I Hate Love Stories - Anyone Would If They Are Made This Way!

Ok! so everyone who ostracized Raavan please raise your hands. I now recommend 'I Hate Love Stories', for you to get the real taste of bad cinema.Anyone who has read The Fountainhead, would know why i am not able to refrain my self from comparing Mani Ratnam 's Raavan to Karan Johar 's I Hate Love Stories. It is a classic case of Howard Roark vs Peter Keating, Mani Ratnam s individualistic genius vs Karan Johar 's unadventurous pseudo creativity. While Raavan displays a story tellers eccentricity I Hate Love Stories reeks of unoriginality.

The movie has nothing to vaunt about, weak screenplay, cliche direction,( at times you feel the movie has been ghost directed by Karan Johar himself as it has all his diabetes inducing sweet ingredients) and below average performances. Its the age old story of a' cynic meets a romantic and they fall in love', and there is nothing 'Hatke' about the film. The cynic played by Imran khan(Jay) does not believe in the concept of love (reminds me of the upteen nausiating shah rukh khan movies),  propagates one night stands and philandary and the romantic played by Sonam Kapoor(Simran), believes in valentines days, soul mates and  living happily ever after. They meet, Simran despite having an extremly loving and perfectly elligible fiancee falls in love with the brash and bizarre Jay in the first half and it takes Jay the entire second half to fall in love with her, and then they live happily ever after. Thats it!! thats what this self proclaimed young, zingy and peppy movie is all about. Disappointed? Ah well imagine my plight i endured it for three hours only to warn more cinegoers like me who get lured by 'state of the art' marketing of films by the new age film makers.

If there is anything worth appreciating in the film it is New Zealand. Quite ironical i agree, but I think Dharma Productions should charge royalty from the govt of New Zealand for marketing their tourism in India. The locales are breathtaking so much so that in some scenes one tends to completely ignore the actors because the backdrop is more alluring. Apart from New Zealand another sight to behold is Sonam Kapoor, to say she has looked ravishing would be an understatement. Her skills as an actor are yet to be tested, but she surely is a treat to watch. Imran Khan must have had a lot of young hearts fluttering, but his theatrical skills are way below average, he pouts and frowns and makes acting seem like such a task,.Bruna Abdullah is nasal and wodden  Sameer Soni looks  ill at ease and rest of the cast does not even merit a mention . Debutante writer and director Puneet Malhotra has demonstrated an absolute lack of creativity and ingenuity. The box office debacle of this popcorn flick clearly indicates that the Indian audiences now demand quality cinema as opposed to candy flossed mirage.

Love stories have been made in the past and they have been beautiful, but Karan Johar s latest true to its title makes you hate them.

A Morning At The Jogger's Park.....

One of the first lessons given in kindergarden were...' early to bed and early to rise makes u healthy, wealthy n wise'. Somewhere in the entire 'growing up' bedlam for most of us the lesson gradually metamorphed into ' late to bed and later to rise, who cares about health, when you have dad s wealth, and excuse me who on this planet is ever wise?'
After following the second lesson for almost two and a half decades of my life, one day the realisation struck me that if I don't mend my ways soon, I ll be competing in the heavy weight championship at the Olympics. With this thought out came my jogging shoes bought when I was 16 and never used. I was surprised when they fit me! but the fact that atleast my shoe size has not changed was hardly a self esteem booster.So with the resolve of getting back all other sizes down to that of a 16 year old , I set the alarm for 6am the next morning. Little did I know that the next morning would turn out to be one of the most amusing mornings of my entire life.

