Random Expressions turns five today. I accept this post should have been longer and more introspective. But time is not on my side. And sheepishly, I admit there is a bit of laziness too.

Still, like last year, I had to wish my dear blog its due wishes. I have been slow and awfully intermittent in posting here, but this place holds immense emotional value. Even when I am not writing, I often come here and read old posts and comments. They are a treasure I cherish.

So to all loyal readers – a huge Thank You. And to all new ones – Welcome Aboard.

God bless!

Monday morning, and I was ready on time. Congratulating myself, I sipped the orange juice contentedly while checking email on my mobile. I sat on a slender but comfortable cane chair, with my back to the window that opens onto the small and cute balcony, a rarity in Mumbai flats. Outside the week expanded out in its soothing routine- a raddiwala cycled past asking for old newspapers, a wife bade goodbye to her husband, a neighbor admonished the car-cleaner to wash his car first, hurried footsteps rattled down the stairs, a few birds chirped, a car honked, an auto stuttered, a couple of security guards chattered animatedly.

I glanced at my watch, exited the email menu and gulped the last of the juice. Getting up, I placed the mobile on my top pocket, picked up the empty glass and with my other free hand, I inserted the little finger in my left ear to clear an irritation I felt.

Plop!

Everything faded into silence. Or rather smothered by a dreary drone. It took a few seconds to comprehend the full impact. My left ear seemed blocked as if someone had shoved in a huge ball of cotton. The right one was fine. I would have ignored it, but the blockage’s irritation swept aside any sense of patience. I understood what had happened- ear wax must have got pushed into the canal.

Hurriedly, I dropped the empty glass into the kitchen sink, grabbed the laptop, swooped on the car keys and rushed out of home.

There is a chemist shop right below my apartment building. It usually opens early but today for some strange reason grim shutters greeted me.

I ran to my car, with the irritating blocked ear heavily feeling like a lead earring. I knew of a 24 hour chemist shop half a kilometre away.

Not trusting the volume of my own voice, I whispered for ear buds.

Back in the car, I ripped open the box, and pulled out an ear bud, while quickly reading the warning and instructions on the wrapper.

The buds provided no relief. I had to see a doctor!

While swiftly typing a ‘ I will be late ‘ sms to my boss, I tried to recall where I had seen a signage of an ENT specialist. I couldn’t remember. I slowly drove down the road, taking in all the doctor boards, ignoring the irritated horns of irate drivers behind me, the upside being I couldn’t really hear them in full blast.

Lots of dentists, a few general practitioners, a couple of gynaecs, but I couldn’t find any ENT specialist.

I stopped at another chemist and asked for one. He gave the address of a doctor, not far off, but with the Metro construction on in full swing, and the traffic at its peak hour, it took me an arduous fifteen-minutes to reach. Only to be met by a cheerless receptionist, eating sprouted dal, sitting in an eerily empty office.

‘I wish to see the doctor,’ I said.

‘He’s not in. He will come at 11.30′ she replied with a more than obvious disinterest in her job. She wouldn’t care or bother if he never came.

My heart sank.

‘Is there any other ENT doctor nearby’

Clearly this didn’t go down well with her. Curtly she said, ‘Idea nahi hai’ and went back to her sprouted dal.

Dejected, I stepped out. Opposite, there was an obesity clinic, and an eager looking youngster viewed me hopefully. Sorry buddy, I’m not your client. Not yet, at least.

Thereafter, for next one hour, my search for a suitable doctor began. Actually, not suitable. Any doctor.

Downed shutters and similar looking dour receptionists gave me similar answers.

What the hell??!? Don’t doctors wake up early here? Are they like just any other businessmen opening their shops at a leisurely pace. Mine was a small problem, but what if I had a genuinely serious emergency? I would have been dead by the time I found a medico in his shop…err, clinic. And it wasn’t that early either. It was nearing 10.30, dammit. And surely, dentist and cosmetic dentistry is damn lucrative business seeing the number of available clinics in this supposedly posh colony. I reckon, the rich have their own set of diseases. And convenient timings when they get afflicted.

Angry and frustrated, I started for office, with the faint hope of stopping en route at a newly inaugurated (by Amitabh Bachchan, no less) multi-speciality hospital and finding an ENT surgeon there at least. If not, any doctor would do who could fish out the damn wax obstinately stuck in the ear and giving immense discomfort.

