The Dark side of the Force

So ya'll know about this new finding - Use of Viagra leads to loss of vision

My satirical interpretation for a new world order for marital bliss:
"Honey, Turn off those lights. I prefer making love in the dark", she said.
"Oh dont worry baby, I know you haven't been working out. But you are in luck, I can't see a daaaamn thing. I have been taking those pills"

In my previous post, "Fit for Heaven", I pondered over why women are less inclined to care about how they look once they get hitched. I am assuming, most Viagra users are men who are married, who presumably, over a period of time, have lost "wood" staring at the same set of boobs. Your 'Type A' Male.

So Pfizer figured, what if their Erectile Dysfunction (ED) busters delivered a double whammy effect. Not only do you help the man find "wood", but you make him lose his vision, an overstated side effect for hallucinating. Hallucinations of making love to Jennifer Gartner's pair of boobs, Angelina Jolie's voluptuous ..hmm..uhh..well! her everything.

Infidelity!!! did I hear you say. Nah!!! In loss of vision lies a new found freshness.

Oh My God!!!! It's the pharmaceutical industry's conspiracy to save marriages. No more Pre-nup disputes. No more child support negotiations. Ok!! all you divorce attorneys, pack up your bags and join Dubya's Job Retraining Program.

My clinical interpretation:
Ironic aint it???? Your eye, the basic sensory perception for a visual stimulation.....that visual of a fine ass and a deep cleavage that sets of your harmones to go find "wood". That very eye, is the target of a ballistic attack by an external chemical stimulant thats meant to give you the same aroused effect.

Is Pfizer being the dark side for the FORCE? Is Pfizer defying the laws of nature to make the eye a vestigial organ akin the appendix?

And lastly, Scientology experts must be having their last laugh. Tom Cruise, our celebrity scientologist, at 43 sure must know something that Pfizer doesnt to keep his mojo flowing for a 27 year old Katie Holmes.

Big Apple.......Meet (Bit)ten Apple!

Couple of weekends back, I took the path train from Pavonia, NJ to 33rd Street, NYC.

Back in the fall of 2002, when I took that very same train, there were scores of commuters holding a paperback in one hand, and the other hand clasped to anything that supported them on a train that swayed erratically along the rail bends.

The ones who cared less for fiction, were either logophiliacs who were lost in the randomly shaded squares of the NY Times crossword puzzle or just commuters catching up with some sleep.

Three years hence, nothing seems to have changed. Same paperbacks for the mass market, same logophiliacs. But, there is a big and significant addition - digital music's biggest gift to a city like NYC.

Its almost become a closet essential for the upwardly mobile. There's that swanky spectacle frames from Chanel, shoes from salvatore ferragamo, ties from Pink, wallets /purses from Louis Vuitton, and then there's music from i-Pod. Hmm...ok! I meant upwardly, who happen to be mobile.

Big Apple.... Meet (Bit)ten Apple!

In a way, i-Pod trotting Newyorkers might have finally found a way to shut off their city's trademark sounds - sounds of cab honks and sirens, screaming street side vendors, the annoyingly loud and squeaky sounds of the train pulling over at the station.

A_Chote_Kucher sent me a link to a i-Pod center table. State of things to come? Don't be surprised if you hear Apple upselling a new line of bathroomware. Toilet seats with RFIDs perhaps. What bathroom reading material? You could be pulling up a LCD from the water tank behind and catch up with slashdot.org.

All that, while you are still seated and taking care of business. A_Chote_Kucher, isnt that bathroom nirvana for you?

So here's whats playing on my i-Pod these days.
Kaiser Chiefs - These guys are pretty new on the british rock scene. Their first every album titled 'Employment'. Kick ass is all I can say.
Bunti aur Babli - Shankar Mahadevan's fun, pacy tracks
Oasis's new album
Gwen Steffani's Love. Angel. Music. Baby

Getting Macabre with Maggie Mitchell

That stroll was meant to burn off a rather large brunch platter of grits, scrambled tofu and an incredibly tangy black bean salad. That stroll was meant to enjoy a lazy saturday afternoon on a perfect summer day - just enough warm winds and ample sun rays piercing through large chunks of east bound clouds. That stroll was to celebrate the simple joys of weekend life.

