Our Parents, Our Santas for life!

Childhood is a treasure trove of memories- sweet, simple, innocent, naughty at times, happy and contented! The times when we had no worries in the world, when life was indeed a bed of roses, when tragedy was getting one chocolate less than our sibling, when catastrophe meant poor marks in Maths and the rest didn't matter. The times when the world was our oyster !

Studying in a convent school meant Christmas was a huge event. The carols, the decorations, the programs by the tiny tots, Jesus and Mary stories depicted by little Santas was all very engaging and endearing. The two weeks long winter vacation or Christmas holidays as we called them meant having a blast ! The best part on Christmas Eve was writing a letter to Santa and expecting gifts the next day. The gifts that never came! 

My mother could never understand this ritual of yearly visits by Santa Claus even though she indulged us and got us a Christmas cake and gifts on that day. But we were clear, it was our mum who played our Santa. No one pulled a wool over our eyes and hoodwinked us that the portly, rolypoly guy wearing red and white cloak and snowlike beard got us our goodies from North Pole. 

Did we mind?

 Maybe at times we felt deprived of the thrill and mystique of the Santa descending upon our humble abode carrying his magic bag but what made up for us was the fact that we had our Santa the whole year round and not on just one particular day.

When I had my first child, I kept the mystery of Santa Claus for him till he was five years old. Each year he would write a letter to Santa usually asking for sweet, little gifts but at times the requests were made for exorbitant gifts like PlayStation or remote control helicopters. Asking him to tone down his 'unreasonable' demands meant a lot of heartbreak for him and a huge relief for us. 

What I didn't bargain for was how smart the present day generation is! Just when I thought he was old enough to be told the truth about Santa, he let the cat of the bag. He knew it was me and not some quaint creature from a far off continent who gave him xmas gifts every year. Was I pleasantly surprised or deflated by this revelation I can't remember but I do recall him and I colluding to maintain this myth when my second child was born.

A massive tiff between the two led to my elder one revealing this secret to his younger sibling one day and seeing his crestfallen face I rushed to console my little one who was crying copiously by now. Before I could chastise the elder one for his harsh outburst I heard the younger one say , "Mummy is my Santa forever". Joy, pride and gratitude filled me hearing this innocent statement and finally it dawned; our parents are our Santas whole our lives!

Our parents automatically adopt the 'giver' role and play our Santas. And we needn't write a wish list to them. They instinctively know our wants and desires and try their level best to provide us those. Similarly we assume the Santa role for our kids. The process of loving and giving is not a 'one day a year' routine obligation but continues unabated till eternity. 
Let's treasure the Santas in our lives and spread joy all around.

Merry Christmas!!

 

The Archies movie- nostalgia meets nepotism

The Archies- Sugary, mushy, curated to perfection, brewed to elitist taste flick. It possesses an old world charm despite its under-whelming, under-performing young crop of actors. The nepo kids have very big shoes to fill and fail abysmally. One wishes Zoya Akhtar had chosen newbies with talent over the ones with lineage.

If we move the critical lens away from the overshadowing nepotism debate, this rendition of the iconic comic book characters does have its moments, notably with Agastya Nanda’s promising performance in the titular role. However, the weight of legacy seems to burden the young actors, particularly Khushi and Suhana, as they struggle to embody their characters convincingly.  

Reggie is portrayed as more virtuous than his original persona, Jughead's gluttony seems forced and the rest are all passable; Goodfellas with their hearts in good place, bonding against the force threatening their sacrosanct Riverdale, picturesque with exceptionally built sets.

 The film opts for a safe route, lacking the thrill or audacity to push boundaries, yet the essence of the beloved Archies universe remains intact, adorned with love, romance, songs, and dances, creating an endearingly nostalgic experience. 

 Appreciating it is easier when viewed independently, detached from the colossal standards set by the original Archies series. Despite the misgivings and the subpar performances, it manages to carve its own space as a light, enjoyable watch. 

KARVA-CHAUTH FAST- Love, glamour and tradition.

Tradition vs Outdated, Faith vs Regressive, the debate rages on!

