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.