'rang birangi'

‘rang birangi’ early in the morning on gudi padwa.. hrishikesh mukherjee directing a cast of the usual suspects- amol palekar, deepti naval, utpal dutt, deven varma, farookh sheikh- basically almost all the representatives of the alternative middle class cinema set of the 70s and the 80s- with glam queen parveen babi thrown in playing the bored housewife.

i don’t know how many films i have seen by him.. ‘golmaal’, ‘khoobsurat’ –but my favourite has to be ‘chupke chupke’ with dharmendra playing a professor playing a driver, a amitabh bachchan playing dharmenra’s wife sharmila tagore’s husband.. whatever..

his films as well as those of basu chaterjee (khatta meetha) or sai paranjpe’s ‘chasmhe buddoor’- all of these films are light romantic comedies of error set in a background where polyester salwar kameez wearing heroines travel in buses, genial uncles play the part of match makers, where the bell bottomed hero cannot find the right words to express his love while his best friend eggs him on and everything goes wrong somewhere in the middle of the plot and falls into place towards the end. happily ever after.

nowadays its rare to see people and places that come right out of our everyday experience of living in the city- where things like affordability of a new house, or the trivialities of how does one travel to work, or the promotion that one is working towards are all spoken about and made represented. i still remember the film in which deepti naval meets farookh sheikh and tries to sell him ‘chamko washing powder’ – i think the film was ‘chashme buddoor’- or amol palekar pretending to have a twin for the sake of a new job (gol maal)

this genre and even its derivatives has all but disappeared from the screen. instead we have high emotional drama soaked in soft focus glamour, gritty urban stories about the underworld or the sex horror film. even the alternative film industry that is trying to break new ground in film making (or at least story telling) ‘my brother nikhil’, ‘black’, ‘page 3’, ‘white noise’- all veer away from the ‘ordinary’ preferring to root stories in fanciful dream like landscapes- i guess in the hope that the gloss will be able to make the project commercially viable.

the last time i remember being stunned by the tangibility or the ‘reality‘ of a representation on screen of a space that i know was the romance between abhishek bahchan and antara mali in the lovingly detailed best bus scene in ram gopal varma’s ‘naach’- where the conversation between strangers is interspersed with sounds and images that anyone who has lived in the city will know.

i hope i don’t sound like i am arguing for a ‘realism’ in film- i just think that it would be nice to see ‘us’ sometimes on screen.

office photos for sonal and all the others who havent been able to make it yet

amit- actually doing some work in the office - view looking towards the waiting area.

dad playing snooker on the computer - from the waiting area looking inwards.

the window waiting niche for mini skirted secretaries- either me or amit for now- until we can afford one with better legs

mom lounging in the waiting area

the sofa set - rahuls bench press modified

the beer lounge.- note the cool stone sample floor that we inherited.

the pantry - with glass curtains that sonal bought

a photo of a photo of the fire station on the tack board

antony and the johnsons

there is a music that always sounds like it belongs in the middle somewhere pulled in directions where it never seems to reach. not a man yet not a woman antony of ‘antony and the johnsons’ is a new discovery. through a rufus wainwright connection i discovered this strange beautiful voice singing songs of longing and loneliness- songs that lies in the interstices of genre and gender.

in them i heard a longing to be defined- as one or the other.. or is it a longing to be recognized as complete in spite of being consciously in-between? regardless- the fact is that his is a voice that belongs to a space wider and more all encompassing than the boundaries of gender would allow. the songs seem somehow more pure as he sings saturated with the yearning to become more than what one already is through possessing another or amputating oneself.

this violence never lets the songs settle down into the campy kitsch that could very well have been the result of performing a role that ‘his kind’ is meant to perform in culture- the circus clown or the performing monkey. the longing that he feels is not a joke nor is it up for ridicule- it is real and felt as real- and deserves treatment as such.

i remember meeting the only person i know to have had a ‘gender reassignment’ and talking to him, being able to empathize but not completely understand this discomfort with ones own body that pushed him to change his very identity. ‘i am a bird now’ is flushed with this desire to be able to push past the boundaries that pull us down to the ground making us terrestrial beings- the weight of our bodies and the forces of nature- neither of these seem to be able to control or determine the spiraling arcs of our desires.

burning trees

burning trees in celebratory lights- hot pink tongues, crimson and gold framing the street, ablaze in the evening light on the middle class main market street of charkop. fantastic fire.

the old lady of the lift

this city surprises me everyday. eveyr day i find some strange phenomenon that amazes me regarding the way individuals make themselves heard, creating their own ways of expressing their opinions to whoever is willing to listen.

