Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

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This post has no form or purpose, and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

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The following are some never-seen and never-thought-of pictures that will make your eyeballs pop out. Sensationalism finds a new height. Whether these pics are real or morphed or not, one cannot tell. But as of now they present the zenith of unimaginable intent.

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I admit I am not too well versed in Kalpana Lajmi’s cinema, and haven’t watched any of her films barring the refreshingly honest Ek Pal. My association with her is restricted to Lata Mangeshkar’s extremely eloquent ‘Dil Hoom Hoom Kare’ from Rudaali. Hence, I approached Chingaari with an open mind, and to say it left me cold is a major understatement. 

Chingaari is one of those B-and-C-grade films masquerading as an art film. It is a puerile and pathetic piece of cinema that has neither the content nor flow to captivate audiences. It seems Lajmi’s intention was to shock and sensationalise the audience without any care for aesthetics or form. 

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