The Bigg Boss tapes you didn't see on TV

Now that Bigg Boss is over, I thought it would be appropriate to provide transcripts from edited footage. Here's one between Hashmit Patel and Tabela Anderson, where the Bollywood actor, infamous for the Riya Insane MMS scandal, offered Tabela a role in a ‘yoga film’ that he wanted to independently produce.

Unedited transcripts below:

(Hashmit Patel and Tabela Anderson are doing power yoga on the lawn inside the Bigg Boss house. Both are moaning in pleasure, as the rest of the house inmates finish their morning chores.)

Tabela: Oooh...This feels so good.

Hashmit: Doesn’t it? That’s power yoga for you. I’m surprised you’ve never tried it before.

Tabela: Aaaaaaah...(inaudible) I think I’ve tried. Tommy once heard about yoga from some saint he met in India and there was this film called Guru, right? Even Julia is now into this Hindu thingy (inaudible)...so are you a Yoga instructor or something?

Hashmit: Almost. I also act, when some actress agrees to do a film with me. But I can best describe myself as an independent film maker.

Tabela: Oh really? What kind of films do you make? (moans, as she rubs her calf muscle)

Hashmit: You’re in luck, lady. They’re all about yoga. Lying down, stretching your body, twisting your hands, spreading your legs...(inaudible) I shoot them in India, where its hot, one is not required to wear too many clothes. Most importantly, I don’t release them on DVDs, you know. Yoga is best circulated free of cost, through MMS!

(Hashmit squishes some grass on the Bigg Boss lawn, clearly remembering a previous incident)

Tabela: Oohh...nice. But do people have mobile phones in this country?

Hashmit: Of course! What do you take us Indians for, CJ Parker?

(Both laugh out loud, looking upwards towards the sky)

Hashmit: You know, I think you’re doing this power yoga really well. Why don’t you shoot a yoga film with me! Indians love you and you wouldn’t have to do any embarrassing dhak dhak steps.

Tabela: You think I’ll be able to? After all, I’m just an amateur at this.

Hashmit: No, no...not at all. You’ll be awesome. And c’mon, you’re not an amateur, you have lots of experience! We can get evicted from the Big Boss house together...

Tabela: Well, I don’t know about that...my contract with Viagra-com18 is just for...

Hashmit: Contract? What contract? Yoga is all about contact, baby, not contract...

Tabela: (inaudible) I don’t know, do you have some prior experience at shooting yoga films?

Hashmit: Actually I won’t be shooting. I’ll also do yoga with you. My cameraman is very good, he’s the baap of all yoga film-makers!

(Dolly Bindra’s shrill voice in the background: “Baap kisko bola bey, baap kisko bola?!!”)

Review: No One Killed Jessica

It is difficult to give No One Killed Jessica less than a 'good' rating. Yet, if you look at a broader picture, it is a challenging film to sit though, considering that you know what the ending is. Sabrina Lall did get justice. And the late Jessica Lall's soul, now rests in peace.

Yet, Raj Kumar Gupta's courtroom-cum-journalistic-investigation drama makes for gripping viewing, thanks to good dialogues, performances from the supporting cast and impeccably good writing. In a way, it appears to be one of those screenplays where there has been little influence from powers-to-be and the director's vision has been intact. That's a wonderful thing.

I saw the movie in a packed Eros cinema on a Sunday evening and the film had enough moments that got the audience clapping, laughing (at the dark humour) and turn silent in recollection of passions that the case rustled up on news channels some years ago.

Amit Trivedi's music and background score beautifully capture those emotions. It rescues the film in a major way - from the very dull Vidya Balan (the real Sabrina Lall looks so much more energetic and headstrong) and lends great personality to the city of Delhi and one of its bitchwanti reporters, played by Rani Mukherji. Rani is good, fumes expletives very often and her character is identical to that of Barkha Dutt.

The last 20 minutes of the film, involving the candlelight protests are possibly its weakest. But you can't blame the film-makers for this, since they've been honest with the subject. It's just that, as an audience we've seen those visuals a little too often. An ignited candle has possibly become like an accessory now - stand with one for hours and you've made a statement of having stood up for justice, or simply been patriotic. It's become an easy recourse for a citizen who doesn't have time to press hard for long term solutions.

The original hero of the Jessica Lall case is only thanked towards the end of the film. That's the team from Tehelka, who worked relentlessly in exposing the brutalities of a system while working on this case.

In summary, I think that after the last few months, which damaged the reputation of many journalists - thanks to Open - here's a thumbs up to a film that shows that journalism for justice and the larger public interest - despite employing unethical means - is something worth cheering for.

No One Killed Jessica

Rating: * * *

Review: Paranormal Activity 2

Paranormal Activity 2 is not a great horror film, but it still packs in good thrills that commands mandatory viewing only in cinemas. Those of you who are planning to download it (or already have) to watch it on your laptops with the lights switched off, here’s a word of advice - don’t. You’re really ruining a film that seems already wasted in its second instalment.

The first film, Paranormal Activity was spooky for its unique treatment, inventive use of handheld and stationary cameras and a very clever online marketing campaign. Anticipation levels therefore reached a crescendo and audiences made a beeline to the plexes wanting to be spooked. That’s the holy grail of a horror film - we watch it because we want to get spooked. And the film managed to do it, successfully.

However the formula becomes clear and overused in this prequel, Paranormal Activity -2. The film is more or less a series of thrills, each coming at regular intervals and the director does us a favor by heightening the hum of the background score, whenever it happens. The story unfolds in the house of Katie’s sister, Kristi who lives her husband Daniel, daughter Ali and their newly born baby, Hunter. After their house gets mysteriously ransacked, the family decides to install security cameras in all their rooms. Strange things begin to happen as an invisible entity begins to create chaos.

About 15 minutes into the film, you begin guessing where’s the next thrill going to come from. What’s the next thing that'll fall off the hook? Will this be a thud in the bathroom, or will it be the kitchen? Or will it be the banging of the door? Who will the dog stare and cower in fear?

However, despite making the source of the thrills predictable, director Tod Williams succeeds in making you jump out of your seats every now and then, and provides a thrilling finish to the film and links it neatly to the first one. That’s a commendable achievement. The director has the format to thank for that, and the director of the first film, Oren Peli.

So yes, go watch this one at the theatres. My only worry is that Paranormal Activity’s formula may have become overused now - thanks to its lack of a coherent and gripping storyline. Although I wish there are no more sequels after this, I hear that Paramount Pictures has already signed Oren Peli to create a third film, which will be a prequel to Part 2.