I had shot this picture sometime last year, perhaps on my first visit to the monument since shifting to Mumbai. (Currently it is undergoing renovations)

Somehow, after all that has happened, it seems an apt picture to put up – of Mumbai’s most famous monument standing tall and proud, despite being witness to a brutally painful attack last week.

Yes, Mumbai is back to normal. As much as it can be.

Like the film by a similar title (incidentally, a brilliant one on terrorism) Mumbai witnessed a terrifying Wednesday as ten of its most prominent locations came under terrorist seige.

Unlike the film, this was for real. And it didn’t end on that day. Even as I type this, nearly thirty two hours later, the drama continues – which shows the thorough and shrewd planning and preparedness the attackers had.

My heart cries for the criminal waste of innocent lives, as it bleeds for the unnecessary desecration of Taj Hotel’s beauty.

Frankly, I am quite at loss for words and feelings. I had expressed my anguish over the Delhi blasts. The same anguish is manifold now.

When will this mayhem end?

And I don’t mean just this one particular operation. I mean this alarming regularity of terror attacks.

I am not a gadget freak – though when I get one I love to explore all its functions- but the point I want to make is that usually I don’t crave to own the new machine that hits the electronic store.

For months my mobile phone has been an object for derisive jokes amongst friends than one that Mr. Bell actually intended when he conceptualised the cell phone’s grandfather. One, the instrument was considerably worn out, and extremely old by tech-standards. I learnt recently that the hot model I had purchased three years back (in Nepal) was not only obsolete but also a discontinued series by the manufacturer. Two, it showed classic signs of old age – work at an excruciatingly painful pace and regularly go off into an amnesiatic dose, which in computer and mobile phone lingo is called ‘hanging’.

Despite the silly jokes I held on to that piece pretty loyally. That’s because I used it for my personal connection and I hardly get any calls on that number. On a rough estimate, I can confidently vouch the ratio of telemarketing calls to actual calls would be 80:20. So why pour money into buying an asset that would hardly justify its existence, especially in these tough recessionary times?  

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For those readers who loved and adored Dil To Pagal Hai‘s music (and I am one staunch fan), here is a superb treat in store for you:

Yashraj Music recently released a collection of love duets which includes one hitherto unreleased song. Though, on the jacket sleeve, they do not mention the film for which it was recorded, but one hear, and you know it for sure. The DTPH theme is there in the second interlude, and the tune of ‘Arre re arre’ in the second one.

The mukhda goes:

Kitni hai beqaraar yeh, chanda ki chandni
Kahti hai kar lo pyaar yeh, chanda ki chandni

(Singers – Lata Mangeshkar, Kumar Sanu; Music – Uttam Singh)

A close hear reveals the song to be the original for ‘Chaand ne kuchh kaha…pyaar kar’ (the track that comes on Valentine’s night, amidst bright red balloons). In fact, structurally both songs are similar, down to the interlude movements. Though, honestly, I was a bit surprised to find Kumar Sanu since all other songs of the film were rendered by Udit Narayan.

It is a delight to hear Lata Mangeshkar’s breezy rendition. She is splendid in the breezy track, that has some riveting beats and orchestration. In fact, it is an unparalleled happiness to obtain a fresh song from the diva. My excitement was so supreme that my hands trembled as I put on the CD.

This compilation is titled – ‘ Tum Paas Aa Rahe Ho ‘ (picked up from the ‘bonus’ song of Veer Zaara, which opens this CD) & contains 14 love songs. For more details on the album click here.

For the song’s television promo click here.

Now, if only other producers/music companies would loosen up all those unreleased Lata Mangeshkar numbers…starting, of course, with JP Dutta and his two recorded songs of the now-shelved Sarhad.

Bombay has enveloped itself into so many myths that it took me a year to finally break them free. Often I would reprimand myself for not believing them. These myths & tales are not written anywhere, they are perpetrated and spread by people living here, or those who would have visited the city sometime in its past.

Today, these are my observations:

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A colleague’s chance remark brought back memories of the once-upon-a-time ubiquitous vinyl records. And then I read an article which claimed that vinyl records had a ‘warm’ sound. Voila, how true! As I dived into my hazy memory, I felt those words extremely true.

