Celebrity chatter

I have never made a secret of my partiality towards pretty co-passengers on a flight. They are the ultimate objects of fantasy in mid-air and I find their company immensely energizing especially on a long-haul. I enjoy talking to interesting fellow travellers of either sex. I don’t mind even a crass politician next to me. But, somehow, I am not one of those who get starry eyed with a tinsel town celebrity on the plane. You may call it some kind of an inverse snobbery. But the truth is, I find most of them (and, I have met a few) – intellectually challenged, outright boring and suffocating. A majority can’t even make decent conversation and I am usually overcome by pity at their strained attempt to behave ‘normal’ in an acutely synthetic and self-conscious way. Only a few can really drop their airs. But, why should they? After all, they have worked hard to reach where they have and it all comes as a part of the accoutrement of stardom.

Part offended, part be-friended

So once – while flying back from Bangalore to Mumbai, I part surprised and part offended Sharmila Tagore by moving over to a free set across the aisle. She was flummoxed. I had to think of an excuse on the fly and told her, I didn’t wish to disturb her with my snoring, which she acknowledged with an understanding smile – looking somewhat re-assured. On another occasion – about which my boss can’t stop teasing me – I had a nubile Bollywood starlet seated next to me. Her Mom - a “has been” Bengali Bombshell (in more ways than one) and herself the daughter of a legendary Bengali actress was on the row behind us. When I gallantly offered her my seat (which I declared was an act of "supreme sacrifice" on my part only to allow mother daughter bonding in the skies) she looked at me with utter disbelief and said with a knowing smile – “you must be a married man and afraid of your wife – otherwise how could you give up such an opportunity ?”. "No !!", I retorted, " it's just that I am travelling with my Boss (who was a few seats away)".


Kafka on the plane

Occasionally one is surprised tho’ .. like on a recent trip to Calcutta on one of the budget airlines, I met this very sharp-looking young girl – reading Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. I initially mistook her as a college kid going home for her vacation and tried to strike a conversation about her taste in literature. But, she turned out to be one of the latest imports of “Tollywood”. Daughter of a Bihari IAS officer and a Punjabi mother – who’s acts in Hindi TV serials, she wants to take up acting as a career and was cutting her teeth in Bengali films.

But, most of them make a sad spectacle. For example, very often on the Saturday morning Kingfisher flight from Calcutta to Mumbai, I travel with a faded and aged matinee idol of the 70s and 80s. Though he has done some very meaningful roles lately (both in art films and main-stream cinema) – nowadays, he now appears frequently as judge on TV "reality shows". I am bemused to see him desperately seeking attention – in his black denim jacket and jeans with ankle high suede boots and Ray-ban shades. And, how his shriveled up skin picks up a faint glow of delight - every time someone walks up to him for an autograph or a request to pose before a mobile-phone camera for a photograph with their accompanying son or daughter.

Then there are the mousy looking "item girls" and emaciated models. But, the good part is – since they mostly lead nocturnal lives – on flights they immediately curl-up under blankets and go to sleep putting on their eye-pads.

Even they are barely tolerable… but now we have a new crop of celebrities taking over the front section of the aircraft. They are the TV anchors – who fancy themselves as being the ‘thinking men’s stars’. Instant recognition and intellectual pretensions make a heady combination – as one of them recently wrote in her own blog (Click here to read)


Testosterone Heroes

Cricketers are a different lot altogether. Frankly, even they leave me a trifle cold – not that I have met too many of them. Some come across as supremely arrogant – though I am told, the best of them are unmistakably cerebral and decidedly modest. I believe, Sourav Ganguly – who was labeled as Bengal’s only testosterone hero after Subhash Bose –falls somewhere in-between. But, last evening – on an official call of duty - I got to spend quite some time with Mahi ( M S Dhoni) and was completely bowled over by his disarming candour and genuine warmth. With his feet and head exactly where they ought to be (firmly on the ground and the shoulder - respectively), I feel confident that the Indian team is safe in his keeper’s hands – notwithstanding the controversies cooked up by the media and fuelled by the machiavellian shenanigans of the BCCI politicos.

