice, The Biker God has arrived."

THE POT BELLY BARD - IT'S A MAD MAN'S WORLD OUT THERE

On the signal when traffic stops and time flies-by

I see a lady, unkempt hair but a neat saree

She nods her head and talks to ghosts

I stare, the others mock, and then we move on.

Today morning while i bought the paper

Shaggy hair, worn out pants and stench was the man behind me,

Muttering Sachin, India and Australia, and events unknown to history

Offering him tea, while others pointed, i moved on.

Barefoot marches an anonymous on the highway

With his stick he waves at speeding wheels

He picks up rubbish and roadkill, the highway's uncrowned guardian

Life seems an unending journey, as he has forgotten his destination and moves on.

All the sane men around me i observe

Some fake happiness while others cry aloud

"It's a mad man's world out there", says a pensive Bard

Watching the crazy and the homeless, I could not agree more.

THE POT BELLY BARD - THERE IS NO TOMORROW FOR ME

Suck on my fingers and lick the plate clean

A burp here and a fart there to announce i'm pleased

"And where are your manners, Mister?" a frowned mum bellows

None left, 'cause there may be no tomorrow for me.

Clean the house and mop the floors

My legacy shall not be a dirty sock or a wet towel

Remove the cobwebs of life and dust off problems

Worry not, there may be no tomorrow for me.

Hug my friends and kiss my family goodbye

Make love to my darling until evening, and then some;

I shall ride into the sunset

Stare at the road and lights, as if there is no tomorrow for me.

Spread my arms wide and howl into the moonlight

Strip down butt naked and run on all fours

"Pray, what ailing animal might that be?"

And to the bemused Bard i say, there is no tomorrow for me.

RESTAURANT REVIEW: SUJATHA RESIDENCY, 1961

This place is nestled in Bannimantap; even the directions to this place are nestled between the branches of trees and is dwarfed by its huge cousin, Nalpad Residency. 1961 is the bar and restaurant in the premises, apparently named because it was started in 1961.
As you enter, the open bar greets you. The lighting is low, enough to see the food but a strain to read the menu. Mangalore tiles on top ensure a cool atmosphere, so cool that the office drinking party, a strong 30 in number, decided to drown in more beer and wine. There is no separate seating for family.
We were joined by a couple with a teenage daughter, and even one on a date; soon ladies who had boarded at the lodge showed up. Including mum, it was unnerving experience sharing the hall, huge though it was, of drunken middle aged, bored of wives men.
The seats are comfortable, minus the lounge chairs and the music is the 70s oldies. This was perfect for dad, and his alcohol guzzling species at the back. The fish is exorbitantly priced, and thanks for having a chef for a dad, we were saved from being taken on a ride. For starters, we ordered prawns kolivada. A good dish, though we could not figure out why no accompanying sauce was served. Tangdi Kabab was next on the menu, instead Chicken gravy was served. We could not help but look helplessly, as the dish cooled down.

After reminding the waiter to serve us dinner plates, we finally got the main course along with Mutton Rohangosh, Roti basket, Chicken schezwan served with thick gravy; none of them went with the behemoth amount of rotis. The only saving grace was that the meat was cooked well. Probably spices from 1961 were used, as flavors were missing and lacking in punch. The momos were good.

For 120/- rupees, the Roti basket is more than worth the money. The waiter failed to inform us that it was suited for five or more people, not for the hapless three of us. We could finish barely half of the options, from butter naan to variety of paranthas. The smell of alcohol and that infamous 'drunken breath' wafting through the air made this eat-out unpalatable. The untrained staff forgot to refill water, and the bill was more delayed than the main course. But it was understaffed in the first place anyway.

1961 is good enough for a Bachelor's party, divorce party, office party, or to drown your sorrows in Scotch. The wash room, with its many patrons, smells like Oktoberfest. The prices are minimal, and smoking is allowed, with free peanuts and you can even throw-in a few jhatkas and matkas.

