Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani - A Review

‘Ajab prem ki ghazab kahani’ is indeed a ‘ghazab kahani’ of ‘ajab Prem’, where ‘prem’ not only stands for love but also for our hero ‘Prem’ (Ranbir Kapoor). It is indeed a joyful ride into the fascinating world of Prem where he is the local hero and the president of a cash-strapped ‘Happy Club’, the sole purpose of the club being to unite couples in love. Prem comes off as a smart-alecky-do-gooder who is loved by all, except his father. His idle life gets jolted when he meets Jenny (Katrina Kaif) , who is a sweet natured orphan, ill-treated by her adopted family. From here the story is basically about Prem winning her heart over despite their obvious different personalities.
From the early misunderstanding to friendship to love, the journey covered by Prem and Jenny is a homage to a bunch of movies from ‘Amar Akbar Anthony’ of the 80s to ‘DDLJ’ and the recent ‘Jab We Met’. The movie has all the spices; loser boy, damsel-in-distress, body-builder boyfriend, corrupt politician, mafia don and lots of scenic locales. However, what works for the movie is its comedy. Raj Kumar Santoshi has used his comedic flair from the ‘Andaz Apna Apna’ days and made this movie a nice mix of both sweet and silly comedy. It is a complete masala movie, where the specifics are irrelevant and illogical. However, it still has a genuine feel about it and that’s due to a very easy chemistry between Ranbir Kapoor and Katrina Kaif.
While comedy is the main premise, the movie is not without its emotional quotient. The time when Prem and Jenny find out that they both have a tendency to stammer when they are distressed is both cute and emotional. Its scenes like these that make the movie a cut above the usual nonsensical comedies.
Ranbir Kapoor is the obvious star of the movie. He is the reason why some of the jokes, which would have otherwise fallen flat, actually work. His vibrant energy is reflected in Prem, and despite his character being this lovable loser, you end up rooting for him all the time. His antics are hilarious and although some parts are ludicrous, it is Ranbir’s charm that makes it so effortless. The ballroom dance scene and the part where Prem is getting ready to go to work is probably funny only because of him.
Katrina Kaif has proved that she can stand her ground in a movie even if it does not have established stars. Govind Namdeo is wasted as the corrupt politician and Upen Patel should probably quit acting, but otherwise the cast of the movie has done an admirable job in supporting the main cast. The songs are all hummable and melodious, but one song, ‘tera hone laga hoon’ will definitely become more popular than the others.
To summarize, this movie might not be everyone’s cup of tea, due to its lighthearted and sometimes illogical comedic flavor, it still is a very charming and enjoyable ‘time-pass’ movie.

Memories from Diwali

Diwali, better known as Kali puja in Bengal where I grew up, was kind of the last hurrah before the school reopened after the long puja holidays, so we literally used to go crazy trying to squeeze out as much fun as possible. The days leading into that “one” day would be full of shopping for fire-crackers, drying them out in the sun for all to see and comparing who had more “full-jhadis”, “dodomas” , “chocolate-bombs”, “anar” , “rocket” etc. My brother would always set aside the “perfect-bottle” for the “perfect-rocket-launch”. My eldest brother would take out his raggedy old self-made “tuni-bulbs” and start testing them and making it impossible to enter the room. My mom would go into a cleaning frenzy… places and corners that our maid and her mop hadn’t discovered would be found and cleaned thoroughly. The only person unaffected would be my dad, who would be saving his diwali excitement (basically involving watching TV, reading newspapers and napping all day) for the D-Day, because that day would be his “day-off from work”. Being the youngest, I got to do whatever I wanted to do or got cornered into doing. I would air out all the “patakas” and show them off to the neighbors with my brother, I would hold wires and sit and listen to all the “tuni-bulb” making strategies from my other brother, I would sometimes get sucked into doing some cleaning as well for my mom, but my dad, I didn’t disturb because he was the one who was going to take me to the club for the fireworks show.
The day of Diwali would be like a whirlwind… a flurry of activities involving lots of cooking by mom, testing fire crackers by cracking open at least one from each box by my brother and camping on the roof with his “precious” tuni bulbs by my eldest brother. I would be flitting from one place to another, helping mom sometimes, to running for shelter every-time something “bombed”, to turning the switch on and off for the lights that were being set up on the roof. Somehow I would find time to do my favorite part and that was to make “alpana-design” at our door step. As it would start to grow darker and mom would start preparing for the Laxmi puja and lighting diyas…. miraculously everything would fall into place. The rooftop would be brilliantly lit, diyas and candles would grace every nook and entrance, fire-crackers would be making me half-deaf, the smell of sulphur would be stronger than our jasmine flowers and my dad with cotton in his ears would be watching TV at the loudest volume possible.
As I would get ready to go to the durgapur club to watch the fireworks display, I remember feeling a sense of elation mixed with melancholy, because it meant that the one night that we had to celebrate Diwali would soon be over and I would have to wait another year for it. I’m sure the face of Diwali celebrations has changed a lot over the years but for me it still exists in a time bubble. Far away from Durgapur, in my adopted country, even today I can close my eyes and still picture the brightly lit rooftops and dazzling skies.