That was it. The urge to own one again started.

For those who were born this side of the nineties, vinyl records were standard music storage formats, till about the eighties when the audio-cassettes took over. They were often called ‘long-playing records’ or simply LP’s (there were smaller versions too, which carried just the ‘singles’). In a way (and in an uncanny genetical resemblance as well) they were the grand-dads to compact-discs.

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They ravaged Delhi – arguably one of India’s most beautiful cities and also my hometown – once again in a deadly deathly manner. Five blasts ripped asunder a quiet Saturday evening, two of which incised through its throbbing heart – Connaught Place and its breathtakingly beauteous (newly opened) Central Park.

These are not mere names. For me, Barakhamba Road, Connaught Place, Central Park, Karol Bagh et al, are not far off places read about in the papers or stories. Every inch, every pavement, every side-walk there contains my life’s indelible memories. In Gopaldass Bhawan (Barakhamba Road, the site near which one of the bomb’s blasted) I did my first job. Ghaffar Market (Karol Bagh, the second site) is where my friend and I bought those cheap imitation designer shirts, when money was tight but ambition was loose. In fact, in his house there have spent many a drunken reverly filled evenings. My parents and I spent a lovely new year’s eve last year at the Central Park.

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In another world and time, a trip to Europe would have meant a detailed blog-entry. But I am back already after a packed week travelling in trams and trains of Austria and Germany (with a short detour into Hungary), and it’s a week already, and I haven’t even thought of updating this space. Nay, even there, while viewing and visiting those lovely gardens and castles and palaces (and yeah, a slice of their night-life), I didn’t ‘think’ of how it would end up as a post. Perhaps, it was better then. At least, I ‘saw’ and ‘felt’ more, because I knew I had to convey it all to the readers.

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Well, not so much ‘meeting’ as it is ‘seeing’ him.

But to think & imagine, that I’d ever be in the same room as the author I have adored, revered and often emulated, was – till a few days back – beyond thought and imagination. My excitement began building up the day I read he was in India, and it reached its zenith when I learnt he’d be visiting Landmark, the bookstore, just a few blocks away from where I live, on 20th May 2008.

In fact, in my eagerness I went to the store a day earlier than his scheduled visit only to return obviously disappointed. After all, that day was a holiday and I could reach on time. I had to twist my schedule a bit to make sure I reached on the 20th, which I surely did, but still thanks to the awful Mumbai traffic and a fire-fighting item that took up some talk-time, I reached the venue a bit late.

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God bless Juhi Chawla! The actor keeps getting more beautiful by each passing day. The grace & maturity with which she has handled age & motherhood is a rare phenomena in our industry. Not only is she looking absolutely stunning, she has also retained her inherent charm & elegance in a variety of understated (& often seemingly effortless) performances. And look the way she has carefully shifted gears from your usual heroine roles without compromising on either quality or quantity and yet not stuck in the mother/bhabhi/sister routine stuff (Bas Ek Pal, My Brother Nikhil, Jhankar Beats are some of her excellent post-marriage roles). Kudos, Juhi – you rock, and in Bhoothnath, your unobtrusive young-mother act is another shimmering example of how you can remain in the background yet ooze your presence…just like a mother in an average household!

In this film, she reveals yet another facet of her personality- that of being a very very competent singer. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that she has rendered the female portions of ‘Chalo jaane do ab chhodo bhi’ .

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There is absolutely no harm in showing attitude. This year’s top hit Race had oodles of it. Problem happens when there is no substance to support the style. Tashan – like Musafir – fails because the sexy swaggers and svelte styles has no back up in sense of script or soul. Leave soul aside, it even eschews a coherent story-line.

There is also no harm in simulating the seventies/eighties drama and melodrama and package it to suit the current sensibilities. After all, a sizeable audience slice still lives in the hinterland who feel alienated from the current trends. And dammit, we – the generation born in seventies – are not dead or transported to some other planet. We live too! So why not give us once in a while the kind of films we grew up with!