While at that, I figured I would pay my respects to Margaret Mitchell. No flowers. No tears. Just my utmost regards to a literary stalwart who lay cremated there. My stroll was through Atlanta's historic Oakland cemetery. It was my first visit. Any cemetery, for that matter. About 200 meters into that stroll, when my mind stopped doing the math, of calculating the age based on the two prominently engraved years on the epitaph, when I stopped internalizing the loaded eulogy, it occured to me, "Is this what it comes down to?" All the vibrance of life laid to rest on a 6 x 4 plot of land.

Could you tell that, that young civil war soldier died thinking of feeling his girl friend's freckles against his lips more than thinking of a confederate that had to be saved?

Could you tell that, all that wealth, all that isolation in a mansion, of that rich cotton mill owner could not save him from a epidemic that knew no human boundaries?

Could you feel that heavy tear shed from an infant's mother who lost him barely a month after he was born?

The vibrance of life laid to rest.

So, while I am still alive and kicking, let me create all that vibrance that I shall feel in my death. So that YOU, now barely in your fetal position, waiting for your turn, for your fair share of life, shall one day ponder about and write a dry introspective sunday morning piece like this.

Food for Orgasm

It was a rhetorical converzation that suddenly switched from Bergman's existentialism in '7th seal' to the dynamics of an orgasm. Go figure how that segue happened. Here's a supposition, that I threw out, in indulging the inertia of my intuition.

So!! Do this for me. Close your eyes and try to remember if you went "ahhhhhhhhhhhhh" or "ummmmm" when you tried reaching your last orgasm. Apologies, if I am not able to re-enact the moans precisely with the right modulation. For some of you, the Hs and the Ms aren't probably long enough.

Also, the demographics for this supposition is confined to those that are reasonably vocal when reaching an orgasm and excludes those that are capable of reaching one when blowing and gagging.

So without beating around the bush (No pun there) here is my theory.
The ones that go "ahhhhhhhh" are the ones releasing energy, letting air out, feeling much more relaxed doing the act. Extrovert may be. Their expression of love and passion perhaps is audibly pronounced.

The ones that go "ummmmmm" are breathing in more, introspecting about their moment of pleasure, apprehensive about what lays ahead (relationship or marriage). Not exactly introvert, but are not too passionate about the act. Not much of a "giver".

Ofcourse the premise here is that there are times when you go "ummmmmm" and times when you go "ahhhhhh". You aren't exclusively subscribed to one school of sound expression.

Is an "Ummmer" faking an orgasm? Is an "Ummmer" a bummer in a relationship? Yup, thats intended to sound like Carrie Bradshaw's diaries. Candace Bushnell would so dig for that line.

But seriously, give it some thought. What was your mental state when you last tried reaching an orgasm.

I dont have bibliographical references or links to well researched studies in this area. So, I invite all linguists, speech therapists, psychoanalysts, orgasm aficionados to dispute my claim.

Be a Jerk !! - a step by step guide.

Step1: Picking up chicks

Top pick up line doing the rounds
"I want to adopt a baby"
Disclaimer: to be used with caution when you are picking up chicks at baby showers and bar mitzvahs.

Step 2: The line works. And oh yeah, the chick falls for your hunky looks and in a blink of an eye decides you are the one she's been waiting for all this while. And since you are cool n hunky, save that chivalry, and let the girl take you to her home.

She tells you "This is my first time, tell me if I am not doing anything RIGHT"
You tell her, "Do you have cable? They have some great instructional videos for $9.99"

Note: Prices may vary. Check with your local service provider if you are a nice jerk. Else, who cares? Its showing up on her bills.

Step 3: And when you are turning the corner of 69th and Pleasureville

..if you dont have latex on you and if you cant step out in your boxers and find a CVS or a Duane Reed, have your best straight face and go "Sweetheart, I promise I wont come"

Step 4: "Ooops! thats awrite babe, we will adopt the second one"

"Fit" for Heaven?