Wish you all a very Happy Diwali!

Much Ado About Nothing

A so-called Bollywood superstar gets detained at an airport in the US and suddenly there’s an outcry against racial profiling. Everyone who has a mouthpiece has something to say about how badly he was treated and how the Indians should treat visiting Americans. I couldn’t have expected a more juvenile response from India. I am embarrassed for my home country when I read such reports.
I have lived in the US since 2001 and have lived a safe and secure life thanks to their Govt. Can I say the same thing about the Indian Govt? In fact can anyone guarantee that my life will not end in a bomb blast in Delhi or Mumbai tomorrow? Can these self proclaimed critics of the US system tell me a sure shot way of survival in a country like India? Yes racial profiling is a truth and we the immigrants are living it every day. However, like all Americans we believe that it is a price we have to pay for our security. We believe that everyone is equal and has a right to be searched and frisked, be it for any reason. It can be because of your color, the size of your bag, a suspicious behavior or merely a last name.
Why should a movie star get special treatment? Most foreigners and many citizens are searched and questioned daily at airports; do they object to it? No. They accept it and happily too. They know that doing more is better and doing less. The proof is in the stats, we have not had any attack since 9/11 and how many attacks has India had since…. in fact have the terrorist attacks ever stopped in India?
I can say once and for all that I feel secure in the US, more than I have ever felt in India and if racial profiling is one way to catch terrorists then so be it. If this “superstar” is not guilty what is he afraid of and why are his “friends” getting so agitated? Are they just sycophants fawning and basking in this fake publicity stunt? Or are they middle-class citizens who travel in local trains, buses in the metros of India and susceptible to bomb blasts? Do they even know the pain of losing someone? Or living in fear? Have they ever stepped out of their tinted glass cars and seen the reality of the life of a middle-class Indian? Is the “superstar” superior in any way to the common man that he should be given special treatment? In the US Paris Hilton has gone to jail for DUI, Martha Stewart was jailed for a stock scam, but in India a movie star can walk free after killing off pedestrians because he is “special”. In India they may be treated special but here, we don’t care how “special” they may be, we only care how safe we are and for that we’re thankful that the US officials are doing their job… and not just a good job, but a great job.

