Scream Views: Arnab Kumar Choudhury: Film Criticism, Movie Reviews, Poetry, Humour

Twenty Five Years On…

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Fri, 30 May 2008 07:26:10 +0000

I was only nine years old when my grandfather died. But memories have little to do with the length of association, and more to do with the impact of that association. And my grandfather was nothing if not a man who left a strong impact on people who came into association with him.

He was not a man who would waste too much time on idle chitchat. How could he, when he had to make a success of himself at three different vocations? A successful industrialist, a well-regarded bookseller and publisher, and a prosperous farmer, he sure knew how to make the most of his time.

From what I remember, he would begin his day with a stint at the family’s paddy fields, even before his breakfast. After about three hours in the fields, it would be time to switch over to the bookseller role, and devote a few hours to the running of Graduate Stores. After lunch, it would be time to slip on his industrialist’s hat, and supervise the operations at Assam Chemical Works. And when the factory workers had left, it would be time to have a go at the vegetable gardens that occupied a full third of the family’s massive farmhouse in Jorhat, Assam.

He apparently lived this same gruelling routine for a full fifty years of his life, as his children and grandchildren can vouch for. I myself am his youngest grandchild, so I never saw him till he was almost seventy five, but even at that age, his energy level kind of drained all those around him.

And he had that much stamina even after he had been a heavy smoker all his life. Speaking of which, I remember how he would change his smoking gear with the same felicity as he would his professional hat. In the fields, he would smoke only bidis; in the book shop, only filter cigarettes; in the factory, only hand-rolled cigarettes, and in that solitary half hour after dinner when he would actually do nothing at all, he relaxed with a hookah. Till the day I, his youngest grandchild, maybe too tired that day to carry his hookah to him, actually asked him why he smoked such an obnoxiously smelly thing, and he just gave it up on that very day, never to touch it again.

Oh did I mention that with all that daily activity, he also found time to raise seven children and twenty-seven grandchildren? Of course he had great help from his wife, my grandmother, whose job it was to run the dairy farm, the chicken farm, the duck farm, and the small handloom unit she had.

They made a great team, those two, and after grandma died of a liver problem in early 1984, he apparently chose not to outlive her by more than a year, and actually died suddenly one day in October 1984, for no conceivable medical reason.

It’s twenty five years since they went, and all our lives are infinitely the poorer for that. Yet richer too, for his descendents – now numbering almost seventy – are enriched by the inspiration of his life. Every single day…

War Uncivil

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Tue, 20 May 2008 06:37:55 +0000

In the dark of the moonless night
There’s one more deliberate accident
Smoke from the crowded pyre shrouds
Murder most foul and imprudent
The human sacrifice is bathed and ready
Down the red streets we chant so steady.

Sharpening, the still-bloody sword
Intones mildly a demonic melody
Bloodshot eyes see nothing peculiar
In angels and devils perishing together
A black tongue tolls the bell
And crowns the new king in fear.

Bloodless cadavers start to compose
Formidable songs in the sand
Sleepwalking vultures feed so glad
Poking holes into still-breathing flesh
Black hawks and white doves together
Lie three deep on the battlefield.

They all die, they all cry,
They all light their own pyres.

Am I A Gay Icon?

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 09:11:48 +0000

I had to visit Mumbai last Monday. Since the flight was at 6 am, I had to get up at the unearthly time of 4 am. This is an hour when even the street dogs have more sense than to be up and about. And so it came to pass that I had to ruin my Sunday evening by going to sleep at the ghastly time of 10 pm – an unforgivable crime I must have last committed when I was a wee little boy of 5 or 6 years of age.

I was so sleepy that I forgot I ought to carry a photo identity card to prove that I was indeed the person in whose name the ticket had been booked. But apparently my face did not look sufficiently criminal enough to warrant showing any identification at the check-in counter. Maybe all the years of using fairness creams have endowed me with a sufficiently beatific look, or maybe the guy doing the check-in was as sleepy as yours truly.

My opposite number is Mumbai was nice enough or foolish enough to reach the airport and pick me up at the horrifyingly early hour of 8 am. Apparently Mumbaikars start their work day at 8 am or 8:30 am, a far cry from the civilized hours of 9:30 am at which even the vilest Delhi offices deign to start.