 As I entered the joggers park, the first thing that hit me was that we indeed are the second most populated country in the world, for the fact that it was 6 am the place felt like a packed Mumbai local train. Suddenly jogging was not just about slow running it also became a test of your maneuvering and dodging skills, and sometimes even then you cant help but bump into someone, bear the wrath of their glare, mummer apologies and run before they reply.
Intrestingly the ones you bump into are usually extremly fat aunties, who's sole purpose of coming to the park is to talk about Mr Sharma's son having an affair with Mrs Ahuja s daughter, and many a times Mr Sharma and Mrs Ahuja have something cooking on the side as well. I call them the 'Gossip Girls'. Their walk follows a specific pattern, meeting at the entrence of the park, exchange of pleasentries, one round of the park in absolute silence depicting utmost sincearity towards shedding all those lards of fat accumulated over years of physical and mental inactivity. By the time the second round ensues conversations begin and  two and a half rounds later the entire group has rested their humongous back sides on the park bench and are engrossed in animated conversations and if because of your ill fate it is a group comprising of 'Punjabi' or 'Gujrati' women then be rest assured you would not miss a word of the spicy gossip floating around because their raucous dissonance manages to vibrate every ear drum present in the park. But looking at the brighter side, with huge ass(ets) out of the way suddenly the park seems more spacious and fresh morning air wafts through your nostrils finally.
With the pudgy roly- poly aunties out of the way the next catagory of joggers that catch your eye are the 'self appointed brand ambassadors'.Everything from their socks to wrist band is branded(the purpose of wearing a wrist band while jogging still eludes me)and their brand loyalty is remarkable, an Addidas guy will not have a thread of Reebok on him,and a Puma girl will look down upon every other branded jogger as if she's the queen because she is adorned by Puma. oh! and how could I forget to mention the latest apple i pod, strapped to the forearm with a branded( I dont think I needed to mention here) i pod strap. Now, this catagory of people can be further sub categorised  into two types..
1) Serious Joggers ie Health Freaks
2) Serious Letchers  ie. Freaks!
 Catagory one (serious joggers) comprises of people who are inspired by every well toned hollywood and bollywood actor and actress, needless to say majority of them are aspiring actors or models themselves 'Strugglers' as they are fondly called in their line of business. Though I often wonder how can people who are struggling so much so as to be labelled 'strugglers' (imagine the extent of the struggle, I ve heard their persistence could have put our freedom fighters to shame) afford to be live brand hoardings, whereas us lesser mortals, commoners, not so good looking ,relatively less struggling people can only manage a few and dream of the rest. I guess we just dont struggle enough! sigh! But you cant ignore their focus and dedication towards looking good, the moment this catagory enters the park you know they mean business, no looking around, no talking, with i pods strapped to their forearms, and eye of the tiger blaring out of their ear phone (believe me if u run parallel to one of these u can actually hear the song being played in their eye pod and invariably its the rocky theme) they jog with the focus of a sucide bomber, jaw set with the determination to have angles sharper than a knife's edge, stomach pulled in to get the 9th pack of abdominal muscles if possible, biceps bulging,and sharp angular faces, they do mange to make teenage hearts skip a few beats  and though way past my teenage I would admit rather opprobriously my own heart has fluttered at times too.

Once you are done oogling at catagory one( serious joggers) catagory two catches your attention (Serious Letchers) now this catagory is what you would describe as  a serious 'pain in the ass'. They come to the park with the sole motive of letching at very woman irrespective of her shape and size.They can be easily identified from a kilometers distance, irritatingly casual walk, roving eyes, annoying smirk on the face, these people seem to be on a constant look out for an 'eye contact' and if by devils luck you manage to so much as even take a glance in their direction you will be greeted by a wink and a 'so u like me baby!' smile.They would be brand loaded to the' T' too,  but not so much for their utility value as for their 'chic magnet' effect. Now someone needs to tell them that in their case even the brands fail in front of their sordid antics. The best way to deal with this particular set of people is to deny their existance. Look through them, pretend to be blind, and go about with your jogging, and if they still annoy you threaten to call the police.Trust me , there is no other way to get them off your back if one of them decides to stick on to you like a leech.

After skillfully avoiding the aunties and the leeches and slyly ogling at the eye candies when you decide to resume with some serious exercise, a fourth and rather elusive category comes to your notice. I may add here that this set goes unnoticed by most because they are the 'Park Bencher's' .It would take an eagles eye to spot them and an equally keen observation to understand their activities.They dont jog, they dont walk, they dont undertake any form of exercise while in the park, so what do they do? Well they sit on the park bench and observe people like you, to be able to write an anecdote like this, and as you finish reading this you have encountered your first 'Park Bencher'. So now its confession time: Despite all the enthusiasm displayed, the moment I set my foot in the park I was completely taken in by the plethora of people occupying it. The amateur writer in me took over the pseudo fitness freak and I was compelled to occupy one of the side benches (left lone by the aunties surprisingly) and observe with great amusement a glimpse of the new age fitness freaks of India. Needless to say barring that one morning I have not even lost my way to a joggers park,and I guess the next time would be when I hit 50. When the trends would have changed drastically so as to deserve this 'Park Bencher' again.