The risk is in your woman being mistaken for Munni and Sheela. Better avoid it during weekends, unless your lady is alright with alcohol. The boy cleaning your tables, who i'm pretty sure is under 18, is not a welcome sight. This Shikar ki pukaar den is only a once gone, forgot-about-it affair.

Bar

Roti basket

THE POT BELLY BARD - I AM A PHASE IN YOUR LIFE

How could i not fall for you?

You are a beautiful soul

Though bodies prettier than you have met these eyes

I am but a phase in your life.

I'm not the first chap you've befriended

Nor the last you will caress and hold tight

But in this moment, these fingers are the ones you have locked

Too bad, i'm only a phase in your life.

You've shared your dark secrets

Tales so deep that our eyes couldn't blink

This burden shall be mine and be buried with me

 Like your mascara for the night,  i'm just a phase in your life.

Now we sit next to each other

You brood over the sunset and life, while i on you

Certain you seem of an unpredictable future

While i'll be your history, just a phase in your life

Years from now, destiny shall pit us against each other

A time when age has grasped your face, and wisdom mine

"Do you know her, oh wandering monk?" a Bard shall ask

Not anymore, shall i sigh; I was just a phase in her life.

KARIYA I LOVE YOU

Duniya is a must watch movie. One of its most memorable songs is Kariya I love you...

The songs strikes a chord with dark skinned people, be it South Indian or those who could not afford sunscreen. 

Recently, on Change.org, an online petition signing website, someone launched a petition against misleading advertisements, specially the male fairness promoting ones. Shahrukh endorses the Nivea Fair and Handsome, and proclaims using it will enable one to become like him. Shahrukh, in one of his first roles on TV as a soldier, did not look like a guy using deodorant, let alone a fairness cream. Same goes for the Old Spice ad. The original black dude, who forced American women to unseen fantasies, has been replaced by Milind Soman, fit for the housewives and aunties. The uncles are left fuming, at the words and the tea, wondering where why the actual tea is not served. 

More embarrassing are the kids at weddings. Camera phones savvy, they speak their head out. "Uncle, you are not visible in the camera. You're too dark." When a looks-conscious uncle asked why his pictures were not there in the wedding album, pat came the kid's reply: What can the camera do if you're dark?

The uncle has been conspicuous by his absence.

The ads show young men ashamed, holding an umbrella (a yellow one for some reason) and hiding from girls. Well, its these ads that we run away from. Using women's fairness creams is told as pansy. Clumsy me! lest i'm seen at the neighborhood store buying Ponds or Fair and Lovely.
One of the lines in the film's song asks us to forget the people and adopt the whole world as home. Maybe we dark men should do just that, switch off the TV or change the channel and unite against this tirade of fairness creams. We must put our foot down and ask our women to accept us for what we are. Love is not color blind, but should not emphasize this contrast too. Women should accept us for our 50 shades of grey, and black, all hues in between included.
My dear ladies,proclaim your love to your man, warts, dark skin and all, humming "Kariya i love you."

THE POET BELLY BARD - SOMEBODY WAKE UP THE BARD

It's 60+ years of Independence

The freedom fighters have long gone

For the problems have replaced our anthem, that is now just a song

Somebody wake up the Bard

Our sister has been raped

My friend molested and young daughter pregnant

My wife hasn't returned home yet

Somebody wake up the Bard

Onions have replaced gold

Whistleblowers silenced and corruption knocking on our door

Nights spent around candles and in tears

Somebody wake up the Bard

The news anchors are screaming

Colors have replaced truth in the papers

You, me and the random citizen is confused

Somebody wake up the Bard

We need words that move nations

Passions stirred and emotions flowing

For the youth, child, old and the unborn to be marching

Somebody wake up the Bard

THE POT BELLY BARD-JUST LIKE PATTON

I'm watching you

As you lean to copy the answer

I give you a hard stare

Just like Patton

Stealing a quick glance

You indicate where you're stuck

I'm right there and derail your tracks

Just like Patton

You look nervous and hopeless

You've not studied well and missed notes

You hope that i was anything but a strict invigilator

I am just like Patton

Whispering to a friend

A number, a word or a phrase;

I show up and bark at your face

"Gosh!" you say, "He's just like Patton"

Wipe that smirk and smile

Close your ears from my words of abuse

I've caught you red handed and white faced

Fear me, cause i'm just like Patton

I'll pull you by your collar

Drag you by your tie

Face my anger and wrath i shall shower upon you

A storm i'll bring, just like Patton

Ask me for additional sheet and you shall receive

Ask me for extra time and you'll get it

Benevolence and grace i shall show on you

Cause i'm human, just like Patton.