I was to return the same day, and thanks entirely to my dazzling good looks or the brilliance of my presentation skills – or perhaps, more plausibly, the intelligence levels of the audience – I finished with my meeting just after noon, and was suddenly faced with the inconvenience of having at least 5 hours to kill before my evening flight back.

Truly having no idea how to pass my time, I hailed an auto to take me to the airport. My flight was at 8 pm, and here I was reaching the airport at 4:10 pm! I suddenly saw that there were 3 separate flights of the same airlines going to Delhi before mine. A quick inquiry revealed that I had to pay just 500 bucks more to get the tickets transferred to the flight that would leave at 5 pm. Very easily done, and I ran to check-in in the 5 minutes left to me before the counter would close.

This time around, the check-in counter was manned by a lady, and she refused to accept my ticket without the photo id. Is it because women are stricter with rules than men? Or is the reason the same reason why my photos get more appreciation from my male friends than from my female friends? Am I truly a man’s man – or perhaps even a gay icon?

I was still thinking on these lines, all the while trying to charm the lady with my scariest smile. Finally the fairness cream apparently began working its magic, and she told me she will ask her supervisor about my case. I was congratulating myself for my sex appeal, when I saw her walking back with a gentleman, who took one look at me and said that I looked fine and could be allowed to check in without any photo id.

Which brought me crashing back to earth: why do my looks appeal only to males? Do I need to now switch over from fairness creams to tanning creams to ensure a more heterosexual appeal?

My Hands Are Bloodied

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 02:01:05 +0000

I see a thousand children
Carried to the rivers
Some will be bathed
Others to be drowned.

I now live alone
In my own private hell
My ears are sundered
By a loud school bell.

Tears cannot wash clean
Hands stained by guilt
Bloodied after ablutions
Hospital sewers built.

Bloodshot eyes in the mirror
Glibly let me know
As long as I live
The damned spot will show.

Forgive me father,
For I have sinned
My hands are bloodied,
My child I’ve killed.

Lotus Feet

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 07:12:17 +0000

He in unafraid of getting His feet wet
He walks proudly on the bare earth
Always at one with all
That sprung from Him.

One day His castle will return
To the wet nether lands,
The earth cleansed of those
That dared confront his chariot.

But today the sky will pour out its blessings
And with us He will walk
Not to lull us back to safety
Into the placental swamp.

Be we will chant
His True Name, and say:
“He is my only Friend,
And He will guide me through”

And then He will crouch, and pick up
Mud sanctified by the Lotus Feet
And my forehead He will smear
With the rainbow-vermilion.

Kaziranga National Park

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 03:36:30 +0000

Day One

Located on the banks of the mighty Brahmaputra River in Assam, Kaziranga National Park covers an area of approximately 440-sq-kms with its swamps and tall thickets of elephant grass making it the ideal habitat for the Indian One-Horned Rhino. Declared a wildlife sanctuary in 1940, Kaziranga National Park is just over 200 kms away from Guwahati, the largest city in the gorgeous north-eastern part of India. Which made it the ideal getaway for my New Year holidays.

My publisher and childhood friend Raja is rapidly making his name as a conservationist in Assam. So when he suggested that we take our annual binge-drinking session to a quieter place, I jumped at the chance. Joining us on the trip were Raja’s man-Friday Islam, and the girls Carol and Neel.

We set out early morning on the 30th of December. My relatives were not too enthusiastic about our plan, since the Adivasi group had called for a boycott of the municipal elections, and some violence was expected after the ugly clashes a month previously. But the trip was uneventful, though Islam kept stopping at every police station on the way, asking if there was any trouble on the road ahead of us. With so many stoppages, it was no wonder that we took 5 ½ hours to reach.

Raja had booked two luxury cottages for us in the relatively new Jupuri Ghor resort. By the time we reached, it was nearly time for the jeep safaris to depart, so we dumped our luggage and rushed to the central cottage for our lunches. The menu consisted of traditional Assamese daal-chaawal-sabji plus an amazing plantain-leaf-steamed fish. Though I normally detest fish, the dish looked far too tempting and exotic to resist – and it was truly awesome.