Rating: ***

Baby, you're a rich man

Just as David Fincher's masterpiece The Social Network is about to end, Jesse Eisenberg who plays Facebook co-founder Mark Zuckerberg, is seen making a last ditch attempt at sending a friend request to a girl who once dumped him. He continues to refresh the page to see whether she has accepted. Meanwhile, the subtitles state the post script of the film - what eventually happened to the characters involved in the lawsuit. And as the camera zooms closer to Zuckerberg's face, it finally rests close to him as the final subtitle states that he is the youngest billionaire in the world.

What makes this entire sequence top notch, is the addition of The Beatles' Baby you're a rich man in the background score. The lyrics are apt and the music, just perfect for a scene of this nature.

In this post, I reproduce the lyrics. Read them and mull over Zuckerberg's state of mind at the end of the film.

Baby, you're a rich man - The Beatles

How does it feel to be

One of the beautiful people?

Now that you know who you are

What do you want to be?

And have you travelled very far?

Far as the eye can see.

How does it feel to be

One of the beautiful people?

How often have you been there?

Often enough to know.

What did you see, when you were there?

Nothing that doesn't show.

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man too.

You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo.

What a thing to do.

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man too.

How does it feel to be

One of the beautiful people?

Tuned to a natural E

Happy to be that way.

Now that you've found another key

What are you going to play?

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man,

Baby you're a rich man too.

You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo.

What a thing to do.

Baby you're a rich man...

How to get your dad to buy you laptop

I pore over the screen of my netbook. My dad, the only other person in the room, realizes what a terrible mistake he's made by buying me one.

"The fonts appear so small," he says. "You'll strain your eyes, if you sit for long hours in front of the netbook."

I shrug and carry on with my work. I enjoy the comfort and coziness that a netbook offers. It is light in weight, has longer battery life (compared to a laptop) and once you stash it's hard disk with movies, songs and e-books, you feel like taking a vacation.

But my father is not impressed. He continues looking into the netbook screen, from over my shoulder. "I should have seen this coming. You'd get addicted to this device and its small fonts are going to ruin your eyesight."

Annoyed, I snap at him: "So what do we do? Are you going to buy me a laptop?"

"Yes," he says.

\m/ :)

#barkhagate: Protests in 140 characters leave no space for grey areas

Barkha Dutt, one of the icons of Indian news television, has spent a generous part of the last few days, patiently replying to tweets, many of which express their loss of faith in her, and are demanding answers for her involvement in a controversial expose.

Her active presence on Twitter, has ensured that all ire is directed straight at her and she cannot dodge any of it. Search for '#barkhagate' on Twitter, and you sense that Twitter users, bloggers are baying for her blood, questioning her ethics and demanding her resignation.

Her reply to each tweet is calm and calculated. Like this one: "Ethics should be measured by coverage of issues. Diplomatic friendliness to get information from a source is very different. To get news one speaks to all kinds of people, dirty or clean, if they are a source of real time updates. That is not a crime."

But Twitter is a rather merciless place. Rohan Babu, head of social media at digital agency Media2Win says, "Once Twitter users take a stand against someone, the negative publicity can spread virally to all other media in a short span of time. Let's see how long protests in #barkhagate last. We're living in times where one controversy is only waiting to be suppressed by another."

Shubho Sengupta, head of digital media at Rediffusion Y&R agrees and says that #barkhagate is not going to affect her in the long run. "By replying to tweets, I think Barkha is handling the issue very intelligently and she should continue the discussions. But most tweets are very impulsive rants or attacks against her, they aren’t asking her the right questions."

How will they? Most users of Twitter are probably unaware of the lengths journalists have to go to, the shoulders they rub, the relationships they build, to bring their viewers fresh news everyday. After all, exclusive interviews don’t just walk into your studio. For many, the printed word in a newspaper is sacrosanct, coming from journalists who have access to 'the truth'.

Veteran media critic, V Gangadhar says, "This controversy has shown that the media is not so sacrosanct after all." He adds, "For long, the Letters to the Editor was the only section where you could complain about an erroneous report, or give feedback. Social media has changed all that, since criticism happens on public fora."

The controversy over paid news, the relentless play of the ‘breaking news’ on Hindi news channels and the coverage of the 26/11 terror attacks are only some of the instances where the media has come under sharp criticism.

Which is why, since the last few years, the growing adoption of new media - blogs, citizen journalism websites and Twitter - has thrown open a parallel source of news, not dependant entirely on journalists. It's a rather crucial phase in the history of journalism, when the media's reputation of having the final word is being challenged.

"I think #barkhgate has given people legitimate grounds to question the neutrality of the mainstream media," says Santosh Desai, CEO, Future Brands. "The blackout of reporting on the scandal by major newspapers and news channels, was the biggest reason that angered social media users."

But there is also criticism of the kind of debate that new media is generating. Gangadhar describes it as 'very Right-wing, unbalanced and extreme'. "In general, audiences and readers expect journalists to be all righteous creatures, black and white; they haven't been able to accept them in shades of grey. "

Desai says that people must read every issue with some sort of sensitivity and maturity of the context in which it took place. "#barkhagate hasn’t grasped that issue with a certain sensitivity required, or crafted it like a debate. Rather it is more of a personalized attack."

Still, social media is the true manifestation of a ‘free press’, says Shishir Joshi, former journalist and founder, Journalism Mentor Foundation for Excellence in Journalism. "Media organizations with dotted connections across businesses often find it tough to carry stories such as the allegedly grey role senior journalists have played in the spectrum drama. Social media, thus offers them an option of carrying these (by quoting the 'tsunami of buzz in the web world') and yet, not hurting relationships (which has been the case currently)."

In a way, it is hoped that the current backlash against mainstream media can only help journalists pull up their socks and be more accountable and accessible, because a certain Big Brother – the audience - is watching. "A free press is the strength of a vibrant democracy. We must admire its strength and be wary of its weakness (absence of control). Let us be skeptical, not cynical," says Joshi.

(An edited version of the above piece appeared in Daily News Analysis (DNA), Mumbai on 24 November.)

Image courtesy: Satish Acharya, Mid-Day

Ever tasted Izzat Ka Falooda?

There are certain terms in Hindi language that continue to amaze me. Mere expressions have been converted into delicacies, recipes that we would never try out.

For example, whoever invented the phrase 'Izzat ka falooda'.

Izzat in English, translates to synonyms such as respect, stature and image - all of which are shredded to bits thanks to the Hindi language which makes a delicacy out of it. That too, not a spicy or obnoxious or salty one, but a dessert! We're talking about falooda here, something which is made with a mixture of all things good - nuts, raisins, ice cream, vermicelli, cream, kheer and lots more, depending on how rich it can get. Basically, the term falooda conjures up images of all things so delicious, something we so lovingly indulge in from roadside vendors which nams like Gupta Ice Cream or Mewad Ice Cream. Yet the term izzat ka falooda suddenly has all the trappings of all things regressive.