Mrs X is your average middle-class married Indian woman with 2 kids. She is a traditional lady with her family being her first priority in life. Every year she keeps the karva chauth fast for her husband’s long life. She does it quietly and solemnly by performing all the rituals painstakingly, having no time or inclination to share it on social media.

Mrs. Y is at the other end of spectrum. Her designer sari and choli, mehndi, bangles, jewellery etc. do a full circuit round of whatsapp groups before being used for the purported intent. Whether her husband’s lifespan increases or not but his bank balance definitely gets a dent. Not that he minds much. Indian men are indoctrinated since childhood to lap up the female attention showered upon them by their mother and wife.

The age old traditions and rituals are being redefined in the present context of blatant showmanship and high pitched consumerism. Every custom or fast which has been practiced for eons in an understated manner is now assuming larger than life, glamorous levels. Majority of married women, who observe fast for the well-being and long life of their husbands make sure that the world knows about it. The overt, glitzy display of a deeply personal practise has fast become the norm .

In an extreme contrast, we have a significant number of females who deem the k-c ritual as regressive, misogynist and a spoke in the fast moving cart of women empowerment. They feel that women are undermining their sense of worth by placing Men on a pedestal and keeping a difficult fast for him, indirectly deitifying him. Spate of such articles are flooding the social media tinged with disdain and contempt for women observing this fast.

There is, in essence, a tug of war between the high priestesses of k-c batting for the commoditization of a deeply embedded belief, and the firebrand feminists determine to let go of all the rituals they deem unfit or irrelevant in times when relationships are transitory and the power-balance between male and female is witnessing a paradigm shift.

I speak for no one else but myself for i firmly believe in the adage of ‘to each his own’. As per me, the choice to keep or not keep k-c should be a wife’s prerogative. If it makes her happy doing the whole dance-drama-fast routine, let her have her fun. No need to be condescending towards the festival or the rituals, overrated or over indulged they might be at times.

Simultaneously, those wives who are happy bypassing the k-c, needn’t adopt a high-handed approach as much as I wish that those fasting ‘nirjala’ stop assuming a higher moral ground than those who don’t.

Any belief, which cements the marital bond can never be regressive for society. I must add that the fast per se doesn’t require going the extra mile. The exorbitantly priced saris or jewellery, elaborate makeup and mehendi routine are not mandatory pre requisites. They are done more for pleasure than any actual requirement.

And men I know you all love being pampered by the women in your lives. Whether its your mum who fast for your well being or wives who do the same. It boosts your male ego, reinstates your supremacy in marital life, and off you go to sweat it out for the beauty in your life who sacrifices her food and water once pr twice a year for you, so that you remain the provider of the family for the rest of the days. 

There’s a little innocence in the custom, lots of faith and an bottomless reservoir of happiness waiting to be tapped by the couple. But then, it has to be out of choice, and the day our society accepts and respects a woman’s choices in life, regardless of it being in tandem or in sharp contrast to the popular mood, will be the red letter day for true women empowerment.
Stay happy ladies,
Make your choice and stick to it.
Just ‘ Be Yourself’.
Afterall, customs cannot define our worth as a person, but our choices can.

HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY!

To all my wonderful, inspiring teachers in school and College and the teaching fraternity in toto; -

You channel the boundless hyper energies of hundreds of children,

You impart knowledge in abundance.

You inspire the wanderers.

You motivate the diffidents.

You anchor the rudderless.

You discipline the disobedients.

You give direction to the lost.

You bring order to chaos.

You infuse positivity and help millions become a better version of themselves!

#HappyTeachersDay 💐

#Gratitude 🙏🏻

MADE IN HEAVEN-2...

MIH season 2 has upped the ante from the last season. It’s grander, harder-hitting, and reeks of all things lush and plush.

MIH 1 was intrinsically raw and earthy, aiming to establish the base for the very real, flawed principal characters of 2 wedding planners and their team, giving the viewers a peek into their background stories, the reasons, and the explanations.  The second season lets them bloom and shine and the new additions to the star cast, esp. Mona Singh enhance the flow of the narrative.

