Year 1986. A lanky fellow with big, dreamy eyes made his debut with a little known film ‘Biwi ho to aisi’. His first big break came 2 years later with ‘Maine Pyar Kia’. The phenomenal success of this out and out love story turned him a star overnight and as they say…there was no looking back. His Bollywood genes must have been an advantage but not many Salman Khans are made every now and then. May be I’m being a bit too harsh with the younger lot, the very talented bunch of Ranbir Kapoors and Imran Khans. But our metrosexual babies can only give us some superswank, urbane love stories which won’t even see the light of the day in standalone theatres in Tier II cities!!! For a typical, desi, family, male, masala flick, he’s THE guy. Otherwise how would you justify the opening of a movie on a weekday wherein 90% of the shows went housefull. Starting from plush multiplexes in South Delhi to a theatre that still sells a 20 bucks balcony ticket! He has never kissed on screen. He doesn’t even let his heroines shed clothes. He very humbly does it himself. So almost all his films can be flagged as family entertainers. Quite literally!
The journey from being a loverboy to a full-fledged action hero was quite something. It started with the prankster Prem of Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. And by the time we could blink, he was out with his very enviable physique in Pyar Kia to Darna Kya in 1998! Remember the signature beach dance where he bared it for the first time? Well a body is a body and everyone in Bollywood has it today…Aamir, SRK, Ranbir, Imran (even Hashmi!!!), etc. so why talk about Salman Khan alone? Simply because he’s maintained it all for the last 15-16 years. Think PKTDK, and then think Dabanng. Give me one person who will do justice to that one shirt-tearing shot in Dabanng. And BTW he’s touching 50. Just because he doesn’t flaunt a trophy wife and wannabe kids every now and then, don’t underestimate him to be 30!
He’s not a great dancer. Doesn’t move much while dancing. Makes his muscles do it for him! And that becomes a cult overnight. So is the man’s aura. His comedies are mindless. I mean what’s in a split in the middle of a super serious fight? There is! His antics are unmatched and will definitely keep you up till the credits in the end. Quite unlike those gory, action movies starring his contemporaries.
And very few stars have the courage to release a film on the same date as Salman Khan. Ask a Shahid Kapoor or a Ranbir Kapoor to do it. They will give the lamest reasons and postpone their releases. Basically helpless because the old man still rules! And it’s much more than being just a hero. It’s about being a medium to take things to a different level altogether. It’s about carrying that aura of assurance. It’s about making the Brand Partners of a film split into 2 screens while credits. Starting from BlackBerry to Tupperware…everyone bets their fortune on him.
And why so much about Salman Khan suddenly? Well I watched Bodyguard today (1st day 2nd show). It had a whistling opening in one of the most posh multiplexes in South Delhi. I’m sure the lesser known halls saw much explicit reactions like the naryal act or the garland dance even! Sadly I couldn’t do much this time but promise to do it for Tiger, his next release.
It was a pleasure seeing families walking in for the single movie. No. The parents and the kids didn’t have to enter 2 separate auditoriums to catch different films. With due respect to SRK’s charisma and Aamir’s intellect, I hereby declare myself as a lifelong fan of the man himself…Salman Khan.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The phoenix land
Have never seen this a big change other than the 9/11, in my lifetime. It’s still hard to believe my state has rejected a rule... a way of life rather, after 34 years. Because, in West Bengal, you’re either a man, woman or a leftist. And in Kolkata, even that pigeon sitting on the roof of that very old house is a leftist.
I have heard people saying the nastiest things about the state government and still letting them happily rule year after year. Apart from their party cadre and some firm believers (mostly the ones who think to be a Bengali is to be a leftist) ever single person had a grudge against the people’s party and its people. The veterans cribbed about the state running out of resources and degenerating from their times. The youngsters...about lack of opportunities. People in general? About the existing system, the education, industry, in fact everything. Me at my level? Fortunately or unfortunately I never had to stay in Bengal or Calcutta per se. Thanks to my parents’ jobs, I had the privilege of growing up in a very remote but cosmopolitan township in the very backward state of Jharkhand. I saw my cousins of my age who studied in the state board schools shying away because they didn’t know English. Oh yes...they get to study the queen’s language from the age of 11/12 when we get to solve unseen comprehension passages in our exams! A handicap enough, to retain them within the state. Only some hardworking ones move out (that too after spending fortunes in spoken English courses) and the rest? They either find themselves writing the SSC( School Service Commission) exam and travelling to some unknown village to an almost imaginary government school in the name of teaching, or lay out a grocery shop in the house garage (that was once made by the father with a hope of their son buying them their first car...but then again...Nano never happened!!!)
My 87 year old grandfather has seen it all. The rise and fall of an era. And from the time I know, he refuses to vote because in the last 35 years the potholes in front his house have not blurred by an inch and people have been murdered and taken in broad daylight from in front of the house. My father, who studied in multiple universities in the Kolkata, happened to be an uncontested leader of the students’ union...but then life definitely changed after he passed out and walked beyond the university main gates! And that’s not all...my educationist grandparents couldn’t admit my uncle to Presidency College in the mid 70s because the campus still had blood stains of a student, killed, the very same day.
My tryst with Kolkata happened a couple of years back when I shifted base to the city of joy. My advertising career had just started taking off after working close to 2 years with one of the most reputed agencies in the country. I joined another big name in the business. Only to witness...NO! not great advertising campaigns...but random processions, strikes, riots and everything political and nasty from the office balcony. Most of the weekends turned out to be long one because of the strategic ‘Bandhs’ on Fridays or Mondays! The only good part of working in the most religiously sensitive area in the city was the Biriyani bit! And not to forget, the CM of the state, a member of the very people’s party couldn’t stand people on streets while he crossed the busiest crossing of the city. So the streets we cleared of people atleast twice in a day. All this and I couldn’t stretch my stay beyond 8 months.