A Letter to Papa - On Father's Day

Dear Papa,
Today is father’s day and although we may not have celebrated it when I was growing up, I realize the significance of this day now. It is not only about gifts and dinners and spending time with dads, its mainly about thanking fathers…. for being there- silent, supportive and strong.
My earliest memories are of the times when I would wait for you to come back from work every evening. As soon as I would see your scooter at the end of the street, I would run towards it, climb in front and stand at the foot pedestal; and we would come home together. Come rain or sunshine I loved those short rides together. Soon, I would be riding the same way to school. I remember how happy you were when I finally got admission into the best school in our small town. It had been due all your efforts that I can call myself “convent-educated” today . Maybe it sounds silly now, but back then it was the happiest moment of both our lives.
Growing up, I still remember how you used to tell me a story before I went to sleep, how you took us to the club every Sunday, how you used to fall asleep while teaching Physics to me, how you used to come to all the parent-teacher meetings with me and we discovered that we disliked the same teachers, how we watched so many of our favorite movies together. I was not the best student, but you never criticized and never lifted a hand. I wasn’t always the healthiest child either, but you were always there to take me to the best doctor. All the times that I was admitted to the hospital, I remember how tenaciously you took care of all of us… managing work, home and taking care of all of us kids. I still remember how your eyes welled up with tears the day you left me at the hostel and then again on the day you saw me off at the airport when I was coming to the US.
Of all the memories from my childhood, the one that overwhelms me even today is from the days when work took you out of town a lot. I would stay up till late in the night waiting for you to return, and you would never disappoint me… you always brought the prettiest doll for me. Thanks to you, I had the largest collection of dolls any girl could wish for. I can still see myself sitting on the steps of our verandah and humming : “Saat samundar paar se, Gudiyon ke bazaar se, Acchi si gudiya lana; Gudiya chahe na lana, Papa jaldi aa jana”
Papa, I may not have been the ideal daughter I know, but it was not from lack of trying. I always wanted to make you happy and proud. I am not sure that I have succeeded, but if I am any good, it is because of you. I have loved you from the first day that I held your finger and recognized you. Thank you for being the best Papa ever.
Love,
Gudiya

Death of a leader

I was probably up before the alarm sounded, but I leapt out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready before my friends started making too much noise outside our gate. As I was hurrying to pack my swimming bag, I could hear the phone ringing in my parent’s bedroom. Although we were all used to hearing our dad yelling instructions on the phone to the shift workers in the steel plant at all odd hours, it still felt a little too early, after all it was not yet 6 a.m. Hearing loud clangs on the gate I rushed to the window and shouted at my friends to just wait 2 minutes so that I could get my bike out and join them. It was our summer ritual, early morning bike rides to the club, swimming and playing in the pool for hours and usually spending the entire day with friends. In a rush to leave, I generally used to tell my mom that I was leaving, kind of yelling it from the kitchen doorway.. but that day, strangely since my dad was already up I decided to let him know instead. As I stood by the bedroom door, waiting for him to look up from the phone, so that I could sign and wave good-bye, I noticed a very concerned look on his face. He put a hand on the mouth-piece and told me, “don’t go swimming today, something’s happened”. My face fell, and I couldn’t understand what he meant by “happened”. My friends were causing a racket outside my gate, so I had to go out and tell them that I couldn’t go.. “something had happened”. Obviously everyone was a little disappointed but decided to go on without me when suddenly my dad called us to the verandah and gave the news; Rajiv Gandhi, our former prime minister, had died last night in a bomb blast in Southern India, and it was not safe for us kids to be out and about. He had just received the news and was afraid of possible riots and rallies since no one knew who or what had caused the blast. It was the morning of 22nd May, 1991.
I remember becoming numb with shock, it couldn’t be, and my best friend echoed my thoughts. Those were days of Doordarshan, a pre-CNN world and the 24/7 news networks of today. We still had to wait till 7 in the morning to see or hear any news. As the phone was constantly ringing, my father just repeated his instructions to me and my friends to stay put in the house and went inside. Two of our guy friends decided to take up the challenge and go to the club anyway, however, my best friend and I decided to stay put in my place and wait and watch the news.
As days went by and we watched with the entire country how our beloved leader was assassinated way before his prime, I remember my dismay and shock at such a brutal attack. We hadn’t heard of terrorist suicide bombers, we couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind such an inhuman attack. This was Rajiv Gandhi, a leader we were proud of, recognized with, and were hopeful about. He was the “change” of our generation. So many things are better politically and economically today because of the wheels he set in motion in the few years he was in power. He had envisioned a future full of bright prospects for our India; we all wanted to be a part of that, a part of that future, a part of that dream. To have that snatched away from us so blatantly, so suddenly with such a gruesome attack, took away a piece of our soul. I realized for the first time in my thirteen years that we were not safe, my innocence was gone. LTTE and the war in Sri Lanka had been a distant reality for us, never this cancer which would eat away our future. Why? I kept asking, but I never got an answer.
It has been years since that summer and the impact has ebbed away too due to an onslaught of acts of terror that our country has faced since then, but yesterday when I saw the news about Sri Lanka and the end of the civil war with the death of Prabhakaran, I was suddenly reminded of the immense loss I felt so many years ago. I know that the LTTE and its leader were responsible for the deaths of many innocent lives, but the biggest loss for me was that of Rajiv Gandhi. Nothing can possibly bring him back, but I feel vindicated today. It’s time. Time for healing to begin, both for India and Sri Lanka. Time for new beginnings, new leaders and a future without strife. Hopefully this May 21st will bring better news.

