Me Bored, So Me Write

I never thought I'd literally see a phrase written all over an event, but it was really hard to keep away the phrase 'too much of a good thing' from my mind while watching the 1st of 3 Test matches between India and Pakistan in Delhi. Honestly, the cricket throughout the match was so vapid and flavourless that it was startling. It didn't help, of course, that the current Pakistan team has about as much talent as a second string New Zealand team. The fizz has clearly fizzled out of Indo-Pak cricket and anyone who still insists that the cross-border rivalry is the definitive cricketing rivalry in the world needs to be rapped sharply on the head with a golfing iron or worse still, be forced to watch the movie Beowulf twice in a row. As a cricket fan, I'd like nothing better than the two countries to go back to their precious bickering and huffy cold shoulders (though only in the cricketing arena). Surely that would bring back the crackling intensity that once made Indo-Pak cricket so thoroughly mesmerizing? And for a short-term solution, how about giving Virender Sehwag a game or two?

Watched Bhool Bhulaiya over the weekend, and I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Akshay Kumar really has come into his own after all those long, tiring years of insipid roles and lame acting. The show-stealer, however, is undoubtedly the magnificent Vidya Balan who's possibly brought the most engaging charisma and endearing screen presence to the movies since the days of Madhuri Dixit. If only Bollywood was a little kinder to its less beautiful citizens....

Incidentally, if you're at all planning on extracting revenge from a particularly disagreeable adversary, you'd be well-advised to gift him tickets to the movie Beowulf. The poor guy won't know what hit him.

One Time Too Many

We know you like poking fun at Bollywood, Farah Khan, but it's getting a little old now. It all started, of course, with the hysterical Woh Ladki Hai Kahan number from Dil Chahta Hai. Main Hoon Na took Ms Khan's derring-do a step further; the subtlety and the sheer audacity of the humor carried it far beyond the most accomplished Hollywood spoofs in memory and, in my opinion, it can now be bracketed among the masterpieces of the decade. Yes, it's worked before, but that doesn't mean it will work every time. Om Shanti Om, Farah Khan's latest offering, is everything that a typical Diwali blockbuster ought to be, and yet it's remarkably unsatisfying, almost as though she had all the right intentions and cinematic techniques in mind but forgot somewhere during the making that she was making a full-length Bollywood movie, not an MTV gag show.

Om Shanti Om is as extravagant as they get - the huge sets, colourful songs and charismatic stars are all dutifully in place, as are the melodramatic lines and intentional over-acting. The plot is ludicrously fantastical - an unabashed mixture of Madhumati and Karz, if you will. Shahrukh Khan hams like there's no tomorrow, Kirron Kher weeps buckets as the quintessential tragic mother and there's also a disarmingly gorgeous newcomer in the form of Deepika Padukone to keep things electrified. In short, everything that made Main Hoon Na such a delightful charmer is recreated in this nearly 3-hour long saga. If only Om Shanti Om was half as entertaining as its predecessor. I'm sorry, but Farah Khan has some major explaining to do as to why exactly the first half is as boring as it is. The 70's may have been a fascinating time in the Bollywood studios, but Ms Khan's depiction of the same is decidedly not. Forget the tongue-in-cheek potshots at melodrama, lovers playing lousy tennis and garish costumes - if it doesn't keep you entertained, it's all a waste of time.

The second half is considerably better, and thankfully moves at a lively pace, but again you always get the nagging feeling that something's missing. The almost non-stop sprinkling of stars in funny cameos does manage to perk things up appreciably, but things go flat the moment the movie comes back to the central plot. For some reason, the movie decides to take itself more seriously as it approaches the climax, with expectedly disappointing results. A Madhumati-inspired culmination wasn't exactly the brightest idea, and the end credits, with every single crew member getting to dance absurdly for the cameras, is downright annoying. An overdose of MTV, perhaps?

The songs, for once, DON'T slow down the pace of the movie (surprise, surprise!), and that's mainly because all of the songs have a definite purpose and carry the story forward (with the exception of Deewangi Deewangi - but then again, weren't the "31 stars" the biggest attraction of the movie?). Moreover, the fact that Farah Khan is a choreographer par excellence is a major plus point too. Main Agar Kahoon has to be one of the best shot songs in recent times - one of Farah Khan's finest works ever. Dard-e-Disco is a bit of an eyesore, but the rest of the songs are fairly tolerable, and coming from a sworn song-hater (only in the middle of a movie) like me, that's gigantic praise. You've got at least one department of Bollywood filmmaking completely covered, Ms Khan.