Each episode focuses on a wedding and addresses a relevant contemporary issue (obsession with fair skin, caste prejudice, polygamy, domestic violence, etc.) The entire wedding planning team’s personal lives’ complications are interwoven beautifully with the main theme.

MIH 2 is enriched with high production quality, haute couture, the glossy, slightly wayward, unconventional lifestyle of the rich and their myriad issues, while also scrutinizing sans any judgment, the prevailing social dogmas, the biases and the hypocrisy.

The main star cast of the previous season outperforms each other. In Shobhita’s carefully cultivated persona of a well-groomed lady (Tara),  we see a social climber striking it rich with the top industrialist scion, Jim Sarbh (owning his role with aplomb.) She reveals her vulnerability and inner conflicts as well as her sharp claws.

Arjun Mathur as Karan represents the repressed gay community hiding in a closet for fear of filial and social censure. Legal acceptance has made little progress as the general mindset remains archaic treating LGBT as a freak lot. Case in point is the new addition to the cast, a real-life transgender who is ostracised unapologetically by the majority.

The voiceover at the end of each episode by the MIH photographer Kabir is deep and reflective, unraveling the myth of an emotion called love and a ceremony called marriage. 

MIH takes ingenious digs at the high society with their Pandora’s box full of skeletons, simultaneously reflecting upon the aspirational middle and lower middle-class India, the so-called 'wannabees' who envy and despise the elites in equal measure. 

Sound complicated? Well, that’s MIH for you.

Kudos to the magic of accomplished directors to pull off complex relationships, many of which may still raise eyeballs in middle-class society. There’s substance in style, soul in gloss, and bleak reality lurking beneath the ‘oh so beautiful’ exterior of MIH. It’s funny, it’s thought-provoking, it touches you at some base level, and challenges your sensibilities to mull over the cruel world we are living in! A world where anything different from our established and understood code of conduct is viewed as ‘deviant,’

Any cons, if I get down to dissect an otherwise compelling web series, are the excesses in styling, in set designs, in the ostentatious veneer, in graphically depicting gay sex, in the frequent use of the f… word without so much as batting an eyelid. (How it’s being normalised in all OTT content!) I wish the titans of show biz realise that being understated is an art too, and, at times, subtlety works just as fine!

Eye candy it may be but there’s enough bite in the shiny, multi-layered world of MIH and its characters to make it binge-watch worthy! 

AGE OF EMOTIONS- Connected without Internet!

The Internet era  commenced in the past decade or so and has become an integral part of our lives. Modern everyday life is intrinsically dependant on internet and if per chance the connection is lost for sometime, we feel as if life has been sucked out of us and there is nothing worthwhile to do. 'Net connection aaya ki nahin' remains the topmost query. When it gets finally restored, we have a sigh of relie!..Jaan mein jaan aa jaati hai!!

I wonder how we survived in the 80s and 90s without such frills. Regimented TV timings with a couple of channels, a standard fixed phone line, and barely any knowledge about the virtual world, we lived merrily in a self-contained manner.

We read books for knowledge, scoured newspapers for political news, heard radio for latest songs, went to the theatre to watch latest movies, sent letters and greeting cards to our friends and relatives to keep in touch.

Binaca Geet Mala, the top 20 Bollywood songs on Radio Ceylon, helmed by the man with a sonorous voice, Ameen Siyani, for aeons was the coveted program whole of India listened to earnestly.

Chitra haar on TV was awaited with bated breath, the songs played in it were discussed the next day in schools. People cursed if the electricity went off perchance during that time and they missed a couple of songs. Amitabh's songs were icing on the cake and his movies were a craze on the big and small screen both.

The onset of colour TV and VCR in mid-80s was an entertainment revolution. Poor quality VHS tapes were lapped up for the sheer thrill of watching movies at will in the comfort of their home. The whole family gathered in the living room to watch the magic unfold.

Neighbours dropped in on weekends to enjoy watching the evening movie together, sharing a Cuppa and having gupshups.

School diaries, slam books, autograph diary, greeting cards and titbit memorabilia were a huge hit amongst teenagers. They gave an outlet to our expressions of love, joys, friendships, pain, regrets, anger etc.