Loving You

Loving you is my burden,
It does not show or overflow;
But simmers in my heart ,
And overcomes me with its glow.

Like a fire in my soul,
It creeps in to warm;
Yet like a storm it rages,
And burns me to harm.

Its my sickness for sure,
Coz loving you is a habit;
Tried again and again,
But couldn’t quite erase it.

I cover of course,
For no one shall see;
The scars of my memories,
And the love you took from me.

Each time a memory hits,
I feel a new tortuous pain;
In a moment I have you,
Then lose you all over again.

Missing you was once new,
Now it’s a familiar ache;
Reminding me I’ll never see you,
Never when I’m awake.

To survive is easy,
But every day I waste away;
For I’m yours forever,
Every minute, every hour, every day.

For My Dear Mom - On Mother's Day

I still remember my first day at school. My mom had come to drop of me off, I was wearing my new school uniform, had a new school bag, a water-bottle and a tiffin box. Although I had been excited about going to school for the past couple of days, the idea of being without my mother even for a few hours was terrifying. As the teacher gathered us to put in a class-room, my mom waved from the window and said that she would be right outside. Although assured of her promise, I started tearing up. How would I survive without her?
Over the years my mom has been my pillar of support, my friend, my critic, my conscience, my mirror. She has scolded me, slapped me, hugged me, kissed me, cried with me, laughed with me, shared secrets with me, shopped with me, cooked with me… she has been with me through all my ups and downs. She literally stayed with me in the hospital for months when I was sick, she made paper-boats with me every time it rained in our old neighborhood so that I could float more boats than anyone else, she always gave me samosas and gulab jamuns for tiffin during my exams because they were my favorite, she made all my clothes, from regular frocks to fashionable outfits picked from magazines, she stayed up with me entire nights when I was heart-broken, she always packed more food than I needed and over-stuffed my bags each time I was going back to the hostel, she cried more than me when our dog died and yet since it was my birthday and there was a party she didn’t let her sadness show, she was my first passenger when I rode my dad’s scooter, she dared to taste the tea that I made for the first time, she was with me every step of the way.
Mom and I have had a long history of arguments and disagreements but through it all I have always loved her. I may not have told her in so many words, but I do. I missed her each time that I was lonely in my hostel and needed her advice, we didn’t have cell phones back then. Every time that I was sick, I missed how she fussed over me and force-fed me. I miss her every time I cook something and it doesn’t taste as good as mom’s, because whenever she tried to teach me, I wasn’t paying attention.
In my eyes, my mom is exceptional. She is resilient, full of love, much stronger than me or anyone in my family for that matter, a perfect mother anyone could hope for. I never thought that I was lucky, till the day I moved away and realized how the little things that my mom did for me were so important. She did all those things and was never thanked and yet she continued..and till date still does. My mom, thousands of miles away.... and yet just a phone call away is older, slower, greyer but still the same.
Years after my first day of school, I felt the same sadness overwhelm me while I stood at the Chicago O’Hare airport waving good-bye to my parents as they were about to take their flight back to India. I felt the same loneliness and abandonment engulf me as I put on my brave face and waved back. I may not have said it that day, or when we met last year when I was in India, or when we spoke yesterday, but I love you Mom.. I always have.. I always will. On this Mother’s Day, I want to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day.