So Didi, Rajdhanis and Durontos are fine...but we hope for a lot more. Lesser ‘Bandhs’, broader better roads, more food in Purulia, Bankura and Midnapore, better work, more investments in the state. I want to take my children for a fearless drive to mystic jungles of Kakrajhor and Jungle Mahal whenever I want to. And not just Nanos but Vernas and Endeavours being manufactured in the state...so that people like us can dream of going back to amar Poshchim Bangla...some day...for good.
I have heard people saying the nastiest things about the state government and still letting them happily rule year after year. Apart from their party cadre and some firm believers (mostly the ones who think to be a Bengali is to be a leftist) ever single person had a grudge against the people’s party and its people. The veterans cribbed about the state running out of resources and degenerating from their times. The youngsters...about lack of opportunities. People in general? About the existing system, the education, industry, in fact everything. Me at my level? Fortunately or unfortunately I never had to stay in Bengal or Calcutta per se. Thanks to my parents’ jobs, I had the privilege of growing up in a very remote but cosmopolitan township in the very backward state of Jharkhand. I saw my cousins of my age who studied in the state board schools shying away because they didn’t know English. Oh yes...they get to study the queen’s language from the age of 11/12 when we get to solve unseen comprehension passages in our exams! A handicap enough, to retain them within the state. Only some hardworking ones move out (that too after spending fortunes in spoken English courses) and the rest? They either find themselves writing the SSC( School Service Commission) exam and travelling to some unknown village to an almost imaginary government school in the name of teaching, or lay out a grocery shop in the house garage (that was once made by the father with a hope of their son buying them their first car...but then again...Nano never happened!!!)
My 87 year old grandfather has seen it all. The rise and fall of an era. And from the time I know, he refuses to vote because in the last 35 years the potholes in front his house have not blurred by an inch and people have been murdered and taken in broad daylight from in front of the house. My father, who studied in multiple universities in the Kolkata, happened to be an uncontested leader of the students’ union...but then life definitely changed after he passed out and walked beyond the university main gates! And that’s not all...my educationist grandparents couldn’t admit my uncle to Presidency College in the mid 70s because the campus still had blood stains of a student, killed, the very same day.
My tryst with Kolkata happened a couple of years back when I shifted base to the city of joy. My advertising career had just started taking off after working close to 2 years with one of the most reputed agencies in the country. I joined another big name in the business. Only to witness...NO! not great advertising campaigns...but random processions, strikes, riots and everything political and nasty from the office balcony. Most of the weekends turned out to be long one because of the strategic ‘Bandhs’ on Fridays or Mondays! The only good part of working in the most religiously sensitive area in the city was the Biriyani bit! And not to forget, the CM of the state, a member of the very people’s party couldn’t stand people on streets while he crossed the busiest crossing of the city. So the streets we cleared of people atleast twice in a day. All this and I couldn’t stretch my stay beyond 8 months.
So Didi, Rajdhanis and Durontos are fine...but we hope for a lot more. Lesser ‘Bandhs’, broader better roads, more food in Purulia, Bankura and Midnapore, better work, more investments in the state. I want to take my children for a fearless drive to mystic jungles of Kakrajhor and Jungle Mahal whenever I want to. And not just Nanos but Vernas and Endeavours being manufactured in the state...so that people like us can dream of going back to amar Poshchim Bangla...some day...for good.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
India: Occupation Galore!
Lack of occupation? Who? Indians? Us? Have you gone nuts? We have more jobs than we actually need. Even more than the land of opportunities US has. It’s just a sorry brand positioning of the country for no reason. We are forever occupied. Each one of us. Unemployment? Is that Hebrew? Our country gives us options to pick n choose occupations! We are the world’s busiest nation.
Our country is unimaginably united and linked. Anybody does anything in any corner, the arse of the entire nation gets tickled and we get busy. An asset painter of a rival faith is driven out of the country for doing his job. His country left no stone unturned to make sure he leaves his own country and settles in an alien one. He gives a damn! Shifts to another country, walks around barefoot and swipes his credit card to buy a Bentley! A well-deserved tight slap on the nation’s face.
We are immensely sensitive. The juvenile nation gets shaken by tweets. We feel good, we feel bad, we cry, we’re angry, we even dismiss, reject people on the basis of their tweets! So what if the person is a fresh breath of air within the rotten dungeons of the world’s largest democracy. What a wrong place you chose to be Mr. Tharoor. We are the young, rich, educated, emerging middle-class talking. We are the kings of trivialising and certainly don’t deserve you. We’ll forever be happy being led by corrupt, uneducated (literate but uneducated), have hidden sex genre of people. We have a mould for our leaders and expect you to fit in there.
And when life gets too bland in India, we of course have prime time, unscripted reality dramas in form of celebrity weddings. The golden girl of the country crosses borders to pick a husband, fake wife turns up, claims divorce, marriage happens, reception happens, who all make it to the invitee list, what do they wear to the event, what menu, what colour did the groom shit, everything. Courtesy- Our indispensable media. One full week of salacious gossyp for the hungry us. What more do we need to keep ourselves going. Patriotism, Indo-Pak bonhomie, everything takes a backseat.
An oversensitive country incurs humungous losses because of its attitude. We forget, a country of more than a billion hearts is also a country of more than a billion brains. And living with brains, instead of hearts, at times can prove to be of benefit for the mankind beyond measure. All this...still we are busy. And occupied afterall.
Our country is unimaginably united and linked. Anybody does anything in any corner, the arse of the entire nation gets tickled and we get busy. An asset painter of a rival faith is driven out of the country for doing his job. His country left no stone unturned to make sure he leaves his own country and settles in an alien one. He gives a damn! Shifts to another country, walks around barefoot and swipes his credit card to buy a Bentley! A well-deserved tight slap on the nation’s face.
We are immensely sensitive. The juvenile nation gets shaken by tweets. We feel good, we feel bad, we cry, we’re angry, we even dismiss, reject people on the basis of their tweets! So what if the person is a fresh breath of air within the rotten dungeons of the world’s largest democracy. What a wrong place you chose to be Mr. Tharoor. We are the young, rich, educated, emerging middle-class talking. We are the kings of trivialising and certainly don’t deserve you. We’ll forever be happy being led by corrupt, uneducated (literate but uneducated), have hidden sex genre of people. We have a mould for our leaders and expect you to fit in there.