Scribbles in-between flights

Managed to get out of Calcutta in the nick of time. Tired of early morning and late evening flights – had booked myself on the afternoon 3 O’ clock flight.. Couldn’t have timed it better, the city is now up in flames as a reaction against yesterday’s violence in Mangalkot (Burdawan) where some Congress leaders were assaulted by CPM cadres. Trust ABP and Star Ananda to come up with the news caption: "Mangal Kot e A-Mangal".

Nina wasn’t as lucky. She was planning on traveling tomorrow – but a 12-hour Bandh has been declared in the city. So, she can now get back only on Saturday - just in time for our trip to Pune.

The Speaker of the West Bengal Assembly - Hasim Abdul Halim – has gone on record today saying – “ the Police should be active - neither be ‘over-active’ or ‘in-active’. I have been at the receiving end of latter in the last few weeks – when despite instructions from the CM’s office the police has refused to move – ignoring orders of the District Administration.

Somehow – I get the feeling that Buddha will be Bengal’s Gorbachov. He will oversee the end of the Left Front rule in the state. As a friend remarked, unless Mamata works real hard at political suicide and self-destruction – there’s no stopping the Trinamool from coming to power in 2011........................


Landed in Mumbai to find the Meru cabs have been shunted out of the airport – under pressure from the Black and Yellow (Kali-peeli) and Blue (Cool) Cabs who were losing business to them. A new system of “pre-paid” cabs has been introduced from today – but being unhappy with the arrangement the Black and Yellow cabs went on a boycott. So …chaos !! After a long wait managed to get home in Blue Cab – finally !!........................

Went for the Bastille Day function in Calcutta on the 14th. A sedate affair (mercifully !!) in comparison to the massive gala in Mumbai – where, I believe, the crowd danced to “ Om Shanti Om” ( how typically French !! ...Carla would have loved it no doubt) till the wee hours ...…..

Till last year Calcutta didn’t have a full-fledged Consul. And, under the patronage of the “Hony Consul” - a prosperous city businessman - the celebrations were like a veritable “shaadi bari” – with long queues for dinner.

(Sunanda K Datta-Ray had written a piece some years back – about how Calcutta has been converted into a city of “Hony Consuls” – with more and more countries closing down their Consulates as cost-cutting measure. One, therefore, hardly saw the cars with “CC Number plates” anymore. They aree replaced by those marked “Hony Consuls”, which has become some kind of a status symbol in the business community)

But, the Sarkozy government isn’t so generous. Therefore, the consulate has to depend on ‘sponsors’ - usually French companies who have establishments in town or other businesses with some French connection – to pick up the bill for the wine and dinner. Since, Calcutta doesn’t have too many of these - the scale of the reception has to be necessarily modest.

The story isn’t very different for other countries – at least the European ones for sure – either. The Indian Embassies and Missions are among the few – who splurge on their National Day ( in fact – for us it’s 2 days – 26th January and Independence Day). Perhaps, an assertion of our new-found economic affluence........................

Atoned for the indulgences of the last few days – with a dinner of spinach, mushrooms and tofu blanched in sesame oil with some steamed broccoli on the side. Hope it is as healthy as it is made to sound.

Tho’, had a mean Khow-Suey with some lovely Riesling at the young Banerjees of Mandeville Gardens last evening.

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.

Bouillabaisse on the Corniche and 'Hindi Food' in the skies

Often the image of a place is romantically etched on the mind from something one has read or seen. And, very often it leads to disappointment when reality confronts imagination. This has happened many times over in my life.

The picture of Marseilles for me was encapsulated in the reproduction of a Paul Cezzane masterpiece, I had come across in a magazine long ago. So, on this trip when I decided to venture out of Paris over a free weekend – I took a TGV ride down south to Marseilles. I would have been disappointed had it not been for a kind colleague at the company HQ, who recommended a small inn away from the bustle of the port town – yet not too far from the heart of action – on Corniche John F Kennedy.