Farah Khan has delivered two bumper hits – Mai Hoon Na (a film I hated) and Om Shanti Om ( a flick I enjoyed) – keeping all those ingredients of the past painstakingly preserved ( in MHN, when the mother sobs in the climax, ‘ Mujhe mere dono bete zinda chahiye’ it was such a shining harkback to Nirupa Roy’s motherhood that wetted many a screens in the seventies) but gloriously packaged. There is a way of doing things and conjoining the two largely differing eras. There are films and then there are films. While OSO showed how to do it, Tashan spells out how not to do it!

Tashan is essentially a seventies/eighties film crash-landed into the new millenium and just doesn’t know what it really wants to be!

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I have nothing against the prolifiration of reality shows on Indian sattelite channels. After all, everyone will try to encash on a successful formula – and frankly, if people are watching, what’s wrong in it?

It’s the lack of creativity & innovation within this genre that gets on the nerves. When one channel starts a kid-hunt show, all of them round up tiny tots in different size & shapes to croon those essentially-adult numbers (admittedly, watching a barely into-teens youngster extolling about burnt beedis and raving about kajra-re eyes is a wee bit discomforting). Why can’t the channels sit together and time their shows differently – at least, the audience will get a wider variety, and perhaps, help the channels garner better TRP’s in the long run.

The current flavor is getting dadajis and dadajis and mummyjis and daddyjis to shake their collective left feet in a ‘family dance show’. Worse, the format & the judges’ comments & the scoring model (and then that urge to vote, vote and more vote) is typically the same in all such shows. I haven’t watched any. But I believe the one with Kajol and family is doing good. Strangely, Kajol (despite being one of my most favorite stars of the nineties generation and one who has starred in most of my favorite films) has the dubious distinction of acting in the most insipid, irksome and irritating advertisements. Perhaps the words on the cheques were much more interesting that what was written on the script!

Anyways, in the clutter of reality shows, one has finally managed to get my attention – Jo Jeeta Wohi Superstar on Star Plus (shown every Fri & Sat night, but I generally watch the back-to-back rerun on Sunday mornings). It’s a challenge between winners of various reality shows (Abhijeet Sawant, Ishmeet, Rooprekha Bannerjee, et al) pitted against the runners-up from the same shows (Rahul Vaidya, Harshit, Vineet etc).

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If there is one woe common in India (and extended to Nepal since I have stayed there too) it’s that of the maids – especially those who work for bachelors, staying alone. I know the NRI’s will snigger that at least we get them pretty inexpensive here (unlike abroad, where they skim off your wallet by the hour!). But given the fact that labor is cheap here, and home-help is indeed abundant, let’s not deviate too much, and accept that hiring a maid is a necessary evil than luxury.

But their irregularity irritates & irks. And when they work for bachelors the excuse for not turning up is uncannily similar and non-innovative all across (at least it has been through the three cities that I have stayed) – ‘ we came but you had left by then!’ Simple! Who’s going to check whether they actually came or not! I don’t really keep a time-guard or attendance register outside my home.

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Another thumping return:- Udit Narayan makes a resounding comeback! And how! In ‘Dil dance maare’ he simply lets loose his vocals, and his enjoyment in singing those bizarre lyrics, is more than audible and palpable and perceptible. Though Sukhvinder and Sunidhi give him tremendous support, however, for me, it is Udit who outshines both. Vishal’s crazy and inane lyrics (in their latest release Yash Raj Films’ Tashan) are…well, crazy and inane. But tell you what? They work! This unabashed and undiluted celebration of nonsense is the most sensible to hit the charts in the past few seasons. Vishal-Shekhar effortlessly tune words that go White white face dekhe dilwa beating fast sasura chance maare re, and the harmonium hookline is addictive, to say the least!

After Tara Rum Pum and Om Shanti Om, where Vishal-Shekhar displayed a keen sense to break away from the contemporary audio trend, (without fully discarding or alienating it), my personal expectation from this album were huge. Though I missed the serenading cascades of violins (Mai agar kahuun), or the tender tones of piano (Ho agar kabhi koi gham), still Tashan has enough sponge to sink one’s senses into! In fact, Vishal-Shekhar are the few new composers who actually look like working on the music between the antaras.