And when life gets too bland in India, we of course have prime time, unscripted reality dramas in form of celebrity weddings. The golden girl of the country crosses borders to pick a husband, fake wife turns up, claims divorce, marriage happens, reception happens, who all make it to the invitee list, what do they wear to the event, what menu, what colour did the groom shit, everything. Courtesy- Our indispensable media. One full week of salacious gossyp for the hungry us. What more do we need to keep ourselves going. Patriotism, Indo-Pak bonhomie, everything takes a backseat.
An oversensitive country incurs humungous losses because of its attitude. We forget, a country of more than a billion hearts is also a country of more than a billion brains. And living with brains, instead of hearts, at times can prove to be of benefit for the mankind beyond measure. All this...still we are busy. And occupied afterall.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Simple Present
My last office was at the busiest crossing of the city. It came to a standstill atleast twice a day. Unfortunately it was the only way to the CMs house. Each time the he passed, business at the park circus crossing came to a standstill and atleast 10,000 people made way for that one man. The same man who kept shut all this while. Who couldn’t be found anywhere when 25 year olds had to either burn themselves or jump to death. I forgot they had a choice. Jumping cushions were left unused at the office barely 2kms from the point of massacre subject to a dispute over the payment to the manufacturing company. Most of the rescue equipments were ‘one’ in number. More could have obviously saved more common lives.
Probably no. For we all are used to use our moneys at the wrong places. To shop for things we don’t need, or we’ll never use, to ensure our ‘leaders’’ safety, prosperity and well-being, as bribes for construction of extra floors violating security norms and consequently, as compensations to the families of the dead. Who’s responsible? How long is the constant war between us on one side and the government on the other? How long is the callous most government in the world auction lump of meats of 25 year olds for a lac each? How long are we going to shell out our hard earned fat lollies for a few godforsaken individuals who can’t even guarantee us lives, leave alone a good lives.
48 hours later
It was close to business-as-usual at the Stephen Court crossing. The ever busy park street wore a veil of normalcy and peeped from inside, looked up to the blackened floors every 5 minutes. With scare, with gloom, with tears. Steps slowed, heart sank, a nauseating feeling swallowed me in as I walked towards the cursed icon. Had never imagined a police-barricaded Flury’s. No laughters gang of old friends meeting up, on the other side of the glass window. The patent Flury’s plain white tea cups didn’t tinkle today. Flury’s was closed. This was probably the first time when the city’s first-ever music world had its shutters down. The café coffee day outlet, where no one ever asked you to leave even if you spent the entire day there, couldn’t be seen because atleast 500 policemen gathered outside. And the institutional peter cat was just not there. I could feel someone taking away all my memories with that place. I gathered courage to look up. It felt like I tried to look into the eyes of the sun.
Windows and air-conditioning units burnt to ashes, the external walls gave a little idea of the loss within. Yes the loss was once again, within. What compensation a mother want who lost both her sons? Or probably the muslim husband who kept waiting with his daughter for his beloved hindu wife to celebrate her birthday. Yes the losses are always within. What’s visible might just give us an idea of its magnitude. And after 48 hours of the fire, bodies were still being recovered and kept on the pavements while reporters, cameramen, journalists and common men pounced on them. Yes the same pavement where they sell chocolates. Exactly eight steps away from the fancy and iconic ice cream parlour of the city.
Cars, taxis, bikes stopped at the red light. Innumerable pair of eyes looked up. Pedestrians, office goers, xaverians, non-xaverians, the rich, the middle-class, the poor, the beggars, the magazine sellers, everyone. Including me. The Gelato outside the Music World lowered a black flag and put a flex that read, “ We are sad, we are sorry we couldn’t save them.” The adjacent Flury’s wall had innumerable messages with candles and flowers on it. I felt a cramp in my stomach. A pain behind my eyes that gradually took over. I knew it was time for me to leave the spot. In the next 5 minutes I found myself at the entrance of Vardaan. Yes. I had to pick jewellery for my friend’s wedding.
2 weeks later
They had shifted Flury’s to the Park building and were operating from their ‘The Street’. I lowered my eyes as I entered the stretch and waited to look up till I reached Marco Polo. 2 weeks later, I found myself partying with friends in the adjacent pub to The Street. But I guess this is how life works. You have to pick up pieces and move on. As they say…It’s all a part of life. Oh ya, death indeed is!
My last office was at the busiest crossing of the city. It came to a standstill atleast twice a day. Unfortunately it was the only way to the CMs house. Each time the he passed, business at the park circus crossing came to a standstill and atleast 10,000 people made way for that one man. The same man who kept shut all this while. Who couldn’t be found anywhere when 25 year olds had to either burn themselves or jump to death. I forgot they had a choice. Jumping cushions were left unused at the office barely 2kms from the point of massacre subject to a dispute over the payment to the manufacturing company. Most of the rescue equipments were ‘one’ in number. More could have obviously saved more common lives.
Probably no. For we all are used to use our moneys at the wrong places. To shop for things we don’t need, or we’ll never use, to ensure our ‘leaders’’ safety, prosperity and well-being, as bribes for construction of extra floors violating security norms and consequently, as compensations to the families of the dead. Who’s responsible? How long is the constant war between us on one side and the government on the other? How long is the callous most government in the world auction lump of meats of 25 year olds for a lac each? How long are we going to shell out our hard earned fat lollies for a few godforsaken individuals who can’t even guarantee us lives, leave alone a good lives.