The five of us set off on the jeep safari with a local guide and an armed guard. No, we were not expecting to be shot by any ULFA militants – the guard was armed with a dart gun because we would be getting really close to the wildlife. The Kohora tract was the one we had chosen for the jeep safari, and since we had started half an hour later than the rest of the visitors, we were greeted only with the deafening silence of nature.

Among the animals we saw up close were Indian bison, swamp deer, hog deer, capped langurs, wild boars, wild buffalos and monitor lizards. Carol had a pair of really powerful army binoculars she had brought from her native France, and they really came in handy. She and Neel were standing on the seats at either side of the jeep, the taller Raja and Islam were standing towards the back, while the guide and I were standing just above the driver and the guard.

All of a sudden, the jeep stopped. The driver and guide hushed us to silence. Only a couple of feet away was a rhino and it was not giving us very friendly looks. The reason was what was accompanying her – a baby rhino that looked only six months old. Now the rhino is not as pleasant tempered as the elephant, but not as unpleasant as the hippopotamus either. The rhino comes only third in size as a land animal after these two, but a mother rhino is probably something that the local tigers and leopards around fear too. Nothing can stop a rhino when it charges, not even the larger elephant or hippo – any wonder why the Rhino is supposedly the strongest of Spider-Man’s enemies?

For once, the girls resisted saying “Awww, cho chweet” at a baby. We all stood in silence and continued looking at the rhino. The dart gun suddenly looked very inadequate. Ten agonizing moments later, the rhino ambled away. It had looked dangerously close to charging once.

The rest of the safari suddenly appeared very tame in comparison. And since it was almost dark, we had to return to the resort. After a bath and a few pieces of pork ribs each, it was time for a few card games. Dinner was excellent – a chicken curry and prawns to go with the vegetarian thali. We retired for the night at around 10:30 pm, since we had an early day ahead of us.

Day Two

The best time to visit Kaziranga National Park is December and January. The park remains open from November to April. During the monsoons, the mighty Brahmaputra River bursts its banks, flooding the low-lying grasslands – causing all the animals to migrate deeper into the jungle. So we were making our visit during the best possible time.

I hate getting up in the morning till the sun has come out fully. Even though the sun comes out in Assam a full one and a half hours before it does in Delhi, 4:30 am is a positively indecent time to come out of the covers on a cold December morning. But I could not help it – the elephant safari was to depart at 5:15 am. There is a second safari an hour later, but unfortunately we had not got reservations in that one.

The enthusiastic conservationist Raja was full of beans early in the morning. Carol and Neel were looking as carefully conserved (read: made up) in the early morning as they had during the previous evening’s dinner. Which was as wonderful a sight to see as any rare bird! As for me, I was grumpy as hell, since I had to take a bath so early in the morning – entirely my fault since I can’t ever venture out without that ominous duty –but thank god for water heaters!

Just a cup of tea later, we set off for the Bagori stretch, which was about 8 kilometres away. There were a whole lot of people there, all looking as bleary eyed as us. The four of us seated our sleepy selves on one of the youngest elephants there: Neel in front, followed by me, followed by Carol and Raja at the rear. Islam had wisely decided that he had seen enough rhinos to last him a lifetime, and continued his beauty sleep in the dormitory where we had put him up.

Our elephant was called Laxmi, and she was the second elephant in the procession led by a huge male elephant which was carrying the armed guards and a couple of lucky teenagers. The moment we reached the wild grasslands, all the elephants started chomping merrily on the grass. We, who had not yet had any breakfast, were scowling in jealousy at their dietary fortune!

A few more deer spotted, lots of wild boar again, and then a huge herd of wild buffalos. A couple of wild elephants too, who wisely decided not to come too close to the huge procession of their tamed counterparts. Some four to five groups of two-three rhinos spotted some yards away. And then suddenly our elephant started bucking and moving away from the others!

The reason – a rhino too close for comfort, again a mother with a baby, though the baby was decidedly older than a year in age. This mother was looking more placid than the one we had encountered the previous day, largely because its baby was older and less vulnerable. But our elephant was too young – only four years old and in its first season on duty – so it was getting too nervous for the comfort of its passengers.