Think about it. Film titles! Mango Ka Falooda could have been a nice Sanjeev Kapur recipe, Ishq Ka Falooda could have been a typical Farah Khan entertainer, but Izzat Ka Falooda is so, so David Dhawan.

Incidentally, it was Dhawan's film which coined the term Ande ka funda, which at least to me, has produced no 'Funda'mentals. An egg is white and yellow inside - the only fundas I know about it are that it is prone to mood swings, depending on how its cooked. Boiled (calm, soft), omlette (pissed, diseased), sunny side up (smiley and happy).

The story doesn't end here. What's a good Indian meal without some curd? Enter another Hindi language coinage - 'Dimaag Ka Dahi'. It's like giving a fatwa to dahi, which has always cooled tempers inside the confines of our belly.

When you say, "Mere dimaag ka dahi mat kar!" it means you're saying, 'Don't fuck my brain, ok?'

Fuck and dahi (curd) can be strange bedfellows. Come to think of it, a curd churned out of flesh from your brain could be disgusting, but I'm sure that guy who anchors Man versus Wild on Discovery Channel, will find still find some intelligent things to say about it, such as, "This is very rich in proteins! Brain curd is actually great for enhancing your memory. Like upping your 200 GB hard disk to a 400GB one!"

Dear Hindi, oh Hindi...what other culinary items have you prepared for us?

We were such fashion disasters

''Kya umar thi, kya samaa tha, kya zamaana tha''

Nostalgia can be a great leveler. For example, when you meet up with friends from school, it is nostalgia that brings you together.

No matter wherever you are now in life, no matter how much you earn, what car you drive and how many credit cards you own, there was a time when you were on par with your peers - at least, you were told to believe so - and the solitary unifier between everybody in class, was the school uniform.

The fucking school uniform.

Its made fortunes for detergent companies, given our mothers sleepless nights over its cleanliness and has proved to be an excellent resting bed for dust, dodgeball stains and scars from our Physical Education class.

Without a doubt, we looked much hotter on Traditional Day, and we took our chances in admiring our classmates. The women suddenly looked prettier, the saree firmly accentuating every sign of hormonal change.

I remember, it was Teachers' Day, I was in Class X and my classmate, who was my first ever crush, walked into the classroom wearing a black saree, necklace, earrings, et al. It's one of the most gorgeous sights I've ever seen and one that I'll probably remember on my death-bed, when life turns into a swift slideshow.

In summary, we really relished every opportunity to wear 'civil dress' when we met the same classmates outside school, even at tuition class.

When I meet the same classmates today and compare what we look like with what we used to be, I realize that we've indeed come a long way. I see this not just in them, but even while browsing random Facebook albums. Try this exercise sometime - compare their latest profile picture with the their oldest picture in their Facebook photos. The human body, you'll see has a strange way of reinventing itself. And this is true, despite a deliberate make-over done at a salon. Sure, external influences play a huge role - straightened hair, Brylcreem are things we wouldn't see in school - although its different with kids these days - but there is no denying that the human body has an in-built salon triggering change.

It is this process of constant change amazes me. Every second, some muscle is making way for the other, some skin is giving way to new, some hair strand is getting bored with the jungle it is in.

The process is similar to the formation of the earth and its continents. Europe and Africa were probably interlocked at some point of time, but now they are separate. After we touch puberty, our hormones are in a constant state of Waka Waka, making us hotter, fatter and if we treat ourselves well, more sexier.

But while the body is working so hard at it, passing through various stages of development, we've covered it up in clothing that has also passed through various levels of 'tolerance'.

I call it tolerance, because when I look back at the photos from my college days, I see what fashion disasters we all were.

''Shit. How could I wear that trouser with that shirt. They just don't go together!''

This is more or less, my reaction everytime I go through my old photo albums.

Part of the reason could be that during those times, we wore what our parents bought us. And now, thanks to our employment, regular pay-cheques and a debit card to boot, we do our own shopping.

If we had a chance to go back in time and change something, I think most of us - the working professionals at least - would completely change our wardrobe.

(I'm talking only about clothing here. Given a chance, we'd like to change many things, wouldn't we?)

Tea and biscuits, anyone?

Whatever happened to the ritual of friends coming over home to an evening of tea, biscuits, farsan and good conversation? Our daddies and mommies do it, but when we become them, we probably won't.

It is a strange time to be me.

After about six-seven months of smooth sailing, I'm suddenly jobless.

Without a doubt, joblessness is a difficult state to be in, especially if you're living in Bombay. Your friends will ask you to explain your situation and say, 'Let's meet over coffee and discuss'.

'Catching up' over a cup of coffee costs you at least Rs 50, an amount which isn't too difficult for you to shell out at this moment, but it could be a coffee that would go down as a regressive one, in a few weeks from now if you don't land a job which pays at least as much as the last one did, if not more.

Friends, dependents in your family, the whole fucking society - they all make joblessness even more uncomfortable. Facebook albums do the most damage. Status updates from friends going on a holiday. Europe. South Africa. Australia. Singapore shopping binge. Photographs uploaded by people you know, probably showing them holding their bottle of beer as a trophy, chilling at the coolest lounge bar in town. Your guy friends posing with semi-naked women (who it turns out, are colleagues, much to your mom's horror, making her comment, ''Draupadi's vastraharan would be so pointless in today's times. You won't be able to spoof it either.'').

Your friends wonder why you won't join them over the weekend spending binge. Rs 250 - daylight robbery at the multiplex to watch a movie. Request denied. Long island Iced Tea at Hard Rock? Rs 300. Request denied. ''Let's go to Blue Frog!'' Entry Rs 500. Assured: A place to stand. Want to sit? Book a table. Enjoy your meal. Estimated expenses per head? Rs 500 at least. Request denied.

You feel that the world has suddenly become rich.

And it is true. There are some things money can't buy. Provided you have the willpower and better sense to tell yourself - this is not worth the price. And in Mumbai, depending on your social circle, you might get the opportunity to tell that often. After a point of time, you're an outcast. Which is exactly the state I'm in.

Does that mean I would have indulged in the above mentioned activities with a regular job? Yes and No. (More on that, later.)

It's at times like these I wonder whatever happened to the simple pleasures of life.

When was the last time you invited someone home for tea? Tea, biscuits, chaat, conversation?

My cousins in Kolkata would be surprised to read this, but I've come to realize that the social circle I've come to mingle with over the last three years in Mumbai, has almost NEVER done a tea/coffee evening get-together at their house. Whatever happened to VISITING friends over the weekend for an evening of simple, good conversation?

