Twenty Onwards Media

Sunday Bloody Sunday

How do all the horribly singing aunties manage to reach the temple, wake up the pujari and everybody in the locality at a wee hour as wee as 5am! Why can’t they let the gods oversleep for a couple of hours? So as I was forced to wake up at 5, I turned the ac on again, checked utorrent’s development and suddenly screamed in a pillow realizing it’s a Sunday! Now for somebody who’s nerves are being eaten away by these horribly singing aunties (why did they survive those earthquakes?) on a Sunday, followed soon after by the tut-tuts of walking sticks of uncles, my Sunday had begun. Around 10am, just when the house started stinking of aaloo-puri (why can’t it ever be pancakes) I was made to get out of my room and have family-breakfast with Comedy Circus on air. My Sunday had already gone to the dogs. When friends didn’t call for as late as 3pm, I realized I might not be able to see the light of the day (I wasn’t crying yet, with a 43 degree temperature outside).

 

It wasn’t just me who had to survive through a 140-decibel catastrophe at 5 or get stuffed with carbs enough to hibernate for a while. Around 4pm, father’s long lost friend Bittu uncle showed up. With wife. And two children. How do people going by the name of Bittu manage to marry? And why is he my father’s friend? Anyway so as mother spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, I had to entertain Bittu’s kids. I wouldn’t have had a problem playing Gregory and the Hawk on the keyboard for them or play the dare-to-gulp-Listerine game or something, but they were the kind of kids who enjoy crap. They wanted to talk about my bed sheet, about why I should really start combing my hair for a healthy life while Bittu’s wife told me how I won’t get married because of that ‘tatu’ on my wrist. I don’t think father was having a great time either. After all, Bittu was the only one finishing his Black Label (only students drink during day time because that’s when we get Rs 19 Old Monk during happy hours).

 

Bittu and family left by 9 and I haven’t spoken to father so far. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m scared.

Planet Terror - the Ultimate Peeda-Hari Balm

Nothing could comfort my aching pain. It was 32 degrees in my room and I was sweating like a pig in the bitchy Delhi summer. While sitting on my bed and massaging my swollen ankles I was cursing Delhi on one hand and my boy friend on the other. The temperature and my pain were climbing the mercury level at the same speed. It was 12:55 at night and I landed up on Star Movies. And I forgot my pain for the next one and half hours.

 

The tacky, tad and B-grade look of the movie enticed me enough to convince me that there would be enough stuff to laugh at and look at (I personally found Dakota hotter than Cherry Darling).

 

Planet of Terror­ is a film version of a video game where you gotta kill as many zombies as you can. You score a foul if the zombie-puss falls on you or if you get in touch with the green gas, which is the main cause of this Zombie-demic.

 

There is this psycho bio-chemical engineer who amputates balls for his personal correction, played with ‘utmost proficiency’ by Navin Andrews (of Bride and Prejudice infamy). His deal with another psycho – military commander Bruce Willis (he shot Bin Laden twice in his illustrious career) falls apart and he accidentally releases the deadly gas which turned the people of the town into zombies.

 

There is Fergie playing the lesbian lover of Dakota. Dakota is the troubled, neglected wife of psycho surgeon Dr. Block (Josh Brolin) who is planning to run away with her lover. And then there are Go-go dancer Cherry darling (Rose Mc Gowan) and her ex-flame El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez) who are the actual heroes. The former is machine gun legged and the latter ‘never misses’ whatever shot he takes.

 

So, there is plenty of fun actually – puss oozing out of a semi-zombie and splashed on Brolin’s face, Navin Andrews frantically collecting the balls and stuffing in his pockets, Cherry Darling flying like Superman and spraying bullets, Dakota with no feeling in her hands (thanks to the anesthetic injections) trying to open a car door and driving it. The reveling moment is when JT (the bone shack owner) finds the concoction of zombie puss and his own blood as the perfect sauce for his eateries. Mmmmm ….. Yummy!!!

 

The film ends like Terminator, with El Wray dying and Cherry Darling donning the cap of the savior of the survivors. It was a pain-killing experience which numbed my sensations till the end credits.     

