Salt and Pepper

Took in 2 good movies last weekend – one a breathless entertainer and the other a mellow reflective romantic drama. The first was the over-hyped – Angelina Jolie’s thriller - S.A.L.T . It was so fast paced that it didn’t allow any time to think or question the sheer absurdity of the script. The original screenplay, I believe, was written for Tom Cruise and had to undergo a sex reversal of sorts when he turned it down and Jolie stepped into the role. I must admit it was much more fun watching Angelina perform the high voltage stunts and (even though the sex sequences - as shown on the TV clips - had been censored) her feminine vulnerability succeeds in arousing the audience's adrenalin (and related hormones) more than a cold-as-steel Cruise could possibly have.


And some pepper ......


(Penelope Cruz in a scene from the film)

old age is not for sissies

The second movie, which I downloaded from the net, was more up my street – Elegy starring Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz (click here for synopsis and previews). In a screen adaptation of the Phillip Roth novel – The Dying Animal, Kingsley plays David Kepesh a charismatic author and professor who serially bedded the best looking student of his class (taking care to skirt the sexual harassment code of the college by waiting till they get their grades). “When you make love to a woman you get revenge for all the things that defeated you in life” says Kepesh. He finally meets his nemesis – when he gets into a erotic entanglement with the stunningly beautiful Cuban co-ed - 30 years his younger – Consuella Castilo



Not quite in the league of Brando’s – The Last Tango, Kingsley is brilliant as the ageing academic who is trying to come to terms with the existential enigma of growing old vs growing up – something I had touched upon in my earlier blog Midlife Delinquencies (click here to read). The subject of an older man having an affair with a woman much younger to him has been beaten to death in literature and the movies. But, this one treats a serious subject without making it heavy - made possible by a very intelligent screenplay and superbly calibrated acting by all the lead characters. The film is full of some profound dialogue - gain delivered very lightly. For eg - Kepesh says : "Beautiful women are invisible because we get so dazzled by the outside we fail to look inside."



Standing by the window watching the rain, he talks to himself - “Old age sneaks up on you, and the next thing you know you're asking yourself, I'm asking myself, why can't an old man act his real age? How is it possible for me to still be involved in the carnal aspects of the human comedy? Because, in my head, nothing has changed”

The sexual chemistry between Kingsley and Cruz palpably pierces through the screen. But, this PC (unlike another I was briefly obsessed with sometime ago !!) is something else. To call her ravishing or just hauntingly beautiful would be an understatement – sans her clothes she is like a Goddess – worthy of worship as her on-screen predator honestly admits (see clip).

After all, as Kepesh paraphrases Betty Davies, “old age is not for sissies”.

another kind of BIMARU

Reading the memoirs of Ashish Bose – Headcount. Bose is a pioneer of demographic studies in India and is credited with the coinage of the term – BIMARU states (referring to the population issues of Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh) and other theories such as “linguistic displacement” in states like Assam post-independence.

Though, by his own admission, Bose has at times got valuable insights from ordinary people such as his “maalishwala” – he is undoubtedly a man of great erudition, who has also led a full life beyond academia. But, the book is poorly written and badly edited (surprising for a Penguin title). Coming right after Fali Nariman’s autobiography it makes a disappointing read (especially his rather simplistic account of the Emergency and mild fawning of the Nehru-Gandhi clan).

Weekend Contemplations on Love and Beauty beyond 40...

This time in London, I had kept the weekend free to catch a show on the West end. People I asked for recommendations talked about the latest production at Wyndham’s – Madame de Sade – starring Judi Dench, tho’ they themselves hadn’t seen it yet. (Click here)

Heaving bosoms and washboard tummies`

The play is based on Yukio Mishima’s famous Japanese novel on the life of Marquis de Sade (a decadent aristocrat imprisoned in the Bastille for his lurid sexual escapades) as told from the perspective of the many women in his life. But, despite the salacious blurbs the lukewarm reviews on the free papers I picked up on the tube – left me cold. But then, I am also not a great fan of bosom heaving period and costume dramas in the first place.

So, I gave up the idea of a play and wandered around aimlessly in the Covent Garden – Leicester Square area on a pleasant 14 º C afternoon. After a satisfying pub lunch (pie and mash with a pint of good ale) at the Nags Head, I headed out towards the Odeon. But old age has an uncanny knack of sending untimely reminder slips . Earlier – I could have traversed Central London for hours occasionally hopping into a bus or a short ride on the tube. Wrapping up the day - quite literally - with a satisfying meal of crispy aromatic duck pancakes in Soho China Town. Before long I felt totally drained and even a shot of double espresso at the new Costa’s round the corner couldn’t pick me up. Exhausted, I found myself taking the escalator up the Trocadero Cinemas near Picadilly Circus, buying a ticket for the new Julia Roberts flick – Duplicity, which was showing next.

