IIFA Awards – ho hum!!

Sometimes, people tend to go bonkers inspite of holding an international repute and lots of respect. IIFA awards night was certainly no exception to this rule and the ‘sarkar’ family of bollywood looked too raunchy hoisting themselves all along, once again through IIFA. When you say you have this platform to represent Indian Cinema to the international audience, you should be really careful. It better not be a ‘one family show’ which it has been, since its inception. What are you trying to prove, anyway? Is it a ‘Kaun banega bollywood ka badshah’ contest?

As I watched the IIFA night unfold on my telly screen, I could not help but to sympathize with the audience who were exposed to the typical fanfare of our cinema, sans the major players!!!! The ceremony was too conspicuous with the absence of major stars like Shahrukh (Who seems to have sworn to abhor IIFA till Bachchan Saaab’s reign is on), Salman (Who took all the limelight from the Bachchans last year), Hrithik (Too confused about the camp politics, maybe!), Priety Zinta (Busy gathering info on cricket), Shahid and Vidya (Do we know the reasons? ahem..), Sanjay, Dharmendra clan and Amir, who of course does not attend these tamaashas.

Most of the show would have been digestable, if not for the terrible two – Boman Irani and Riteish Deshmukh. In the beginning itself, their proclamation that they were going to be terrible hosts – came very true. They jumped like monkeys, they wallowed in their sarcasm and spoofed like it was their sole business. I couldn’t understand why they were shouting all along. Maybe their headfones were defunct, or they had some hearing disorder or they thought most of the audience had hearing disroder, I tried to console myself thus. Still the urge to get out there and ask them to take a chillpill it was getting stronger. Wish someone told them how terrible they were. They made jokes on everyone including the Senior Bachchan, as if the award functions were meant for that. Though the spoofs on Sarkar, Om Shanti Om and Guru were okay, the one’s on Taare Zameen Par was in very bad taste. The duo made remarks on Amir’s absence in all the award functions. A superb movie such as ‘Taare Zameen Par’ wasn’t properly mentioned. Instead Boman and Riteish came up with a spoof that portrayed the movie in bad taste to the audience. The movie, for the first time in the history of Indian cinema brought out the problems of a totally neglected chunk of society effectively and what does our so-called international Indian film fraternity do? They promptly spoof it and laugh it off. Shame on you guys!! Time to grow up, period. Why are we being so hard on each other? Karan Johar was seen smiling at all the Shahrukh Jokes, being the only representative of the Khan camp. It looked like the Bachchan family hasn’t taken the world tour rejection very kindly and was hell bent on venting it’s fury that night. Vivek Oberoi looked smiled excessively. Saif looked creepy with his shades on. Otherwise the happy couples looked great, held hands and posed well.

Govinda and Akshay were their usual charming self. They performed with an amazing energy which only comes with years of hardwork and a penchant to entertain. Harman baweja dispelled all the controversies of being a Hrithik-lookalike by dancing miserably. Priyanka was mesmerizing. Kareena and Katrina should seriously consider hiring some good dance trainers. Shyam Benegal’s award was sensible and so was Mumtaz’s. But there were certainly better music compositions last year than AR Rehman’s for Guru. Chak De India found some mention. Everyone wants to be in the next Shimit Amin movie after shahrukh’s success. Many people who really represented movie industry looked totally out of place, sidelined and uncomfortable, faking smiles for the benefit of camera. Why is it that there is no representation for regional cinema when ‘Indian’ cinema is presented on an international platform? Are regional movies not equal to hindi movies? if yes, is bollywood being properly represented through IIFA? If yes, it’s time to cackle and say boo. If no, it’s time to grow up, IIFA. 

 

The Nautanki called ‘33.33%’

Just wrote to one of my friends, thought you too should know this.

Let me narrate a very funny incident. Last month, I was on a TV chatshow with politicians Motamma and Pramila Nesargi. Topic was women’s reservation bill. I argued that it is never going to be implemented successfully unless a lot of pre-launch work is done. I suggested that politicians like them should turn into activists and ask the female voters to elect more female representatives instead of begging for reservation. I asked them to influence their parties to issue more tickets to female candidates prior to the bill. They said their parties are very much into this. I had told them, it’s not going to be the way it looks. They seemed too enthusiastic then. Ironically, Motamma has failed to get tickets to contest elections. one of the BJP candidates in Puttur, Shakuntala Shetty, has been denied tickets although with a winning record.  Now that the reservation bill has been put on table once again, our condition is that the Minister of law has to be protected by a team of lady MPs. SP people openly defy the bill, with Amar singh in the forefront. For a change it’s nice to see pictures of Sushma Swaraj and Brinda karat holding hands!! Male MPs are openly showing their Ire. My prediction is that once again, it will face lot of negative reaction. let’s see what happens!!

No Sunflowers

Dear readers  –  that includes you JB,

I was a little busy scuttling between Bangalore and Tumkur, where my home is. I could not update regularly. Just found this on a scrap of paper between the pages of a dusty old book. The date on the page said I had written it during my University senior year. It brought back some memories. Thought I should share it with you.

 

On a frosty night

She sat on the stone bench

Her weary garden mocking

Missing the sunflowers

That once grew around

Hands tightly clutching her

Knees to her stomach

On a frosty night

It was the month of

Tall dry grass with spiky heads;

The month of glaciers outside

And warm ocean currents

Flowing, unseen.

She needed silence.

With a desperate murmur

She let herself open

To the chilling night

She thought – ‘Perhaps

I need some tears too’

-after all the vain talk,

Smiles and frowning

She had done up with.