samira's office is in an old building near opera house on lamington road in south mumbai. the old lady of the lift is an unseen spirit for all of us. people say she lives in the building somewhere on the top floors. every morning she writes a small commentary in her clear bold lettering with a sketch pen, generally topical on some issue in the news. this is then put on the lift cage on the ground floor for everyone to read.

todays was a piece on the value added tax and the decision to make two wheeler drivers wear helmets.. a new entry on her very own tangible version of a blog.

the dance party with some dancing

its the morning aftermath after the party.. amits birthday at my place. young men are sleeping in various forms of undress in different beds in the house. there are plates with left over biryani and glasses of alcohol everywhere.

the party divided itsef up into clear sections until after the girls left and the alcohol and darkness let the boundaries dissolve. madness happened later when hasnain and riteish tested each others skill at insulting non sequiters and amit, makrand and abhay patil invented dance forms, mishra got drunk in a minute ans slept it off on sonals bed, and we hunted for music in the piles of cd jackets lying around and found nothing but bad hip hop.

i woke early unfortunately with no photos for the blog- again.. nishesh says he will email them to me tomorrow.. we'll see..

so instead here is a photo that i clicked when mukul and me did this photo shoot for a mani kaul experimental film in the middle of the night at some studio in trombay. the boys are waiting for the girls to leave to have their turn in the spotlight.

2 gb gmail

completely ridiculous.. gmail now gives us 2 gb of storage.. i have no idea what to do with all that space.. imagine the possibilities.. actually i cant.

anyone wants a gmail account by the way? i have 50 invites still left.

the tea party with no tea

april fools day at 6 o'clock was supposed to be the official opening of the office- to be inaugarated with a 'tea party' and the chai wallah never turned up. instead there were thums up bottles from the neighbouring dukaan, wafers, sandwiches and batata vadas from the famous mithibai pavement. and in the epilogue- kingfisher strong beer and alcazar vodka.. thanks to all who turned up and for all your wishes..

they being:
me and amit, mom and dad, ninad (promising to use only 2 syllable words), ateya (intellectual no 2) , manish (whose 'fort group' has finally managed to get their hands on the 'sewri fort project- i am so proud of them), hemant mama and madhavi mami (who gave us money to buy a wall clock- making amit very happy), prakash uncle, vijayamala aunty, ranjit (see blog to the right), meghana (existential elevators and killer samosas ???), shyam and deepa (srhiya-less), prasad and rupali (the emperor and empress of erytria), geetu my aunt, amrita (amits sister who is looking so glamorous after joining the fashion design school), nishesh and tejas (amits boys), mayuri and abhidnya (amits girls), rahul and sushma (who got us cake which we cut like a married couple posing for photographs)

thanks to all of you guys and to those who could not make it for various reasons. mukul and sonal especially; and john.. and all of you who read my blog and those who dont.. missed y'all..

i have no photos of the party to post. i think i will borrow some from ninad or ateya..
happy april fools day- by the way.. and happy birthday saurabh.

now for some work.

'my brother nikhil'

this was the first time ever i saw a film made by a person whom i knew 'before they were famous'.. i couldn't help but be amazed at the resources the guy i once met at a night party lounging on the floor at madhus thakur complex apartment high on beer was able to generate for his debut film. written, directed and edited by him..

no less a diva then karan johar, or that kool dude saif or even the heart throb of all tennis lovers in the country sania mirza in black and white promos on every channel going 'i care for my brother nikhil- do you?' i found the idea fascinating- that someone i knew in a completely different context is now in the world of page 3 celebrities giving interviews to tv channels in his t-shirt and jeans.

the movie itself was- i guess the word is- 'brave'. sanjay suri plays a champion swimmer who contracts AIDS, not because of his homosexual affair with purab kohli- but because of some unrevealed reason. ostracised by the world that once adored him, the only people who stand by him are his sister juhi chawla and his lover purab.with its heart firmly in the right place, sensitive in its treatment of almost every character in the film, attempting to humanize both the disease and homosexuality- i found little to annoy me in the film. perhaps that was the problem with it. with such an effort to soften all edges in misty reminiscing of tender moments, with a bland pop theme song that constantly gets played through different voices, with every character ultimately 'caring' it got to a point where there was almost no movement. the film stood still in a comfort zone where no feathers were ruffled, no drama was sought. it settled into blandness. a safe sentimental blandness that was always only just about misty eyed throughout the film.

there is no question though that it is a film to be seen- if only because of its intent. and it is true that though i did not sob uncontrollably through the film, though i cry at almost anything, the rest of the theater did have quite a few hankies on display.

so, anyways congratulations to onir! i wonder whether he will talk to me now with all this fame that he now has.

dad's australian friends

dads friend kesari from australia spent time in between flights at our place on the way form jodhpur to bangalore. he was here with his wife jayashree who is a plastic surgeon. dad and he caught up on old times with stories about hitting lizards with a tennis ball, looking at a woman tennis players legs, about kesari being completely ambidextrous- the good old days..