The corniche, which is really a split level stairway extending over 2 kms is sometimes referred to as the longest bench in the world, opens out to a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. The small ships ferrying passengers to Portugal, Spain, Morocco and Tunisia going past against the backdrop of the Frioul islands make a beautiful mental snapshot.

Buwee-a-bas

The Bouillabaisse (pronounce buwee-a-bas) - once a poor fisherman’s stew made of discarded fish, has now been elevated to the ranks of fine food - is the signature dish of Marseilles. True to French tradition for exacting culinary standards, only restaurants that have signed the “Bouillabaisse Charter” are accredited as serving the authentic stuff . But, at a price tag of Euro 60 per serving – Chez Fon-Fon or Le Ruhl (of Jacques Chirac fame) it was well beyond the shoe-string budget of the humble keeper of this blog – who chose to settle for the more affordable fare at a mid-town café, leaving him appropriately under-whelmed.

'Paise Hotel' in Paris

Brought up on a staple of clichés and stereotypes, one always associated French Cuisine with Fine dining and Parisian Cafes – until I discovered this little hidden treasure in the by-lanes of the St Germaine area called Polidor (Cremerie Restaurant Polidor at 41 Rue Monsieur-le-Prince – near Theatre d l’Odeon). Near rustic in ambience, it can be described roughly as a French equivalent of a “paise hotel” in Calcutta – with no exclusive seating, sharing long tables with other guests who are accommodated as they come, waitresses almost throwing the plates at you while placing the bread-basket and pitchers of vin-de-table from casks.

Being an incorrigible creature of habit, it has become my regular haunt ever since I was introduced to it by a friend – so much so this time around I chose a hotel next to it to stay in. But, serving traditional fare it is a place for serious diners – typified by two old asterix look-alike Frenchmen seating next to me, who went through all the courses from the Fish Terrine to the Beef-tongue Piquante wrapped up with a rich Crème Brulee and Espresso. When I am not in a mood for the pickled duck roast or veal in lemon sauce – I fall for a little taste of home in the Pork Madras Curry, obviously transported from the Pondicherry connection. (and, btw - they don't accept credit cards)

Gender Matrix on Air

Airline food is generally bad and some are ‘more bad’. But occasionally one is pleasantly surprised. One meal I look forward to is the Indian selection on the Jet Airways London – Mumbai / Delhi sector. Catered from the Bombay Brassiere – it is one of the best ‘Hindi food’ ( as a friend’s young son, quite appropriately – I think, calls North Indian cuisine) I ever had – be it up in the air 35k feet asl or with feet firmly on terra firma. It could well be that, after days of Continental food the taste buds crave for some spicy titillation. But, by the same token, how come I don’t find the ‘desi khana’ on other international airlines as appetizing ?

Somehow, on Jet I always prefer the vegetarian option – which is usually more innovative in comparison to the “chicken tikka masala” variant in the non-vegetarian menu. This time I really relished the ‘Lauki ka Kofta’ with real home-style Arhar ki Dal. The desserts are a treat – tho’ I usually pass the Rabdi or the Firni for the irresistible Haagen Dazs Belgian Chocolate Ice-cream.

Moving on to another 'in-flight' experience - tho' not of the culinary kind, on this trip – I came across a lady in a business suit moving around the cabin, who distinctly looked like a staff in mufti. Upon enquiring, I learnt that she was an ‘in-flight auditor checking on the quality of service. A short conversation later, she told me that recently the airline had a high turnover of staff – and they found such on-the-job training really useful for the new recruits. She taught me another new term “gender matrix” , that is apparently skewed a wee bit in favour of the male crews on international sectors and which they were trying to correct by inducting more women on board.

It is for these continuous innvovations and attention to details of customer service, Jet gets my vote for sheer professionalism – on ground or high in the skies.