Take for example, the Hey Shona-ish love ditty in Tashan, ‘Falak tak chal saath mere’ : there is a tingling santoor riff in the second interlude, which is instantly uplifted by a sonorous flute strain, leading to the soft and supple antara – that in itself breaks into a dholak-based rhythm mid-way. Now, hearing the dholak so prominently, and so well-used, is surely a cause for joy!

Falak tak chal is the second Udit Narayan number in the score, and this time he is on more familiar ground, having sung innumerable love songs in the nineties. Mahalaxmi Iyer, who is rarely heard, accompanies him in this beautiful number. I liked the lyrics (by Kausar Munir) in this one (even if the chand and suraj metaphors/imagery reminded me of Gulzar’s poems)

Other than Dil Dance Maare, the folkish- or rather , more correctly put, the ‘hinterland effect’, is also found in Sukhwinder Singh’s opening solo ‘Dil haara re’ , another pleasurable song. A teeny weeny complaint, though – did they have to change the rhythm and pattern towards the end of the song?

The dope-y Tashan mein , sung with verve by composer Vishal and singer Saleem takes a while to intoxicate you, but once it does, there is no point in getting away. Surrender to the electric guitars and the curvaceous tune!

I found Sunidhi’s Chhaliya the only weak number in an otherwise inspired album.

Tashan is a unique North-Indian word that can mean style, attitude and arrogance all rolled in one. In the album, all the lead actors speak a line or two of what tashan means to the characters they are playing (interspersed between the songs).

Dunno how the film will end up, but the music sure has lot of tashan!

Overall – Must Buy

It is the comeback season. Not mine. That is still time away. (I will continue to visit this space off and on for some more time).

But two of my favorites have come back with a proverbial bang – Director duo Abbas- Mustan and author Jeffrey Archer.

Isn’t it curious how much a fan accepts his loved artiste’s failure as his own, and then tries to defend it weakly or pompously (as his character is wont be)? Well, this post is not to dwell on a fan-artiste relationship. That would need to much of input and time, and more concentration that what this cyber cafe offers (with the lady at the desk happily viewing sobbing bahus in variety of soaps spread over multifarious channels).

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Look at life’s irony – there was a time, on this very blog, when I had wanted to give it up all and walk away. During those crises-ridden days, I sought escape routes that were not available, and as lazy hours stared back with their longing eyes, I would return to this page, trying to form words out the creative stupor and nether that I was in.

Today, the scenario is diametrically opposite – I have so much to tell, yet I am not able to find those lazy hours (nay, moments) where I can sit leisurely to sort that jumble of thoughts and events and celebrations into a neat and tidy readable post(s). Here is, in capsule, all those posts that never saw the life on this blog, but could have been, and who knows, might also find themselves written sometime in future:

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It’s the time to rewind and assess the music that hit the charts this year. As in the past four such compilations, the below list is my own choice and does not in any way reflect the fate at the charts. Anyways, my music choice is so individualistic, often it doesn’t coincide with the hit parade.

Personally, I found this year’s music scene far superior to 2006. Where last year I had struggled to find one single fulsome album, this year I had at least six of them, and many more where the favorite songs exceeded that one single entry played relentlessly on the music channels and FM radio.

My own award to the music composer of the year goes, undoubtedly and unwaveringly to Vishal and Shekhar. The duo came up with not one, but two, wholesome albums which I thoroughly enjoyed listening to and revisiting.

So without much waste, here we go:

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…and very soon. But just a quick update to those who have actually ventured into this space the past few days:

I am still home-less. More than me (after all, the company guest house is so comfortable) it’s my packers-and-movers guy (who is holding my stuff en-route from Agra at New Delhi) who is exasperated. From the gruff ‘when will you give me an address to send your dumb stuff’ he has now stepped down to a worried plea ‘boss, saamaan mangaa lo please’. I dread at thought of his final bill amount.

Nagpur is the new city added to my list of travels (and I type this post from a horrible cyber-cafe from there).

I stepped into Delhi for a brief while for Diwali. What to say? The four days simply whizzed by. My apologies to all whom I must have promised to meet, but didn’t.

I watch movies aplenty. And my current haunt is Cinemax at Versova. Their Red Lounge (with huge reclining sofas) is a treat, and the cheese pop-corns delicious. A bit late, but here are one-or-two sentences on the movies seen:

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