FACES OF INDIA (An attempt to capture a country s diversity through its people)

A Young Begger Girl In Ajmer

Childhood

Her Age is Etched Forever By These Lines

Colour Of Your Skin Does Not Define Beauty

Her Eyes Spelled Hope And Spirit

Poverty

For Such An Innocent Face The Eyes Are Extremly Mature

Naughty

Could Burst Into Tears Any Moment

Soft Light Ads An Element Of Mystry To any Face

This Was Just To Get Clicked:)

A pretty Indian Face

Shy:)

Streak Of Madness

In Conversation

This One Loves To Be Clicked

Beautiful

Soft Light Effect Again

Innocense

Jawline:)

Enigmatic Eyes

Silouhette

Wish We all Could Have A Child's Innocense

Pretty

Mother And Child

A Dying Woman

Profiles And Face Cuts

Colour

A life as colourless As Its Phorograph

RAJNEETI - An Honest Attempt At Good Cinema

Stark and hard hitting Prakash Jha s political drama -Rajneeti gives the audience a pragmatic view of Indian politics. The movie unveils the naked face of human vices and follies , lust and greed, plotting and manipulations, democracy and autocracy, power and opportunism, defections and loyalties.Bearing an indistinguishable resemblence to Mahabharat, the movie is the tale of the most powerful political family of a state and the  affray amongst its members to proove their puissance in the main political arena.
The story is about two brothers , their sons, and their fight for power, ie the Kauravs and the Pandavs.So uncanny is the resemblence to Mahabharat, that the movie could be renamed Mahabharat 2010.Despite parallels being drawn to The Godfather, the only semblence i could observe between Rajneeti and The Godfather is the character of Ranbir Kapoor(Samar Pratap, an irenic literato) which is quite similar to that of Al Pachchino s Michele Corleone in the Godfather, barring that the story is the great epic retold.
Apart from a cogent script what sets the movie apart is the display of theatrical skills in its fulgent glory. Nana Patekar as Krishna with his controlled and precise demure, Ranbir kapoor as Arjun with his insoucience charm and Manoj Bajpai as Duryodhan with his brash arrogance have come up with stellar performances, Naseeruddin Shah has a five minute role but has managed to leave an impact in that short span of time as well reinstating the fact that its not the length of a role but the deapth of an actor that defines a character. Ajay Devgan playing the character of Karan manages a decent act, but in scenes where he has shared screen space with Manoj Bajpai he has been completely overshadowed by Bajpai s phenomenal performance.Katrina Kaif has looked stunning but her performance is yet to stun the audience. Without taking the credit away from her improved hindi diction,the actress has failed to live up to the expectations woven around her performance in this particular film. Arjun Rampal has his moments but on the whole has delivered a lack lusture performance.But the star of the movie is undoutedly Prakash Jha who has yet again managed to deliver a spectactular treat in the name of cinema.Ranbir Kpoor proves that he is indeed every inch the blue blodded scion of the Kapoor clan, and is only getting better with every film.
The only flaw visible is the mild ebbing  of the plot towards the second half, while the first half is as gripping as a python s coil. But is a flaw that is more than rectified by the performances and therefore can be easily overlooked.
On the whole Prakash Jha s Rajneeti is a must watch for its jaw dropping performances and hard hitting narration.

From a tomboy to a woman......... a chat with a 25 year old!