Masti ka Pathshala

We were late parents. So – the kids of many dear friends and contemporaries are either well into college enjoying their share of young adult-hood or preparing frenetically for their school leaving examinations. And, the slightly older ones are getting ready for their nuptials – while our darling daughter is just about beginning to discover the joys and tribulations of her early teens – tucked away in the pristine preserves of the Sahyadri hills .

It’s examination season and with nearly 15 lakh kids appearing for CBSE alone, the TV Channels and Newspapers have been whipping up a frenzy for anxious parents – to fill in their prime time slots before Election fever grips the country. We had none of this in our times - so it’s all quite alien to me anyway. But, at a very different level, I have been drawn in over the past few weeks into a conversation on a fellow bloggers site (Cuckoo's Cosmos….click here to read ) between parents who are contemplating putting their children into Rishi Valley – the original Krishnamurty (KFI) institution. The obvious question – which we are asked very often in the context of our sending Jaya to Sahyadri – is, whether children studying in such “non-conventional” schools lose their competitive edge, which most parents – justifiably – believe is so essential for surviving in today’s cut-throat world.

Frankly, I don’t have a strong view either way – each I’m sure has its own merits and downsides. Neither Nina nor I come from a boarding school background. Apart from the children of a few close friends, the only ones in our extended family circle who have studied in a “public school” away from home are my dear cousin (2nd – as she never fails to point out) Tush and her brother Papu. We known a few Rishi Valley “products” – but that was just about it. We were also not steeped in Jiddu Krishnamurty’s philosophy or his ideas on education. But, when we decided to send Jaya to a boarding, we were very clear in our mind that it had to be a school like Rishi Valley.

In what appears like serendipity now in hindsight – we had visited Sahyadri soon after the school was set up in the mid 90s at the behest of a senior colleague of HLL. We had come away very impressed with what we saw. Jaya had just about come into our life and we had no clue at that point that we would ever consider sending her to a boarding. We wanted Jaya to be in a “non-pressure” environment. So Sahyadri was a natural choice. (Read Back to School by clicking here)

For us it wasn't a giant leap of faith (unlike an uncle of mine who pulled his two sons out of school on the instruction of their spiritual 'guru' and taught them at home. Both kids, incidentally, have done extremely well in their chosen fields of academics). We put Jaya there for our own set of considerations which we recognize may not apply to others. Though I’d be less than honest if I were to say that, we don’t have our moments of doubt.

Such moments of self-questioning arise – especially while visiting friends around the time of their children’s exams (not necessarily those in their last years of school but also those in the junior classes) when the atmosphere of tension is almost palpable in the house. Similar thoughts also cross my mind at the Parents Teachers Meeting – when I compare by distant recollection what I studied at her age and worry if they are being taught at a level – that’s a notch lower than what the Board syllabus would warrant for the class.

But then, I also think of the myriad other things they are learning - that we never had the opportunity for in a city school. The results of the previous batches – which though not skewed towards the high nine-tees are not at the bottom of the scale either - also bolster confidence. So they must have cracked the code somewhere and built a method into their system - otherwise, it’s not for nothing that the KFI schools have been around for over 75 years now with alumni straddling different walks of life.

The kids, of course, love it once they get over the initial joining pangs. Till the 7th Standard – it’s virtually a ‘masti ka path-shala’. It is only in the 8th when the hormones and exams kick in – does one notice a few spells of blue that come with the first intimations of reality. But then, like the hormones I am told this too is a passing phase.

But I think it is not just English and Maths or Physics, Chemistry, Bio that matter. Nor is it the Games, Arts and Music. It goes much beyond studies and the extra-curricular add-ons. In fact, the high-end Boarding schools have much more to offer in comparison.

I remember – the time we had gone for the interview the parents sat around the matted floor of the assembly hall for an open question and answer session with the Principal. One of the parents remarked – “But Sir, you will agree that the ultimate test will be ICSE”. The young Principal chuckled a little and said with a smile – “ICSE is an important test – but I am not sure if it’s the ultimate test. They will have to face many other tests in life and hopefully we prepare them for those in some small way”. He couldn’t have summed up our expectation better.

Related Blog Post: "Back to School" (click here to read)