 

 

Runaway Train

I don’t watch too many song videos. A lot of them tend to overshadow the song. You could end up loving a song you might have never given a second listen to. So it has to be good enough for me to actually go and hunt its video down on Youtube. Runaway Train by Soul Asylum is one such song. The video was haunting. Not the Himesh Reshamiya kind of haunting. Remember that ‘Right Now’ video by Korn? Not that kind of haunting. It features pictures, names and important information of about 30 runaway kids, later found out to have actually ran away, been kidnapped, killed, still missing. The video led to good and bad news. The band became more famous than ever. Three kids returned home. Handful were found dead and some were forced to go back into a bad home situation. But my only point here is that the video is good. Watch it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNre5neZ6QI

The Myth about Bengalees

When most kids of this country grow up reading Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot in the name of detective books, we Bengalees simply swear by our home-bred hero Phelu da. Out here in north India hardly anyone knows about this character courtesy the lack of enthusiasm to translate these stories for the larger mass and also because of general people’s disinterest in anything Bengalee (however they do take active interest in making fun of this community in every possible way). Dude seriously, Bengalees do know other things apart from eating ‘rosogolla and mishti doi’, saying ‘Hoodi baba’ in every sentence and eating ‘machh’ 24X7.

                            

So, the other day, while showing off each other’s birthday gifts (Thanks Anant for the gift again), we ended up discussing a li’l bit about Satyajit Ray, the man and brain behind Phelu da. Honestly speaking, this man probably saved our grace to some extent in front of rest of the country. A filmmaker, a writer, an illustrator (he was the one who designed the logo of Gold Flake) – he tried hands in so many things and successfully. My childhood memories are mostly reading up Phelu da and his other works - the stories of wacky Prof. Shonku, his accounts of his experience of making particular movies, his memoirs.   The simplicity of the language was meant for all. And, they certainly didn’t lack any literary value. And, yes, Ray wasn’t artsy-fartsy in the true sense of the term.

 

My colleague accused Ray of being artsy-fartsy and speaking in a baritone. I will say that except some of his movies like Nayak, Chidiyakhana, Pratidwandi, Ray has never been intellectual in his art of story-telling. Who can deny the lucid narrative of Pather Panchali? Who can escape the vigorous tension between the characters in Shakha Proshakha? And for disbelievers I would ask them to start off with Sonar Kella (The Golden Fort). As far as the baritone is concerned, if we can tolerate Amitabh Bachchan for the last six decades, then I would say that Ray’s baritone is any day if not better, but as good as that of Mr. Bachchan.

 

 

Indian Summer

This phrase supposedly means a nice, pleasant summer with clear skies and warm breezes (actually, now that I actually look it up, it means a nice, pleasant, brief sunny period in autumn, but whatever) and you really have to experience Summer in North India to laugh at the immense irony in that obviously American figure of speech.

Today I had the immense privilege of spending a little less than four hours just sitting in an auto, after spending a full hour of minor running around (the bank, the wrong branch, finding an auto that was actually willing to take me where I had to go, etc) in Late June New Delhi weather - and anyone who has spent a summer in New Delhi knows what I have just been through.

Right now, even the English language seems inadequate for what I'm trying to describe - Sunlight doesn't do justice to the death-rays shooting at you from the sky, seemingly piercing the invincible Tarp(!) that covered the top of the auto. While the thing was running it was breezy enough, even though I realized the hot wind was dehydrating me faster and I didn't have any water with me, I still enjoyed it every chance I got. I didn't get much of a chance to enjoy it though, being stuck in a traffic jam that stretched practically across South Delhi (if you're familiar with the area, the jam stretched from the BRT corridor to the Mehrauli-Badarpur road.

Actually it stretched all across the M-B road too, but they had a couple of nice Delhi Traffic Policemen standing around telling people to go around because 'there is a really bad jam up ahead.' Half of me wanted to club the guy over the head with his walkie-talkie and half of me wondered how 'really bad' the jam must be up ahead if they're turning people away.

So the auto took a few turns as the policeman suggested and got us stuck in a back-alley traffic jam, which seemed worse because somehow the clustered buildings made it even hotter and humid-er. So after about 40 minutes of waiting and sweating and listening random pedestrians going 'no use turn back' we finally made it to the main road (M-B road, which seemed suspiciously devoid of 'really bad jam', after that it was seemed like the smoothest, most refreshing ride ever after that bylane parking area I was in.