" your shirtis torn again!!!!!!" my mum would exclaim! the pre teen years of my life were spent listening to this exclamation every second day.But it was not my fault! you tell me, if you were pushed or shoved wont you retaliate? you would right?? well i used to do just the same!! if my shirt got torn, i made sure the guilty party did not have a stitch left intact either. i was one of the boys, a sports freak would play every sport that could be played, my favourite being soccer! the mere energy level of the game used to give me an adrenaline rush and make my mum wonder if i had testosterone developing inside me instead of oestrogen. how i wish her fears were true, but alas oestrogen took over and suddenly soccer became a totally different ball game for me as well as for the boys playing with me!! since i had bigger balls on my side, i had to withdraw! and with good bye soccer ended the pre teen phase of my life. with torn shirts, bruises and swollen eyes!
Born to a fairly affluent family, with my dad being an investment banker and mum being a doctor, i had all the amenities required for a blossoming adolocent to look good.But in my case it was an out n out tragedy!!i was so sure that when i was being made god must have gone for a walk and one of his assistants trying to be a smart ass must have tried a hand at me and so the end result was such a disaster despite my parents being so good looking i posed a pathetic picture.my arms were too thin, legs too long,nose too prominent, teeth coming out and to top that the perils of 'chadhti jawani' my hormones were going beserk and i was dying to be kissed. But between me and my first kiss came my Dentist! no no please dont think that he tried to kiss me... though at that point of time i think even that would have sufficed. it was those wretched braces that kept me away from men's embraces,then came KARAN, the first love of my life, tall fair with a dimpled smile. when he was around i used to behave like a freakin puppy! and surprise surprise... he even took notice of me, man i was on cloud nine... a guy was paying me attention wow! but like every love story mine ended with a tragedy too, he wanted my best friend and i mis read his intentions!!!I was heart broken, devastated like kajol in kuch kuch hota hai... the movie had released around the same time as this mishap in my life and i watched it 10 times....finally coming to terms with the fact that love is not for ugly ducklings like me. sigh!!!
All this while my parents had been really supportive, despite me having the usual generation gap issues with them. My dad used to say that i was the most beautiful girl he s ever laid his eyes on... and i used to tell him that he says it just to make me happy... but secretly it did make me feel nice. Slowly i had started getting more comfortable in my skin, not really great at acads but my records in extra curricular activities was par excellance from bein the school sports captain to winning laurels in debates and dance competitions. you name it and i was there. I was still one of the boys, with the only difference being i could no longer do a chest thump with them, if they had a chance i m sure they would ve qued up for it, i always had loads of aquaintances but very few friends..... and they are with me even today,
Come college and my entire life took a paradigm shift, suddenly men were falling for me left right and center, and to say that i did not enjoy the attention would be the biggest lie of the centuary I WAS LOVING EVERY FREAKIN BIT OF IT!! and guess the sudden attention led me to get into a number of mindless relationships, some just for the sex, some just for attention and some just to be a part of the crowd, it was the 'IN' thing to be seeing someone and so we all followed the trend, not realising that in the process we were internally damaging ourselves. i dont remember the names of half the men i dated in college, and now when i look back i dont feel very proud of myself. The second time i fell in love i was cheated on... and so for a long time i was totally off men, but i still flirted. now thats my forte, i cant stop myself from flirting for me itsmore like getting into a mans psyche reading it and moulding it as per me,thats a reason why i took up psychology as a subject to major in. But when it came to choosing a career being a clinical psychologist seemed too boring, i wanted to do something taht was more fun more interesting more of a peoples job and so bartending....i always enjoyed watching the bartenders work at a pub or a theque, especially the way they juggled the drinks and enjoyed seeing getting sloshed around them, and another aspect of the profession that intrigued me was that it had fewer women than men... and so bartending it was for me.
To say that my parents were aghast is an understatement.. but once they saw how determined i was they relented,and anyways with them by now living in the states facing the rest of the society was no longer and issue for them so they were a bit easy on me.With my job came all the independence i dreamt of own house, an suv finally ( ahem! a safari, who s instalments i am still paying!)and a life of my own. but my knight in shining armour was still no where in sight... not that i didnt meet men, i met plenty of them, and all of them wanted to have coffee at my place! saale akeli ladki dekhi nahi ki cofee aa gayee dimaag mai!! but i was not interested in casual relationships anymore and more importantly didnt want to fall for the wrong guy.
All this was me one yr back.......as i write it now i am no longer living alone in my apartment, i am sharing it with tanmay,Tnmayl is someone i met a year back on my trip to ladakh, i would not say that we hit it off instantly, infact he was there with a girl, but as we got to know each other more we realised we were two very different people who totally complimented each other. He is a banker(jst like my dad, girls have this funy quirk of falling for men who are like their fathers, and i am no exception to this rule) an avid reader (and i always ask him HOW????) more stable and sorted in the head but at the same time shares my passion for adventure and dance, wow!dosent he fit my description of my ideal man? my folks adore him, and he thinks i am the best thing that could have happened to him .sometimes i think what if my parents would not have accepted him??? I still would ve stuck on to him... because i know for sure i am right and my parents would have had to come around!
So thats me mihika for you... a little less tomboyish a little more feminine but the same freak at heart. My dad still says i am the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on and you know what now i believe him.