The mahout was trying his best to make the elephant come back to its senses, but all his pokes on Laxmi’s head were proving ineffective. And her restlessness was making the previously placid rhino look nervous too, and it was starting to stomp its feet. Carol and Neel were holding their breaths. We had felt a lot safer from the rhino on an elephant than in a small jeep, but had we fallen off the elephant, we would have had to face danger not only from the rhino but also from the feet of the elephants.

The leader of the elephants approached nearer, and the two guards started looking at their dart guns. But somehow the presence of the mighty male elephant calmed down the nervous Laxmi a bit, and the mahout was able to restore his control on her. The guards did not have to use their guns on either the elephant or the rhino – who soon lost interest and wandered off with her baby.

The rest of the safari passed too soon, and our only regret was that we did not get to see any tigers or leopards. Then back to the resort, for some well earned breakfast of puri-sabji, and bread and eggs. We decided to turn in a bit after the breakfast, since we needed to catch up on lost sleep and also because we would stay up late on the day, which just happened to be New Year’s Eve.

Kaziranga National Park happens to be a World Heritage Site, and two-thirds of the world’s Great One-horned Rhinoceroses live in the park. What is less known is that Kaziranga also has the highest density of tigers among all protected areas of the world. The park is recognized as having far greater success in wildlife conservation compared to other protected areas in India. The park covers four ranges – Kohora, Bagori, Agoratoli and the new Burapahar range.

After the siesta following the elephant safari, we were woken up by the resort people who wanted to know if we were interested in having the guarantee of seeing a tiger. Apparently a tiger had wandered into a swamp and was not able to get out. The forestry authorities were going to tranquilize the tiger and return it to its habitat, and we were asked if we wanted to go along. Without any hesitation whatsoever, we turned down the invitation. None of us wanted to see a proud animal in a hopelessly cornered and helpless state.

Instead we elected to visit the nearby tea gardens and waterfalls after lunch. The lunch special was a wonderful stewed mutton and a pigeon curry, and once again, the cooks had excelled themselves. After a leisurely round of cards, which Carol won, we felt energetic enough to venture out to the nearby tea gardens.

In no particular hurry to see any particular site, we wandered around on foot for nearly two and a half hours, each of us in our own worlds, busy communicating with Nature in the peaceful surrounds. A visit to the two waterfalls nearby brought an end to our walking tour.

It was dusk by the time we were back, and after some tea, we needed to figure out what to do for the New Year’s Eve celebrations. Drinking ourselves silly was of course on the cards, but where, when and how? Fortunately, the resourceful Islam had already made adequate plans in consultation with the resort manager. A wonderful bonfire was lit, and we settled ourselves around it.

The manager came up with a bottle of lau-paani, a potent local brew. It smelled too funny for the girls and me, so we elected to stick to the beer and port wine we had got along from Guwahati. The more adventurous Raja however decided to switch over from his favourite whisky to the lau-paani.

The resort manager had tasked one of his guys to tend the fire and do the honours for the drinks. The guy brought in some marinated potatoes and started roasting them in the fire. Then came the highlight of the evening – a whole duck which they had marinated the previous day at Islam’s prodding as soon as we had arrived at the resort. It was absolutely delicious, and I devoted myself whole heartedly to the cause of devouring it. So much so that I remained stone-cold sober when the New Year arrived. Reason being that I had neglected the beer and finished only two bottles of it in four hours while remaining steadfast at the task of finishing the duck.

After the mandatory New Year wishes to each other and to all and sundry, it was time for dinner. This time, the special was duck curry and some dry pork. After eating so much duck, we did a rather poor job of finishing our dinner, which was once against exemplary. But Islam more than made up for our neglect, as he had worked up a furious appetite by joining the bihu dancers who had come to entertain the guests at the resort when the bonfires had been lit at 8 pm.

It was now one hour in to 2008, and it was time to go to bed. With the thought that it was by far and far the best New Year’s Eve I had ever had in my life.

Day Three

It was almost 10 am on the first day of the New Year when we finally were ready for a delicious breakfast of aloo-paratha and French Toast – the latter no doubt a concession to Carol’s French origin. After breakfast, we set out for the Agoratoli range for yet another safari – this time a boat safari.

