THE SLAM BOOK

One of the rituals every student goes through when leaving school or college, is buying a slam book. Painful yes. But its one of those things that cannot be left to the last minute.
I did not know the importance of slam book in the seventh standard, so i didn't buy one. To this day, i regret it. Not getting my Rotary friends on a slam book was pretty foolish. But i was careful not to repeat the mistake for tenth standard. I got the best book available.
The first person to write was Vijendra. (Coincidentally, he was the first to write on my slam book for 12th too). Tenth was one of the best years of my life. I had to change sections. From a class filled with geeks, i was thrown into a room full of rag tag ruffians. I could not beat them, though the class teacher had asked the class to emulate me! So, i joined them. Each one's antics was recorded in the slam book. None of them were from the first bench. The little ones were best left out. The orange color slam book serves as a reminder of friends gained, and some who were sadly lost. No girl ever wrote on my slam book. I was too shy to approach them, even the one i had a crush on. Looking back at the comments, our parents would be surprised and horrified at our knowledge of sex and female anatomy.
I changed schools. Twelth standard, or PUC as its known, was confusing. Teenage distractions, board exams, tuition; not to mention the pressure of answering parents whether i'm gonna become a cardiologist or computer engineer. All of our fears went into the slam book. For reasons best known to Almighty God, i bought a pink slam book with teddy bears on it. Again, no girl wrote on the slam book. It was a sausage fest. Every guy wished me to become a doctor or engineer, some just hoped i won't forget them.
Forget them i did, 'cause it was time to move on to a Bachelor's Degree in Science at St. Philomena's. At the end of three years, my black slam book became a time capsule. Since the class was composed of five boys and nearly 10 girls, i had no choice but to give the book to them. Besides, i had overcome my shyness. The slam book resembled a mehendi in some pages and a rangoli on the other. Some girls were straightforward, some girls proved to be Shakephere's mum and Wordsworth's grandmum.
Master's was the last time i would be buying a slam book. Some friends were going back to their hometowns, some to their fields and some were going back across the seven seas. It was emotional. It still is, whenever i open my slam book.
Every page brings back memories. Every page oozes love and affection. It takes me back in time, when i did not have to worry about fulfilling others expectations. I was just being myself, unfazed and happy-go- lucky.
Whenever my spirits are down, i just relive the best parts of my life through my slam books. In those pages, time stands still.

MRS. MEETY'S BRA AND PANTIES

Along the Mysore-Bangalore Highway, there is hardly a signboard or billboard in English which is not tarred in black by the Kannada chauvinists. There is an exception to this. It's an ad for a lingerie store. It reads 'Mrs. Meety's Bra and Panties'.

No one has dared to interfere with that board. Come to think of it, no one has ever questioned the display on lingerie stores. Pictures, mannequins, half mannequins or just busts are proudly displayed outside. Kids, grandpas' and men whose marriage anniversary has crossed seven years, all take a long loving look at it. It symbolizes Paradise Lost. The women of course, frown upon the men, as they walk into these stores.

One of the most famous lingerie stores in Mysore is located right in front of a temple. Another well known brand is located in the vicinity of a girl's college. They all have Mrs. Meety's collection. Victoria's secret is no longer a secret. The lingerie business is booming. And Mrs. Meety is the Queenbee.

No one knows who Mrs. Meety is. Or was it a spelling mistake, supposed to read 'Meaty'. But she seems to design some of the best, sexiest, lacy and racy lingerie ever know to women, and men. The men are more than happy to foot the bill. Marriage is the price you pay for free sex, goes the saying. Mrs. Meety seems to have made this her business mantra. She knows what works and what doesn't, both in the store and in between the sheets.

I wonder, what does Mrs.Meety's husband think of all this? Does he approve of her profession? Or has she kept it a secret, leading a double life of sorts? Where did she get the inspiration to start this? What is her real name? What does she look like? Angelina or Ugly Betty? 