Comparing a director's product with his earlier works isn't always the fairest thing to do. However, when the director decides to repeat or even refine his earlier methods, then comparisons are justified and more importantly, inevitable. And I can confidently say that Om Shanti Om's biggest drawback is that its director is the maker of a gem like Main Hoon Na. While Main Hoon Na was fresh in its appeal and made you laugh hysterically, Om Shanti Om looks repititive and only manages to make you chuckle, and that too sporadically. Again, while Main Hoon Na had a concrete, if laughably unrealistic script (as intended), Om Shanti Om suffers from jerky writing and an excess of needless subplots. And of course, someone needs to tell Ms Khan that the whole spoof-cum-tribute thing looked cute the first time; the second time it only comes off as stale and unimaginative. Please, Farah Khan, get down to some serious filmmaking next time; brand SRK can only save you so many times.

P.S. All of these disparaging comments about Om Shanti Om have stemmed mainly from the fact that I absolutely loved Main Hoon Na. If you haven't watched or worse still, absolutely hated Main Hoon Na, then the chances are that you might just thoroughly enjoy Om Shanti Om.

P.P.S. Deepika Padukone might just be the next big thing of Bollywood. If only she had a remotely pleasant voice to go with her stunning looks (and this is assuming that her voice wasn't dubbed for the movie).

P.P.P.S. Akshay Kumar is positively hilarious in his two-minute role. The movie might actually be worth watching just for his brilliant turn.

The Good Side Of Bollywood

I'd almost forgotten how it felt to watch a clean, wholesome and thoroughly entertaining Bollywood movie. Now don't roll your eyes at me as though I'm some Hollywood-crazy wannabe. Bollywood actually has been churning out some pretty insufferable stuff of late; you can't blame me for fawning over every new Hollywood release while only coldly condescending to declare to anyone who'd listen that I have no time for the melodramatic trash that is churned out by Indian filmmakers. But every situation has a saviour, as they say, and I can confidently say that I have found, if only accidentally, the perfect balm to my Bollywood-aversion - the deliciously charming Jab We Met.

To put it very simply, the movie is a top-class entertainer. If Socha Na Tha, director Imtiaz Ali's first venture was a refreshing take on the quintessential Bollywood love story, then Jab We Met is more of the same, only considerably funnier. The plot, admittedly, is nothing much to write home about - there can be only so many variations of the boy-and-girl-meet-on-a-train-and-decide-to-embark-on-a-life-changing-journey-together pitch. Ali's execution of the trite, formulaic story, however, seems something like the wave of a magic wand - all of a sudden the situations seem more realistic, the characters more likable and the journey more fascinating. The dialogues are witty, the visuals stunningly dreamy (just why haven't our filmmakers explored Manali to the fullest?) and the melodrama is kept to a bare minimum. Did someone talk about the definitive Bollywood romantic comedy?

There are many things wonderfully close to perfection about Jab We Met, but none as close as the casting. Kareena Kapoor was born for the role of Geet, the high-strung Punjabi who lives life in its most dangerous and intoxicating fullness, and every single scene in the movie screams this simple fact loud and clear. For someone as prone to over-acting as her, Kareena shows remarkable restraint and poise, and some credit for this must definitely go to Ali. This girl clearly has oodles of talent; why do so few directors make full use of it? As she sprints across the railway station, completely out of breath, screaming, "Besharam, apni wardi utar ke phek de", you know you're watching a potential legend. Shahid Kapoor, though overshadowed by the sheer charisma of his co-star, puts in a thoroughly accomplished performance. The music is melodious and the choreography of the songs is breath-taking; however, you can't help but notice that the songs do more harm than good: slowing down the pace of the movie is NOT a good idea. But I can forgive one blemish in a movie which is otherwise so thoroughly entertaining.

The movie has a certain subtlety to it that transcends the loud Geet and her louder family. It has no sermonizing and no unnecessary tears, yet the difference between living one's life impetuously and taking life too seriously is brought out with mesmerizing vividness. The movie has one of the most heart-warming separation lines in the history of Indian cinema and it can also boast, quite unusually for a movie of this genre, of a brilliantly taut climax. Is this the best Bollywood romantic comedy ever? Ah, looks like I'm going a little overboard now. Blame it on the excitability of human nature. Or on the incredible star appeal of a certain Kareena Kapoor. Don't sneer, watch the movie.