'directed by tarkovsky'

the adulation of the brilliant auteur is i have heard is very passe.. in an age of collectives to root for an individual man who has been bestowed by the powers that be with a unique vision and the ability to fulfill it is considered so very old fashioned. still i don’t think the auteurs have completely vanished. they still remain our ‘heroes’, their visions are our religions. they drop words of wisdom as they lean against trees in hazy half light, with the sound of streams in the background. we listen and learn and wish we were them or with them..

i was never one for heroes when i was growing up- never had any- thought i did not need them.. i also never trusted genius- being trained to have an (un)healthy disrespect for individual valorization. perhaps that was why i never was really inspired to perform better than i could do with ease. perhaps…

andrei tarkovsy - though he looks like a boxer is actually a genius (not that there arent genius boxers)

‘directed by tarkovsky’ was a film made as a ‘behind the scenes’ documentary during the making of ‘the sacrifice’ tarkovsky’s last film. as a ‘making of..’ film it was probably the best one i have scene with insights into the process of film making as well as the man’s words of wisdom regarding the philosophy of his art. extremely serious, completely devoid of all irony, unpretentiously arty..

the adulatory nature of the presentation of the man was inescapable in a film like this- i guess- i accepted it as given.. after all the man was a genius- we must forgive ourselves for treating him as one.

'as tears go by'

it is really quite amazing how much the representation of hong kong in its action films reminds me of mumbai. i am thinking about not only the throngs of crowds through which chase sequences are carried out, or the hawkers who run away at the sight of a police van but also the typical icons that make up the characters- the strong central male character, the wistful waiflike innocent woman, the sadistic villain, the generous but selfish godfather.. even the themes of a ‘satya’ and the average hong kong action film really don’t differ too much- though i am making my judgment on the handful of films that i have seen…. male honor versus romantic love, the bonding between friends that can lead to tragic self sacrifice, the eventual destruction of everything in a life dedicated to crime.

saw ‘as tears go by’ last night at home with ranjit and somehow in spite of the cheesy ‘take my breath away’ in chinese, or other parts of the background score reeking of the eighties, it was pretty exciting and moving.. great action sequences, shamelessly romantic and operatic- extremely stylized yet lush and moody and so more a ‘wong kar-wai’ than a ‘john woo’ film..

'iron maze', 'bollywood queen'

movie wise- this week was really crappy movies on tv week- ‘iron maze’ tried so hard to be this serious deep film on the state of the post industrial towns in America where big Japanese businesses are turning derelict mills into god help us – amusement parks!! facile racist and above all badly acted.

the other one was this rather pathetic attempt to cash in on the new bollywood hype in britain courtesy 'moulin rouge' and 'bend it like beckham'- a romeo and juliet story set in london where a ‘bollywood queen’ and a glaswegian boy, fall in love, are torn apart by elder brothers, etc etc.. they break out into song constantly making 'clever' bollywood references.. you know you white brit dude who directed the film- its not easy to make the films that we make.. though they look like fluff to you they do have their own language that you cant simply take parts of and expect to recreate- their 'mad, bad and beautiful' nature (as you put it) is tough to acheive.. you just tried and failed big time.. but well tried anyway- i now respect farah khans 'main hoon na' much more.

recap - the week that was mine - for all who care

fourth year jurors - shirish patel, adolf streggler, pk das in between the backs of nikita and swati

three action packed days.. fourth year juries were disappointing on monday- though the kids had tried really hard (at least i thought) somehow the work fell way short. mayuri prital and namrata’s projects were the ones i really liked.. housing is not easy to talk about though the jurors tried- the jurors being - adolf streggler- a vatican priest now working in the slums of the city, shirish patel- esteemed structural engineer with a case in court regarding regulation 33/7 (the basis for the project) and p k das –who i think by now is designing every part of the city in collaboration with someone or the other..