It was a very academic discussion about marriage, happiness and its correlation (or not) to being a fitness freak. "The motivation to sweat and burn those glutes and Iso Laterals is merely becausethe single woman wants to 'get some' ", remarked one of my woman friends. Of course "getting some" is preceded by the ritual of roses and orchids handed out, lavender candles burning, Dom Perignons flowing, caviars rolling. And before you know, by some strange supersonic force, you land on a pedestal where you exchange vows and utter the words "I do".

After that remarkable progression of events, the Isos and glutes finally get to rest for rest of its life.

"Got some", "Will keep getting some", "No more worry where I need to look for some".

The single woman finds marital bliss - a bliss that will not strain a muscle or a bone, a bliss that will beget, a bliss that won't mind her man's surf board abs turning into a wavy, ridged, sea of belly.

A marriage that's made in heaven? hmm...Wonder if heaven has free weights!

Krithis for all (K)lasses

I downloaded the soundtrack of a new tamil flick (Anniyan) slated for release this month. The composer is this doode (Harris Jayaraj) who was AR Rahman's apprentice.

It sounded mediocre until one mesmerizing track spun me down the memory lanes of my teenage years in Bangalore. It was the one of the pancharatna krithis (compositions ala Bach's Brandenburg concertos and Chopin's Mazurka) written by the great saint composer Thyagaraja. He was one of the three icons of carnatic classical music - touted as "The Trinity". Muthusamy Dixitar and Syama Sastry were the other two.

Every year, during early spring, a group of music exponents congregrated at a temple that was about 100 meters away from where I lived. They would sing the krithis for hours together. They were re-creating the Thyagaraja Aradhna (festival) that happens every year around the same time in a place called Thiruvayur.

What struck me most about this re-creation was the opportunity it presented to the layman to sing along with the exponents. You see, learning this form of music was a tedious, regimented process. Add to it, the predominant confinement of this music to a certain sect of people belonging to the so called higher echelons of a class based society - a false notion that was popularized by the demagogues of this genre of music.

It was a treat to watch children, who were otherwise loitering on the streets, attempting to follow the raagas and the basic tunes of the krithis. It was a different thing that their motivation to stay and feel enthused was really the huge feast of a 15 course south indian lunch that culminated the festival.

So for that one day, I would show my deep appreciation for Thyagaraja. The passionate head shaking, the palm slapping on my lap pretentiously measuring the beats, and the other hand raised, almost navigating and sliding through the air guiding the flow of the tune.

Anyways, I am looking forward to watch Aniyan. I cant help it that all my posts are somehow or the other triggered by a film :)

Rio, Casablanca - Not your proverbial gun trotting "southside" children

I was visiting my county's public library after a 5 year impasse. Back then it was my only comprehensive resource for Naipauls and authors alike with all that "The Raj" nostalgia.

This time around, a short stack, with a bunch of DVDs caught my attention - a dozen to be precise. They were labled 'Film Movement'. I was ecstatic to find two foreign films. I picked up both of them. One's Moroccon (Ali Za0ua) and the other was from Brazil (Man of the Year). Ever since 'City of Gods', I have been fascinated by the narration techniques that the brazilian filmmakers employ.

I watched 'Man of the year' last week and 'Ali Z" last night. This morning, it occured to me that both the films had pretty much the same theme - children on the streets facing the perils of life and death. Ali is set in Casablanca with the raw imagery of the streets by a placid port (slacking economy). "Man of the year" is set in the favellas (slums in Rio), of an adolscent finding an unsual power of supremacy when he dyes his hair blonde.

Both the flicks are ripe with the grave, grotesque poblems that orphaned, abandoned children face on the streets of a main city. For some reason I felt, its not the same story we hear on the morning feeds, about children in south side chicago or atlanta who are raised in foster homes, children who are presented a clear opportunity to change their lives.

The inability of the governments of the so called "developing nations" to provide a system and regimen of rehabilitation has led to a social condition wherein these children depend on each other, align themselves to a whimsical idealogy leading to formation of gangs. Sniffing, drugs, serving the pedophilics, rash killings, all become a way of life for these children.