Random Reactions

What have you done, J K Rowling?! You've completely ruined Dumbledore for me! (If you don't know what I'm talking about, you really need to read the newspaper more often.)

Also, I think I made a big mistake by including Kimi Raikkonen in my list of over-rated people. He fully deserved to steal the F1 World Championship from right under the grumpy noses of Lewis Hamilton (who's still my favourite driver), Fernando Alonso and McLaren. And did he do it in style!

ALSO, I hate it when Roger Federer loses, specially in a tournament final, as he did today against David Nalbandian at the Madrid Masters. By the way, has it become some kind of a fashion to defeat the top 3 ranked players in consecutive matches?

A Disease That Refuses To Go Away

I've been told that I write about useless, frivolous things (read: sports and movies) far too often on my blog. And while I'm not usually one to take criticism sportingly, I think being told anything about my blog is certainly an improvement over the cold ignorance that my blog is usually subjected to. So here's my first 'serious' post in quite a while:

Science research studies are in quite a terrific vogue these days. There are scientists doing research on the most diverse subjects imaginable, from analyzing the changes in the average person's favoured pastime to finding out the effects of blogging on general intelligence levels. And then we have scientists speaking disgustingly filthy garbage supposedly backed by some mysterious 'tests' that no one has ever heard of. Ladies and gentlemen, the eminent scientist going by the name of James Watson, THE James Watson, he of the legendary (at least for Biology students) Watson-Crick DNA model, has just become another publicity-hungry Paris Hilton, but without the good looks, of course. Apparently Mr. Watson is aware of certain 'tests' that prove conclusively that white people are inherently more intelligent than people of all other races, particularly those of African origin. Mr. Watson's remarks, pronouncing this extraordinarily dim-witted conclusion, came just days ahead of a lecture in Europe and more suspiciously, the release of his new book (any guesses why he wants all the publicity?) and have predictably sparked an outrage all over the world. He has, since, taken back his comments and apologized, but only after being suspended from his research centre and being forced to cancel his European tour. What I'd like to know, however, is whether making despicable racist comments such as these can be punishable by rigorous jail sentences in any court of law. Also, is there a way to take back the Nobel prize awarded to him in 1962?

We're living in the 21st century, yet the malaise of racism continues to haunt and disgrace us. Just a few days ago Australian cricketer Andrew Symonds complained about being racially abused by sections of the Indian crowds. While reactions to Symonds's claim from the Indian authorities have ranged from the ridiculous ("The crowds weren't doing monkey imitations; they were praying to Hanuman, the deity associated with monkeys") to the silly ("Symonds probably misunderstood the crowds because of language problems"), the Australians should hardly be in a position to cry foul over racist crowds. A year ago a number of coloured South African players were at the receiving end of racial abuse from the typically boorish Aussie spectators, and for years Asians have been mutinously insisting that the regular mistreatment that Muttiah Muralitharan receives in Australia has as much to do with the supposed illegality of his bowling action as it does with the fact that Murali, a true-blue Asian, has forever been close to overtaking the very white Shane Warne in the race to the highest wickets record. But this in no way condones the behaviour of the Indian crowds. Indian spectators, together with those from our beloved neighbour Pakistan, are by far the worst behaved cricket spectators on the planet, and these latest incidents have only confirmed this sorry fact. Most of the Indian authorities, however, would clearly love to condone every Indian spectator in their sight, as comments like "It was all a misunderstanding, we Indians are not racists" amply show. We Indians are not racists? How many times have you seen a North-east Indian walking unobtrusively along a street and a very audible comment like "Chinky chinky chow chow" not coming up from someone on the street? Don't rack your brains for such a memory, it doesn't exist.

I'm sorry, but racism is just as prevalent in our dear country as it is in present-day America or the Hitler-era Germany. We just don't realize it. We fawn over anyone remotely Caucasian or better still, with blond hair, and view every black foreigner with suspicious disdain. We even refer to blacks as 'niggers', blissfully unaware of how offensive the term actually is. We laugh openly at our Northeastern brethren (ever wondered how humiliating that must be for them?), and the worst part is, most of us don't even find anything wrong with that. Which is why I find it particularly annoying when Indians take the moral high ground and claim that "our beautiful culture has no place for racism".

This is, of course, not to say that Indians are the worst perpetrators of this abhorrent sin. Racism, sadly, is about as ubiquitous around the world as water. And no amount of political correctness, superficial 'equality' drives, Academy awards (did Halle Berry even deserve the award for Monster?) and Grand Slam victories (does a day pass by when one of the Williams sisters doesn't receive hate mail?) is going to change that. It comes naturally to most of us, just like the ability to walk and talk. Or as the wonderful Mr. Watson would like to prove, some of are just inherently racist. If the African-American race could be inherently dumb, then why not?