third year juries the next day.. the alang promotional cell project.. jurors- kapil gupta, rajeev thakker, quaid doongerwala and percy from 4x4.. in spite of my reservations about the y’know childishness of the class – i thought the work was better than expected. stars- mishkat (just for its attempt to try and create architecture that can have so many multiple meanings- a little like saurabh's thesis) , shriya (perhaps), dipti (she cant to nothing wrong), mohare (the radio towers did it for me).

wednesday i cant remember- that’s why i keep the blog- or days go by and they vanish.. with no record.. i don’t know why but i think twenty years form now i might want to know which silly film i was watching at what time in my life.. therefore sweethearts, at the risk of this becoming an extremely boring read.. i must write / record.. sorry..

the only thing I remember is that we went for dinner with dads friend kesari and his wife at ‘all stir fry’ at the Gordon house hotel in town.. the open kitchen ‘street side style’ wok in a white minimalist building.

dad and jayashree at 'all stir fry'

thursday meetings in town- first ‘usaid’ at the american center in churchgate where they made us feel like terrorists and/or beggars, checking us, rechecking us- paul, amisha and me.. and paul dutifully lost his visitors batch and was sent scampering off to find it again.. eco-house project they call it- with all the right buzz words that mean very little.. we hope to make them have meaning in a project to be developed.

and meeting no 2- 33/7 studio with 4 other colleges in the city.. 6 of our students.. mayuri, kalpit, neha panchal, pooja shah, lubaina, yagnik.. we seem to be the only ones doing any work and think the studio needs to move to our college now. it is about time. then 'nishat' at carmichael road where we selected wash basins for the bathroom and back with mayuri and kalpit who entertained with the behind the scenes love affairs of the class..

today was moving day.. ranjit helped with the driving and the lifting- my back still sucks. buckets, garbage cans, soap, jhaadoos, curtains, bedsheets, and other such paraphernalia for setting up house.. a frightening thought.. the place is turning out totally chilled .. now we need to find some work..

froggie in the office

kokilaben

kokilaben in the sumo for hire

on a sunday samira and me left for gujarat. regarding projects in the tribal areas near vapi- working on a library and a school building possibility.

samira had met kokilaben the diva of the mountains in the area through her association with the rotary club.. now this kokilaben is some character. living in a small hut in the hills with her husband she is around 65 years old and has taken complete charge of the upgradation of the area through education, water harvesting programmes, etc. she runs a series of schools in the middle of these barren inaccessible mountains and teaches the villagers to build dams to contain the water that pours down the hills of hard rock in the torrential rains that the area gets in the monsoon. it is admirable the energy and effort she put into the work, the way she presided over the area, the authority that she had by the way she moved over the land.. it was hers.. she knew it and loved it..

throughout the day we gave ‘inputs’ to the locals on how to build the buildings themselves- the library, the dams- we went from site to site looking at dams and giving our advice over their construction, suggesting new ways of doing small things, we learnt about kokilaben’s aspirations for the area, the reason she stays away from politics, the new money coming to the organization from a jain trust, their desire to rename the organization, her acceptance of that clause, the colleagues disheartened by this decision, the kind of food that is eaten in the area, etc etc.. with samira, paras (structural engineer from ahmedabad)

too many experiences for one mere posting- can i now fit in the trees that gave us goosebumps, th canework on the houses, the strange feeling of alienation and belonging that came over me, the figurines of birds on the edge of the verandah of the school made by the kids, the pattern of the cow dung plastering on the walls and the plinth, the invasion of georgette and plastic into our imagination of the 'village', the disjunctions between our idea of progress and the ideas of progress that they have, wood joists or rcc joists?


the structure for the roof of the library being put into place



one of the check dams in the hills

Batman Begins

the hype begins for the next installment of the batman film series.. Batman Begins.. i could never understand how anyone in their right mind would chose either val kilmer or george clooney to play him.. they made the films they were in so kitschy- i dont think the directors took the story line seriously- it was a 'comic book film' for them- unlike the first two batman films that i saw with michael keaton as batman. both of those were absolutely great. if i had to choose between the two though 'batman returns' would win hands down- only for michelle pfeiffer as the delectable 'catwoman'.. meow!

the posters and images that i found for 'batman begins' seem to get the the brooding melancholy look that i have always imagined for a batman film.. there was always something so sad and complicated about the character that only the first film i think managed to touch upon- if only briefly.. dunno how this one will be.

will the real lola kutty please stand up?

she is too much and all na? … all the way from kerala via matunga- god’s own country you know.. i like her accent also.. but then maybe all the other keralites don’t..

as john says they only show men on elephants on tv when they show that state. can understand the sentiment- like the way i feel when i watch apu’s accent on the simpsons or that ‘indian boy’ taught to ‘believe’ in himself by a white fratboy in ‘van wilder: party liaison’.. guess i just don’t have a sense of humour about myself..

but still she is like too much only re.. my kisses to the ‘beauty on duty’ on channel (v)..on her dd1 thermocol set and her alex in his sequined shirt..

silly lawsuits

found this on the net somewhere.. hilarious..but also extremely weird - to think that we have become such automatons that we even need legalised protection from ourselves- our own bodies, our emotions and our stupidities.. and the stella goes to..

