home truths

after a looong time, this weekend, we decided to bite the bullet and go out shopping. we are not adventurous. we are old. we have plenty of things in our home. we are not averse to wearing shirts with funnily frayed collars. we have high tolerance for shoes that bite. our weekly needs are - milk, veggies, fruits, rice, veggies, veggies. these things are available in plenty within a five minute walking radius of the home. so we don't go out in the weekends at all, hang out at home and buy our veggies from the corner gaadi (where gaadi aunty refers to me as 'bacchi' even while her sons stare jealously at the husband carrying beer bottles in a bag).

our previous household needs such as our furniture, the baby crib and baby this or that were all bought in a store nearby, about a half hours drive away. back in those days (some four years ago now), we used to have the enthu to wake up, eat breakfast, make lunch, go out and shop, come back and eat lunch, and so on, on weekends. recently, the thought of such an outing makes us tired and crabby and we yell at each other about why one should wake up so early on a weekend and why one should sleep so late every weekend, respectively (you figure who is yelling what!).

since that long ago shopping spree, malls have sprung up left, right, center and in other similar directions, as well. we hear of this or that one from others. we have been taken aback by some humongous malls that we encountered on our way to a cousin's house in new bombay. people tell us of steals of deals they got on this or that, here or there. we nod sagely and say 'yeah we never went to that one, should go check it out sometime' right.

i have been a few times with my mom, child in tow. once we got tired in fifteen minutes. the noise. the crowds. the security guards in uniform. american corn. we fled. i went one other time alone (with the child). determined like crazy to get two things that were desperately needed (or so i thought). i hung in there and bought those things and we came out with semblances of smiles and got in the car and talked about our big adventure for days...

so it was with apprehension that we head out on sunday (which is absolutely the worst day to shop in these parts). the crowds were out in droves. people were in full sunday finery. i carried just a small juice carton for the monster, having decided to eat there. the husband went to the boys suit place. there were racks and racks of blue cloth for shirts. he picked some of them. they all looked the same, and pretty much like the ones he already has, frayed collars notwithstanding. so i walked out to find some of these funky crocs for the monster. i found them in pink, yellow, and black. the pink was rejected because it said 'sport' in the front, and obviously, it was a fake croc (how does she identify such things, i am such a fruit-cake, i swear i had no idea, thought she would totally go for the pink). the yellow was accepted, and the black was forced upon her (ha, they are also fakes at 195 rupees a pop, so there, little girl). the husband came back after the tailor had exclaimed at the immense length of his arms, feeling rather proud since they had to cut extra cloth for the long hands (and the french cuff of the shirt). he managed to convince me that wearing bata waterproof black sandals with white weird looking circles on top (acupressure madam), was just too much. i got tempted and bought some sandals that he insisted look good. thankfully i avoided the ones that were just slightly big for me though he and the store guy were sure it was ok. last time i got convinced like that my mom complained to everyone who would hear and swore she would throw them in the trash (after they got real ratty and started shedding black flaky things). i avoided that cleverly this time, and still emerged with something decent that fit well and did not cost a bomb. at least not much of a bomb for a chick, at some six hundred.

and that was it. i had made a list two weeks ago of things i needed to buy. the husband took that piece of paper out of my bag and wrote some directions on it and subsequently threw it away. so i forgot half the things i was sure i desperately needed. the shirts and the footwear made it, the monster's because the previous pair bites like crazy (though it was favoured as it matches her jacket, and, the bestest friend of all wears the same thing in a larger size). we were a bit crabby by then. the husband showed this by saying something like 'why do you pick up things without bar-codes? it delays the check-out process, dont you know that?' i retorted with, 'the store person gave it to me, she should know, go tell her.'