The Shame!

Lies, shame and misery. What is the sporting world coming to? We always thought Marion Jones was one heck of an inspiring lady. She was the woman who had set the 2000 Sydney Olympics alight with her audacious public desire to capture 5 gold medals in the track and field events. Her final medal tally - 3 golds and 2 bronzes - may not quite have matched her bold expectations, but it did firmly ensconce her in people's minds as a champion athlete, a woman to be revered and admired. Which is precisely why her stunning fall from grace, coming as it did in the midst of liberal tears and visible shame, evokes as much pity as it does disgust. Sure, Jones did cut a sorry figure as she tearfully admitted to a shell-shocked public that she used performance-enhancing drugs during the course of her stellar career. But when you think of all the times that you cheered for her apparently indomitable spirit and celebrated her famous victories, you do feel horribly cheated. How could she have had the gall to even smile at her adoring audience after her many race wins, knowing as she did that they had not come fairly? It's disgusting, there's no other word for it.

Sportspersons, I believe, have a greater duty than all others to be honest and fair when they're competing, for the simple reason that people consider sport to be the exemplification of the human spirit. I can forgive a businessman defrauding his way to success or an actor manipulating his way to the top, but when I see a sportsman celebrating the moment of his triumph, I know, or I assume, that there's an awe-inspiring story of toil and struggle that has led to his crowning glory. When we talk about sport, we talk about a phenomenon that is stripped to the bare essentials, a phenomenon that is a pure and fierce battle of wills - on the playing field, nothing else matters except your ability and desire to keep fighting. Besides, the fact that most sports events these days are televised makes everything all the more poignant. On so many occasions we actually see the sweat, blood and tears that go into the making of a champion, and that is why when we applaud the accomplishments of a sportsperson, our applause is truly heartfelt. And that is also why when a sportsman comes forward and confesses that he didn't actually deserve to be a victor, or more distressingly, that he swindled his opponent out of his well-earned success, we feel a sense of betrayal like no other.

The Marion Jones shame saga is not the only distasteful event to have disturbed the sporting population of late. Tennis is currently in the throes of its own match-fixing scandal, with no less than the No. 3 men's player in the world, Nikolay Davydenko, being at the centre of it all. What started as an isolated investigation into the irregular betting patterns over a match in which Davydenko retired against a hopeless opponent has, predictably, snowballed into a murky and far-reaching episode of conniving gamblers and suspiciously naive players. Scores of players, some rather well-known like Dmitry Tursunov and others remarkably unheard of, have come forward claiming that they have, at some point during their careers, been offered to throw matches by bettors. Of course, all of these distinguished players have proudly declared that they were conscientious enough to refuse the offers, but would it have killed them to report such incidents earlier? No one knows right now just how much of the tennis world is infected with the match-fixing disease, but honestly, will we even care when all the investigations are finally done and dusted? I hate to imagine tennis going the way of cricket - we have too few glorious sports to let them be eternally tarnished with nauseating evils like match-fixing. Sadly, however, the signs are all in place. The next thing we know, we'll be thinking things like, "Did Roger Federer really lose to Rafael Nadal?" I know, it's sickening.

10 Things We Learnt From the 20-20 World Cup

To call the recently-concluded Twenty20 World Cup anything less than a roaring success wouldn't quite be a shameful blasphemy, but would certainly be mighty close to it. We should know, the ICC officials wouldn't be grinning from ear to ear if the event was anywhere near as bland as the 50-50 World Cup in the West Indies. So what were the things that we learned from this very special event? Taking a cue from the innumerable movie message boards across the internet, I'll do my own list of the 10 most significant lessons that the Twenty20 World Cup taught us:

1. An Indo-Pak match is an Indo-Pak match is an Indo-Pak match: Maybe this isn't such a new lesson. No matter how strange the format or how neutral the venue, India and Pakistan really do know how to produce electrifying cricket matches with more twists than your average Bourne flick. If the first round encounter between the two turned out to be historic, what with the bowl-out and all, the final that these two teams put on show is already being heralded as the best finale to a major tournament in cricketing history. The Ashes? What's that?