To the street lamp she whispered-

‘I’ll say no to everything,

I’ve been a fool!!’

And tried to be sad.

Sometimes

tears prove to be

An extravagance.

A gust of wind blew

The endless shapes of spiky grass

Leaned, swerved and twirled

Their heads. She tried

To make something of it

Maybe it was affirmation,

Maybe cruel negation or simply

A grass dance.

Then they became all the people

She met everyday

She watched blank

Clutching her urges tight

They shook heads hissed

Glowered pointed glared

Stared, what did they say?

  Again a gust of wind blew

The spiked heads swayed

What did they say?

Silence never did speak

She felt a crack on the stone bench

With her fingers

It would grow, widen one day.

She said-“No sunflowers anymore

Only spiky grass shall prevail

No light, only streetlamps

No voices, only voice-boxes

No sun, only chill.”

    

Remembering Maami.

The Pizzeria smelt delightfully sweet against the traffic chaos outside. It was drizzling and I was in excellent spirits. Grey weather. My friend was rather preoccupied. I am usually a listener with the strong and silent types. Honestly, I felt I should be in a pub at this time, with some thudding music blaring in my ears. Last time we danced, when was it? That was almost a month ago. Yeah. Sadly, this friend of mine is a teeto’taller. “I LOVE dancing, you know.” I said. He was amused. “You look too homely for dancing!” he observed. I protested. All these stereotypes. You look homely, you shouldn’t be dancing. Oh the womanist that I am. Some argument followed and we decided to order.

I learnt Bharathanatyam since I was four. I remember the dance teacher. She was a skinny lady with incredibly large, kohl-lined eyes. I guess she was a wanderer. She stayed in a place where she could teach the art for a while and moved on after training a batch of girls. I was lucky to be one of her disciples. We just called her ‘Maami’. She was very strict when it came to dancing. Tucking her ‘pallu’ into the waistline of her saree, she would go around the room demonstrating how the particular step should be performed. We missed and swoosh, a rap on our legs with a lean stick would follow. At times I detested her for punishing us but no one dared question her. She was not the ‘Maami’ we knew during our leisure time. This one was a different woman. She was Raadha, She was Meera, she was Gopika, She was a Shilaabaalika, She was Durga, She was Shiva, She was Parvathi. She transformed when she was dancing. Her large eyes would widen, be happy, sad, angry, in love, hurt..anything. We would watch her, mesmerized.

Maami had a daughter. She was a dusky girl about my age. We called her ‘Amba’. I used to envy her long, dark hair. She had good features but did not look like her mother. Maami had trained her well. Amba outsmarted us in any performance but we admired her for her grace and agility. We were amateurs and never could stand upto Amba who had been trained since she learned to walk! The mother-daughter duo lived in a rented house in the outskirts and no one saw Maami’s husband around. He never visited them and she always refrained from talking about her marital life.

After teaching us basic Bharathanatyam and some dance numbers, Maami decided to move.  It was her second year in the village and she wanted to go away before people got too familiar. Many of her disciples were heartbroken. In a village like ours, it was the only creative thing that had kept their spirits alive. I remember them crying during her departure. I stood there, too young to understand. I was confused whether I should cry or not. The tears refused to show. Amba took my hands into hers and said something. I looked at her and smiled.

After Maami, there were many other teachers but not one of them was a female. We failed to connect as we were too shy to be expressive with them. Besides, none of them had Maami’s depth and rapture. Gradually, I moved out of my place for college. Western dance, in it’s more un-inhibited, free form seemed more attractive to me. I loved bollywood dancing too, with all it’s Jhatkas and Matkas. Whenever we heard good music, our bodies automatically swayed. Whenever I danced with my heart, I remembered Maami. Maybe the form was different, maybe there was lack of structure in my dance, but we both connected. At times I have experienced a joy which I never felt in doing anything else, while dancing. Maami must have felt the same thing…

…For a change, I was chattering away. My friend was listening and appeared to be glad. I told him about my daughter’s tribal-style dancing and he was in splits. The mouthwatering pizza arrived and we got busy with our knives and forks.

 

Pic courtesy: www.absolutearts.com

I am BACK!!

Hey everybody!

I created this blog and comfortably forgot to update it.

Wasn’t that a crime on my part?

Thankyou Jagali Bhagavatha, for reminding me to Update.

Which I will be doing now onwards.

Regularly.

Let’s rock n roll, buddies!

 – Tina

A MESSAGE….

Sometimes, when I

Am feeling restless,

Let me listen 

to your voice.

Let me unburden,

Slowly.

*   *   *

My words do not

Speak to you

We don't listen

To silence either...

What is it

That remains

Between us?

*   *   *

A Glowworm

Twinkles,

Glued to my window

After the lights

Are gone...

Maybe it has 

Longings, 

like me.

*   *   *

How everything

With you

Might be, I wonder,

When I am not

Around...

Since

I'm not my old self

Anymore.

Hi there!!

The other day, one of the fellow bloggers casually said, “Once a blogger, always a blogger!!” How true.

When I started my first blog in Kannada a couple of months back, (www.tinazone.wordpress.com) I was barely aware of the enormous possibilities that the blogosphere offered.  Just two months, and my friends’ list needs to be updated every week. The discussions, observations and interactions over there are something only we young writers could have imagined a year back. Now we’ve crossed the threshold!

I thank my partner Shashi for prodding me all the way to start this English page. Hope it will make enough noise around!! Thanks Rasheed, for it was you who introduced me to blogosphere.

So here comes the tindrum for you. 

(Pic.courtesy:www.judithhannes.com)