Neither of these films didnt let me down. Realism as seen through a filmmaker. Would it be reasonable to ask some of our screenplay writers from sunset blvd to move out of their beach house mansions and live in cities like Rio and Casablance where human drama unfolds?

Kink The Title

Love, Lust and Lingerie. My first short screenplay. Sounds as progressive as Sex, Lies and Videotape. One would think!!!! But No!! someone had to suggest replacing Lingerie with Laundry to create the intrigue factor. What could one possibly think of as a plot for Love, Lust and Laundry. Yes !! Love and Lust can leave behind some shag infested dirty loin leading to a climax of washing it off in a community coin laundry...but where the hell is the kink in washing love juices?

Wonder if Hanif Kureishi was thinking about something that I fail to fathom in placing a laundrette as the instrument of gay affection in his "my beautiful laundrette".

My short is just about a perceivably pitiful 40 something character going through psychotherapeutic alternatives. If I place a laundry in the plot, and still retain my lingerie element, I would have to make him a Maytag employee who moonlights at Victoria Secrets. Now, thats a lot of kink in my character. On second thoughts I will save it for a sequel.

Two Blows and a prescription pill a.k.a my film musings

So yeah!!! For lack of better things to start, I figured I will post my film musings. This appears in the spring issue of Rivaaj, an atlanta based fashion, schmooze mag.
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Two Blows and a prescription pill a.k.a my film musings

“Hurry ! I can’t give you anymore grace time. Are you saying none of the Woods (she means Bolly, Kolly, Tolly) have made films worth writing about? ” quipped, my editor. My editor’s frustrated inquisitiveness made me ponder. I could write about bad flicks, I thought. “Oh My”, that would mean I would write an epic and make my editor even more frustrated for not sparing any pages for the advertisers. At 900 productions a year coming from the ‘Eastern Woods’, I couldn’t find a single mainstream fresh flick that I could write about. Parallel cinema – that’s my pill. I will save that for later. For now, here’s my dirge, euphemistically disguised as my musings.


How to name it? – a Bollywood reference guide

“Has anyone seen Shwaas, India’s entry to the 2005 Oscars?”, I painstakingly attempted a segue, when I sensed a temporary pause in a conversation that stretched from the rise of India’s outsourcing prowess to the use of right syntax when using Java Swing classes, I know! I know! I thought it was some kind of urban hip dance style too, but I digress. So, I got this empty stare for a response, the one you get for butting into a perfectly fine small talk. Some sympathizing soul in the group ventured to take the conversation further. She went “…uh! Hmm…It doesn’t have too many words for a title...are you sure it’s not a documentary or one of those artsy fartsy Phillums”. Thank you. Thank you Mr Karan Johar. Thank you Mr Aditya Chopra. Thank you Mr LongMovieNameFetished producer babus – no, it’s not my pretentious due diligence while accepting the gold statue. We now have a growing breed of Bollywood movie fanatics who carry their measuring tapes on Friday mornings just in case they decide to check out a matinee show – with titles having long romanticized urdu words - some tongue twisters, some just too long that you would have to take a pit stop saying it. Enter Bollywood’s quick fix solution and Praise the Lord! We have begun to accept the culture of Uber-friendly acronyms (watch out Yahoo dwellers using BRB, IMHO, TTYL, ROTFL!!). Right from QSQT that set the screens on fire with a six pack flinching boy who meets a pigeon loving gal (Dubya!! it’s a Bollywood conspiracy for peace) to KKKG that was one long commercial for fine drapes and other home improvement products and something about parental anxiety. Then came along a dare-to-be-iconoclast who changed the rules - he pondered, he tapped his ass before realizing its his head he should be tapping to invoke the emotion of thinking and in an almost Archimedean burst felt “ That’s it !!! That’s really it…I just need to put a short sentence right after my one-word movie title”, and so was born titles like “Rog – When love is a disease”, “Madhoshi – an illusion beyond imagination” - How Clever! Miramax could take a few Marketing 101 tips from our Bokadias and Bhagnanis. Miramax sure could have thought of “Aviator – Spread your wings of desire” or “Finding Neverland – Don’t give up on your search”. As for me, I am still planning to write this epic love story – MKMDPJ – Ma Kasam Mein Date Pe Jaoonga



Diaries of an Anonymous “Item Number” Gal

Old school titillation – The village damsel walks miles away to fetch drinking water, she comes back to the village, the rain gods just then become generous and oh! She just happens to be wearing a white sari. Mr Romeo spots her, mojo strikes and viola! We have a classic.