2. South Africa are chokers, but never expect Graeme Smith to admit that: Honestly, Mr. Smith, the cricketing world is tired of bringing up that semi-final of the 1999 World Cup whenever your team crashes out of a major tournament inexplicably. Why not spare us the trouble and not raise everyone's expectations by performing so brilliantly in unimportant matches?

3. Stuart Broad can do a Daan van Bunge: I know, I should probably concentrate on Yuvraj Singh's jaw-dropping splendor in that unforgettable 6 sixes-over, but pray why has no one thought of taking a poke (or several pokes) at the bowler who made it all possible, Stuart Broad? The fact that only one international bowler (a Netherlands bowler, no less) in the history of cricket has ever let such an embarrassment come to pass should be a fair indication of how poorly Broad bowled in that over. Ah, the English! They can be quite freakish sometimes. And that brings me to the next lesson.....

4. The English can be pathetic at every innovation that they bring into cricket: Ok, 'pathetic' may be a little harsh here, but the English side was supposed to have a better shot than most at winning the tournament, armed as it was with a battalion of '20-20 bits-and-pieces specialist cricketers' and because, well, they started 20-20 cricket. Which is why the solitary win against Zimbabwe must hurt, perhaps even more than their customary insipid performances at the 50-over World Cups. 'Skill' is still the most important virtue for a modern cricketer, dear Englishmen.

5. Santhakumaran Sreesanth will perpetually try to be the Shahid Afridi of the bowlers: 21 runs off his first over, 0 from his second. Was he trying to create some kind of record? To be fair to him, he did bowl brilliantly against Australia and he played a big role in India's victory over Pakistan in the first round. But I do know that if India had lost the final to Pakistan, forgiving Sreesanth would have been a pretty hard thing to do. How do you let a batsman like Sohail Tanvir hit you for 2 sixes in a single, desperately crucial over?

6. Mahendra Singh Dhoni can make singularly inspired decisions: The tournament made a strong case for Dhoni to be appointed the Test skipper to go with his newly-acquired one-day responsibilities. His choice of players to bowl in the bowl-out was fantastic to say the least, and his handling of remarkably inept bowlers like Joginder Sharma deserves applause of the highest order. Maybe if he regained some of his batting magic the selectors will give him the chance he so thoroughly deserves?

7. It's never too late to announce your arrival on the international cricket stage: At 33, Misbah-ul-Haq is 3 years older than Mike Hussey was when Hussey first started to show the cricketing world that there can be better finishers of a match than Michael Bevan. And yet, Misbah batted so breathtakingly well throughout the tournament that one was almost tempted to give him the title of 'Best finisher in world cricket', or even 'Mr. Cricket', if you will. Unfortunately for him, only 'almost' - the cute chip/nudge/glance or whatever other name you wish to give to the ungainly shot that Misbah played on the last ball of the tournament will haunt him for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Misbah undoubtedly was the most unlikely star of the World Cup - he sprang up from virtual nothingness and played not one, but two innings for the ages during the tournament; I'm sure Mohammad Yousuf isn't quite so wild now that he lost his place in the team to a nobody like Misbah.

8. Australia are not invincible in every format of the game, and Ricky Ponting can get REAL cranky about that: Just as we were getting over Graeme Smith's child-like condemnation of the tournament's format that was supposedly responsible for his side's early exit, Ricky Ponting came out and blamed everything in sight for his side's rather unexpected early exit (on a side note, it's a mark of Australia's supremacy in all forms of the game that a semi-final loss is dubbed an 'early exit'). Lack of match practice, his openers being too prolific for his side's own good, luck, the cruel scheduling of Australia's matches in distant venues.....the list was endless. Dear me, have the elements all of a sudden turned their back on the Australian cricket team? Or did Ponting listen to one Serena Williams press conference too many?

9. You can score a century in a 20-20 match, and still end up on the losing side: Poor Chris Gayle, he was in such a violent mood in the very first match of the tournament, bludgeoning 10 sixes and blowing the South African attack to pieces, that it seems he scared his own bowlers. I'm sorry, but the West Indies bowling attack is really quite ridiculously spineless, and it wouldn't surprise me if Chris Gayle ended up on the losing side even if he made a double century. Honestly, nothing about this West Indian team can surprise me any more. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

10. Twenty20 Cricket is THE FUTURE: Daniel Vettori and Adam Gilchrist can turn their noses up at the format all they want, but it is clear that if cricket wants to have any semblance of an existence on the world sports stage, then it's got to invest in Twenty20. Get rid of 50-over cricket within a year, I say. And puh-lease, get rid of the ludicrous dancers/cheerleaders too.