LOVE

The Question,

Intensity and passion,

longing and lust,

a pandora of emotions,

Is This Love?

Poets say its magical,

cynics call it need,

lovers swear by its purity,

saints describe it as a self less deed.

Love is blind they say,

a curtain covers your eyes

but why is it that the curtain,

raises,

the moment one is man and wife,

fondness is replaced by irritation ,

and thus begins the blaming game,

everything is your fault,

nothing just remains the same.

Is This Love?

Poets say its intoxicating,

cynics call it manipulating,

lovers find it worth dying for,

saints call it an emotion,

even the god's are vying for.

Love is like a beautiful dream,

thy say,

a dream that never breaks,

then why is it with every passing time,

it becomes a nightmare,

from which you want to wake.

your pulse still races,

but not with anticipation,

it is with frustration,

that sets in when,

one is faced with deception.

Is This Love?

Poets keep it next to god,

cynics find it suffocating,

lovers say its an addiction,

saints find it liberating.

The Answer,

An emotion that creates bonding,

A feeling that touches lives,

the basis of every relationship,

with the power to heal,

and put to life,

an essence present in everyone,

be it man or beast,

an absence felt hauntingly,

but its presence felt the least,

a pandora of emotions,

righty said,

but its these emotions you see,

which together make an antidote,

to put an end to the world's miseries.

This Is Love.

COMPARISON

They Say,

Look at him how his armour shines,
vlour and courage is what he defines,
look at his walk,
so full of grace,
the glow of victory ,
on his face,
look at the strength,
that he displays,
the instrument of success,
that he plays,
look at the smile,
that plays on his lips,
The expensive wine ,
he elegantly sips,
Look at the beauties,
flocking him,
the jealousy in the eyes,
of the men stalking him.

And Now,

Look at you ,
so frail and weak,
in contrast to valour,
so timid and meak,
Look at you,
with your sloppy gait,
shuffling stride ,
and an ugly face,
failures follow you like a stream,
Look at you living in your,
world of dreams,
No one wants to listen,
to you talking,
Look at you,
subjected to constant mocking,
So oblivious of the world around,
Living life at your whim,
would do you a lot of good,
if you try to be more like him.

I Say,

valour is not only for soilders,
strength is not just physical display,
The sloppy gait ,
could be of an artist,
in whos mind colours play,
To be popular is an onus,
not being one should not be a crime,
If winning a battle is a display of talent,
so is having a sense to rhyme,
Its not my stride,my face,my gait,
that breeds in love for him,
and for me hate,
its the comparisons that you make,
which make me worthless and,
glorify him as great.
You would start respecting me,
and understanding my so called whim,
the day you stop comparing ,
me with him.

A DYING WOMAN

Worn and wasted,

tired and torn,

my spirit is shattered,

like a cloth shorn.

Lying on my deathbed,

waiting to die,

i close my eyes ,

and the past is revived.

The past filled with memories,

both bitter and sweet,

taking me back to that ol street,

with houses so familier,

and faces so dear,

a chilhood of beautiful dreams,

sans any fear.

Promising a future,

Ah! so bright,

with troubles and sorrows,

no where in sight.

An uncurbed spirit,

a soul so free,

unaware of the chains,

binding a woman to be.

The chains grew slowly,

like the roots of a tree,

firming their hold,

over my destiny.

The once boyant spirit,

stifling a scream,

pained by the sight,

of destroyed dreams.

The noose grew tighter,

as age set in,

burning dreams to ashes,

killing all desires within.

The spirit lost the battle,

slowly beginning to die,

the walls closing in,

choking the last cry.

The last cry of agony,

pain and despair,

I lie waiting to let go,

of a life so unfair.

As death spreads its blanket,

like dark clouds over me,

i close my eyes smiling,

yerning to be free,

of all the social evils, perils

and atrocities.

For they can kill my body,

my mind,my spirit, my zeal,

but the soul would remain untouched,

and live on for eternity.

LSD....Love Sex Aur Dhokha Darling!