48 hours later
It was close to business-as-usual at the Stephen Court crossing. The ever busy park street wore a veil of normalcy and peeped from inside, looked up to the blackened floors every 5 minutes. With scare, with gloom, with tears. Steps slowed, heart sank, a nauseating feeling swallowed me in as I walked towards the cursed icon. Had never imagined a police-barricaded Flury’s. No laughters gang of old friends meeting up, on the other side of the glass window. The patent Flury’s plain white tea cups didn’t tinkle today. Flury’s was closed. This was probably the first time when the city’s first-ever music world had its shutters down. The café coffee day outlet, where no one ever asked you to leave even if you spent the entire day there, couldn’t be seen because atleast 500 policemen gathered outside. And the institutional peter cat was just not there. I could feel someone taking away all my memories with that place. I gathered courage to look up. It felt like I tried to look into the eyes of the sun.
Windows and air-conditioning units burnt to ashes, the external walls gave a little idea of the loss within. Yes the loss was once again, within. What compensation a mother want who lost both her sons? Or probably the muslim husband who kept waiting with his daughter for his beloved hindu wife to celebrate her birthday. Yes the losses are always within. What’s visible might just give us an idea of its magnitude. And after 48 hours of the fire, bodies were still being recovered and kept on the pavements while reporters, cameramen, journalists and common men pounced on them. Yes the same pavement where they sell chocolates. Exactly eight steps away from the fancy and iconic ice cream parlour of the city.
Cars, taxis, bikes stopped at the red light. Innumerable pair of eyes looked up. Pedestrians, office goers, xaverians, non-xaverians, the rich, the middle-class, the poor, the beggars, the magazine sellers, everyone. Including me. The Gelato outside the Music World lowered a black flag and put a flex that read, “ We are sad, we are sorry we couldn’t save them.” The adjacent Flury’s wall had innumerable messages with candles and flowers on it. I felt a cramp in my stomach. A pain behind my eyes that gradually took over. I knew it was time for me to leave the spot. In the next 5 minutes I found myself at the entrance of Vardaan. Yes. I had to pick jewellery for my friend’s wedding.
2 weeks later
They had shifted Flury’s to the Park building and were operating from their ‘The Street’. I lowered my eyes as I entered the stretch and waited to look up till I reached Marco Polo. 2 weeks later, I found myself partying with friends in the adjacent pub to The Street. But I guess this is how life works. You have to pick up pieces and move on. As they say…It’s all a part of life. Oh ya, death indeed is!
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monotony is a killer. Bored of scribbling about the so called society, it’s people, movies, ideologies, etc. I unintentionally ignored a very prominent angle of mine i.e. food. So here I come…from restaurants that would obviously offer the best of everything to getting the best of certain dishes in the most unexpected places, I share my foody experiences with you.
Let me warn you, I am no Vir Sanghvi or a trotter who’s been to some countryside eatery in Istanbul and would go gaga about some almost alien dish.
Let me go down the memory lane. As a kid, I trotted quite a lot with parents. I was too young when we visited Ooty and to have been able decipher the taste of food we ate there, but all I remember that I had this enticing chocolate flavoured tea. It almost felt like I was having bar of Dairy milk!
Come jawani and the travel bug bit me. I started venturing out on my own. With friends, for work, no work…
I have these preconceived notions about hills, notion because I still don’t know if it’s a fact. One of them…that hills have some of the best bakeries. I bumped into the most succulent apple pies in Mussoorie. One bite and it melts in your mouth. Quite unlike those apple pies they give you in CCDs. Ohh it doesn’t end here, the pasta alone was something that will take me to Mussoorie again. Penne cooked in a weird sauce neither red nor white (instead an orange sauce), but tasted divine. The chocolate chips were something I could die for. And as you relish the fruit cream, you have Pink Floyd, Elvis Presley, Bob (both Marley and Dylan) and posters of Casablanca and the likes staring at you from the walls. The owner is this 50 year old globetrotting rocker chap who picked these from all over the world. Chic Chocolate is what the place is called. Keep walking on the mall road till you reach the ropeway. Take the way up. Cross Dominos and CCD as the road takes a left turn towards landour bazaar. Spot the place on your left. Oh ya…they have some heavenly homemade white chocolates too!
Great food is always a value add to any trip. And all the more, when you get to have the most delicious dishes in the most unlikely places.
If Hrishikesh was one level less beautiful, I would never have the urge to go there twice. It’s vegetarian!!! Isn’t that enough? And the well known local chain Chotiwala offers quite yucky food. Let’s face it…food IS a problem for budget travelers in Hrishikesh. Until you force yourself to get into one of those groovy German cafeterias only to bump into Firangs doing bumbhole! The fussy me pokes from inside at the most appropriate times. Questions like hygiene, what if they serve doggy meat and the ilkes come up when I can kill for food. I gathered courage and climbed up those stairs before laxmanjhula begins. In the next 30 minutes, I realized it was not any place, It was a place that was very close to heaven. With the best spinach soup and the rebellious Ganga on my right, it was nirvana. From the briken glass window, a monkeys tried to figure out what was there in my bowl and went off looking disappointed. The soup, I thought could give a run to soups served in Mainland China. The vegetable salad came to my table as an enlightenment that mayonnaise and dressings are useless. How just vinegar can do wonders to a salad. The cookies and pies I packed to binge on my journey back to Delhi were simply out of the world. When you the reach the non-temple end of laxmanjhula, face the jhula and look at your left. Climb up the staircase to reach the last little dingy cafeteria called German bakery. Heaven’s really close from here. Trust me!
Life really throws up some delightful surprises. How about a dash of orient in the rustic state of Rajasthan? I prepared myself for gatte ki subzi and roti for the next three days when I started. Day 1 and 2 were ordeals in the government lodge with mix veg (lauki and aloo mix). The last day I headed to this private lodge that had a red brick building. Out of a dozen resorts on the same road why did I choose that one. My weakness towards red brick building since DU makes me pick one whenever given a choice. And DU saved me again! We played it safe and ordered for noodles and chicken chilli. They took close to an hour to serve it on our table. The chef probably went to poultry to pick a chicken, marinated it, cooked before he could serve it right on our table. And trust me I’ve never had such wonderful chilli chicken. It might have been miles away from being authentiv but who cares! We spend almost 5 times the money for those Chinjabi preparations in Golden Dragon and Chungwa! Juicy, spicy to the right level and you could feel the freshness in every bite. There was this big Delhi family goring on dal makhni, navrattan korma and roti, I looked at them and kept saying, “they don’t know what they are missing” till I got scolded to shut up and just enjoy. As you turn take the right towards the park gate keep left. You will spot only one red brick building. Welcome to China!