New school titillation – What Village? ? What Sari? ? We are all chic thong clad urbanites, skinny dipping is our passion, we sweat to trance driven sounds in dark, dim lit conclaves, we have the talent for photo shoots where we contort our bodies without giving away much, yet taking away a lot, We are what bourgeois people like you call as the “item numbers”. We shake our fine gym toned gluteal (booties for all you perverts!) to Anu Malik meets Paul Van Dyke and that’s all we do. This is the age of ingenuous specialization baby!! So what if we don’t get to go to Switzerland like the other gal in the movie who wears her ghungat staring through a sieve to watch the moon in a supposed act of protecting her husband from all evil forces. And here’s news! We actually get to keep all those Dolce Gabanna swim wears while their Manish Malhotra Cholis gets auctioned away – what a bunch of losers. Some of us face identity crisis in the heartlands of Juhu and Malabar Hills – You see!! We are what the industry-wallahs call as the “imports”. I am from Russia and Illene, my friend, who I shared an apartment with in Chembur, before moving to this ocean-view dwelling, is from South Africa. So, news flash! I got myself an agent in LA. I hear, those guys on Sunset Boulevard think that there’s a big market for item numbers in Hollywood productions – why else do you think ‘60 minutes’ carried a special on Aishwarya Rai? – granted she rules here, but out there she sure has the talent for an upscale item number. Did you know that Tarantino was that close to getting Uma do an item number for Kill Bill – he then realized that she wiggling her feet to cure her paralyzed leg was enough of titillation. Well! It’s been a long day dancing by fire pits smeared with mud – a few more minutes, I swear I could have baked a clay mini-me. So the next time you come out to the movies, do cheer for us, more than just drool. We will give you the best eight minutes for the sake of which you waste your three hours.

The Pill - DVD Watch List

The next time you are stacking up your Netflix order list and if you want to break away from you long titled, ‘item number’ endowed, rehash of a Hollywood hit (not even adapted) and if you don’t mind watching a few subtitled flicks, look for these recent ones that are on DVD now:
• Autograph – Tamil – A simple tale of a man reminiscing his past relationships leading up to his wedding day. Song and dance and all, but a tight narrative.
• Abar Aranya (In the forest again) – Bengali – Gautam Ghose’s sequel to Satyajit Ray’s Aranyer Din Ratri (Days And Nights In The Forest)
• Shwaas – Marathi – Story of a grandfather helping his grandson come to terms with his inevitable blindness. Could have use better editing, but worth the watch.
• Akale – Malayalam - based on the Tennessee Williams play The Glass Menagerie
• Little Terrorist – Hindi Short Film (15 minutes) – It’s about Jamal, a 10 year old boy from Pakistan whose cricket ball strays in to the Indian side of the border. It creates hue and cry about a suspected intrusion.
• Amu – Konkana SenSharma as a video cam trotting UCLA grad investigating the after effects of the 1984 riots in Delhi in the wake of the Prime Minister’s assassination.
• Maqbool – An adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Read my review in the Fall 2004 edition
• Travelers and Magicians – Dzongkha (Bhutanese) – By the Director of the “The Cup”, Khyentse Norbu. About two men and their journey towards a dream. The first feature length film made in Bhutan.
• Born into Brothels – Docudrama - An award-winning photographer, Zana Briski (Director) befriended the children of Sonagachi (Calcutta’s red light district), starting a photography workshop for them and equipping them each with their own camera.


Here’s my chance to do a little plug-in. So, yours truly was working through winter screenwriting a comedy about relationships – straight and otherwise. It’s slated to go into production early summer. Watch out for “A Knot, Full of Karma”. Until then, hit me up at girimohan@hotmail.com if you want to talk films or about my musings.