Due to the effect of the beer or the walk, I am not sure which – I shamelessly dozed off even before the trailers had begun to roll. I don’t know if I was snoring too, since in a near empty theatre there was no one on the next seat to poke me. When I woke up a good 30 minutes into the film, Owen was dropping his signature pick-up line "I excel at remembering people I have slept with; that's been a traditional area of strength for me". The film is at best a slick entertainer about 2 con artists – Roberts and Owen – trying to outsmart each other in their own game of gypping a major drug company with the fake formula of an over-the-counter cure for baldness. Smart cinematography and sharp dialogues are the mainstay of the movie banking heavily on the glamour quotient of the 2 lead actors (tho’ Owen struts around with his bare torso, Julia barely shows any skin at all – but more on that later).

Adolescent fantasies

Duplicity reminded me of another film in the same genre from the 70s – Thief who came to Dinner, Ryan O’Neil played a high-society jewel thief and Jaqueline Bisset was his partner in crime. It’s easy to understand why Bisset, more than the film, had made a deep impression on a teenage mind, which was further indelibly re-engraved in movies like the ‘Deep’ that followed with its stunning opening sequence of Bisset scuba-diving in a wet T-Shirt. That brings me to the all important question – is Julia Roberts really HOT or simply 'pretty'?

I personally think that her looks have been grossly over-rated. She definitely isn’t beautiful in a classical sense – like say Audrey Hepburn of yore, Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman or a Keira Knightly of more recent vintage. She doesn’t have the heady blend of understated sensuality and over-pouring oomph of an Angelina Jolie. In Pretty Woman, it was her freshness rather than her sexiness and unaffected charm that made her so appealing and caught people’s fancy, than probably the more natural consummate tartalinas such as a Katherine Zeta Jones, Penelope Cruz or a Cameron Diaz would have.

But, then what is it about her that I liked in this movie ? It couldn’t have been her acting – for which she had little scope to display her prowess. Yet, had it not been for her I would have happily slept thru the movie (and still felt that I have got my money’s worth for the £7 I spent on the ticket ) and, most certainly, the images wouldn't have been lingering in my mind even after a month. There was something mesmerising about her character -for which, I savoured spending those 2 hours with her in air-conditioned comfort that was beyond giving my tired feet some well deserved rest.

Magical Menopause or Mid-life fixations

I finally chanced upon the answer in the recent issue of TIME – in which Mary Pols analyses her …… (Read Full Article by clicking here)


“Claire would like Owen to love her, but it’s clear she’d survive without him. Their relationship is not a road to an altar; it’s about being with someone who gets you. It’s mature love in short.

What about being mature in years ? Forty or thereabouts is often the most attractive age for women, when you are old to really appreciate, understand and know how to flatter yourself. But in Hollywood it mostly leads to unintentional vanishing acts or inspires unfortunate experiments with surgery.

Motherhood, by the way, looks good on her. Onscreen – she’s lush and full: any woman who has breast-fed will recognize the source of her Duplicity cleavage. Her Claire makes Owen’s Ray even more swoon-worthy, we know he appreciates a real woman.

If you are nostalgic for the pretty woman in pink-and-black spandex, too bad. Robert’s isn’t shoe horning herself back into a prostitute’s work outfit. She’s too sensible to even try.”

In real-life I know some women above 40 – who fit Mol’s description of Roberts almost to a tee (and, I'm not talking of cleavage here). They carry age, marriage and motherhood on an even keel with a great deal of panache and elan. But, I can’t think of any examples in Bollywood of actresses who have been able to make such seamless transition with age. But we are an evolving lot and I would still place my bet on Priyanka – tho’ I wish she wouldn’t succumb to peer pressure and try getting to size-zero. Well, I may not be a Marquis or an Owen - but at way past 40, I am beginning to understand a thing or two about women, love and beauty.

She loves me, she loves me not.....

Bombay doesn't love me, but do I love Bombay ? This is the classic conundrum generations of adoptive 'Mumbaikars' like me - who have tried to make Bombay their home ( despite the periodic protestations of the 'uncle' or his cub turned fledgling tiger 'nephew' ) - struggle with. Bombay is like the quintessential femme fatale - from Cleopatra to Carla, Angelina to Ash, Marylin to Madhuri - who have through the ages made millions drop on their knees by simply refusing to be conquered. Bombay doesn't believe in slow seduction like Calcutta, nor does it have the brash, on your face, 'come hither' attitude of Delhi. It simply shocks you to submission and ( very often) total surrender.