I've tried. And unless there's alcohol or a party to go along with it, the request has been more often than not, declined.

''What's the occasion?'' I've been asked. ''Who all are coming?'' ''Why suddenly?''

I'm amused. As a kid, I was witness to frequent visits by family friends who would hop over home - unannounced - and on most occasions, we'd be delighted to host them for the evening. Provided they went back home for dinner ;)

You may argue that on weekdays, one can't pull this off. But its on the weekends I realize, that there's a dramatic difference in the way people behave. On weekend, home is just not where the heart is. And even if it is, you don't want to share it with anyone.

Does this change after marriage? Does this change after you buy a house and you feel okay not only to have impulsive guests, but also planned dinners?

Bombay's greatest asset

It's been almost a week that I'm back to commuting 4 hours daily from Ambarnath to my office in Lower Parel.

The purpose is two pronged - one, I'd like to be the night watchman in my own house, since my parents are in Kolkata for my cousin's wedding. And two, it's not everyday that you get a sense of ownership of a 1BHK+Terrace flat, all to yourself.

The implications have been two pronged too. My meals have become irregular; the other night I drank half a litre of Maaza, before gobbling up three eggs (bad imitations of sunny sides up, they were like a solar eclipse, rather).

But I get more time to read. And peacefully too. Like I'm reading Vikram Chandra's beautifully written debut, Love and Longing in Bombay. The other day, I finished Sidin Vadukut's hilarious first novel Dork.

It's made me realise that for me, independence is perhaps the way forward. I'll work out the meals bit, but nothing beats the feeling of coming home to a house that's just your own and not being shared by another person.

That doesn't mean I'm a loner - I enjoy company and I have a good circle of friends who I hang out with - but coming home is a different thing. There are just certain things I want to do - read some chapters of a book, watch Arnab Goswami on Times Now, observe Telebrands post mid-night and - hold your breath - tune into some of the daily soap operas to find out what the nation is watching. (Don't belch. When you're in a business about consumers, you've gotta be familiar with what's tickling them.)

Still, this same independence can be a happy and non-stressful one when it is close to office. Four hours stolen from my every day in the form of a nightmarish train ride home - that is one compromise I'm unwilling to make for long.

But living alone in Bombay is fucking expensive. Unless, if you're an RJ or a model, or you have a 'white collar' job.

Shit. I must shift to Bangalore. Life's unbelievably cheaper, or so I hear. Some friends there share a bungalow for a monthly rent of Rs 11,000. We pay the same rent for 225 sq ft flat in Lower Parel.

But then, well. Bombay is Bombay.

This has been my chronic dilemma over the last two-three years. Want to shift out of Bombay, but can't think of a life outside Bombay and living with people who are not Mumbai-kars.

So maybe it's true when they say, "It's all about the people. It's all about the people."

Bombay is a city that is all about its people. It's own charms are too diffused and inflated beyond it deserves. I think those charms died in the 1950s, when the Parsis were the face of Bombay. That was some life, some charisma, some style to this city.

Since the 1960s, Bombay conjures up images of partisan politics and saffron armies, the mills and the landowners, considering the real estate El Dorado that it's become. The soul of the city is therefore, only it's people and its they who make the city tick.

There's a reason why Bombay is the commercial capital of India. So much business comes here, purely because this city has the resources to pull it off. Whether these are ill-fed resources or not, is a different question. And by now, you already know that they are ill-fed and do not enjoy a standard of living comparable to that, say, of a Chandigarh or New Delhi.

So then, here's to the people of this city. Bombay's greatest asset.

In defence of the Shiv Sena

You have to give it to the Shiv Sena. All along, when they created all this hoo-haa over My Name is Khan’s release, we thought they were fuming over SRK’s remarks about Pakistani players and IPL.

Not true.

I'm sure there is something called as ‘Won’t-let-you-watch-it-since-its-a-bad-film’ clause in our constitution.

The Shiv Sainiks already knew it’s a terrible film - thanks to the large network of pirated DVD hawkers they help flourish. It is perhaps Karan Johar’s worst film and the Shiv Sena votebank would be cheated of precious ticket money, bringing more gloom over what is not a very rosy picture of household expenses these days.

So the accusation on SRK and Karan Johar was of cheating (Tu gaddaar aahe!) and not what we thought (Tu gaddaar aahe!).

I’m also told Thackeray wanted to wrestle his way into the lead role of the film. He had set up his goons to convince Karan Johar to change an important dialogue of the film.

From ‘My Name is Khan and I’m not a terrorist’, he wanted it changed to ‘My Name is Thackeray and I am a terrorist. (Based on a true story)'. This was when the film was in its scripting stages. But when he saw the first cut of the film, he suddenly turned messiah for all cinegoers. He couldn’t tell Karan Johar straight on his face that his film sucked. Hence, all this gaali-galoch.

I’ve just come back from a late night show of MNIK at the Regal cinema. I generally do not give advice to people on what to watch, what to skip.

But this time, I will. Do not watch this film.

Yes, it has its high points- SRK is very good, as is his chemistry with Kajol (Chemistry text books in school should have their photos on the cover, rather than atoms and molecules), Ravi K Chandran’s photography is a treat, as is Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s music (Sajda sent me on cloud nine).

But when the Exit signs in the auditorium start glowing more brightly than the events unfolding on screen, you know that the director has completely lost it. It’s not Karan Johar alone to blame – his intent is sincere and heartwarming, as is his direction in most parts - it’s Shibani Bhatija’s screenplay which is a complete letdown.

(Spoiler alert!)

The plot sounds sweet when you hear it for the first time – a young Muslim man with Asperger’s syndrome travels across the United States to meet the President and tell him that he is not a terrorist – but when you walk out of the theatre, you feel cheated. Meet the President! For what? You told him you’re not terrorist. He already knows it, which is why you’ve been allowed at such close proximity to him. Has it changed the fate of millions of Muslims in the States? I’m not sure.

Why does Kajol do a sudden about-turn accusing him that his surname was responsible for her son's death? And the scene where her son dies, is a clear example of high-school bullies going overboard, rather than a racist attack.

The film's biggest weakness is that it does not generate sympathy for its characters. When Mandira (Kajol) dumps Rizwan (SRK), you do not feel sorry for him. You do not feel ecstatic when help pours in for the Georgia flood victims.

And when Rizwan is stabbed out of the blue and there's a melodramatic hospital sequence, you find yourself groaning. Ditto in the scene where Kajol breaks down with her dead son in her arms. Because you know it, the director has overdone it.