Kaziranga National Park is recognised as an Important Bird Area by Birdlife International for conservation of avifaunal species. Located on the edge of the Eastern Himalaya biodiversity hotspot, the park combines high-species diversity and visibility.

We passed through a local Mising village on the way, where the tribal populace still leads a very traditionally agrarian existence. Many bumps on the rude roads later, we reached the place where two extremely flimsy boats were tugging at their stays.

Now the Brahmaputra is by far the longest river of India, and it also happens to be the most dangerous, since it is the swiftest too. In fact, the only reason you can’t call this river white waters was because the waters are a muddy brown all 12 months of the year – since the current drags so much silt on its way. And it happened to be our desire to go through such a mighty river on such a flimsy boat!

Carol and I were the only ones who were expert swimmers; Neel was a complete neophyte while Raja and Islam were only beginners. But if it was adventure we wanted, we had to brave the rapids. And this time we were accompanied not by armed guards but by two wiry locals who assured us that they were expert swimmers.

We perched on top of the roof that covered the proper seats and set off looking for dolphins and birds. Kaziranga National Park is a birding paradise: a huge number of migratory birds descend on the parks lakes and marshy areas during winters – including greylag geese, bar-headed geese, ruddy shelduck, gadwall, falcated duck, red-crested pochard and northern shoveller.

As we chugged along, we saw many a bird – including the oriental honey buzzard, black-shouldered kite, black kite, brahminy kite, pallas fishing eagle, white tailed eagle, and grey-headed fishing eagle. Each time however we thought we saw a dolphin, it turned out to be yet another log carried along by the swirling waters.

Suddenly we heard a crashing sound. Before we could react, the four of us had fallen off the roof and smashed into the planks that were at the bottom. Islam had been saying something to Raja a moment before, he had turned for a second to see what he thought was a dolphin. And when he looked back, he saw that there was no one else on the roof with him. For a second, he thought something supernatural had happened, and the very next moment, he heard the girls screaming.

I had been sitting on the left-most part of the roof, with Raja next to me, followed by Carol, and Neel at the extreme right. When we fell down, Raja smashed into the planks, and Carol and I fell on top of him. Neel had fallen on top of Carol. The generous bulk of Raja had cushioned the whole of Carol, but Neel’s weight on top of her body caused her to hurt her back rather badly. Neel had hurt her own legs and sprained her wrists too.

And as for me, the right side of my body was perfectly safe but my left side, which did not have the benefit of the cushioning provided by Raja’s generous proportions, was aching all over. I had bruised my left hand, my left shin, and my left shoulder. And miracle of miracles, nothing had happened to Raja, even after having two people fall on top of him!

The boat had hit a sandbank, and had therefore stopped so abruptly. The conservationist in Raja had stopped me from lighting up so far in the forest area, but now I had had enough, and had to light up to calm my nerves. The fun had suddenly gone flying out of the window. But after a while, when we realized there was to be no lasting ill-effects, we all relaxed – but did not go back on top of the roof!

On the way back by boat, the girls did manage to see a dolphin, but by the time they had pointed it to us, it had already disappeared. The drive back to the lodge, and from there to Guwahati after paying all our dues there, was entirely uneventful. A day later, I said goodbye to my three friends (and my hundred and three relatives) in Guwahati, and took the evening flight back to Delhi.

And so I had to leave Kaziranga without having seen a dolphin. Or a tiger or a leopard too, for that matter. But no regrets – I had had enough adventures and thrills to last me a lifetime. Or at least to last me till the time I visited Manas National Park the next time I planned to go to Assam.

Never Sleepless in India

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 05:50:35 +0000

The old joke about adoption being the height of laziness does the rounds of my mind each time anyone talks about the modern-day panacea – the Viagra Pill. My meddling mind wanders to the Biblical injunction against the deadly sin. No, no, I am not referring here to the sin of Lust. What I am alluding to is another of the Seven Deadly Sins – that of Sloth. Or plain laziness, if you prefer a simpler term.

Unlike my illustrious grandfather (who industriously ran our family chemical industry and oversaw the working of our family farm till the day his 90-year-old body gave up the ghost), or his equally worthy son, my sire (who doubles up as our plumber-cum-carpenter-cum-electrician-cum-mechanic-cum-odd-jobman even at almost 65), I am an extremely lazy individual. Maybe it was just the caprice of Mother Nature, but by the time it was my turn, my ancestral legacy of industrious capacity had exhausted itself.

