It's a bird, it's a plane. No, it's a pizza!

Drones. They are here. Only this time they are not playing big brother in war ravaged deserts but playing postman waale bhaiya. And surprise, surprise, it's not Bezos but some bozo from a lesser known Pizzeria in Mumbai who has stolen the thunder with the successful aerial delivery of a - Pizza. Which, of course, is apt since it might not be a great idea for anything of Italian origin to be on the Indian roads these days.

Pakistan aaj se tumhe "Flying Pizza"
ka khitaab deta hai

The technology had been in the works, and had been a subject of great hullaballoo among internet junkies, who were obviously delighted by this further reduction in human effort. There is no doubt about the fact that this is a game changes, and quite literally so as it changes a very fundamental and quintessential aspect of our lives. The Chidi Udd face offs.

The novel experiment, however, has already ruffled a few feathers, with the Mumbai police now seeking an explanation for doing this without their permeesan. Terror strike and all that threat via the aerial route. Little do they know that years of enmity has already been avenged by unleashing Ramiz Raja's commentary on our hapless cricket-watching souls.

There are obvious troubles that need to be tided over before the technology comes to daily use. Birds, for instance.

Imagine this drone peacefully sailing over the rooftops carrying a sinful Meatzaa. Right next to it is this part confused, part elated vulture going, "Freakin' flying dead meat! w00t w00t!".

And then there are other problems peculiar to India as well. Let's face it. Despite all the regulation, effort required and actual risk from it, people actually steal electricity from poles. Who is to say the same people won't man their terraces with a watchful eye, see a poor little drone carrying food fly by and batter it to submission with something as innocuous as a rolling pin?

Well, for now, this is an exciting attempt. Will this technology actually deliver? Or will it remain as it is now - up in the air? Only time will tell. But remember, drone't panic.

'Pyaasa' in the times of Facebook

So, I recently watched the much revered, some say arty (euphemism for ‘boring’ for most movie goers) flick from the fifties ‘Pyaasa’ with Guru Dutt, Waheeda Rehman, Mala Sinha et al. 

It is one remarkable movie and incredibly ahead of its time. So much so, I thought it should be (re)made now. Just imagine!

The basics

We’ll stick to the core theme. That is definitely the heart of the movie. So a poet unable to find his peace in the machinations of this world it is. However, we’ll have to redo the cast. ‘Coz I ain’t asking Waheeda ji to play a seductress now, and well, Dutt sahab is now de… oops.. zinda hai, zinda hai, hamare dilon mein.

So, who’ll be the poet? Manoj Bajpai? Although I am dead sure he will pull it off, somehow his magnificent job of Sardar Khan in GoW is so stuck in my head, I just can’t think of him as this melancholic shayar. Farhan Akhtar could take up the challenge, but na! 

Irrfan Khan, then. No questions. We have our male lead.

Who, then, for Meena (Mala Sinha)? I suggest Kareena. She does a fine job of being demure and bitchy at the same time. **cough** married for money & prestige **cough**. Has fine eyes with hints of sincere longing. 

Some more characters. Mr. Ghosh - the wily businessman who mints money and treats everyone like shit. If Kareena agrees to play his wife, I might consider casting Himesh here. Have you seen his slick hair, three-piece wearing retro avatar? Easy to hate. Snooty and pretentious flowing in the bloodstream. 

If somehow this deal doesn’t go through and mostly because Himesh will bring a lot of audience hate to the movie, Piyush Mishra could be called in. Have you ever wondered he looks quite a bit like the original guy!

                                  

 

Johnny Walker - funny, good natured barber. Ignoring obvious choices like Rajpal yadav, Johnny Lever, etc., I might want to experiment with funny-man RJ Mantra. Or maybe, Kiku Sharda. Ok, Kiku it is.

Poor man's Shashi Tharoor

The two brothers. Manoj Joshi (in pic) and maybe Boman Irani. Can pull off slimy, greedy scoundrels with ease. For the mom, get in Waheeda Ji - also a fitting tribute to the original.

Go for comedienne Bharti for the blink-and-you-miss Tun Tun ji’s appearance. 

Now, for ‘Gulabo’ - the prostitute with a heart full of chaste love. Cliched but we have no choice but to go for Madhuri.

And with that, we have our ensemble!

Keeping the plot, adapting the screenplay

So, we have our hapless poet Vijay, shunned by his fellow men, unemployed and penniless. 

Meanwhile, Vijay continues on his unsuccessful quest to get his poetry published.

To top his misery, his brothers sell his most precious works to the recycler. And he hopelessly wanders looking to get them back. Then one day, he hears a lovely voice reciting his own lines. And our petite Gulabo is thusly introduced.

After a creepy pursuit, some telling off from a flustered Gulabo and the dawning of realization that this infact was the poet whose lines Gulabo was in love with, they both indulge in this unseeming, part endearing, part reluctant kinship.