> It's once again time to review the winners of the annual Stella Awards. The Stella's are named after 81 year old Stella Liebeck who spilled coffee on herself and successfully sued McDonald's. That case inspired the Stella Awards for the most frivolous successful lawsuits in the United States.
>
> Unfortunately, the most recent lawsuit implicating McDonald's, the teens who allege that eating at McDonald's has made them fat, was filed after the 2003 award voting was closed. This suit will top the 2004 awards list without question.
>
> THIS YEAR'S AWARDS GO TO: 5th place (Tied). - Kathleen Robertson of Austin, Texas was awarded $780,000 by a jury of her peers after breaking her ankle tripping over a toddler who was running inside a furniture store. The owners of the store were understandably surprised at the verdict, considering the misbehaving toddler was Ms. Robertson's Son.
>
> 5th pl! ace (Tied). - 19 year old Carl Truman of Los Angeles won $74,000 and medical expenses when his neighbor ran over his hand with a Honda Accord. Mr. Truman apparently did not notice there was someone at the wheel of the car when he was trying to steal the hubcaps!
>
> 5th place (Tied). - Terrence Dickson of Bristol, Pennsylvania was leaving a house he had just finished robbing by way of the garage. He was not able to get the garage door to go up since the automatic door opener was malfunctioning. He could not re-enter the house because the door connecting the house and garage locked when he pulled it shut. The family was on vacation and Mr. Dickson found himself locked in the garage for 8 days. He subsisted on a case of Pepsi he found and a large bag of dry dog food. He sued the homeowner's insurance claiming the situation caused him undue mental anguish. The Jury agreed to the tune of $500,000.
>
> 4th place. - Jerry Williams of Little Rock, Arkansas was awarded $14,500 and medical exp! enses after being bitten on the buttocks by his next door neighbor's Beagle dog. The Beagle was on a chain in its owner's fenced yard. The award was less than sought because the jury felt the dog might have been a little provoked at the time as Mr. Williams, who had climbed over the fence into the yard, was shooting it repeatedly with a pellet gun.
>
> 3rd place. - A Philadelphia restaurant was ordered to pay Amber Carson of Lancaster, Pennsylvania $113,500 after she slipped on a soft drink and broke her coccyx (tailbone). The beverage was on the floor because Ms. Carson had thrown it at her boyfriend 30 seconds earlier, during an argument.
>
> 2nd place. - Kara Walton of Claymont, Delaware sued the owner of a Night Club in a neighboring city when she fell from the bathroom window to the floor and knocked out two of her front teeth. This occurred whilst Ms. Walton was trying to sneak in the window of the Ladies Room to avoid paying the $3.50 cover charge. She was awarded $12,000 and d! ental expenses.
>
> 1st Place. - This year's runaway winner was Mr. Merv Grazinski of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Mr. Grazinski purchased a brand new Winnebago Motorhome. On his trip home from an OU football game, having driven onto the freeway, he set the cruise control at 70 mph and calmly left the driver's seat to go into the back and make himself a cup of coffee. Not surprisingly the RV left the freeway, crashed and overturned. Mr.Grazinski sued Winnebago for not advising him in the owner's manual that he could not actually do this. The jury awarded him $1,750,000 plus a new Winnebago Motorhome. The company actually changed their manuals on the basis of this suit just in case there were any other complete morons buying their recreational vehicles.