APNA AASMAN, UNKA ZAMEEN

I was impressed by the movie, "Apna Aasmam". It did lack some directorial finesse, both then again you have Irrfan Khan, Shobhana, Anupan Kher and a good supporting cast. You could watch it once. It's about a differently able boy, an artist in the making, transforming into a freakish math genius, with the use of hocus-pocus drugs, supported by his parents and a shady doctor. This part is rather unrealistic. However, it is a happy ending and the boy becomes a painter again.
It did strike many chords with me. Like the movie, my parents worried about my stammer. My mum was concerned, but dad was busy in business (i did find the lines blurring between real and reel life). My mum took me to various doctors, some who agreed to and assured magic cures, with treatments ranging from herbs to swallowing live fish. I was too young to understand what was going on. Teenage, the questions, and an identity crisis made my stammer worse. The respite, of all the places, was found in a government office. A doctor who had come to renew his driving license met me at the Regional Transport Office. He was a Speech Therapist. I picked up within a few weeks and surprised him with my recovery. My parents felt it was odd, but thankfully, they supported me, especially mom.
My stammer did come back, but thankfully, another doctor was at hand.
During this period, i could not understand the structures and formula of Life Science. I had enrolled in Biotechnology, Microbiology and Biochemistry. It was the fad five years ago, and though i chose Journalism and English literature, i was pooh-poohed and made to join B.Sc. It was only due to the support and encouragement of teachers that i managed to pull through. All the text books by foreign authors gathered dust. I could not understand why facts of life had to based on Darwinian Theory. Facts based on theory? How does that work!?
My dreams could not be realized on the grounds my family built for me.
I was lost.
I came out of Bachelors in Science with good marks, and surprisingly, with no back papers. Before i could think of my next move, my mother had already called up Microbiologists, Bio technologists and got the admission papers, with one lakh rupees in cash for admission; i could not take it anymore. I rebelled.
What followed were days of arguments and lectures. Many were surprised at my behavior, that i was talking back and giving my opinion. I gave a piece of my mind to my relatives too, and they beat a hasty retreat, mumbling and grumbling of course. A compromise was reached. If i could not make it to Masters in Arts, i would be joining Masters in Microbiology. I agreed.
Lo and behold! handwork and lady luck were in my favor and i got through the entrance exams for Journalism at the University of Mysore. At the end of two years, not only had i found myself as a writer, i was a gold medalist too, a first in the family.
Like the movie, my story had a good ending too. People accepted me for what i am. I still do get chided for changing tracks, but then, it is not their dream. I weave my dreams in my own sky. And i wish the same for you too.