And suddenly,

One fine day our hero happens to recite a few lines in a college reunion and is noticed by a certain publisher Mr. Ghosh who invites him for a meeting. Delighted that he might have a shot at getting published, he visits him but realizes that all Ghosh requires is a servant (we realize that Mr. Ghosh is suspicious of his wife’s past with our friend Vijay and wants to see him up-close). Unwillingly, he accepts the offer because paapi pet.

Here he bumps into old flame Meena. They exchange a few greetings, old memories and a lot of awkwardness.

These exchanges continue. Inevitably, their past is discovered by Mr. Ghosh who promptly fires our man. Meena doesn’t utter a word. And Vijay sets out wandering aimlessly like before. One fine day he is informed of his mother’s death which comes as a massive body blow. And Vijay, who had been stoic to his suffering, now turns to complete despair.

So, he treads on. But things don’t really look up. And then, one day, while he is sleeping on a footpath with a few other homeless beings, an SUV runs its tyres over the hapless people. And so dies our hero. 

Or so are people led to believe.

A heartbroken Gulabo, in a bid to fulfill the dead man’s dream looks to get his writings published. When she chances upon this…

And so, the book takes shape, albeit virtually. And a phenomenal hit it is.

So much so that publisher Nile no more sells it for free and starts minting all the proceeds. 

But our guy Vijay is still alive. And soon, he discovers he is famous. Not too late post this, the publisher discovers he is alive and unleashes a plan to erase his identity.

And this enormous dose of greed takes over everyone. And they refuse to recognize the real Vijay. Irony hits the audience like a neat shot of rum. Unpleasant.

The real Vijay is trapped in an asylum. Hits a stroke of good luck finally one day, and manages to sneak out. Boards a local to Kalaghoda where his works are being celebrated.

He is bemused to see how people are fawning over the poet Vijay. He bursts into a song and announces his identity. The audience is like, “Woah!”, and in a matter of seconds, his return from death is trending.

Vijay is brought to the podium and recites a few more lines. He mentions, towards the end, that he is pained and will run away from all this.

But fate has something else in store. Post the show, he receives a call from mushy movie maker Kay Joe who says he is buying rights to every damn thing he is going to write from hereon. Soppy high five!

Vijay smiles. Nods. Lives happily ever after. 

Of Wisdom and Wings

At the break of dawn, between the flowers I did walk,
A butterfly’s hue silently beckoned me near.
“Li’l creature”, I called out, “are you free to talk?”,
She mouthed a yes, ’twas difficult to hear.

I asked her if she knew the vastness of the earth,
She rubbed her hands, dusted the sticky pollen. 
Her sullen expression quickly changed to mirth,
“Ye sure ’tis a comma there, innit a semicolon?”.

The ensuing laughter broke off the dialogue,
Launched my winged friend with a dainty flutter.
She flitted for a bit and sat on a fallen log, 
Then parted her lips, these words it did utter.

“Spend I my life immersed in nature’s dance,
Weigh it I do in charm, ay’ not in expanse.”

Strictly not-an-election post

I have been on a blogging break, the one-off movie review or rhyme aside. It's not like I haven't been writing during this hiatus - mostly in solitude without sharing it with anyone else - a lot like the break I took from sex a little over 25 years ago.

There has been a utter lack of inspiration. This condition was exacerbated by my clarity on refraining from voicing my ideas on The Great Indian Political Juggernaut - mostly, because anything you say antagonizes at least one section of my minuscule readership, and also because *skhruff* *khuaahh* death!

Gilli gilli goom!

It is mind-numbingly, nut-crunchingly suffocating. I pick up the morning paper - there he is peering through his broad glasses, gesticulating in every random way possible - a distorted victory symbol, abracadabra hand twist and something which couldn't be anything but Fleming's left hand rule (or perhaps, the 'right hand rule' in this particular case).

Then there's the folded arms guy. Come to think of it. There is a reason he is made to stand in the centre of all those people in the posters. If he were on one extreme, the advert would simply be ignored as another fairness cream campaign. Growth se no growth tak. Now in just 9 years. 

Mannu ji is more difficult to escape. Even if everyone just kept quiet, you would be reminded of him.

Then there is the army of revolutionaries, or as I fondly call them, 'The Cough parade'. The perennial victims. Like that studious kid, with possible noble intent, who wanted to top the class, be class monitor and all that. Always running to the headmistress - not because he thought he deserved more, but mostly because he wanted to present the other student's answer-sheet and get marks deducted. Or, he would just put his head down and whine.

Yet, no, they are not the poorest victim of this election episode. That would be my FB Feed. 

Yes. It is exciting time. It is an annoying time. It is an excitingly annoying and annoyingly exciting time. 

  

Movie Review: 2 States

Release date: 18th April 2014
Director: Abhishek Varman
Rating: 3.5/5

This one has all the elements of an entertainer: a story that, in some aspect, would connect to almost anyone's heart, acting that doesn't dazzle but doesn't invite brickbats either, a totally ogle-able female lead, a couple of witty dialogues and an extremely well composed music score.