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

speaking of crying in movies (see below) ‘eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’ is perhaps one of the most romantic films i have seen.

jim carrey in the process of attempting to erase the memories of his two year long relationship with the fabulous kate winslet discovers that he really does not want the memories to vanish. twisted convoluted stories have always been charlie kaufmans thing (remember ‘being john malkovich) but in this film the clever trick works even better.

the desperate need to cling to what one has, the joy of the silly things that a lover does, to be able to see beyond the irritants, the joy of having experienced both happiness and sadness- basically everything that a romantic movie should be able to do- except that in this case very clever, very funny, very real and very, very good.

and if you were in a relationship that you just want to forget go to -Lacuna Inc - Successfully erasing memories since 2003

clementine trying not to be erased



joel trying to get awake

ranting to debussy

since i am at home today with the most awful lower back ache (and upper back ache- in fact all back ache), i am listening to debussy- pretty pretty piano thingies and thinking things that have been on my mind for a while regarding something ninad is working on in his paper.. what constitutes the ‘public’? and in the same breath what in the world is its inverse ‘private’? what are the rules governing appropriate public behavior?

i don’t mean as a description of it- but as an analysis of what shapes our perception of it. that it is culture specific seems to be too much of a cop out. is it really completely dependant on out own backgrounds therefore leaving no generalization possible? does then any form of governance of public behavior become a hindrance to free personal expression? what then constitutes a freedom of expression? how are all of these shaped?

i am fascinated when private moments are suddenly made extremely public- either violently or vilely.. the embarrassment at the nakedness (not nudity- the word seems too soft) that we feel at watching- not performing.. is the public constituted to save us from embarrassment- but about what?

this is just a rant that seems to go on in my head when i see shakti kapoor being caught for wanting to have sex on tape.. when i see men shitting facing each other on the western express highway.. when i go to peoples homes and take a look at their showcases- and look at mine.. when i see ‘indian idol’ and wonder about democracy and the sms vote method of public participation.. when i read this blog and others and see who all of us choose to be when we decide our public personas.. when i see kids walking around with walkmans listening to truly disembodied music- music that has completely lost it context and has instead become a constant soundtrack for our own lives ( the physical performance of the sound has now lost its meaning, instead enabling us to shelter in the space it creates around us- even while we move retaining its volume).. and more and more.. from crying in a movie theater to the club i choose to join..

this is a complicated existential question with no bloody answers so then why do i ask.. help!

all about my mother, mother and son

two films exploring the mother and son relationship could not have been more different.. while one revels in minimalist expressionism the other could not be more over the top.

the first alexandr sukorov’s ‘mother and son’ removed all semblance of story to replace it with painterly distorted images centered around a son nursing his dying mother in a small house in the middle of a wild landscape.. the powerful images and soundscape was all that was offered to us.. very arty, very tough to watch.. the movie is still with
me though.. these russians.

the other one was pedro almodovar’s ‘all about my mother’.. if there ever was a more convoluted story.. a pregnant hiv-positive nun, a transgendered prostitute, a famous theater star who is a closet lesbian, her lesbian lover high on crack, a man with large breasts named Lola, a woman who loses her son and decides to go and confront her former husband who is now a woman.. a fantastic film that lies in the intersection of sex and gender, ‘all about eve’ and ‘a streetcar named desire’ - pop-literate, hilarious, extremely sad - I never thought post-modernism would be so moving.

a movie dedicated.. “to all actresses who have played actresses, to all women who act, to men who act and become women, to all the people who want to be mothers... to my mother.”

hail almodovar and his mother for having him.

strictly ballroom

me and sonal

been on a high since last evening… happiness since stevie wonder brought tears of joy to my eyes with songs in the key of life.. the celebration of the moment – gospel music for the earthbound.. discovered the rhythm again.. and the blues..

jonathan and mukul

and the people- so many people.. sonal in town from delhi for a seminar to reshape the mill lands.. and jonathan – french historian from america now in glasgow via oxford.. sonals friends from the workshop- kinkini, jaspreet, tina.. meghana the gorgeous and ranjit the mad (mukul and ninad – of course).. café coffee day at carter road and dinner at thai ban.. spiral conversations.

ninad and me

today there is glitter in my eyes and a beautiful woman in my arms. the spotlight is on us, the dance floor is waiting and we are swaying away- me in my fancy jacket and she in her flamenco dress… glamourous, stylish and sexy.. fabulously funny brilliant and so very entertaining -‘strictly ballroom’ at the end of which all of us stood up clapping and cheering and i still cant stop smiling.. the rumba is dance of love.. shall we dance?... ooo yes- right now?


me and my fantasy

and then sitting around at 4 on a saturday afternoon all of us watching karan johar bitch away with beautiful and charming stars (in this case abhishek bachchan and preity zinta).. loving them.

sonal left right now and the house has emptied suddenly.. it is back to being private space.. this silence is feeling odd.. feeling lightheaded and giddy with all that divine laughter- can still hear it in my ears.. am going to let it ring itself out now while reading a book in my room.