I confess, I can go till any extent for food. This was till I turned a health freak one month back. (man I’m into serious gymming n all!) So I was as game heading to Chandni Chowk for a lunch as well as walk down to city walk for a lunch buffet at spice market.
Delhi never disappoints foodies. Let’s start with the never ending list of street food. Bengali market offers the best chaat in town. No debates on that. For the non finicky on taste and extremely hygienic ones Sona sweets in Nehru Place offers some of the best chaats in town. Reach the famous golchakkar climb up the stairs and take a left to spot a big hogging crowd. You really can’t trust Sona for rabri faluda. And we shouldn’t be blaming the south Indian proprietor for this. For the most authentic rabri faluda you have to travel some 20 kms. Head to Chandni Chowk Take a rickie, go straight till the fatehpuri chowk then take a right and keep going straight. On your right, you will see this really dedicated guy making lassis. Only if you haven’t eaten for the last 3 days, try a glass and move ahead to spot a queue on your left. No it’s not a ticket queue; it’s the queue to heaven. Yes! You need to really behave and stand quietly in the line to experience the world’s best rabri faluda. 45 bucks??? Isn’t that expensive for chandni chowk? No it’s too cheap a ticket to heaven! Since you’ve started your meal dessert, Let’s head towards Jama Masjid for food! Karim’s ! bus naam hi kaafi hai! Coming back to street food, the guy in ber sarai market gives the best momos in the south. Try them in those foggy winter evenings! Now that we are close to the airport, let’s fly to Kolkata for the next round of foochkas and rolls. Try out any foochkawalla across the city, each one guarantees better taste than the other one. Only one place in Delhi has the same foochkas…reach the malviya nagar main market, cross the kotak ATM, The more intellectual ones head towards coffee house, any of the two and order a chicken omelet! Eggs fried in lavish oil stuffed with succulent breast strips of chicken! And all this for less than 20 bucks! Welcome to Kolkata! My impatience to hog on those egg and chicken rolls took a toll on me when I paid some 200 bucks to buy a couple of ‘Kolkata chicken rolls’ on my flight to Kolkata. I wish I had waited for a couple of hours more! But anyways those cold, stale and tasteless ‘Kolkata chicken rolls’ could’t do any harm to my enthu. On reaching, I headed straight to the best roll guy in town on Lindsay street. If you knew the old weekender store (now changed to something else), or take the connecting lane that has scoops to reach Lindsay Street. The van is on your right. Order and take a seat. The total waiting time is 5 mins at max even in the rush hours. The rolls leave me speechless. The noodles are no less. Oh ya! And when you are in Kolkata delete the word calorie from your dictionary. That should help. For restaurants, I prefer 6 Ballygunge Place. Yes it’s the name and the address both! All I would say about the food here is these folks are giving the Oh! Calcutta monopoly a good run for their money. And their Lunch buffet has a welcome drink too!
Talking about metropolis, my life has been mostly spent in Kolkata and Delhi. So whatever I know will be of these two cities. Kindly bear!
This blog has already become too big. And I cant wait to upload it So will talk about the rest in my next blog/ Stay tuned!
Let me warn you, I am no Vir Sanghvi or a trotter who’s been to some countryside eatery in Istanbul and would go gaga about some almost alien dish.
Let me go down the memory lane. As a kid, I trotted quite a lot with parents. I was too young when we visited Ooty and to have been able decipher the taste of food we ate there, but all I remember that I had this enticing chocolate flavoured tea. It almost felt like I was having bar of Dairy milk!
Come jawani and the travel bug bit me. I started venturing out on my own. With friends, for work, no work…
I have these preconceived notions about hills, notion because I still don’t know if it’s a fact. One of them…that hills have some of the best bakeries. I bumped into the most succulent apple pies in Mussoorie. One bite and it melts in your mouth. Quite unlike those apple pies they give you in CCDs. Ohh it doesn’t end here, the pasta alone was something that will take me to Mussoorie again. Penne cooked in a weird sauce neither red nor white (instead an orange sauce), but tasted divine. The chocolate chips were something I could die for. And as you relish the fruit cream, you have Pink Floyd, Elvis Presley, Bob (both Marley and Dylan) and posters of Casablanca and the likes staring at you from the walls. The owner is this 50 year old globetrotting rocker chap who picked these from all over the world. Chic Chocolate is what the place is called. Keep walking on the mall road till you reach the ropeway. Take the way up. Cross Dominos and CCD as the road takes a left turn towards landour bazaar. Spot the place on your left. Oh ya…they have some heavenly homemade white chocolates too!
Great food is always a value add to any trip. And all the more, when you get to have the most delicious dishes in the most unlikely places.
If Hrishikesh was one level less beautiful, I would never have the urge to go there twice. It’s vegetarian!!! Isn’t that enough? And the well known local chain Chotiwala offers quite yucky food. Let’s face it…food IS a problem for budget travelers in Hrishikesh. Until you force yourself to get into one of those groovy German cafeterias only to bump into Firangs doing bumbhole! The fussy me pokes from inside at the most appropriate times. Questions like hygiene, what if they serve doggy meat and the ilkes come up when I can kill for food. I gathered courage and climbed up those stairs before laxmanjhula begins. In the next 30 minutes, I realized it was not any place, It was a place that was very close to heaven. With the best spinach soup and the rebellious Ganga on my right, it was nirvana. From the briken glass window, a monkeys tried to figure out what was there in my bowl and went off looking disappointed. The soup, I thought could give a run to soups served in Mainland China. The vegetable salad came to my table as an enlightenment that mayonnaise and dressings are useless. How just vinegar can do wonders to a salad. The cookies and pies I packed to binge on my journey back to Delhi were simply out of the world. When you the reach the non-temple end of laxmanjhula, face the jhula and look at your left. Climb up the staircase to reach the last little dingy cafeteria called German bakery. Heaven’s really close from here. Trust me!