There is buzz about the box-office collections of MNIK overtaking that of 3 Idiots.
I think its complete hogwash. Spin doctors are behind this new trend of tom-tomming Rs 100 crores, 200 crores within weeks of a film’s release.

3 Idiots, like most blockbusters, made its money by repeat viewing. MNIK certainly does not fall in that category. It would be a telling statement of the viewing tastes of the audiences of today, if they supported mediocrity like this.

Highpoint of the film: When Mandira asks Rizwan to marry her. My cheeks started aching, I was blushing so much.

Lowpoint of the film: SRK being stabbed. I wanted to head to the Exit door.

ROFL moment of the film: The scene where Khan walks into the kitchen and finds Mandira there chopping vegetables. Says, "Mandira, can we have sex, please?"

Verdict: **

The perfectly outrageous motion picture

I've had the most fantastic past two hours watching Sidney Lumet's 1976 film Network. I don't intend to write a review of the film here - I'm speechless right now, to be honest - and I've had similar feelings after watching three of my all-time favourite films, Sunset Boulevard, Shawshank Redemption and The Clockwork Orange.

Network inevitably adds to that list.

A common thread between all three films is that after I've seen the film, I've felt richer - in emotion, intellect and wisdom - thanks to powerful screenplay writing. The performances are equally astounding and Network is far more closer to life than I imagined, thanks my own closeness in some manner to the working of the television and media industry.

And would you believe it...when I begun watching the film, I thought it was the original of Ram Gopal Varma's Rann. Thank God, it isn't. It can't be.

I'm pasting below some lines from the film. Each line is self explanatory and can be etched in gold. I do not need to explain the context in which they were told. They're statements by themselves, a quality which timeless screenplays have always had, apart from being able to project and predict a future which we now live in. I think this is why some lines are called classics.

Enjoy.

"I want you to get mad. I don't want you to protest, I don't want you to riot, I don't want you to write to your Congressman, because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression, the inflation, the Russians, or the crime in the streets. All I know is that first... You've got to get mad." - Howard Beale, the lead protagonist in Network (A video of this dialogue will do complete justice to this piece. So here's the link.)

"Am I getting through to you, Mr. Beale? You get up on your little twenty-one inch screen and howl about America and democracy. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those *are* the nations of the world today." - Arthur Jansen, promoter of the network, to Howard Beale

"I was married for four years, and pretended to be happy; and I had six years of analysis, and pretended to be sane. My husband ran off with his boyfriend, and I had an affair with my analyst, who told me I was the worst lay he'd ever had. I can't tell you how many men have told me what a lousy lay I am. I apparently have a masculine temperament. I arouse quickly, consummate prematurely, and can't wait to get my clothes back on and get out of that bedroom. I seem to be inept at everything except my work. I'm goddamn good at my work and so I confine myself to that. All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating." - Diana Christensen, programming head of UBS Television

"It's too late, Diana. There's nothing left in you that I can live with. You're one of Howard's humanoids. If I stay with you, I'll be destroyed. Like Howard Beale was destroyed. Like Laureen Hobbs was destroyed. Like everything you and the institution of television touch is destroyed. You're television incarnate, Diana: Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're madness, Diana. Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you. But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure, and pain... and love." - Max Schumacher, Diana's lover and retrenched newsroom editor of UBS Television
There are many more memorable lines and I suggest you watch the film to get a sense of what I'm talking about.

For starters, here's a link to its official trailer.

Notes from the Strand Book Festival

I’m absolutely delighted with the collection of books I picked up at the Strand Book Festival. I went there on the Festival's second day itself. Can’t say I’d been saving for this – I now buy books on a regular basis, Superfreakonomics, The Book Thief, A Case of Exploding Mangoes are some recent buys – but generally, browsing in a room full of books, with bibliophiles from in and around Bombay, can be quite therapeutic. For example, that’s one reason many of us visit Landmark bookstore on weekends, buy nothing and come out feeling better.

This year, Strand’s done things a bit differently. I’m not sure if this is how it always is, but they have not put up ‘everything’. So for example, you can’t come here looking for Jeffrey Archer, Coetzee, Murakami or JK Rowling. I spotted just one title by Jhumpa Lahiri and Orhan Pamuk's latest, that's all. One can argue that you don’t come to a book sale to pick up an Archer novel, but then, well.

The arrangement of books at the Festival is a blessing. I’m tired of craning my neck at bookstores to read the titles. Why don’t you just arrange the books horizontally? Ten brownie points to Strand for this simple change.

So what interested me the most? I think it's is an excellent opportunity to pick up some great coffee table books at throw-away prices. I also found some interesting titles about Tarantino, Satyajit Ray, but I didn’t give in to temptation, as frankly I found myself overspending by quite a bit. Last year, I spent about Rs 1,500 on about 6-7 books. This year, I’ve bought 10 titles and spent about Rs 2,750.

What made me overspend was the high number of non-fiction titles (see list below). Was also keen to buy more titles here – Inside Steve’s Brain, Inside Rupert’s Brain and Rana Dasgupta's Solo – but convinced myself to postpone the purchase for another time.

My keenness to buy non-fiction was the simple fact that I think learnings from these books can lend much so more to daily conversation. Which is why books like Tipping Point, Freakonomics, The World is Flat, and Superfreakonomics are such absolute must haves on your bookshelf. I cannot imagine discussing The Kite Runner or A Suitable Boy or Milan Kundera for over 15 minutes. I can rave about them, listen to you talking about it and nod, but that's about it.

Coming back to Strand, I was disappointed to see very few youngsters at the Festival. Most of the visitors were in the age group of 35+ and that included a lot of people in the 45+ range. My fears of youngsters – 18 to 30 year olds – not reading enough books are confirmed. Is Facebook and Twitter making us stay away from the fresh smell of paperbacks? I’d like to agree.

Billing done, I came home (Ambarnath, that is) carrying these books in a Khopoli fast local, keen to spend the weekend with my parents. 14th February, Valentine’s Day coincides with their marriage anniversary and my availability over the Valentine’s Day weekend has absolutely convinced them that I do not have a girlfriend. Not that they doubt it, or are opposed to it; they’re just sure of it now – hardly any conversations on the phone, no calls after 10pm, one can easily tell who is dating and who is not.

So paperback diet it will be for the next few months. And I hope that in the near future, when you and I are having a conversation, it will be much richer than it is now.

Here’s a list of books I bought and since it’s sale, I would be charged guilty if I did not mention the prices that I bought it for.