Hieronymus Bosch

this puritanical morality that seems to be central to his work was something that i did not pay too much attention to when i was merely glancing at some images on the net. yesterday as i was browsing through a book in the library and i realised just how vociferously 'christian' his work was in the way it disparages sensual pleasure condemning those who enjoy it to eternal damnation. don't know why this should surprise me- after all he was working in late medieval times. its just that this 'conservatism' at least from our current point of view reminds me of the madnesses of the ultra right moral police- not just in india- but also in what is called the 'bible belt' in america.. strange ways in which pleasure is described as monstrous .. with gleeful and guilty joy.. where with great passion and love 'pleasure' is vilified as an instrument of the devil.. and in the case of bosch- what detail! it gives me chills.. i wonder how a good christian is to see his own body? imagine living in perpetual guilt.

kalpit and his blog..

another new addition to the blogworld.. this time its kalpit and his blog that is supposed to follow his journey into understanding the role of architecture in the world of prostitution.
another one of my thesis students..
this is probably going to be fun.. probably.. if he uses it.

Kalpit Ashar's Blog

'the cider house rules'

another american ‘coming of age’ films with that all american boy who i don’t think will ever come of age- tobey maguire.. gawkish, wide eyed and dying to be taken care of.. in ‘the cider house rules’ he plays an orphan who grows up in the care of michael caine- a doctor who teaches him the trade- i.e. how to deliver a child and how to perform abortions..

longing for the big city he leaves to see the world only to return later, after many heartbreaks, abortions, incest and many deaths .. i admit i cried- i cry at every silly thing i must say.. it pulled all the right strings to appeal to the adolescent in me.. reminded me somewhat of that other ‘coming of age’ classic tearjerker ‘dead poets society’ except it was perhaps not that manipulative..

barbershop

on women’s day I got in touch with what is supposed to be my feminine side.. spoilt myself rotten with a haircut, shave, face massage and head massage at the local barbersop.. . i have been going there since i was about a foot tall-'twin parlour' they call it.. and though i dont know any of their names all of the barbers seem to know me too..

what a wonderful place this is.. reflections of reflections of men pointing down with their chins checking their ‘do’s, pampering themselves.. something happens to their faces when they look at themselves in the mirror- they suddenly become aware of their own vanities and perhaps slightly embarrassed by them because in this excessively male space they perhaps are misplaced..

but then on the other hand what is the barbershop if not the perfect place for a man to enjoy the pleasures that his body can give him, and that too in complete public view.. our version of the roman baths(?).. though instead of smoky misty tiled floors we have mirrors, white light, white sunmica and the india-pakistan match on tv- which we can hear but not watch because our heads are busy performing all kinds of contortions on our necks in the able hands of a swarthy middle aged man…

the villian in me is..

Which Villain Character Are You?
took this on line poll.. always knew i was hot.. this merely confirmed it.

an artist of the floating world

a spare and moving novel by kazuo ishiguro about post world war 2 japan written in the first person.

an artist who specialized in inspirational patriotic art contemplates the devastating effects of his life’s work. the ‘floating world’ is the world of pleasure palaces and soft fragile lantern light that was considered the valid subjects of artists. this insularity is what he revolted against (art must find beauty wherever it can)- instead insisting upon the political role that art should play. (artists cannot separate themselves from reality).

as the new americanism emerges all around him, as value systems change and as all the beliefs he held dear in his earlier incarnation are disappearing around him he is forced to reevaluate the role he performed in the creation of the national japanese imagination that led to its eventual defeat in the war.

a particular sadness that is perpetual and unresolvable.. the sadness of a realization that what you held most dear ended up being so devastating for so many people.. what does that mean for your life? what is the legacy that you leave behind now?

mayuri's brand new blog

this post to announce the presence on the world wide web of a new blog (since we obviously cant get enough) this is about mayuri sisodia's- who is a student of mine for thesis , and the blog is supposed to be a place for her to develop her ideas..

this post only to make it all official so that she feels the need to post and therefore to develop the argument further.. wishful thinking on my part..

now if only the rest of them also do the same- maybe we can actually have a discussion on the net..