If you are an IIMA grad, my sympathies,  and wish to relive your days on campus through this, you might be in for some disappointment. The college life, the falling in love, any reference to classes/placements is such a massive blur, it flashes past before you can say, "Oye! Ye campus mein unisex showers kabse lag gaye?". Arjun and Alia look rather out of place in the overall college setup (and I am really not patronizing them). It is, perhaps, not the most exciting of starts to any movie that has been as awaited as this one.

The story and the screenplay does pickup from thereon. Bhagat's storytelling is no shakespearean sonnet, and he indulges in a whole lot of caricaturing to make the state divide as stark as it could get, and create fodder for humour - which does make an appearance on quite a few occasions. As a punjabi, I cannot be completely delighted about the way the community has been presented, but there isn't much given away to the Tamilians, so Seri, Seri! Semma Tambi, etc, etc.

A few words on the young actors: Arjun Kapoor, you can shave your beard once in a while. The guy probably has it in his contract that he will look just the same in all scenes. There is a scene with a 7 year flashback - Kapoor looks just the same. Yes, the six pack and body hugging shirt too. He has fairly good comic timing which is only helped by his droopy resting face.

Alia. Perky performance. A convincing show with the emotional moments as well. Damn cute. Very cuddly. Strikingly sweet.. gobblewobblemush!

A thumbs up to a very believable (read not-bokwaas-dictionary level) Tamilian couple in Revathy and the guy playing her husband. And yes, Ronit Roy pulls off another fine performance as a ridiculously stern and uptight father after Udaan, this time with a change of heart to go along with.

The reason I extol the good points of the movie and still hand it a 3.5 is that I am from the camp which likes melodrama, masala and mush. Maybe, there was a way to do this story without all that and still pull it off well enough or better. So, a 0.5 cut for scope for improvement.

TL; DR: Have a long weekend? Do watch. You will have your share of hahas and awwws. It might not be one of the best we see this year, but a finely packed entertainer.

मधुशाला में एक शाम

जब उस दिन बैठे हम मधुशाला में,

तो बगल में बैठे थे नवयुग के बच्चन |

नशे में धुत, थे एक युवती पर टकटकी लगाये,

कुछ ठीक ना थे उनके लच्छन ||

दोस्त उनके केहकहे लगा रहे थे,

"भाभी, भाभी", फुसफुसा रहे थे |

करना तो चाहते थे जगज़ाहिर इश्क़ अपना,

पर जनाब थोड़ा हिचकिचा रहे थे ||

ठहाको की आवाज़ अब कुछ बढ़ने लगी थी,

पहुंच गयी थी तैरती युवती के कानो में |

यहाँ इस आशिक़ के दिल के तार बज रहे थे,

जैसे अमूमन बजते हैं फिल्मी गानो में ||

हम बैठे तो कुछ दूरी पर थे,

पर गौर से सारा माजरा देख रहे थे |

तभी बैरे ने आवाज़ देके सावधान किया,

बेध्याने हम चने का छिल्का ज़मीन पर ही फेंक रहे थे ||

अब युवती के कॅंप में भी गेहमा गेहमी चली,

सहेलियाँ अब उसे चिढ़ा रही थी |

उसके सब्र का बाँध जाने कब टूटा,

यकायक देखा तो वो पूर्व परिचित युवक की तरफ ही आ रही थी ||

मेज़ पर हाथ रख कुछ अदा, कुछ गुस्से से वो कही,

"लड़के, घूरके के देखो ना मूझे तुम यूं!" |

उड़े होश तब युवक बुदबुदाया,

"स्वेर छोटी ड्रेस में बॉम्ब लगदी मैनू" ||

उसके बाद जो तमाचे की आवाज़ हुई,

उससे चरमरा गया था पूरा माहौल |

ये छोटी से प्रेम गाथा बस यहीं समाप्त हुई,

थॅंक यौ फोल्क्स, दैट विल बी औल ||

Knock! Knock! Hue's there...

With daunting swagger his horse he rode,

“Holi kab hai.. kab hai holi?”, he mightily bellowed.

Splat! A water balloon struck his swaying belly,

Ramgarh it ain’t, my friend, welcome to Delhi.

Totally sure of the exact date nobody ain’t,

So in advance, bought the colours and grease paint.

A single day cannot be enough for all the fun,

Un-holi be their intent; gosh! I nearly forgot to make that pun.

Clouds of gulaal have livened up the morning sunny,

Aaj hai paani, paani, paani.

The vibrant clothes present a picture sublime,

Singer Big B gets a massive boost in air-time.

The festival brings with an assortment of sweets,

Also some tomfoolery, and lots of jiving to beats.

Sadly, some err on the tasteless side of merriment,

That their number is on the rise is my only lament.

So, with a prayer for a more colourful world,

I must put an end to this piece of poetry.

And like a father whose son is off to his prom,

I must tell you, “Have fun, but safe you must be!”