Life really throws up some delightful surprises. How about a dash of orient in the rustic state of Rajasthan? I prepared myself for gatte ki subzi and roti for the next three days when I started. Day 1 and 2 were ordeals in the government lodge with mix veg (lauki and aloo mix). The last day I headed to this private lodge that had a red brick building. Out of a dozen resorts on the same road why did I choose that one. My weakness towards red brick building since DU makes me pick one whenever given a choice. And DU saved me again! We played it safe and ordered for noodles and chicken chilli. They took close to an hour to serve it on our table. The chef probably went to poultry to pick a chicken, marinated it, cooked before he could serve it right on our table. And trust me I’ve never had such wonderful chilli chicken. It might have been miles away from being authentiv but who cares! We spend almost 5 times the money for those Chinjabi preparations in Golden Dragon and Chungwa! Juicy, spicy to the right level and you could feel the freshness in every bite. There was this big Delhi family goring on dal makhni, navrattan korma and roti, I looked at them and kept saying, “they don’t know what they are missing” till I got scolded to shut up and just enjoy. As you turn take the right towards the park gate keep left. You will spot only one red brick building. Welcome to China!
I confess, I can go till any extent for food. This was till I turned a health freak one month back. (man I’m into serious gymming n all!) So I was as game heading to Chandni Chowk for a lunch as well as walk down to city walk for a lunch buffet at spice market.
Delhi never disappoints foodies. Let’s start with the never ending list of street food. Bengali market offers the best chaat in town. No debates on that. For the non finicky on taste and extremely hygienic ones Sona sweets in Nehru Place offers some of the best chaats in town. Reach the famous golchakkar climb up the stairs and take a left to spot a big hogging crowd. You really can’t trust Sona for rabri faluda. And we shouldn’t be blaming the south Indian proprietor for this. For the most authentic rabri faluda you have to travel some 20 kms. Head to Chandni Chowk Take a rickie, go straight till the fatehpuri chowk then take a right and keep going straight. On your right, you will see this really dedicated guy making lassis. Only if you haven’t eaten for the last 3 days, try a glass and move ahead to spot a queue on your left. No it’s not a ticket queue; it’s the queue to heaven. Yes! You need to really behave and stand quietly in the line to experience the world’s best rabri faluda. 45 bucks??? Isn’t that expensive for chandni chowk? No it’s too cheap a ticket to heaven! Since you’ve started your meal dessert, Let’s head towards Jama Masjid for food! Karim’s ! bus naam hi kaafi hai! Coming back to street food, the guy in ber sarai market gives the best momos in the south. Try them in those foggy winter evenings! Now that we are close to the airport, let’s fly to Kolkata for the next round of foochkas and rolls. Try out any foochkawalla across the city, each one guarantees better taste than the other one. Only one place in Delhi has the same foochkas…reach the malviya nagar main market, cross the kotak ATM, The more intellectual ones head towards coffee house, any of the two and order a chicken omelet! Eggs fried in lavish oil stuffed with succulent breast strips of chicken! And all this for less than 20 bucks! Welcome to Kolkata! My impatience to hog on those egg and chicken rolls took a toll on me when I paid some 200 bucks to buy a couple of ‘Kolkata chicken rolls’ on my flight to Kolkata. I wish I had waited for a couple of hours more! But anyways those cold, stale and tasteless ‘Kolkata chicken rolls’ could’t do any harm to my enthu. On reaching, I headed straight to the best roll guy in town on Lindsay street. If you knew the old weekender store (now changed to something else), or take the connecting lane that has scoops to reach Lindsay Street. The van is on your right. Order and take a seat. The total waiting time is 5 mins at max even in the rush hours. The rolls leave me speechless. The noodles are no less. Oh ya! And when you are in Kolkata delete the word calorie from your dictionary. That should help. For restaurants, I prefer 6 Ballygunge Place. Yes it’s the name and the address both! All I would say about the food here is these folks are giving the Oh! Calcutta monopoly a good run for their money. And their Lunch buffet has a welcome drink too!
Talking about metropolis, my life has been mostly spent in Kolkata and Delhi. So whatever I know will be of these two cities. Kindly bear!
This blog has already become too big. And I cant wait to upload it So will talk about the rest in my next blog/ Stay tuned!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Half a day
More than movies it’s my passion for cooking that often takes me to the neighbouring Basant Lok (better known as Priya) complex. Because of it’s location, the complex is blessed with two very upmarket departmental stores where you get everything from all over the world. Apart from these, a few stores, my bank, a few posh and not-so-posh restaurants, coffee shops & pubs and of course the very warm single screen PVR populate this little hangout. A personal favourite since JNU days, I’m still a regular here. The mood is different, unlike malls where it’s too much of concrete everwhere. Especially in the lazy winter afternoons when you can just walk around with (or without) a coffee. I can go on and on about it…
So my Valentines’ in-house dinner once again took me to Le Marche on the D-day. And this blog is all about what I saw in there! My enlightenment on how love truly catches up on this day and how primitive I still am.