Buying greeting cards used to be an event. While sending it to friends was a customised activity (as per the occasion and the mood), buying Diwali or New Years cards for relatives was done in bulk and in a standardised manner. The one with the best handwriting in the house was accorded the esteemed task of writing inside the card and the addresses on the envelopes. What used to be a fun activity in childhood became a mundane chore later on.

With friends, however, it remained a sweet something, to write well and pretty, with different colour pens, decorating with stickers and glitter, drawing hearts and flowers, smileys etc.. It was as personalised as one could make it.

Photo albums were much treasured and a symbol of pride. A limited number of photos could be clicked in each reel and hence no indiscriminate click! Click!

Digital cameras and then smartphones with sharp cameras have led to a deluge of photos in a virtual world but scant ones in hard copies.

Technology has been a boon for Generation Y getting information and entertainment at the snap of their fingers. This digital onslaught on an individual's life is complete and absolute. Any personal preference to be a passive spectator and watch the circus from afar is scoffed at and one is pulled deep into the vortex of silliness and superficiality.

In this scenario, life without Internet for many is a suffocating experience.

Telling my kids about our non-Internet days elicits a curious and puzzling response, almost quizzical, wondering about the staid, dull life of their parents! When I go nostalgic and reminiscence about the age-old charm of LP records, they point out Spotify to me. Their sweet enlightening ways apart, I regret the growth of 'too easy, too available' culture where subtlety sleeps soundly and in-your-face, omnipresent, forever stalking Internet mafia lurks all around!

Can you escape their encounters? Not unless you wish to be labelled pre-historic by Internet gurus!

As a member of a generation which has witnessed both sides of pre & post Internet life, I find the obsession with Internet frightening. For all its advantages and benefits, our complete dependence on it and our weird, painful wail in its absence proves our slavery to technology rather than mastering it!

That said, the right to choose the availability, the limits and the extent, should lie with the users only. What good is something if it can be taken away by the government in power at will? 

The perils of Internet shouldn't outshine the thrill of it!

ROCKY AUR RANI KI PREM KAHANI~ mediocrity in a fancy garb!

A potpourri of every conceivable hot topic and a concerted effort to tick all the right boxes by tackling contentious issues like patriarchy, misogyny, body shaming, racism, elitism, cultural differences, and whatnot, Karan Johar went overboard with Rocky aur Rani. The essence is lost and the tutoring & preaching at regular intervals aren’t impactful at all.

Realism has never been his forte and over-the-top blingy sets, thousands of dancers in designer clothes gyrating to forgettable songs make for stunning visuals. Some redeeming features, a few laughs, a hummable melody, and veterans’ presence make for a decent viewing at best. Certainly not the entertainer of the year it's touted to be.

 Something was amiss and the flick didn't catch my fancy despite me being a hard-core Bollywood masala movie fan. 

Could it be that I was suffering from the Oppenheimer hangover? 🤔

From sublime to ridiculous, the journey was definitely arduous.

The Legend of Kishore Kumar

The Legend

Of

Kishore Kumar

He lit up the rainbow of hindi cinema with a voice so close to the divine creation, there was no raga of life left untouched by the warmth of its soul-stirring embrace. 

So eclectic in its outreach, Kishore Kumar’s repertoire was life itself performing in a theatre we all sat spellbound – celebrating all that we love, or mourning the loss of love and perhaps, even the loss of our innocence in that treacherous cesspool of life’s betrayals. 

There was always a song from Kishore Kumar to capture the essence of life in its myriad shades.

When melancholic, Kishore Kumar easily slipped into the deeper pathos – woh sham kutch ajeeb thi, without losing the dignity of the man suddenly imperiled by the pain of disorientation. When ecstatic, he was so full of effervescent charm laced with the racy young leap of desire for romantic love – yeh sham mastani, madhosh kiye jaaye.

His chutzpah came with a modulation of voice differently textured within the same metre – ek chatur naar, badi hoshiyaar, almost designed to serve as a delicious tease to strip a moment, layer by layer, for the bare truth to appear without affectations.

Remembrance.

Kishore Kumar.