But eventually I reached where I had to go (it was across the street from a BSF training camp ... thats how far away it was from the city ... though technically it was still in the city) and I dripped up to the counter, and dripped right back, and this time the auto (same auto, gave me a round-trip deal) took about half the time to get me back, even though we caught shitty slow traffic in Khanpur and stopped for a drink along the way.

I had a fun time and I drank a full bottle of pepsi. And that was how I spent my morning.

THE END

Adhiraj Singh
(Age 20)

The Pursuit Of Happiness

I’m a person of small tiny wants. All I want is to be happy now because nothing around me has made me feel great about myself. I mean I have never participated in a counterculture movement, got high and felt like a part of something larger and important. Angelina Jolie is hugging people and Oprah Winfrey is giving away homes and cars but that’s all happening miles and miles away. There are no freedom struggles so how do I test my perseverance? Dieting? I seriously think money could be the answer to everything. I think that money can buy all the happiness in the world. Paydays are great. It’s great to have an AC car and a family that feeds you so you don’t have to worry about global warming or recession. If somebody buys me a nice handbag or a replacement for Elliot in Season 9, Scrubs or just another EPL cup for Man U, I’m sure I’d be pretty happy for a while.

 

But there was this economics teacher who used to love holding boys from the waist, to pull up their pants she’d say. She taught us that humans are never satisfied. She’d say a) our wants are unlimited and b) the resources are limited. Even the production of those self-help books about making easy money has stopped. So HOW can one feel happy in this city with malls and a stupid electric car, a new Chetan Bhagat novel and stupid breaking news of national concern for a total of two days? They say the belly rules the mind. I like the proverb guys who came up with that one. Come to think of, if I had a Make Me Happy Foundation, food would top my list. Momos, soufflés, Ching’s chilly sauce (bowlful), wai wai, chops, pasta, cheesecake, tuna, chips… (Aah! Food! Absolutely nothing matches or substitutes it!) … Waffles, katy perry boobies, doughnuts, brownies, Marc Jacob bags, bread tikki, Thai curry, money. Hm... Forget it. Food's no match for the real thing. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Soon: M. Night Shyamalan's Great White Hope

It's widely acknowledged that M. Night Shyamalan has been on a smooth, fast ride downhill after The Sixth Sense. Arguably many people like his later films (probably unsure if the film was really not made well or if they just didn't get it) but it still stands that his peak was The Sixth Sense. The film's 'But He Was Dead All Along!' sort of gimmick didn't really work in his later films, and his unique style of draining a film of all color and vitality had a strange way of alienating audiences.

But come July 2010 (Tentative Release Date) viewers might get to see a new side of M. Night, with The Last Airbender, the live-action adaptation of the Nickelodeon series Aang: The Last Airbender, which is scripting and directing. Aang was a very original American-made anime series, being an entertaining adventure story set in an Asian-influenced fantasy world. In the 'Last Airbender' universe the rhythms of the world are governed by the four elements - Earth, Water, Fire and Air - which can be seen in the four 'Nations' of this world - the Earth Kingdom, the Water Tribes, the Fire Nation and the Air Nomads (who all were color-coordinated clothing corresponding to their 'nation ... It's a kids cartoon show, no one said it has to be too deep.)

And I'm not going to lie to a bunch of non-existent readers now, I liked the show, I really did. I used to stay up late and watch the reruns on Nick until my work schedule made it hard for me to keep up. And I liked The Sixth Sense, and thought Unbreakable was all right ... and I sat through till the end of Signs and didn't break into a murderous KLPD rage, so that must mean I sort of like Shyamalan's stuff ... so why do I think this film is going to suck?

I mean, look at the trailer! Look,

It looks like fun right?! Its got a kid doing cool shit with his lathi, doing magic with the candles, and then there's a wide-shot with weird ships throwing fire and shit, I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK!!! THAT SHIT HAS TO BE COOL! I MEAN, sorry, I mean, a little kid with a tattoo on his head doing kung fu should be cool enough, and the magic aspect is the icing on the cake ... but somehow, the trailer ... enh, didn't do it for me. The music, the general tone and lighting of the trailer, and even the little kid ... seemed a little too Harry Potter meets Pirates of the Carribbean for me. I almost expect a lightly disguised minority stereotype to jump out and start sleeping on the job, or goofily try to hit on women, only to fail in a most comical fashion. And they already had this casting controversy, with only caucasians being cast in the lead roles, (which in the original were a nice Benetton spectrum (which of course they changed later, making it slightly more diverse, although Shyamalan changed the original configuration, making the aggressive Fire nation 'Brown' ... which is a strange coincidence since in recent years a lot of aggression has been going down in the Middle East ... where it is hot ... and the people are Brown ... hmm ...)