Young men with young women, young men with not-so-young women, young women with not-so-young men, people wearing satin shirts and white shoes, girls in skirts, many of them in no skirts! Women with flowers holding their partners hands…the whole world around seemed to be madly in love. It was more like the prelude of the movie ‘Love Actually’, and it felt like the cupid has injected a love ‘n’ life tonic to the old & lazy multiplex complex. I wanted to find another person roaming single, I realized, I had no other option but to look into a mirror. People stared at me with ‘Whatcha Loser’ look as I walked around. By the time my shopping was complete, I felt a li’l kick inside my stomach. No, not a baby, it was hunger this time! A coffee shop was the safest place to be, because all restaurants were full of love-birds. I was delighted to see two more singletons reading books and listening to music as I walked into the corner coffeeshop. Finally, I said to myself, “Oh dude no worries for you’re not the only one.” Found myself a table by the window with some lazy, semi-sleepy sun rays trying to peep in through the clear halves of the very artistically designed, zigzagged glass window of the shop. Amazing it was, I thought. The other two singletons (one male and one female) gave me a look and exchanged looks as I placed my order. I opened my book and placed my earphones setting my favourite FM channel. It was wonderful. The sun kept playing hide n seek, the kids kept running around, they played love songs on the FM channel…life was perfect. I drowned myself in the ocean of thoughts while flipping through the pages of the book. People walked in and out and that kept me busy enough not to concentrate in the book. Questions, questions and more questions came to my mind. Why Valentines? Why a day for love? Are these people all in love? All committed? Or just playing around for a day? Or they just don’t want to be single?
There were so many people around, and I watched each one of them with an aquarian’s observational skills. The single guy had calls every five minutes, he’d leave his Chetan Bhagat bestseller, take the call and move out, I saw him wiping tears, must be missing his woman on the day of love. The single woman, on the other hand looked quite liberated,. She read a book and kept making notes and drank water from her strinkingly red Nike sipper that drew everybody’s attention! A young couple walked in, the girl must be my age, she looked prettiest in Priya’s I thought,. She was dressed in a subtle pink chiffon saree for her man. Her man helped her seat herself as she finely adjusted her plates and made herself comfortable in one the couches. Have I ever done something like this for my man? Sweet. I thought. Then there was this Indian nerd guy with this Japanese girl who was so confused about the whole deal that she wasn’t able to choose her coffee. Then walked in a duo of these supposedly very hot English women with a kid. Couldn’t figure out if one them was the mother of the kiddo! Suddenly this very posh middle aged couple walked in. the lady was too prim to even like the place. She somehow managed to find a place and made faces that clearly said, when the hell can I get outta here!
I was deep in my own little world when the sandwich and the coffee arrived. That brought me back to the day! When I thought the world is in love and why do I have to hate it? If people are walking hand in hand, loving to be in each others arms for a day what harm does it do to anybody? They are not killing people, planting bombs around, they are not moral policing anybody, they aren’t into obtaining sadistic pleasures watching people die with bombs placed any and everywhere.
So what do we human beings want, we don’t want hatred, neither do we want love! I hated seeing people walking hand in hand, I ridiculed couples who lost themselves in each other’s eyes. I thought they were mad, and they thought I was mad, the feeling was mutual though. But what’s it that we exactly want? No love, No hatred? These couples whom I made fun of, are they killing people? No! Are they spreading terror and tears? Are they making you lose you loved, near & dear ones? NO!
Let’s just let them be! If they are not hassling us, why are we even trying to poke? We might be happy with the way we are! Why can’t we let them spread more and more love all over. Amen.
I finished food and walked off, I’ve had quite a day, I thought!
So my Valentines’ in-house dinner once again took me to Le Marche on the D-day. And this blog is all about what I saw in there! My enlightenment on how love truly catches up on this day and how primitive I still am.
Young men with young women, young men with not-so-young women, young women with not-so-young men, people wearing satin shirts and white shoes, girls in skirts, many of them in no skirts! Women with flowers holding their partners hands…the whole world around seemed to be madly in love. It was more like the prelude of the movie ‘Love Actually’, and it felt like the cupid has injected a love ‘n’ life tonic to the old & lazy multiplex complex. I wanted to find another person roaming single, I realized, I had no other option but to look into a mirror. People stared at me with ‘Whatcha Loser’ look as I walked around. By the time my shopping was complete, I felt a li’l kick inside my stomach. No, not a baby, it was hunger this time! A coffee shop was the safest place to be, because all restaurants were full of love-birds. I was delighted to see two more singletons reading books and listening to music as I walked into the corner coffeeshop. Finally, I said to myself, “Oh dude no worries for you’re not the only one.” Found myself a table by the window with some lazy, semi-sleepy sun rays trying to peep in through the clear halves of the very artistically designed, zigzagged glass window of the shop. Amazing it was, I thought. The other two singletons (one male and one female) gave me a look and exchanged looks as I placed my order. I opened my book and placed my earphones setting my favourite FM channel. It was wonderful. The sun kept playing hide n seek, the kids kept running around, they played love songs on the FM channel…life was perfect. I drowned myself in the ocean of thoughts while flipping through the pages of the book. People walked in and out and that kept me busy enough not to concentrate in the book. Questions, questions and more questions came to my mind. Why Valentines? Why a day for love? Are these people all in love? All committed? Or just playing around for a day? Or they just don’t want to be single?
There were so many people around, and I watched each one of them with an aquarian’s observational skills. The single guy had calls every five minutes, he’d leave his Chetan Bhagat bestseller, take the call and move out, I saw him wiping tears, must be missing his woman on the day of love. The single woman, on the other hand looked quite liberated,. She read a book and kept making notes and drank water from her strinkingly red Nike sipper that drew everybody’s attention! A young couple walked in, the girl must be my age, she looked prettiest in Priya’s I thought,. She was dressed in a subtle pink chiffon saree for her man. Her man helped her seat herself as she finely adjusted her plates and made herself comfortable in one the couches. Have I ever done something like this for my man? Sweet. I thought. Then there was this Indian nerd guy with this Japanese girl who was so confused about the whole deal that she wasn’t able to choose her coffee. Then walked in a duo of these supposedly very hot English women with a kid. Couldn’t figure out if one them was the mother of the kiddo! Suddenly this very posh middle aged couple walked in. the lady was too prim to even like the place. She somehow managed to find a place and made faces that clearly said, when the hell can I get outta here!
I was deep in my own little world when the sandwich and the coffee arrived. That brought me back to the day! When I thought the world is in love and why do I have to hate it? If people are walking hand in hand, loving to be in each others arms for a day what harm does it do to anybody? They are not killing people, planting bombs around, they are not moral policing anybody, they aren’t into obtaining sadistic pleasures watching people die with bombs placed any and everywhere.