JUMBO CIRCUS IS HERE

At 13 years old, i was fascinated by the huge tent, wild animals dressed in props, and an elephant being more famous than Sachin Tendulkar in cricket. Fire breathers, popcorn and clowns made me gasp and giggle.
Now, at 24,watching Sachin Tendulkar retire and some animals banned from circus, i got a chance to relive my memories.
Every year, Jumbo Circus comes to the city for Dasara. They pitch their tent behind the zoo. My family has an interesting history related to circus. Gemini circus, the big daddy of all South Indian circuses, had their tickets printed with us. In return, we got free passes and a chance to get up close and personal with the lions. I believe Jumbo circus is an offspring of Gemini.
The crowds have never gone down, although the sheer size of the circus has. The tickets are priced from 60-200. Me and my friend chose the 200 bucks, bang in the front row with the best view. And what a show it was.
Nostalgia hit me. I had sat on my father's shoulders and my mum had fed me popcorn. Those memories came flooding back. To this day, a bell announces the start of the show. The height and size of the ring has reduced, but the artistes still make a grand entrance, accompanied with live music, the musicians perched on top of the entrance.
Beautiful girls, in short, glittering clothes made their mark on the hearts and minds of the audience. From doing a wheelie on a bicycle to riding shotgun on a horse, these ladies can put your girlfriend to shame, and make WonderWoman feel like Hooters.
Some of the performances have remained the same, like the fire breathers, and the body contortionists. Judging by the age marks on their faces, even the artistes have remained the same, a sad reminder of life in a circus aka Jeena yahan marnaa yahan (Mera Naam Joker).
The jokers continued to entertain the crowds; the dwarfs, misfits of society employed from the days of Barnum and Barnum. Forced to laugh for three shows, and two months the circus stays in Mysore. Yes, the elephant playing cricket was there too, the part where i cringed and refused to take a picture. On one side, there was the Ambaari, and on the other, this regal creature reduced to playing footsie amidst a rowdy crowd. The camels were there, and the sight of the trainer holding a baton made them obey his commands, a sign of cruelty and rule through fear. The same was with the dogs and the parakeets, and the horses. A young performer dressed in purple tights fell off the horse, and walked away with her ego bruised. The horse received a prompt kick on his heels, a reason why i hate to see animals in circus.
I was pleased that the biker in his cage of death stunt still exists. The adrenaline rush you get out of it is immense. No question of life insurance for these guys. You either come out, or you're buried in the same ground where your tent was pitched. Some other stunts were there too, with new ones being how to change a curtain, dangling 20 feet in the air. I fell in love with the girl who performed this act.

The trapeze artists, as usual, left you gasping for air with their moves. One more reason was the lack of ventilation inside the tent. But, it was a good show indeed.

The live music is those of old songs, which remind you of the time when circus was the flat screen and HD of yore, artists were our heroes and their acts, as close to Gods power. The Mysore audience, used to the laser show at Bannimantap, refused to applaud and walked out before the act was completed, though many had strolled in late. It is easy to please the Roman Legion, the American President and the Russian Premier, but not the Mysore crowd.

When you go to the circus, and please do, take the 200 bucks ticket, if possible; the money ensures that you have an excellent view and they get to feed their children, the animals and themselves. You are cribbing about the space you have to share with your sibling, take a look at the the artists's tents....privacy is a luxury.
The girls would have preferred studying Arts, Literature or Science, rather than swallowing kerosene, biting on to ropes, juggling a football in short skirts; but they do it. The reality of life is in your face.
 So do visit the circus. And please applaud after every act, even if you feel you've seen better on Travel and Living. Without your love and appreciation, rewinding those tapes might be our only option of watching a circus.