English August - Upamanyu Chatterjee - 225
Love and Longing in Bombay – Vikram Chandra - 150
Smoke and Mirrors, an experience of China – Pallavi Aiyar - 195
Why We Buy – The Science of Shopping – Paco Underhill - 490
The Undercover Economist – Tim Harford - 350
The Ayatollah Begs to Differ – The paradox of Modern Iran – Hooman Majd - 225
Tricky Business – Dave Barry - 200
Family Matters – Rohinton Mistry – (Hardbound) – 275
The Art of Conversation - Catherine Blyth - (Hardbound) - 300

A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaleid Hosseini - 295 (to be gifted to my cousin, I hope you're not reading this, Debo! :))

Of Chetan Bhagat and unlimited parking in our brain

There’s a scene in Wake Up Sid where the editor of a magazine (Rahul Khanna) smiles mockingly, almost in disbelief when his colleague (Konkona) tells him that she does not enjoy jazz music.

“Mujhe purane Hindi filmon ke gaane pasand hain,” she says. “Unko gaa toh sakte hain.” (I like Hindi film songs...the classics. Atleast one can hum them.)

For me, this scene was one of the high points of the film. The argument was spot on and I wanted to congratulate the film’s scriptwriter for penning this scene. Here's why.

For long, I’ve been amazed at how journalists, especially senior editors, editors, literary critics or Sunday edition reporters have consistently mocked popular choices in entertainment.

If you like jazz, you’re cool. If you like Singh is King, you’re uncool. If you’re a fan of Coetzee, you’ve arrived. If you’re reading Chetan Bhagat, you don’t have any taste in literature. And your sense of humor is down in the dumps if you’ve laughed your ass off in 3 Idiots.

Generalisations like these have often baffled me. Are you trying to suggest that your tastes are superior to mine? I've seen 3 Idiots in two cities - Mumbai and Kolkata - and I've never seen housefull auditoriums laugh their ass off like they did while watching this film. And then I've met some - all in the journalist/media fraternity, who can't seem to make out what's so great about a film. I think I'll send them a DVD of The Blairwitch Project.

In November, I remember, Indian Twitterati, friends in the media drummed up hot air (mostly negative) about how Chetan Bhagat’s books do not deserve to be read, what a terrible author he is, etc. I was hysterical when I heard about this, since I've seen from close quarters how students, first time novel readers have pored over Chetan Bhagat novels in the most crowded trains. I travelled to Kolkata recently by train and in my compartment, out of the roughly 7-8 people reading book during the journey, 5 of them were absorbed in Chetan Bhagat novels. That’s quite an achievement. And then they say that the bugger can’t write.

I was at a day-long conference recently where Bhagat was part of a panel discussion and despite his Delhi-ised English accent, he made absolute sense in every word he said. But to many in the audience, most of whom seemed to be the 'discerning snob' types, he remained the butt of all jokes. Even during the networking lunch, very few walked up to him to greet him. The best-selling Indian author was not hounded, like he is when is amongst his fans.

I’ve come to recognise these people as the ‘new age snobs’. They’ll consume Kurosawa, Wong Kar Wai, Truffaut films and appear like they’ve seen the world and they’ll conveniently skip the biggest blockbusters from the country – Ghajini, 3 Idiots, Om Shanti Om, Singh is King – dismissing them as utter crap / entertainment for the masses. They won’t travel by train – they might as well describe it as cattle class. My best friend is a film critic and I admire him not because he bowled me over with his understanding of world cinema, but also because of his maturity at accepting popular cinema targeted at the masses.

What worries me is that most media houses are run by the 'snobs'. And they always have been. When you’re running a newspaper for an audience that comprises the masses, how can you have such different tastes than them? This is why typically film critics’reviews and audience reactions vary to a great degree.

Does that mean that we must encourage people like Taran Adarsh (who are trade experts and not film-critics per se) to review films for us? I’m not so sure. It’s a very debatable topic, particularly because of his trade background. But I think over time we need art and literature critics who are good at recommending the most deserving choices to their audiences. Rather than those, who aiming to send their CVs to The New Yorker.

I think the ideal consumption of literature is one that includes the good, bad and the ugly. So read all you can gather on a platter. Read the masterpieces, the classics, read the chick lits, read the thrillers. Also read the Mills & Boon and Nicholas Sparks. A Titan commercial quotes Aamir Khan saying, “Be born everyday. Aaj rockstar, kal pilot. Kabhi kisi anjaan station pe utar ke dekho. Kabhi kisi gumnaam sheher ka ticket katao...Be more.”

Ratatouille, the delightful animation movie about the adventures of a rat who wants to cook, also elucidates the same point wherein the food critic, Ego, admits as to how literary critics often forget to appreciate the simple things. Like a plate of ratatouille.

Absolutely true.

If you’re going to confine yourself to only certain kind of authors, certain kinds of films, then you’re a one-way street, with no parking.

Our mind is best conditioned as a two-way street, with unlimited parking.

An interview with Allah

With Eid festivities reaching their peak, I made my first visit to Mohammad Ali Road – the melting pot for majority of Mumbai’s ‘minority’.

While thousands of Muslims genuflected in front of Minara Masjid and felt the polluted exhausts of the evening traffic bless their bums, I had a chance to catch up with Allah. What followed was a candid chat about Islam, the possibilities of Google replacing God, the relevance of hardcore fundamentalism today and the perks of being the only God in the Muslim world.

Whatsup?
Nothing much ya. You tell me.

Whoa! That’s a very Google chat kinda answer. You’ve signed up for a Gmail account?
Can’t say I wasn’t tempted. I’ve got a Wi-fi installed here. With so many Muslims now accessing the internet, makes sense to answer their queries online.

Hmm. My first visit to Mohammed Ali Road. Never seen so many Muslims praying together. Some faith, eh?
Yeah, I guess so. This period of fasting is a sort of cleansing process for the entire body and soul. It helps you start afresh, with a new zeal towards life.

I’m sure. But I kinda find this funny. Why is there such heavy police protection in this area? Since you’re God and all, aren't you enough to protect your devotees?
The cops are to ensure the smooth flow of traffic. And hey, it’s not that I called them here. Not my fault if some politicians spotted an opportunity in protecting their vote-bank. And c’mon, my friend Ganesha who goes for a swim every year to Chowpatty commands a lot more police protection! His procession creates chaos on the streets, disrupting traffic routes and everything!

And the morning after the visarjan, Ganesha gets washed ashore. The beaches are full of broken, distorted idols.
True. I’ve tried explaining this to Ganesha many times. The other day, I told him, “Bro, I know you’re elephant and all…but why do you make an ass of yourself by demanding a visarjan in the sea? Can’t you instill some sense in these millions of Maharashtrians who clog the city (and then our beaches) with this exercise? So much noise they make!” He replied saying that eco-friendly immersions are catching up, but it’ll take time. Sudden shift in behaviour can cause chaos riots, especially with Shiv Sena and MNS around. Swat a Maharashtrian fly and they'll riot!