I was ruminating these thoughts on my way back home from Geoffrey's, where I had tried - with limited success - to ply a young colleague with drinks on a potential career move to Mumbai from the comfortable confines of Calcutta. He parried every single argument I proffered with a stolid, one point counter - "but why ?" - throwing the ball determinedly back on my court.

It is this "but why ?" factor which baffles everyone visiting Mumbai from other cities small, large or another megalopolis ( like Delhi would like to believe it is ) . They fail to figure out what's the fix that hook people so hopelessly and irreparably to this 'packed and pestilential' city - which Kipling , if he were to live today, would have described in the self-same words he used for Charnock's Calcutta ( still holds true , by the way ) - "As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, So it spread–chance-directed, chance-erected ....." except perhaps, he would have modified it a little to read - "builders selected, builders created.....where penthouses, hovel-poverty and pride (exist ) - side-by side " and it would have fitted Mumbai beautifully.

A couple of weeks ago, the chief of a well-known PR Agency told me, how she was appalled at visiting the new apartment of a just retired senior civil servant, to find it was smaller than the size of her living room and cost almost as much as her bungalow by the golf-greens of Gurgaon. And yet, she is surprised, even corporates who constantly complain about the soaring real-estate prices, unaffordable rents, high wages and crumbling infrastructure - threatening to shift base to Gurgaon and Bangalore - stop short at Andheri, which keeps bringing back the likes of her to Mumbai in search of new business. The critiques on Mumbai (lack of space, crowded trains, snarling traffic, poor quality of life, etc etc.... ) are as cliched as the the praises that are heaped upon her ( city of opportunity, professional work-culture, efficiency and so on... ) none of which can bear repetition here. But both these constituencies, I think, miss the essence of Mumbai or , as the Americans say, ' don't get it'.

I don't love Bombay - either for her glitz and glamour or for her grossly romanticised under-belly made pruriently fashionable by the new genre of "realist" Bollywood movies or the likes of Shantaram ( foreigners make a cool business of this as Morehouse, Lapierre and Grass did for Calcutta or, more recently, Dalrymple for his City of Djinns ).

I love Bombay for the energy she exudes, her pace, her indefatigable spirit - her infectious positivism. I love Bombay because she lives in the 'present' - neither harking back to an over glorified past nor the dreams of future transformation to a "world city from a walled city", whatever that might mean ( Bombay needn't ever be another Shanghai or a Singapore for that matter !!). I love Bombay for the personal space she gives her people. So what if they live in pigeon-hole apartments or travel in sardine-packed trains - no other city is as "non-judgemental" as Bombay. Yet she's not amoral, somewhere deep within, she is moored in strong, middle-class Indian values. I love Bombay because she respects anonymity - she allows you to exist without wearing a name tag on your chest or dangling a calling card on your sleeves. Here, I can take the train to work or enjoy my Sunday afternoon beer with mandali fries at my favourite JBs ( Janta Bar - for the uninitiated readers of this blog ) without anybody sparing me as much as a second glance - let alone waste their energy in lifting an eye-brow. And yet, she breeds just that right amount of insecurity, like the dynamic sexual tension generated by a consummate lover, never letting you take her for granted - only to bring out the best in you, keeping you always longing for more.... That's what makes it a truly 'international' city unlike her northern pretenders;

Bombay doesn't need to ooze her sensuality or titillate your senses - to cast her spell on you and make you her slave for life. She only has to look at you with a side-glance. That's why - I am amused to think, how in 6 months time or even less the same young man who was greeting my spiel about Bombay with scornful skepticism would become a irreversible convert. And more than him - his wife, who he was convinced would never be able to adjust to the tough life here, having been used to a cozy pampered existence since childhood, would get so irredeemably addicted to the charms and spoils of Mumbai, that she'd rather dump him than desert the city.

Once a friend asked me about Delhi - is there nothing you like about this city ? I told her, of course, I do love your winters. She probed why ? - and I answered, because the weather makes the people a wee bit tolerable. A truism which, as a 3rd generation Delhi-ite, even she couldn't refute. Mumbai, thankfully, has no seasons - but only the monsoons. And, who cannot but fall in love with the sight of the torrid rain beating down on a raging sea - merging in a deep blissful union of the elements.