I sleep (my daily quota of ten hours) in the same jeans and tee shirt I wear to office, because it is too much of an effort to change into any shorts or pajamas at night. I prefer poached eggs for breakfast, because it is too much effort to make omelettes or to boil the eggs – you have to chop onions for the former, and remove the shells to eat the latter). In the old days before office lunches took care of the problem, I used to have Maggi for lunch and dinner. Not because I liked it (in fact I detested it), but because it is too much hard work cooking even the rudimentary khichdi. And as you must have guessed, anything that requires effort is an anathema to my sensitive soul.

Unlike me, Neel is no Accident of Nature. She is, as she claims, the culmination of centuries of effort (in avoiding any sort of effort) on the part of 17 generations of the honourable family. This pinnacle of sloth, the marvelous end product of impeccable evolution, has Rip Van Winkle as her revered idol. Neel claims that her four-hours-a-day afternoon siestas are not indicative of any deep-rooted idleness – they just reflect her fervent belief in the principle of conversation of energy. And why does she need to conserve her energy, you may well ask. With a gentle smile playing on her face, she will reply: so that she can prepare for her twelve-hour nightly sleep with great gusto!

Glass Bangles

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 10:07:02 +0000

Still silence
Black infinite
No moonbeams
Wet grass blades
Speak softly
Of Gardens Secret.
No rosebuds
No ornaments
Broken bangles
Pieces of glass
Small window
No sunrays.
Wake alone
Lingering smell
Sweet nightmares
Wailing songbirds
Cry Separation.

Dating Advice

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 11:16:46 +0000

Dating Advice number 1: Never admit your inexperience to a date.

Feb 14, 1993 – My first experience of this unique cultural phenomena. Till then, I used to think that Valentine’s Day is the birth or death anniversary of former Hollywood heartthrob Rudolph Valentino. My very first kiss too – and when the girl asked me how was it, I replied “Wet”. No need to tell you that was the last kiss she bestowed on me. Even though I was not eating onions or garlic that day. I tell you, girls are really funny. Needless to say, that was the only date I ever had with her.

Dating Advice number 2: Never take your date to a deathly place.

Feb 14, 1996 – My first real Valentine’s Day date. I had bought a second-hand scooter just a week before. I decided to take her on a long drive, which was fine enough. But I had decided that the stopovers would be at Raj Ghat and Humayun Tomb, which was not-so-fine. Apparently, tombs are not very romantic places. How would I know that, when the greatest monument to love is supposed to be Taj Mahal, a mausoleum? Net result – I did not receive any kisses – wet or dry (or dry-cleaned for that matter). And that was the only Valentine’s I ever had with her.

Dating Advice number 3: Never take your date to a public place.

Feb 14, 1999 – My first real “expensive” Valentine’s Day date. I had just started working, so I could afford a decent date. I took her to the Taj Palace disco “My Kind of Place”. Things were fine as long as they were playing fast numbers – I managed not to step on her toes too many times. And then they started playing slow numbers, and disaster struck. Afraid that I would seem a creep if I stayed holding her too close for too long, I wished to try a few variations on the steps. I twirled her – and her hands slipped from mine. The rest of her slipped too – and landed publicly on her bum! Obviously, that was the only time she went out with me again.

Dating Advice number 4: Never take your date to a private place.

Feb 14, 2002 – My first real candle-light Valentine’s Day date. I had planned minutely, ordering kebabs to have with the wine I had bought. The most romantic music ready on the player. And my best chicken recipe for the dinner which I wanted to cook for her with my own fair and lovely hands. After half an hour or so, I light the scented candles, and put on slow numbers. I remind myself not to twirl her around and not to think of tombs. And then we need to rush to the kitchen to see how the dream dish is turning out to be. We both smell something burning, and we look at the chicken. The chicken is fine, so what is burning? We go to the bed – no need to stop reading and blush. We just grab the burning sheets and rush outside to prevent the fire from spreading. We had knocked over the candles while dancing, it seems. There is no loss of life or property – only a terrible loss of image and passion. But needless to say, that was the only time she ever came to my room.

