Jaipur Jaunt

With the blistering heat wave hovering revoltingly over the heads of Delhiites, anyone who heard that we were going outstation for the weekend nodded in understanding.

Until they heard the destination we were headed for.

'Jaipur???' Hearing that was enough to raise perfectly-arched eyebrows, followed by ‘Are you feakin' kiddin?’ incredulous comments and accompanying eye-popping looks.

Now our middle names are ‘Determination’ and ‘Grit,’ and it is easier to shake off a leech stuck to your uhmm B_ _ (spoiler – rhymes with previous word) than to shake our resolve, so when Saturday morning dawned bright, clear, and sunny (Oh yes, sunniest), we set our for the Pink City.

Four hours later and after numerous toll-tax paying breaks, TOOMA and I drove into an otherwise beautiful city, had we been able to see it under all that dust, that is.

The wedding was beautiful though, and was probably the only consolation. Besides the picturesque highway, dotted with lazily ambling camels, cattle, and the odd elephant.

The riot of colors on prominent display, and the song-and-dance routine that is de-rigueur at Indian marriages, more than made up for the heat that had done its bit in roasting us, making us look like the BBBB (Badly Burnt Baked Beans) I am famous for tossing up.

But in retrospect, the trip was memorable.

After all, the first outstation road trip you share with your better half, always is...

(Image - The heritage haveli we stayed at)

Will 99 'strike' the right note?

The April impasse between Indian multiplex owners and Bollywood producers over sharing box office releases doesn’t look like it would dissolve in a hurry.

The better part of my last month was spent in wedding arrangements, zooming off for the honeymoon, relinquishing dates for quieter, at-home do's and settling into a new home and hearth.

However, there is no time like now to sink into a comfy seat in a theatre, lazily munch upon some popcorn, inhale the stale perfume of the couple sitting yonder, and sip some bitter coffee.

And of course, watch a movie, arms linked cosily with better half’s.

Fat chance!

The drought of flicks since the last five weeks makes sure that the above remains just that – a wistful dream.

The split between multiplex owners and producers just seems to be getting bigger, much to the chagrin of movie-buffs like me. Who swear by their fortnightly S-cube (Silver-Screen-Staring).

Multiplex owners are also in quasi panic, slashing rates of tickets, introducing too-good-to-be-passed-up-schemes, freebies, lucky draws – the works. All to make the audience make a beeline to the swish theatres, as they used to before.

All to no avail.

Theatres bear gloomy, deserted looks, people resorting instead to renting movies from the ever-grinning-perpetually-rubbing-his-hands-friendly neighbourhood DVD store-keeper, watching the IPL, or venturing into swanky malls, and returning with those ecstasy-inducing shopping bags.

It waits to be seen if the Bollywood flick ’99,’ which sees an independent release tomorrow, will be able to change the fortunes of the B.O.

I sure hope so.

Keep watching this space for more.

A Whale of a Job (Literally)

This January 12, the entire world went into a tizzy.

The reason – the Queensland State Tourism Department, in a marvellous stroke of sheer brilliance, ran full length advertisements of what it chose to describe the ‘Best job of the world.’

The vacancy in question – a six-month contract that involves spending six-months on Hamilton Island (a tropical Australian island in the Great Barrier Reef), in the capacity of caretaker.

In what could only be termed a blitzkrieg of advertisements, the job was everywhere – splashed in international newspapers, websites, glossies, radio, television – the works.

Understandably, the list of applicants was immense – scoring over 34,000 wishful aspirants.

And now, last week, the results for this coveted job came out.

A British Charity worker Ben Southall, trounced the lengthy list of candidates, to emerge victorious. He takes away with him a deal of a whopping $150,000, and starts his official duties this July.

As if that were not enough for us to envy him, you might just want to go through the list of his assigned tasks to turn that shade of emerald:

• Post a weekly blog
• Keep photo diaries
• Create video updates
• Sample luxury spa treatments
• Enjoy activities like snorkelling, kayaking, sailing, bungee-jumping, diving, Ostrich riding, and of course, tamer ones like picnics and bushwalking.

Oh, and did I mention that he gets to stay in one of possibly the loveliest sea-facing villas on the island...with his partner?

Do I hear you sigh yet?

Who made all the rules about post-marriage mores?

In a world where marriages are the defining point in your life (and I don’t disagree with that), some people definitely get carried away with its very concept.

I speak with authority.

I am a bride of just over a fortnight.

Married to my beau of over two years, I take great pride in him and his family, who accept me the way I am – a spunky, light-hearted, twinkle-eyed, cheery bride, who still swears by her faded jeans, and who, even when she is in one of her many giggling spells, does not goof up her etiquette norms.