The trailer gives me this weird SFXtravaganza vibe that is really pissing me off. I liked the Pirates movies (even with the Plot holes etc) but when you have a rich backstory to work with I feel (and I hope) the Director should work them in ... so that we don't have another LOEG on our hands.

(Though even I don't think it'll be that bad, I mean its just a little teaser anyway, and the film is like a whole year away from releasing, I'm sure it'll be great)

Collector's Item

No one can deny the charm of the good old hand-painted movie posters. Despite the sleek and polished effects of Adobe (or whatever software the designers use) on the latest movie posters, the appeal of the hand-painted movie posters is still there. Bright and vibrant colors, imperfect proportions of the features, imbalanced moustaches and gawky postured heroines all add up to this unavoidable charm of this genre of art. These kind of posters undoubtedly have a more rustic and desi feel about them. Especially the posters during the 50’s and 60’s were the best of their kinds.

 

But I’m not here to write about their artistic evaluation as much has been written about this already. Many have also argued that there is nothing creative about them. I don’t want to get into this debate and would rather talk about my way of perceiving this form of visual art. The 50s boasts of numerous classics like Pyaasa,Kagaaz ke Phool,Awara and Shri 420. And, whenever I recall the names of these movies I inevitably end up conjuring up an image of their posters. To me these posters are an intrinsic part of these movies’ identity.  

 

Many consider it to be cheap and meant for the lower masses of the audience. I consider it to be refreshing than the maneuvered look of the present day movie posters. The old school posters involved the painter’s artistic implementation of the feel and look of the movie. In spite of their criticism of being low-class, they are rare classics these days. They are actually fun to look at.

......

Ok, I'll cut the crap now.

Actually I brewed up this whole above-written s***, just because I wanted to write about these inanely intense old movie posters from

Pakistan

. Yes, they have no relation as such with art. They are raw in their execution, are loud in their appearance and just give us some more reasons to make fun of our good ol’ neighbor. Have fun.        

Below is the poster of  the movie Dharti Sheran Di. This movie featured one of Pakistan's greatest movie stars, Sultan Rahi. He also happens to feature in Maula Jatt which according to many Pakistanis is the greatest action movie ever produced in Pakistan.

       

 

 

For the information of the larger mass, this is the poster of Jane Bond 009.  

Calvin & Hobbes: 15 July, '88

Below is the Calvin and Hobbes strip from the day I was born ... I hoped to feel a connection to this comic strip. Some sort of link or affinity of some kind that would prompt me to write a very heart-felt, personal blog, about how the strip changed my life and made me realize that even I can't bullshit this much.

But then, after reading this strip over and over again, I came to a conclusion (the Wagner beating in my ear helped a little, but I still hold that it was me re-reading the strip that gave me insight.) Calvin has been away playing again, making him late for dinner, and so his parents ask him where he has been. Calvin, being the imaginative little troublemaker that he is, spins an impromptu tall-tale involving a balloon, his 'transmogrifier' and a convenient return to his natural state - ending with a snide comment about his mother's cooking. His mother then makes a comment about Calvin transmogrifying himself into smeone who makes more sense.

Now, to the average reader this would seem nothing more than a very simple Calvin and Hobbes strip - there isn't much undercurrent, but it involves a decent amount of imagination. In fact, the sharp-eyed reader could even tell that this strip is really only here to segue from the last story arc to the normal flow of the strip.

But what this strip is really about is the playfullness and vitality of youth, and even life itself. All Calvin and Hobbes strips have this intrinsic vibrancy to them, and this is a fine example of it (if not the best.) The contrast of Calvin's imaginative ramblings and his Parent's firm rooting in reality is not only hilarious, but the way each intrudes into the other (Calvin interacting with Reality and his Parents commenting on Calvin's fantasies) is also a good source of banter and fun.