Her real identity remains a secret. Yet, she has been a beacon of inspiration for thousands of women. She has given them self respect, identity and a reason to be proud of their sexuality. Whether you've hit menopause or your assets are going South, you need not be ashamed. Mrs. Meety is your soul friend.

Maybe its better that we never know her identity. Heroes, or Heroine in this case, are worshiped because we hardly know anything about them, and they know everything about us. Three cheers to you Mrs. Meety!

THE ITALIAN JOB

The Italians are rocking to Karna Johar's music, "Sonia, Sonia, you are our Sonia". Back here in India, the oppostiton party is having 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum'.
The marines, laughing are probably driving a Lamborghini back home and celebrating with pasta and Russian Vodka. They have pulled off an "Italian Job". The Kerala Police are left scratching their heads. For once in the history of India and Gulf, someone has outsmarted the Mallus. The Supreme Court is threatening to imprison the Italian envoy. I guess the Italians will pull off another stunt to get him off Indian soil. I'm seeing another 'Argo' in the making.
Both parties have their own points of view. The marines fired warning shots, thinking they were Somali pirates. We don't heed to signals on roads, there is no way we will follow them on seas. Compensation was also paid, it is said, to the families of fishermen. But you can't put a price on human life. Who is to blame?
We have a rich tradition of not blaming the White man. He is always right. We have even accepted that even the White woman is right. There is no way the Italian marines are coming back. It did not happy with the British. Nor will it happen with whoever is and will rule us.
The Italians were kept in reasonable comfort. If you are allowed to wear your Ray Bans', you are obviously having a sense of freedom. I saw on TV when the Kerala police officer refused to salute, when the marines, in uniform, saluted them. A clear sign of disrespect. I am not showing sympathy with the Italians.
But, India has one of the largest undertrials in the world. Innocents crowded in dingy jails until proven guilty. Our own brothers and sisters don't have a chance. The Italians are a far off matter.
The next time we may see the the marines, it may be on National Geographic's Banged Up Abroad, where they will critize us and our police system. Or in Ram Gopal Verma's next venture, 'Do Khoon Maaf'.
Until that happens, oogle at Ferrari's latest offering, LaFerrari. The Italians know how to do it in style.

MOVIE REVIEW: SIMPLE AAGI (COPY MAADID) ONDU LOVE STORY

There was a lot of hype built on Facebook for this movie. It did pay off. The cloak room at DRC was chocked with college bags. I did not spot any family. On the contrary, those planning on starting a family, from checking out prospective brides and grooms to finding love in cinema scope over popcorn were present.
The movie is what Sandalwood does best. Copy from another language, add locations and songs, emotional melodrama and present it to the average college-goer. In this case, it was copied from Adam Sandler's '50 FIRST DATES'.
Hawaii is replaced by Coorg and the lady chef is replaced by an RJ, played by a real RJ (Rachana). What sets the movie apart is the way the old wine is packaged. Coorg, beautiful songs, innovative camera work with creative visualization, dialogues suited to our thinking and simple, yet effective acting. No show offs here.
What i liked was how, just by keeping two characters, the hero and the heroine, each others past, present and future is shown. This requires some common sense, which lacks in Sandalwood. The songs are pleasant to the ears and thankfully,  no item songs nor silly fights in this one. Jokes are aplenty, along with lots of rain, beach, sun, sand and even some mushroom manchurian.
Yes, there are some mistakes. When the hero goes to an interview for an ad company, he finds two employees outside, dressed in formals. Formals are most of the time a NO NO in the ad world.The heroine says she wears a spy camera to keep a check on her memory (see the movie to get a clear picture). But in spite of the legendary Coorg rain's ferocity, it doesn't malfunction. Definitely not made in China.
As the hero says, 'copying is not perspiration. It is inspiration.' This movie, though an "inspired" remake, is definitely a must watch. It is a fresh take on remakes and is a fresh take on Kannada movies itself. It's worth your multiplex money and popcorn.