However the hunky-dory picture is marred by comments by acquaintances, sometimes colleagues, all of who have taken it as a matter of my personal impudence and effrontery by not following what they term ‘tradition.’

So I can just barely keep from biting their heads off when I hear comments to the tune of:

Where is your Mangalsutra*? You have one, right? Why don’t you wear it?

You should have at least worn the ‘Chudaa’** for a month. You took it off after a day!! Tut tut (incredulous stare)

Gawd! Doesn’t your husband object? Doesn’t he ASK you to wear them? I’m sure he WANTS you to.

Oooh. How do you step out of your house without Sindoor*** in your parting? (Horrified look)

And one of the most despicable–

You were born in the wrong country. Our country is still traditional (there you go, you have the word again), you know. Why are you such a rebel?

For someone who believes in keeping to herself, far, far away from the public eye; getting thrown pell-mell into the limelight (and not in a good way at that), these days are certainly not the most pleasant ones for her.

I fail to comprehend how people think that I love him less as compared to the average ‘Pati-vrata’**** new wifey who diligently goes out to her regular kitty-parties, bedecked in jewellery, flaunting all the ‘trappings’ of a married woman.

Add to that the aghast looks I get when I proclaim that stories are the only things I can cook, as compared to the more ‘traditional’ cooked fare, and you have all the trappings of my very own personal episode of ‘The Bad Bad Bride’ – Series 1.

Of course, it doesn’t help either that I am surgically inseparable from my (before marriage) garb. So you have the team of people who try to cajole me into wearing ethnic Indian attire to work. The pachyderm that I am, I snub them, refusing to give people the opportunity to double up with unrestrained glee at my expense, by dolling myself up like a previous year’s Christmas tree.

Too bad they wouldn’t get to see me attired in an atrociously-garish, Swarovski-laden something which closely resembles something the goldsmith would only be too happy to display in his stall at the jewellery souk.

Too bad that I can grin merrily, instead of barely being able to smile, for fear of creasing a pan-caked face - a face which has seen all the make-up items in my vanity case being made abundant use of. (Now my face is not sans-makeup, but at least you can see my skin...)

Too bad that instead of whispering coyly and shuffling feet in awkwardness, eyes down, I smirk and stare at them insolently.

Bring it on folks.

See if care!

* An auspicious thread or cord, usually made of a string of black beads on a gold chain
** A set of red and white bangles
*** Red powder (vermilion) applied at the beginning or completely along the parting-line of a married woman’s hair
**** A woman staunchly loyal to her husband

New trends in Indian voting

My black and orange phone beeps gently.

I blink, then smile, my hand reaching out to cocoon the phone.

What I had thought to be a welcome message from one of my many friends who were only too glad to have me back in town, turned out to be a random contestant in the upcoming elections, citing close to seven reasons why I should exercise my franchise in his favour.

The message is not in isolation.

Sure enough, others soon follow, declaring their party manifestos, pitting themselves like matadors against their adversaries, kicking up the dirt on them, singing paeans about their own political party…you get the drift, don’t you?

And all and sundry can stand for elections – you do know that, don’t you? What else would explain a tennis player banking upon his sports popularity by standing in the local elections? Not his flashy, pearly smile, I’m sure.

The last 2-3 years saw political parties cashing in on the digital media bandwagon to connect with voters. So conventional door-to-door campaigning got an overhaul, stepping back to make way for tripping-over-each-other social networking sites like Twitter, Facebook, Myspace and Orkut that ran huger than huge online campaigns, videos, audios – you name it.

This year even mobile phones saw exploitation.

Which explains that beep on your phone, and the longish rant by a party rep about the so-called ‘atrocities’ that opponents have unleashed on today’s aam aadmi (common man).

Even Internet companies like Yahoo and Google are not far behind, collaborating with national dailies to launch election sites, where voters, besides creating their login ids, can dabble in debates with like-minded voters, 'expressing' their views about their concerns and the way out too.

And then you have parties running up humongous bills to get exclusive rights to Oscar-winning tracks, their renditions done by sexy, nubile singers who go into raptures while mouthing heaps of praise on the said party in question.

Gamers need not feel left out. Enterprising companies like 7Seas Technologies pay full heed to their unique demands, developing riveting games where politicians aimatedly pummel their adversaries black and blue, throw mean karate chops, hurl abuses,stick their tongues out cheekily, shout loud Whoopees, and kick some politico's ass.

All’s fair in love and war, they say.

And this is definitely war.

At its best.

Now whether the wired generation are wooed by these 70 year-old+ candidates in these General elections, and actually DO vote.

Or openly flaunt their (unmarked) middle fingers to the world, snorting derisively at the so-called 'fair' elections.

Now that is something which waits to be seen.