we decided to give lunch a shot. every place said there was a forty five minute wait. people waited patiently. we had shopped, for goodness sake. so we hit a creepy looking dosa place. hoping it had south indian cooks. it was one of those funky chinese manchurian dosa type things where the waiters wear yellow hats. we were thoroughly annoyed at everything. the monster was beginning to grate, with her tendency to lick this or that, kick off her sandals, chew for too long, and ask something about everything, and the tendency to say 'i dont know' to anything we asked her back. somehow reined in the tempers, consumed an appallingly bad set of dosas and curd rice and thought, hey, we are in the mall. it must have a multiplex.

of course we are well aware of the multiplex in this mall, my husband having unsuccessfully tried to lure me into movies in the past. he expected to be given the same answer this time. but i was feeling a bit, teeny weeny bit, chilled out after the rice and mcdowell's bottled water (wtf?). so i said, ok, lets do it. we go there, check out what movies are playing and go to whatever is on in the near future, i said, brightly and bravely.

ok but no random bollywood things, such as movies having emraan hashmi, i said.
ok, nothing with priyanka chopra in it, he said.
nothing with new people as heros and heroines, i said.
something hollywood would be ok, he said.
no, that would be painful, unless its a chick flick, i said.
no chick flicks, he said.

anyway we paid up and went to stare at the ticket counter screens displaying to the minute details of the availabilities, net grossed amount in jharkhand, and the date of release of the telugu translation.

three movies were available (dont remember their titles very well):
1. a priyanka chopra starrer. yes, that one with the red hair and pink backpack. rejected.
2. a new hero-heroine flick where the girl wore white clips in her hair, similar to what the monster wears in matching colours. rejected.
3. a rani mukherjee saif ali khan movie based loosely on mary poppins, sound of music, and hum hain rahi pyaar ke (!). it had ameesha (formerly known as that irritating patel girl who gets to get close to hrithik roshan and wear his shirts). rejected.

oh well, we cannot possibly tolerate three hours of random bollywood crap. he said.
yeah, these are too bad. could have managed that akshaye khanna thing perhaps. i said.
how do people handle priyanka chopra. he said.
do you like vidya balan, i find her very annoying. i said.
oh, are jealous since she has these ads with madhavan. he said. (very true maddy rocks)

so yeah, truth is that despite my careful browsing of mumbai mirror and bombay times and so on, i cannot actually tolerate watching a movie in a theater. same with him. we are old. we are intolerant. we have unreasonable expectations of our fellow mumbai dwellers (i.e. movie stars and the like). we are not even convinced we can tolerate a kamal hassan extravaganza any more. we have no energy except to drink beers and watch desultory amounts of television and fold our clothes while at it. and, we need to outsource our shopping. willing to draw feet on a piece of paper and give it whoever will agree to buy footwear...

An Unlikely Thing

A most unlikely thing for this place here in the sun that I have with my name on it is, yes, you guessed it right, a movie review. Of sorts. Laments about my life you have heard ad-nauseam. Lists of things and revelations you have seen countless times. But except for brief exceptions made for Chak De & Sivaji, movie stuff is unlikely here. You will rightly guess that I am not a big fat huge movie buff despite the fact that I moved all the way from Massachusetts to Mumbai hoping that living in Mumbai would enable me to meet and hang out with Salman Khan (of all the Khans!).

Bombay to Bangkok, I subsequently realised, is a Nagesh Kukunoor effort. I was on a flight to Delhi. A nice two hour stretch. The Air Premiere was announced in splashy ads everywhere. The Zee channels were south of the AP channel. My last exposure to a movie was also on a long flight, and that being Bhool Bhulaiya, you would think I would have been scarred for life. But somehow I plugged in (can never seem to work the head phones properly, my ears are way too small) and, seeing Shreyas Talpade running around, decided to give it a shot.

I returned the same day, and since the flight is just a tad shorter than the movie itself, again missed the very last five minutes. Yes, I watched it AGAIN on my way back. Seriously, I liked it.