Despite reading numerous facebook status messages ostracising L S D , labelling it as dark, senseless, and an absolute crap in the name of cinema......I decided to be bold and actually go and experience crap myself. But i was in for a surprise,because not only was the movie NOT crappy, it was an entirely different cinematic experience. It also got me introspecting on the parochial though process of the Indian audience, its almost as if the age old notion of movies and cinema is sacrosanct, any deviation is is an anathema.
The most appealing aspect of love sex aur dhokha is the different cameras being used to shoot the film, which are not high end but the basic handycam and spycam. Makes u realise that to make a movie all u need is an idea and creative intelligence mediums are plenty and need not be exorbitantly expensive. The movie deals with honour killing, sting operations and MMS scandles, woven into three short stories interlinked with brilliant editing. The characters are extremly real and the storyine as stark as it can get. Kudos to Dibakar Banerjee for attempting something so different and making a success out of it yet again.
Critics of the movie call it dark and random, but i feel they completely failed to see the beauty of the randomness. Cinema is suppose to be made for entertainment, but then why should the concept of entertainment remain cliche? Only if people treated cinema as a form of expression and watched it for its novelty rather than trying to realise their dreams of a utopian world through it, they would be able to give due credit and respect to movies like LSD which are an attempt at taking the art of film making to the next level.

And i wish i got my childhood back

While taking a post dinner stroll with a friend in my apartment complex,suddenly my eyes fell on the deserted children s play area, with slides ,swings ,see saw and sand ........... and suddenly it was like a trip down the memory lane.Needless to say that we shed all our pseudo adult inhibitions  for a while and became like seven year olds again, and to say the feeling was exhilarating would be an understatement.
But it also got me thinking on why do we discard these small pleasures of life as we grow up?? Why, as we climb up the age ladder, we keep leaving the curious, inquisitive and fun elements of our life behind? and soon we reach a point where we completely loose them. Sad is it not? As a child i always used to wonder why dont the adults come and play like we do? or why dont they shout in glee when the swing takes them higher? They always seemed to have an expression on their faces which i could not identify with, much later I realised that was Worry!Now an adult, i still feel the same when i look at my fellow adult beings. Not that i do things any differently from others ...Iam very much what a child would describe as a quientessential 'BORING' adult...... but this adult more than often misses the child she was.
Life has a funny pattern, as children we cant wait to grow older. Birthdays are the only highlights of a year apart from summer and winter vacations.Life is all about homeworks and playing with friends. School is a routine thats eagerly awaited. Nothing seems mundane and we just NEVER get bored. There is always something to do, something new to discover, some random rule to break, some prank to play or if nothing else then there is the favourite cartoon movie to be watched again and again, and it manages to capture our rapt attention even the hundredth time. Life is uncomplicated to the hilt, but then we humans have the tendency to be drawn towards complications right from the minute we are born, and thus we are in a hurry to grow older.Everyone old looks like an enigma and one cant just wait to get there......
Adoloscence brings along with itself hormones, pimples,boyfriends,girlfriends,gossip sessions,crank calls,love at first sight, heart breaks and mills n boons(to mend broken hearts) but the curiosity is still alive, the zeal to explore life, the zest to take the world by a storm, the hunger to succeed, the passion and love for life, the desire to experience first love, and therefore the innocence is still intact. We have not yet been engulfed by adulthood and its defined boundries.
So, come adulthood and there goes your curiosity and free will for a complete toss. Life suddenly becomes LIFE( as if it was something else all this while!), birthdays are dreaded, it seems like a task to be innovative and inquisitive, the feeling of been there done that is predominant and there sets in a monotany which is enhanced by stress at work and compounded by domestic responsibilities. Being tied down by social norms and compulsions, suddenly one ceases to live  life for himself. Its all about living life the right way, and your path unfortunately is chartered out by everyone else except you. Burdened by the expectations to be an ideal grown up, we loose the child in us who taught us to savour the simple pleasures of life. Suddenly life seems like an endless journey,which once upon a time was a joyride.
The swing today made me realise it need not be like this. We need not loose the child in us in order to please the adults in others. Being socially bound is a grounding factor which is essential in everyones life but being socially burdened is a liability that can be done away with. Growing up physically cant be revoked, but you can definitely decide how old would the child in you grow,and believe me it should not grow beyond 13.