Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Zindagi ke do ghante Kurbaan.

And I'll never get them back either.

On friday, the boyfriend (also known as BBot), for reasons not even known by him anymore, went into a frenzy of excitement, because Kurbaan was out on Friday. "PLEASEPLEASEPLEASECANWEGOSEEIT???" he said, and so, against my better judgement I booked us tickets for a show on Sunday.

Unfortunately, my very favourite laugh-till-you-split movie review site had one up on saturday, and since we all know MinCat has no self control, I read it. It was all downhill from there.

I will refrain from commenting on the incredible facts of the movie, the cop shooting, the MTA subway that really looks nothing like the subway, the patheticness of Kareena clinging to Saif at the end, etc. But I cannot let the stereotypes go.

Essentially, according to this movie, if you are Muslim, and either wear a beard or a hijab, you're a terrorist.


In a multireligious, already tense society, full of people who think movies are real, and people who go and see the movies only because so-and-so is in it, the potential for danger is insane. Isn't there enough prejudice and violence in the world today without gratuitously adding to it? Seriously, considering the long and illustrious Muslim heritage of the male lead, and his education and general intelligence, how on EARTH did he let it happen?

Thursday, November 19, 2009


I was reading the paper the other day, (before you get the wrong idea, it was because I was bored and at the Air India office), and I read something in the op-ed column of the TOI about us having too much choice. It's a theme that's been running in my head too, because, of course, it's time for MinCat's biennial life crisis.

I'm much happier in Hyderabad than I've been anywhere else, yes even in New York. I acquired a wonderful group of friends, places to go, music I like, had two fabulous flatmates (though one did go down the toilet, and some might say I should have expected it. Heck even I say that), and wonder of all wonders, found a boy willing to date me (after much coaxing, drama, patience etc.). The job doesn't suck too much either, apart from the usual brown nosing desi manager stuff. I'm right by the rents, talk many times a day, see them every weekend. It's lovely.

And yet I'm discontent.


Sometimes I think it's because I really am meant for something strange and quirky, like teaching languages in foreign countries. Sometimes I think I'm too lazy to put my back into it and chip away at the difficulties of other, more conventional, careers until I have something I can hold on to. Sometimes I think I AM happy, just convinced that, with the myriad of choices out there, there's something "better".

Which led me to wonder if maybe that's our malaise; even if we get what we wanted, our discontent grows because of all the things we are told we can have - whether or not we really can have them.


I’m reading the first book in the series, and am quite impressed by the humour and the general refusal to be twee. But mostly I’m soppy and gooey over the lil’ teenage romance. The last time I’ve absolutely-HAD-TO-keep-reading-even-though-I-was-scared was Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Shadow of the Wind. The story there was bewitching and complex and totally enthralled me. I sat up till 4am, in the middle of my bed, fearfully looking up every so often just waiting for Julián Carax to swoop in and attack me with knife or fire. The second I was done, I leapt up, dragged a mattress into my parents’ room and slept on the floor. Last night, in the middle of Twilight, I was curled in a ball, cuddling my best man, Apollo, close, with my back to the wall. Then I gave up and went to sleep to go the gym this morning. But I was reading all the way to work.

Of course I’m wondering why it’s having this effect on me. Kudos to Stephanie Meyer, but it really isn’t “dreamy prose” or scintillating or anything much more than teen litt with vampires. And one of those wildly hyperbolic love stories.

That’s just it, right there.
Hyperbolic love.
Teenage love.
Where the other person is your EVERYTHING – best friend, lover, soulmate; where all you need to be around each other; where you can’t imagine anything without them and every second apart is terrible agony; where other people are annoying distractions; where the only possible timeline is “forever”.

It’s a kind of love I have never experienced.

Compare this to adult love, cynical love, with your defences always up somewhere; with a back-up plan, and “let’s see how it goes”; with not letting the other person know how much they mean to you so you can be left with a shred of self-respect and another of dignity should anything go wrong… it’s a long list. And it has its advantages, I’m not denying that. But maybe the reason I am drawn to this book like Bella is to Edward is because I’m living vicariously: I’ll never have a shot at feeling that first hand.