MOVIE REVIEW-GRAVITY

Combine Discovery's I Shouldn't Be Alive with Apollo 13, with a dose of Avatar to it, and Gravity is what you get; brilliance, elegance and breath taking visuals.
For 160 bucks at DRC, it is worth every penny. You can read about who shot the movie, how, why and with what from other sites. But here is why you should watch it..
In order to know how insignificant your life really is, and to always see the "Big Picture", it is essential to get an outside perspective of things. In this case, your perspective is from space. And boy does it look good!
Of the countless 3D movies, it is one of the best to make use of the technology. It gives you the feeling of being right next to the astronauts servicing the Hubble telescope. The camera changes angle smoothly, as if the transition is transcendence. One moment you are inside the helmet of the astronaut, the next you are dodging a shrapnel heading straight for the International Space Station (ISS). The view of the earth, with the lights on and the Amazon, is something you have to see on the big silver screen, and not on your plasma one.
The background score for this is amazing. It is exactly what is needed to create the aura and the panic when you are tumbling in space. From ISS getting clobbered to your escape pod getting tangled, the background score, or the lack of it in some cases (no music in vacuum, remember) is apt.
That Sandra Bullock and George Clooney are paired is amazing in itself.  Clooney plays a brief, yet crucial part. Any woman would feel the Universe is hers when you have George Clooney, and Gravity gives you that, literally and metaphorically. Dialogues are another important part, and the deadly combo makes you even irritated when there is an intermission. You just DO NOT want to leave your seats. Sandra's role as the sole survivor reminds you of Sigourney Weaver's role as Dr Ripley in Aliens.
Gravity is made to lure the Indian audience and to ensure Rajeev Masand gives at least 4 stars out of 5 for this beauty. There is an Indian on board, speaking in an "what Americans think is Indian" accent, and eventually, you get to see his face (you may not like this scene). There is also George Clooney appreciating the sunrise on the Ganges. Guess someone should bring him down to earth and show how it really shines, corpses and chemicals adding to the glitter.
The attention to detail and use of common sense is greatly appreciated. The fact that space suits are not made for swimming, fire floats like bubbles in space; the makers read a lot and did their homework on this one. Yes sir, they did.
Do watch this movie. It's not just for nerds, nor just for kids, nor for Stephen Hawking fans. Its also for those who love cinematic excellence, are fascinated by earth, visuals, or just want to learn never to give up, even if you are lost in space.

THE VALUE OF A GOLD MEDAL

I was eagerly awaiting the results of my Masters. This would open up a world of opportunities for me, or so i thought. The advertisement industry did not mind my marks, but respected my talent. It was a different matter that it became a major lesson in my life about self-respect. (Read about it: http://murgibaba.blogspot.in/2013/02/nightmare-on-first-job-street-part-1.html)

From there, i tried joining call centers and data entry jobs. I would take my marks card, and return home dejected. "You are over-qualified for the job", "Why don't you try in the media sector?". I needed a job, not advice. Money was my priority, and i did not want to be a burden on my parents. The more i ran behind money, the worse it would get. Depression and laziness crept in. Advice from all quarters poured in, and i became increasingly short on temper and heavy on body fat. I had rejected jobs at reputed educational institutions on gut instinct, and faced flak for it. Finally, i landed in a call center. I had accepted this as my future, or lack of it, as it was from 12 AM-5 AM shift.
My friend called me and informed me that my name was on the Gold Medalist list. It is always released a few months after the results are out. It is usually mired in controversy, politics and boot licking. I had got it based on sheer hard work and was pleased with myself. A night into the job, i walked out of the cabin, leaving behind a furious and fuming HR.
As news spread, calls poured in. No one expected that a BSc graduate, who went against the norms and joined Master of Arts, would end up with a gold medal. I was taken back myself. I had to start from scratch. I had no idea of Journalism, while my classmates had done BA, Honors or had work experience. I had to use the principles i was taught in Science and apply them to Arts, the most important of them being what my teacher, Mrs Syeda Farhana had taught me: never accept anything less than perfect. The same teacher had sparkles in her eyes when she saw the gold medal. She was pleased, as were my other teachers.
My sister was so happy for me. She supported me throughout my Masters. My mother ensured every house in the neighborhood heard of my achievement, even the helps and drivers. She went on a temple thanking spree.
Advice turned to alliance, and Shaadi.com seemed a joke with the sheer amount of proposals i was getting. Neighbors poured in with sweets and congratulations. Guests at our restaurant were informed and they wished me luck too. I was on cloud 9.
On the day of the convocation, a year later, i was in line with my classmates. Crawford Hall echoed with applause as we made our way towards the podium. Anil Kumble, along with the Vice Chancellor was awaiting with our gold medals in hand. The Governor had left in the morning.
 I scanned at the hundreds of eyes looking upon us, and searched for mum too, and there she was, right in the front. I went up, took a deep breath and had a good look at the people. I wanted to savor this moment. Two years of hard work, and one year of struggle and depression had brought me to this moment. I squared my shoulders, folded my hands and bent down in respect to the dignitaries. I shook hands with all of them, and received my medal. As i stepped down from the podium, a huge sense of relief came over me, and i felt light. It was as if i was given a new beginning. I had found my way again.