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.