Mayuri Sisodia's Blog

abhijeet sawant - indian idol

so its over.. the indian idol has been chosen and it is abhijeet sawant, the 'nice humble middle class boy from mumbai'.. the boy can sing and looks ultra cute..

on tv we saw his balcony on the black stained apartment, him practicing dancing with a friend of his, him taking a ride on an old scooter down streets with chawls on both sides..

reality tv is quite something else.. these used to be moments and spaces that were always present but rarely represented in the public sphere.. the kind of, i don't know, heroic nature that the tv screen brings to these spaces, i find weird.. even these seem to have become commodity, u think?

the rags to riches story, the charming simplicity, the iconic nature he seems to have acheived over night.. these are to become his defining characteristics.. at the age of 21 he is already a 'thing'.. pretty and marketable, but soon to be irrelevant - unless he can rise above and drive culture forward he might end up like the previous winners of reality talent competitions- grotesque representations of the corruption of sudden fame.. think 'viva' or 'aasma' or 'jugal hansraj'.. the poor boy..

but lets leave that for later.. we can now follow his life, his switzerland holiday, his new car.. i hope for all our sakes.. he can survive this.. he seems too much like the 'nice humble middle class boy from mumbai' for us to survive the devastation of that rather likeable stereotype..



billboards across the city before the final announcement..



that nice humble miccle class boy



and his mother

the aviator

been thinking about the fact that i know more about this rather inconsequential (at least to my life) annoying eccentric madman who obsessed about dirt much more than i need to..

the trivial madnesses that plagued him, the affairs he had with starlets, well- quite frankly why should i care?

and yet i did see the film.. and sat through two hours of watching leonardo hire people, fire people, buy airlines, make films, seduce girls, buy them, wash hands, shave and do what other multi billionaires do in their spare time- do multi billionaires have anything but spare time?

the quintessential american idol - the white rich womaniser around whom the world centers blind to all but his own fetishes. the portrait made him into a hero, glorified his madnesses, caricatured the women (except cate who didn't allow that to happen to katherine hepburn).. all that acclaim for scorcese but to me at heart just another 'rain man' meets 'the princess diaries' meets 'a beautiful mind' meets 'schindlers list' meets 'legally blonde' meets 'amadeus'.. in that the outsider makes it big with heavy violins playing in the background.. madness is so high glam just as long as its on screen.

office space.. men at work

inside

outside

office space..
under construction with extremely pointless inarticulate watchman from himachal.. waiting..
it will be ready soon with amit's energies concentrating on getting it finished..
you all are invited for a beer then..

revisioning mumbai- a few random questions

the steps of the town hall after the conference

why is it that all the planners were ruing the pathetic state of the city when it was them that were in charge anyways?

why is it that artists have become so much more interesting to me than planners?

what does empowerment mean?

why does no one understand the marginalized space of the back seats?

where is the city going? (“to the dogs!!!” –i hear someone cry -33/7, sra, flyovers, flamingoes, mangroves, music videos…. ok, ok.. )

who decided that the stray dogs must not die but the leopards must?

according to rohit's obsession for the day- did pantbalekundri really get less applause than the butterfly man?

why did uma believe that the so called answers are supposed to be found if every one did their work efficiently pretending we were all one big smooth machine ?

or if everyone decided to do every one else’s jobs without any training in the field?

why is it that so many conferences end up being talkathons with no purpose?

why are question and answer sessions so embarrassing?

wasn’t pankaj feeling really hot in that jacket?

was the door to big for us small people?

does the durbar hall in the asiatic have two apsidal ends or is it just elliptical in shape?

has the disembodiment of the voice completely reshaped musical production?

how much time is it going to take me to listen to beethoven without suddenly having flashes of a fat man in a wig?

and why does ateya think that activists have bigger butts that feminists?

...

And after that we walked out under the great stairs of the Asiatic- ninad, atey and me, and had beer at mondy’s only to talk more about music and critical theory, the policing of education, the construct of the marathi man.. god, I sound like such a pompous intellectual- must do something about that.

pretty little dented machine

the dent in the back of my poor zen.. rammed into by a speeding taxi whose brake failed as i was wating in front of him like a good boy at a red signal..
after which i had to get an 'nc' non congnizable(i guess) filed at the police station at mahim..
which got much easier once the police guy knew that i had women in my car (amita, kaiwan, mayuri and kalpit were with me on the way to that conference in town- more on that later)..
now i got to go get this fixed- which means no car for a few days.. how will i live?

typography/architecture and beethoven's 9th

on ghodbunder road that connects thane to bhayender to the north of the city.. architecture that is typography. . i wonder what happens if the hospital one day becomes a shoe shop? will they call it 'heels'?? or ' house of shoes'? or 'hero/heroine ke joote'?

and as i was driving i finally fell in love with beethoven's ninth symphony- the chorale symphony.. gigantic powerful pompous herculean mammoth.. cant think of any more adjectives..
loved the second skittish 'scherzo' movement.. and even the 'ode to joy' chorale end- took some work though..

no one said it was going to be a cakewalk.. but i guess now it will become easier..

whats this obsession i have of needing to know more and more- i wonder..