Story-shory we will not worry about. Its obvious in the title. Bombay are there. Bangkok are there. People go from here to there. Some romance occurs. Some intrigue. One song-dance thing. The gangster dude is just immensely cute & hilarious, I mean, chest hair notwithstanding. His rap segments are quite interesting. The whole falling-in-love business of his is totally endearing. Shreyas Talpade (a cook-cum-hero-cum-pretend-doc) is not playing cricket or wearing loud-collared coats in this one, but he is still a spontaneous actor, too bad he has a dark Rajnikanth-ish look about him (I am assuming that that look will not work for anyone else). His self-deprecatory mental asides worked well, and I was especially impressed with his ability to say Bhatwadekar unfailingly funnily. That he should fall in love with a porcelain-skinned Thai prostitute girl was something I did not expect, having been brought up with mainstream cinema, I kept waiting for the desi heroine to appear sometime. Hero-heroine ride a scooter, and there is a trasition somewhere that I recognise. She drives the scooter. Good. He sits straight in the back initially. Their adventures take them through a day and a night. The next day, when, clearly, they are in love or something close to that, he is not sitting so straight anymore. Leaning in, the heads almost aligned. Yes, I recognise that transition. It happens. The sardarji is also quite cute, despite being enormously fat.

The movie is nice, simple, and cute. Everyone in the movie is extremely like-able, no one grates on the nerves particularly. Now that is saying a lot in this time and age, especially when one has tolerated Manini De in Krish...

Kids, Dolphins, Psmith & so on

That was my Sunday. In the morning, we hung out with our friendly neighbourhood reality check, discovered that children (aged 6) are: (a) capable of untold cruelty & (b) great as companions because they are learning to read and will do so patiently. I resisted the urge to involve the girls in 'activities' although I had a chocolate box, some sparkly things, fevicol, and tons of coloured craft paper, all raring to go. We told stories, read books, and ate a sandwich.

In between I was plowing into Mike & PSmith. After my discussions, I ran to the library in a frenzy and was embarassed when the guy grabbed away a book insisting its for sale, and please madam look in this rack to borrow. Then I embarassed myself more by transposing digits in my membership number. Anyhow, home now with said book safely borrowed (alongside, Clifford the Big Red Dog; Berenstein Bears, and Donald Duck - the first two make interesting reading).

Mike & Psmith
An early novel. They are still at school. They have just been moved out of respective respectable institutions to a small public school called Sedleigh. There is a fair bit of cricket - I discovered a one-day game could be played as a test, meaning with each team batting twice. Wow! Psmith just totally rocks. I was just thinking hey, he sounds more dandy-ish than usual when he neatly redeemed himself (I love sports you know) with cricket later in the book. I guess if you read this before the newer books you may not be as impressed. But in context, a fan of Psmith will lap this one up. There is a dog called Sammy who I recommend watching out for. There is a proclaimed 'keen' ness about the Sedleigh that leads to many hilarious situations. Psmith (who is still referring to all as 'Comrade so and so') is ... Oh enough of my raptures, I am sure enterprising people can find the e-book; I might myself just buy the book I have just borrowed (such things are allowed in my special library).

Dolphins
The IMAX dome is one of my favourite places to go to. Not that I am trying hard to make an educational experience for child or anything. Not so noble. Its just that the type of shows they have there are so damn inspiring. A bunch of people doing what they love, following their passion, climbing the Everest a week after they get married; swimming with dolphins in the Caribbean; prowling through Sub-Saharan Africa, the sort of things I imagine as my calling in life, as opposed to currently what it is. All at Rs. 99/- So we trooped down, it was amazing, the blue waters, the thirty odd species of dolphins, their speech (clicks, whistles, chirps), their feeding (in a definite pattern, taking turns), their dance (what grace for a creature so big). The movie did well in skimming soon over the Orlando type dolphin situations directly to the wild ones in Argentina and so on. Sting was singing the songs. Pierce Brosnan was narrating. Awesome!!

And in the afternoon, with her safely asleep, I caught about an hour of Partner. Govinda is too funny, despite being so damn fat.