So what do we human beings want, we don’t want hatred, neither do we want love! I hated seeing people walking hand in hand, I ridiculed couples who lost themselves in each other’s eyes. I thought they were mad, and they thought I was mad, the feeling was mutual though. But what’s it that we exactly want? No love, No hatred? These couples whom I made fun of, are they killing people? No! Are they spreading terror and tears? Are they making you lose you loved, near & dear ones? NO!
Let’s just let them be! If they are not hassling us, why are we even trying to poke? We might be happy with the way we are! Why can’t we let them spread more and more love all over. Amen.
I finished food and walked off, I’ve had quite a day, I thought!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The question is WHY.
When it comes to my taste in art and cinema I’m a total Bollywood propagator. Yes I’m all for Yash Raj chiffon romances, Farhan Akhtar’s reel-y real films, RGV’s cult films, Kunal Kohli’s ultrasmart films, Shyam Benegal’s arty films as well as unreal films like Jaane Tu… similarly I have a lot of faith on actors and definitely definitely Aamir Khan tops the list. He doesn’t make films, he does cinema. And why not? He has given people a lot more meaningful cinema than anyone else has. Starting from the rib tickling comedy Andaz Apna Apna to the hatke Taare Zameen Par he is definitely the “been there, done that” guy of Indian cinema.
And there comes his much awaited “Ghajini!” The story about this guy who suffers from short term memory loss (Remember that Tom guy in 50 First Dates?)and is driven by only one cause, take revenge from this Ghajini Dharmatma guy who killed his girlfriend. But how would do it? He forgets everything in 15 minutes! Remember short term memory loss? Well…another thing, he is a business tycoon and owns the country’s leading telecom service providing company. Now here’s a thought think about the day when all tycoons (with or without memory loss) get to taking revenge from some arbit small time criminal. Think of the country’s economy then? In recessionary times all business tycoons leave work and get to killing criminals! I mean will Mallya’s son or Narayana Murthy’s daughter do something of this sort?
Okay, and then a tycoon whom you have never seen on TV or read about in the newspapers! And which girl wouldn’t google a piece of information…I hate this over dumb and unreal portrayal of women. And then why revenge out of everything else…the whole nation is going ga-ga on Aamir, saying he has lived up to their expectations. What expectations? A movie where the hero looks scary and villainous than the villain! The chocolaty hero’s face haunted me throughout the night the day I went to watch it. And I mean if at all he was too eager to show off his 6-8-12-24 whatever pack abs, he could have very well done it a different movie, he could have chosen a different subject…for example the making of a body builder or something! The film might be making fat lollies at the box office but I see it as what Amitabh was to Boom. And these older heroes of ours…what do they want to prove making films opposite these new girls who are forever in awe of these men and it shows on screen! Ansd those Van Heusen suits! Those made Aamir look like Atal Vihari Bajpayee’s bodyguard! And they too are on the verge of becoming a rage in the nation. India gets moved by anything I swear, last time I visited a Van Heusen store, it was full of Ghajini suits. Imagine hunks around you walking around in look alikes of bulletproofs!
No wonder Mani Ratnam said Indians still need another 10 years to accept Dil Se
after Dil Se flopped in India. We are a country where a Sajjanpur flops but Ghajini will always be hit.
Jai Hind Jai Bharat.
When it comes to my taste in art and cinema I’m a total Bollywood propagator. Yes I’m all for Yash Raj chiffon romances, Farhan Akhtar’s reel-y real films, RGV’s cult films, Kunal Kohli’s ultrasmart films, Shyam Benegal’s arty films as well as unreal films like Jaane Tu… similarly I have a lot of faith on actors and definitely definitely Aamir Khan tops the list. He doesn’t make films, he does cinema. And why not? He has given people a lot more meaningful cinema than anyone else has. Starting from the rib tickling comedy Andaz Apna Apna to the hatke Taare Zameen Par he is definitely the “been there, done that” guy of Indian cinema.
And there comes his much awaited “Ghajini!” The story about this guy who suffers from short term memory loss (Remember that Tom guy in 50 First Dates?)and is driven by only one cause, take revenge from this Ghajini Dharmatma guy who killed his girlfriend. But how would do it? He forgets everything in 15 minutes! Remember short term memory loss? Well…another thing, he is a business tycoon and owns the country’s leading telecom service providing company. Now here’s a thought think about the day when all tycoons (with or without memory loss) get to taking revenge from some arbit small time criminal. Think of the country’s economy then? In recessionary times all business tycoons leave work and get to killing criminals! I mean will Mallya’s son or Narayana Murthy’s daughter do something of this sort?
Okay, and then a tycoon whom you have never seen on TV or read about in the newspapers! And which girl wouldn’t google a piece of information…I hate this over dumb and unreal portrayal of women. And then why revenge out of everything else…the whole nation is going ga-ga on Aamir, saying he has lived up to their expectations. What expectations? A movie where the hero looks scary and villainous than the villain! The chocolaty hero’s face haunted me throughout the night the day I went to watch it. And I mean if at all he was too eager to show off his 6-8-12-24 whatever pack abs, he could have very well done it a different movie, he could have chosen a different subject…for example the making of a body builder or something! The film might be making fat lollies at the box office but I see it as what Amitabh was to Boom. And these older heroes of ours…what do they want to prove making films opposite these new girls who are forever in awe of these men and it shows on screen! Ansd those Van Heusen suits! Those made Aamir look like Atal Vihari Bajpayee’s bodyguard! And they too are on the verge of becoming a rage in the nation. India gets moved by anything I swear, last time I visited a Van Heusen store, it was full of Ghajini suits. Imagine hunks around you walking around in look alikes of bulletproofs!
No wonder Mani Ratnam said Indians still need another 10 years to accept Dil Se
after Dil Se flopped in India. We are a country where a Sajjanpur flops but Ghajini will always be hit.
Jai Hind Jai Bharat.
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