Assorted

27th Nov 05

The title reminds me of one of my most memorable moments ever…in may 2000 I was suffering through my summer internship with sidharth being my constant crib partner. After a particularly depressing discussion on one hot, very hot, afternoon, I opened my door to see him standing there with a big box of chocolatey stuff…all my favorites – doughnuts, pastries, fudge etc. He drove all the way from faridababad, got me the goodies, stayed a pleasant hour and then left leaving me feeling much much better. Till date, when I am really down, this memory brings a smile to my face.

A smile was farthest from my mind today morning when I spoke with betu n then mami for a little while. Their depression, their sense of being lost, is saddening. What’s more saddening is the lack of strength and maturity that prevents from really moving on…from building good relationships…from leading a healthy life. I am also amazed at the anger and bitterness that erupts, and that it’s towards mama! What a contradiction – a man universally regarded as warm, loving, everyone’s “best friend” and yet the object of so much negativity, in his life and after. I cant stop crying as I write this, yet I cry not for him, not to call him back…but to reassure him that I am fine, I am all right even though I miss him so much….because I know he will be worried, as was daddy. I remember there was a lot of anger and bitterness even within me in ’97, but was it so bad? And I am sure none of it was directed against daddy. Of course, there was a lot of negativity while he was around, which I regret to this day. Oh god…why I am going down there. I will stop now and move on to other stuff. Cant afford to spend Sunday on such a note...

I have often accepted that unlike books and movies, my musical tastes are more dependent on memories and associations. One area of music, however, where my soul asserts its independence is in songs that really really get me moving….some of the my favorites that I can remember include – Cant get you out of my head…Superstar…That thing you do…Voulez Vous…Daddy Cool…Mundian nu bach ke rahin...I want your sex…It’s a time to disco…Koi kahe…I shall post more when I remember them.

I like the way Van Heusen and similar brands keep selling exotica…in today paper’s they have an Indian dressed in tweed, exhorting fellow Indians to go to the derby! Sometimes I wonder if we really make a realistic assessment of the quality of some of these garments before getting lured to buy them. Its like looks…anything foreign is good. This doesn’t just hold true for us firangi-mad Indians but for firangs themselves…anything Indian is always “beautiful” (said with a sharp intake of breath and a look of unreal happiness in the eyes, as if they have just entered willy wonka’s chocolate factory). Hence, men and women and clothes (yes, they are all objects) which would be considered perfectly ordinary or sub ordinary here get transformed into “beautiful” when marketed (by self or others) abroad.

My fascination for books on Hollywood led me to buy a coffee table “Vanity Fair’s Hollywood” last evening at the Strand sale, setting off a wailing red alert on my bank account (it’s the last week of the month!). I would love to get some books on bollywood too, but everything on this subject appears tacky and ill written. Very sad. Not that I have too many books on H either..other than reviews by Lane and Ebert, just two or three more. But I hope to build up the collection. What IS being built up is my “retirement fund” collection of books…I now about 25 books waiting to be read. And that’s just normal fiction….I would love to read more – history, travelogues etc. – but how??when??!!! is it possible to be well read when you work 11-12 hours a day, also love movies and going out, and have plenty of relationships to keep you involved???

Anyway, after a very long time I have started a book that had me completely engrossed – Family Matters. Surprisingly…because I don’t normally like IWE. But then, Mistry is not strictly an IWE like the others. He belongs more in the Rushdie, Tharoor category which I do enjoy.

Watching A Good Woman yesterday was a bit like reading Indian novels – nice concept, interesting characters, good lines (thanks to Wilde), but all so badly put together that it just doesn’t have the right impact. Again, potential lost. As I keep repeating like a parrot, nothing is more depressing than the loss of potential – in works of art, in people, in relationships.