Jobless on a Sunny Saturday Morning

It's a luxury I haven't enjoyed in a while now, but the optimist in me (like most protagonists in Ray's movies) knew that bad times don't last forever. Kishor's Kahan Tak Yeh Man Ko flashes though the head and Youtube makes a reality out of what a friend had once said was the reason for the banality of life - the lack of live playback music, like in escapist Indian cinema. The luxury, by the way, is wondering what to do on a sunny Saturday morning.

Talking of Indian cinema, just saw Slumdog Millionaire, yeah yeah, I know it was actually a British film set in Bombay, but you get my drift. I liked it, but didn't think it is the #44 top movie of all time as IMDB and most people are making it out to be. I was pissed off with all the dirt shown initially, bringing back memories of arguments with "fundamentalist" friends about the ongoing propaganda of the West to show only the dark side of India, but I thought it was paid off well in this film towards the end. The ode to The Man was amazing and my American friends raised eyebrows as I told them that an non-fanatic like me would also entertain such thoughts at that age if He was around. "Yeah Police Station Hai, Tumhare Baap Ka Ghar Nahin". Wah! Wah! Also, what emotionally stirred me was the way the whole country stopped and got behind the protagonist as he was on the threshold of everything he hadn't dreamed of.

I'll stop before this turns into a rambunkcious movie review. It's probably cliched and like most Indians, I am genetically programmed to appreciate Ravi Shankar after a certain age and subsequently use the sitar in my films, and get panned by critics, but I can't get over his "Essential Ravi Shankar" that I just bought in Calcutta's College Street. I like the fast, happier numbers. The sarangi is more adept in doling out sad melancholism IMO.

Sometimes I just want to run away to the French countryside and make Indian New Wave cinema. Just saw some Jacques Tapi (sp?) films in Calcutta, and they all reinforce what Trauffaut and even a modern film like Amelie suggest about French cinema - beauty in simplicity, much like our own Hrishida, but with better lighting and better camera work! A regret in life - to be Hrishida's DP.

Snippets from an Autobiography in Progress

If you are still around, yes you, ardent reader of White Noise, you will realize posts have started appearing with the efficiency of an Indian Gorment employee, still endeavoring to smart from all the red tapism. Why you ask? Cuz it's my bloody blog, and you may be my customers in a business sense, but my entrepreneurial skills are like Dravid's T20 skills. So, what's happening on the western front, you ask?

The IPL has disciplined me more than the fear of an exclusively broccoli diet and I wake up promptly at 7:30 each morning to some destructive batting (unless of course Bangalore is playing) and some death mass sermon for bowlers, of all shapes, sizes, pace and turn. Some turn on one another and bitch-slap each other in full youtube view, and then get slapped bans. Others probably just go home and cry each other to sleep, in the process wetting each others' pillows.

I have been meaning to write a post about the antras of old songs, especially, Kishore's ones. I realized that I like them more than I like the mukhdas. Essentially, both - lyrics as well as the music, maybe cuz the mukhdas have been played to death But a friend has my Kishore collection and isn't returning it. So whattodo. In a Rafi phase starting yesterday. I finally drove the Blue Lady through a dilapidated, creaky carwash while providing the chorus for Pukarta Chala Hoon Main. What's up with the gas prices?? I spent 60 bucks filling her up today and the W says that Billua Clinton, prospective First Gentle(have to ask Monica about that) man says I will be paying 105 by next year! I need to contact Icarus for those wax wings to fly to San Francisco. In any case, I can fly on the alternating icy cold days, yes, yes, I know its summer, but Gillette f!@#ed up the ozone layer, na. I just had a vision of God, stroking his carefully shaped white goatee, saying, "Good Ol' Spice! I told you so". Oh, wait, maybe it's Vijay Mallya, but never mind, there is no stud in his ear.

Just saw the Pianist. Very good. Roman Polanski. Adrian Brody acts with his eyes and body and hardly has any dialog in his Polish accent. What a transformation the character goes through. Saw Shyam Benegal's Mandi a few days back. The script is a lesson in character development. Each actor, with their varying amount of screen time, give each other competition. Om Puri, Naseer, Smita, Shabana, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Anita Kanwar, Neena Gupta, Ratna Pathak Shah. Aah, and that delicious Hyderabadi accent. Always makes me hungry and reminds me of biriyani. Talking of which, Captain's moved here. Aah, I must also emoblackmail Mr. Dandi to make his biriyani, but I need to meet him first. Yes, I have been a bad friend, but whattodo, I have a life now, after Sultana Daku.

PS: Someone said I look like Dhoni today from the left acute angle under sunshine. I am sure my boro pishi is feeling vindicated now. I did not even have long hair back then! And then his next question was if I play cricket.

PPS: Also, meant to blog about this Zakir Hussain Masters of Percussion concert I went to. There's a great story to it. Got a front row dead center celebrity seat after waiting for an hour to get in after the concert started. The concert was awesome. I fell in love with the sitar and bought a Ravi Shankar CD on iTunes.