Dating Advice number 5: Never take your date to a romantic place.

Feb 14, 2005 – My first real international Valentine’s Day date. I had planned to ask her to marry me, and had booked a weekend rendezvous in Maldives as the venue for popping the question. After two days of swimming, snorkeling and lazing around in the closest thing to paradise I have ever been in, it is time for THE dinner date. We both order some seriously expensive wine. After dinner is over, we both sit down on two towels near the water with what is left of the wine. We talk for some time, and then sit in a companionable silence. I do not look her in the eye as I broach THE topic, and since she does not say “yes” immediately, I continue talking nervously, outlining why I think we would make the perfect couple. Even after 15 minutes of non-stop self-marketing, she does not say a single word. So I turn to her – and find her fast asleep. Or dead drunk, whatever it was. That was the moment our relationship started going downhill, because I had to drag her uphill. I left her in the room, and went for a long swim to think things over. I am still thinking as to why I am so bad at thinking.

Dating Advice number 6: Never take your love online.

Feb 14, 2008 – My first virtual Valentine’s Day date. I meet and fall in love with someone I never met in real life. After countless romantic mails and chats, I set up a first meeting with “RedLady24”. I turn up at dinner with a red rose, and offer it to ……………………

…………………………..to someone who is not a 24-year-old lady, but is wearing red for sure. A shocking red faux fur and wig abomination that cannot hide his chest hair and bald pate.

Taare Zameen Par

Arnab Kumar Choudhury — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 06:47:10 +0000

Actors: Darsheel Safary, Aamir Khan, Tisca Chopra, Tanay Cheda, Sachet Engineer, Vipin Sharma
Director and Producer: Aamir Khan
Writer: Amole Gupte
Music: Shankar Mahadevan, Ehsaan Noorani, Loy Mendonsa
Cinematography: Setu
Editor: Deepa Bhatia
Released: December 2007

Taare Zameen Par heralds the birth of a top-notch filmmaker. To choose a story that’s a far cry from the mundane stuff requires courage and conviction, and to execute it with panache requires talent. Aamir Khan shows that he possesses all three in abundance. Ostensibly a film about children with special needs and their problems in fitting in, Taare Zameen Par becomes the story of any and every child who is being robbed of his childhood by insensitive parents and teachers who believe in the rat race.

Little Ishaan (Darsheel Safary) is all at sea when it comes to his books, but has a superb imagination. His dad wants Ishaan to be like his older brother Yohaan, who is a winner. When things come to a head, Ishaan is packed off to a boarding school. Far away from home and family, the otherwise lively Ishaan withdraws into a shell and refuses to participate in anything whatsoever. And it is up to his art teacher Ram Shankar Nikumbh (Aamir) to bring the boy out of his shell.

Aamir Khan deserves all the kudos for extracting an exemplary performance from the kid and for handling the plot with supreme sensitivity. Aamir takes the courageous decision to place the story on Ishaan’s shoulders right from the start, making his acting entry just before the interval. And not once do you feel that the kid doesn’t have the acting prowess to keep your attention arrested. His interaction with his stern father, doting mother and lovable brother is straight out of life.

What lifts Taare Zameen Par above the ordinary is its very simplicity and sensitivity. Amole Gupte’s story is beautiful and sensitive. Setu’s cinematography is mesmerising. Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s music and Prasoon Joshi’s lyrics are superb – Maa and the title track are just perfect. Deepa Bhatia’s editing is first rate. The animation and visual effects are fantastic.

But ultimately the film belongs to young Darsheel Safary. He comes up with a performance that’s impeccable, flawless and astounding. And fully deserves that fact that he gets top billing above the superstar himself. Aamir and Tisca Chopra (as the mother) are both outstanding. Tanay Cheda (as Ishaan’s friend Rajan) and Sachet Engineer (as the elder brother) are both excellent. Vipin Sharma (Ishaan’s father) has the thankless role of playing the closest thing the movie has to a villain, and he hams it up.

The only tiny flaw in the movie is that after being against the concept of competition all through, it ends with the child winning a competition himself. But what other way would you have it – the story screams out for a happy end. Ultimately, you owe it to yourself to watch this film, and shed a tear or two in the darkness of the theatre.