Point noted. But hey, I noticed you called him ‘my friend Ganesha’. You know the elephant God well?
Of course! Why wouldn’t I? We’re both in the business of faith. I sell my wares differently. He does it in his own way. But yes, we do socialise. The other day, it was the three of us – me, Ganesha and Krishna – who went to the Kurkure Desi Beats Rock on with MTV auditions. Krishna is a great flautist you’d be aware. We also went to Blue Frog to bless Rajeev Raja, another wonderful flautist. Krishna says Raja is his own avatar in the making…

This is interesting. So you guys socialise! But you’re the only Muslim God and there are so many Hindu Gods. Don’t you feel a little left out? Minority issue?
Oh c’mon! I have more followers than the all Hindu Gods combined. Wait till you see me on Twitter. How can I be the minority? In fact, I’m the majority here! So I do command respect.

And you also have the largest market share. There are so many Hindu Gods, I don’t even know who is the market leader.
I’m not sure if market share is the right term, but I think we both agree on one thing. (blushes) Monopoly is exciting.

What do you have to say about the growing mass of people who are choosing to be atheists?
You know, its good you asked that question because honestly, a real man is one who makes it on his own without asking for my blessing every 10 minutes. My cellphone is beeping non-stop with wishes waiting to be fulfilled, ambitions waiting to be realised. It’s the listening part that is painful, not the fulfilling bit. At the end of the day, I help fulfill only those wishes which are sincere and the person has used hard-work, perseverance and honesty as the means to achieve them.

Ever felt like involving more Gods in your eco-system? (laughs) Are you hiring?
I think vocation Gods are the next big thing. Shiv is the God of dance. When Jack Nicholson dies, he’ll be the God of acting. A R Rahman, Lata Mangeshkar…I’ve already started ordering thrones for them.

Attrition amongst Gods is unheard of.
Hahahaha. Very funny.

Do you think its time Muslims came out of the ‘minority status’ image in India?
That should have happened long ago. But think about it - how is it going to help matters anyway? In the public eye, a Muslim continues to be treated as an outsider. How many Hindu-Muslim marriages happen in this country? When was the last time your parents were okay with you marrying a Muslim girl?

True. My mom says she'd hang herself if I married a Muslim.
See? In fact, the other day me and Krishna were at Leopold’s and he was eyeing a pretty lady at the next table. Her name was Salma and Krishna began playing his flute to catch her attention. It was an encouraging sign. Except that she shooed him away calling him a desperado. Turned out, she was Salma Hayek.

You’re kidding me!
Whatever she may be. But the larger point is – here’s a Hindu God who’s also on Facebook, can play the flute, watches YouTube videos daily and has a festival dedicated to him. And he doesn’t mind wooing a Muslim woman. It’s a great sign.

Does the Muslim world need a make-over? How about a marketing campaign?!
Bro, just because you write on advertising, do not assume that branding is the answer to all questions. Change has to come from within. After all, it's about being a good human being.

Millions across the world worship Google. And they believe in its powers more than they believe in you.
Interesting that you asked. Ganesha and me did have a discussion on this. I say, let’s wait and watch. As long as Google provides answers, its fine I guess. At the end of the day, its all about loving your parents.

Huh!? Where did that come from? That's a line from a Karan Johar film. You've seen K3G?
Yes.

How? You got a TV connection up there?
Of course! Since cable doesn't work there, it's DTH. Direct-to-Heaven.

Neat. But tell me, Google is getting people an answer for almost everything. What does this mean for mankind?
Most of my devotees are still not yet familiar with Google. So that’s not such a matter of concern for me. Jesus may need to think harder about it.

What do you have to say about SRK’s detention at a US airport? He was questioned for two hours...
SRK is one of my finest followers. I bless him. And its unfortunate what happened. But a lot of good will come out of it. One of them will be the tremendous advance bookings for ‘My Name Is Khan’.

Okay, now I’m hungry. I'll head straight to the khau-gully here. I can already smell the kebabs and chicken tandooris. It was nice chatting up with you, Sir.
Same here, pal.

Can I add you on Facebook?
I’m not on Facebook. It’s banned in my area.

We're two-timing all the time

Have you ever caught your partner two-timing?

By the time you finish reading this, you'd be pretty certain you have.

For the record, two-timing is defined thus: "When a married person is two-timing his or her partner, the two-timing spouse is considered to be deceptive and sexually unfaithful". It further says that most individuals who find themselves married to a two-timing spouse have feelings of betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger and sadness.

But don't we all know, two-timing is not something confined to married couples alone.

Socio-demographics will tell you, that atleast in urban India, as much as relationships blossom, cheating could also happen before marriage. College students write letters to Dr Mahendra Watsa about it. When he's too full of them, he forwards them to Dr Kavan Lakdawala. And we read them everyday in the newspapers sipping our morning cuppa.

"Dear doctor, my boyfriend's dick is small and ugly. But my best friend's looks like it grew on a banana tree..."

or

"Dear doctor, my girlfriend sucks. But she won't suck. What's interesting is, that my neighbour will. But then, I don't love her..."

Drivel like this.

But as a generation which has come to understand Pyaar Ke Side Effects and laugh their ass off every time Rahul Bose looked into the camera and gave the 'guy' point of view, perhaps its time to acknowledge the fact that the very definition of two-timing is changing.

The good news is, sex may not be an issue here.

The bad news is, that the person who is being ignored in this melee isn't sure if the partner is two-timing, or three-timing or four...

My friend's girfriend knows that her partner is two-timing. But she can't pin him down on it. Because the 'dubious other' between the three of them, is always changing.

On some evenings, it is work.

"I need to finish an article; I'm still in office for a telecon that is about to happen.."

On some evenings, it is a meeting with a significant other. (This time, she can put a face to it, but lets it pass, because he is a journalist.)

"I'm meeting a potential source. If I get him drunk enough, he will spill the beans. That's all I need.."

On some days, it is his school friends who gang up.

"Baby, my school friends are in town after a long time. X is back from Infosys for a few days, Y will reach in an hour to make it for our meeting. Yes, there'll be beer and alcohol flowing, but you know that I don't drink..."

On weekends, it is some author whose novel he wants to finish. And on Sundays, he simply curls up with the rich spread of Sunday newspapers, full of features. Besides, the usual comment:

"I thought it would be a good idea to spend some time at home, with mum and dad, since they hardly get to see me on weekdays. So honey, not today."

I can understand that, by now, all the sympathies are with the girlfriend, because my friend has been denying her the pleasure of his company (really?), but hey, he's a guy, and as guys we're suckers for our own space.

Bottomline: Perhaps, my friend is committing adultery by loving his job more than his girlfriend. Perhaps, he's being a bewafa by loving his own personal space than his girlfriend. Or perhaps, he's more interested in broadening his horizons by talking about meaningful, bitter somethings rather than whispering sweet nothings.

So, the next time you're in the middle of a cozy dinner with your partner and you see his eyes resting for that nervous extra second on the chick who just perched herself on the opposite table, perhaps it'll be okay to not to read too much into it.

Women coo in pleasure when they see cute kids, pink sandals and tops that match, and earrings that latch. Men do their own 3-second anatomical analysis when a chick passes by. Mostly it ends there.

But what you must worry about, is perhaps the fax that he needs to send out as soon as he gets out of the restaurant, the PPT presentation he needs to work upon till late in the night (ignoring your phone calls along the way), or the passionate discussions that he involves himself in everytime he's talking to you about the new business pitch. These - and not you - are on his mind all the time. (And you thought the guy wanted to take you to bed. Maybe he did, and he'd have sung you a lullaby and put you off to sleep.)

But in case you do worry about his two-timing habits, you can always shoot a mail to Dr Mahendra Watsa in Mumbai Mirror.

My best friend's girlfriend is no film critic

She believes film reviews must be "short and to-the-point", because a reader "does not have so much time to read, ya!".

She's hasn't seen the works of Kurosawa, Ray, Majidi, Truffaut, Coppola, Ghatak, Benegal, Tarantino. Rattle these names in front of her, and she'll probably think you're talking about compounds in a chemistry lab.

She has never been to a film-festival.

She's 24, my best friend's girlfriend and a film critic with a website run by one of India's largest media houses.

Recently, when she reviewed the latest Johnny Depp starrer Public Enemies and described the movie with terms like "a below average film", "direction requires polishing", it seemed like a bullet had pierced through my heart.

A day later, Public Enemies received four stars out of five in atleast two national dailies.

My worst fears were confirmed. This girl was better off doing other things and had absolutely no right to be talking a a commentator about the highs and lows in films. I'm certain that the website she writes for has not gained much following yet. Or else, reader feedback would have fired her already.

I'm also certain that her immediate boss has no sense of film appreciation either, as he/she hasn't yet taken the pains to verify this girl's credentials, knowledge of film-makers, passion about cinema and views about film-making.

Recently I happened to watch Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's Amores Perros and 13 Tzameti with her. First up, she didn't know there existed films by these names. Secondly, I found herself fidgety and restless, busy texting on her phone while watching the film. Anyone who has seen Amores Perros, and is even remotely close to having a sane opinion about films, will tell you that the film has enough to mesmerize and keep you hooked, blisfully unaware of the world around you.

But seeing her distracted seemed like seeing a callous examiner checking my answer sheet.

What's more, she'd reviewed Imran Khan starrer Luck recently. She seemed totally turned off just when 13 Tzameti was hotting up and gave up as soon as she realised similarities between the two films.

I'm certain she's watched zilch world cinema. And her passion for watching movies is arguable. I've known film critics who've gone all out to acquire DVDs of films they've got recommendations about, film-makers they've read about, only to be enchanted, impressed and sometimes even disappointed by the charms of cinema.

The lady in question here, certainly has very little or none of those traits.

Let me make a confession here. I wanted to be a film-critic once. But soon I realised that it takes a lot of experience of watching not just films, but knowledge about them and the art of making them, to actually make an opinion about them. Since then, I've made a consistent effort to watch as many movies as I can, of as many different kinds - the good, bad, ugly. Not just English, but Hindi, regional and world cinema.

At 21, I'd even applied to the FTII film appreciation course, but was turned down since I was told I'm too young to take the course. How much of Ray or Truffaut would a 21-yr old understand in a 4-week long course?

But its the appointment of amateur film-critics like these which completely pisses me off. My jaws almost dropped the day I learnt that the lady in question here, would be reviewing films.

I don't know how many of you catch a movie at the multiplex going by the reviews they receive in the media. Considering that these days hype about movies is enough to get netizens googling for film reviews by Friday afternoon itself.

Trouble is, Google News throws up the most 'optimised results', or links to film-reviews, not necessarily the most credible reviews. Wonder why Eric Schmidt could never get some sense of literature and opinion into the world's best search engine.

Because going by the results Google will throw up, chances are you may be reading the tripe my best friend's girlfriend is dishing out. Her reviews can best be described as the English version of how film-trade analysts like Komal Nahta and Taran Adarsh talk about movies - "First half was good, aggressive screenplay, but momentum cannot be maintained in the second half, ending was a disappointment, camera work was nice, and songs were situational."

The mere fact that websites like Bollywoodhungama have placed the coveted crown of film-critics on trade analysts like Taran Adarsh is an example of how clueless and shoddy web journalism in India today is. Its proof of the fact that one of the highest online traffic generating entertainment websites in India has completely taken its audience for granted.

Sorry sir! Taran Adarsh can tell me lots about box-office collections, but I do not believe he can talk to me about what was right and what was wrong in a film. That mandate has to rest with, and only with an experienced film critic. (Give me Mayank Shekhar, Rajeev Masand, Udita Jhunjhunwala anyday.)

Which makes me want to ask - what does a reader expect from a film review?

Some may argue that he/she expects only to be told whether he should go watch the movie or no. That'll make film reviews a one-paragraph issue.

But consider this: Time and again, anecdotal and systemic research has shown that film-reviews are the most religiously read portions of a newspaper/website.

When a reader is reading a film review, he's perhaps making a background check similar to what he does before buying a product. So without going to the extent of being boring, a reviewer must supply all possible details - background, relevance - before going on to make an opinion on the film. If its a must watch, why so. And if its not, why not. (An example of an extremely well-written review is here.)

In my view, reviewers (like the person in question here), who simply have no experience of watching films of the masters, are doing a great injustice to film appreciation, by talking to readers as just one amongst them.

Let us be clear. Audience verdict is best given by audience, only when they're in a large mass, and that's best given by a polling agency.

The film critic, in my view, must look at film-appreciation as an art, that it so wonderfully is.

It does not mean that every reviewer today must have seen the works of Kurosawa or Tarantino. Its a simple case of giving readers the right to listen to the voice of experience, someone who's seen enough in life and on-screen, to know the intricacies of cinema to titillate, mesmerize and stir audiences, thus making a balanced opinion about a film.

Let us not forget that a film-maker toils hard to produce a film, and let us not allow their hard work be ridiculed at the hands of inexperienced and highly opinionated 20-somethings posing as film critics.