But how this strip really speaks to me, is through its simplicity - there are no hidden philosophies, no political statements, no jibes at rivals. Just plain, simple fun. A bit like a Dennis the Menace cartoon, only funny. This strip has nothing else of note, nothing even remotely interesting, or curious, or worth mentioning about it, so I'm just going to stop here. Maybe next time I'll pick a more interesting strip (I just thought, Hey! It's my birthday strip, and it C&H, It'll be fun! But what the fuck do I know) So anyway, this is me bullshitting about this lame comic strip (Watterson could have done any other strip, any of the fun ones or the deep ones that I could write a whole fucking essay on, but no he had to wrote this lukewarm piece of-)

That's all I have to say on this subject, hopefully in another blog I'll choose a subject that is actually worth writing about, and not just something mediocre and 'transitional' like this contrived little piece of-

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Maula Jatt - An Unforgettable Experience

I could not understand a single word of those chaste Punjabi dialogues.  But still I was completely knocked out by what I saw in bits and pieces of this action-packed Lollywood masala movie. Khuda Ke Liye may have given an identity to Pakistani movies, but the experience would be incomplete if you don't watch Maula Jatt. You think I'm exaggerating, huh? Then check out the movie in Youtube where an ardent fan has uploaded the movie for the non-believers.

As I would not like to divulge much about the movie, I will simply say that it's a classic tale of love, romance, revenge and the victory of good over the evil ... Go watch the movie online and thank me later...

You still there??? Ok, let me entice you a li'l more. Maula Jatt is this village guy, who is basically the Jatt version of Superman. He performs all these stunts with his weapon which is called gandaasa. Now, don't ask me what is a gandaasa actually. As per my observation it's a magnified version of axe. And, there is Noorie Nutt (it's spelt Nath somewhere), the baddie who is always at the look out for raping someone and this leads to his clash with Maula Jatt.

So, there are lot of blood, ripped off limbs flying in the air and bits of human intestines dangling from Maula's gandaasa. The film has it's touching moments, when Maula appears from nowhere everytime his Bharjai is in need of some sort of help. And for you perverts out there, there is even an item number by Daro Nathni (one of the lust interests of Noorie Nutt), when Maula beats the hell out of the villain who chased her on a horse throughout the village for nearly 10 mins of screen time.

Have look at this iconic poster of the movie:

Kaun Banega Pradhan Mantri?

Isn't that the cheesiest, the cliched-est, the most unoriginal title for a post you have ever seen? I don't give a fuck if it is. The point at hand is more important than suggested by the title...or so they would have you believe.

Countless media ventures, tea-sellers, actors, professional celebrities (i.e. people who have become celebrities to earn a living, not professionals who are also celebrities as you might have thought) and their door ke chachajis have been telling you over the past few months to go out and vote, because that is the most important thing you can do in your life. What a load of bullshit!

Don't get me wrong, your vote might actually get counted. And theoretically speaking, your vote might even matter in deciding who becomes the MP from your area or even who becomes the PM of the nation! Oh, the joys of democracy! You get to choose between a mumbling old man who takes orders from the Dynasty and a blundering old man who thinks that an ancient god wants him to make a temple at the site of an arbitrarily chosen dysfunctional mosque. Not to mention the mealy-mouthed woman whose only ambition is to put up ugly statues of herself all over the landscape and the sundry other idiots who think they have a shot.

You might be brainwashed enough to brand me a 'disgruntled youth' who does not know the power of the vote, who does not take his responsibilities as a citizen seriously, who doesn't know that you have to participate to bring about a change. In short you'll call me a 'Pappu' who is not voting (seriously you guys? If you wanted to give a cool image to voting then this is surely not the way to go about it). But the fact of the matter is that it is you, the voters, who are being made pappus by this system. If the choice put before you is between a lying thief and a conniving murderer, who do you vote for Pappu? You exercize your right under Section 49-O to vote for nobody? Then why go to vote at all? To be counted? Among the people who supported mass murderers and thieves of public money? Go right ahead. I will have to decline at this point with a 'thanks, but no thanks.'

I have made my disdain for this farce called democracy evident in earlier posts. But his is not about that. I do believe that until the time that we as a society are ready to let go of this security blanket called a government, democracy is the best option we've got. And I write this article not to undermine democracy but to uphold it. Democracy is not about the right to vote as various vested interests would have you believe. Democracy is about the right to choose. And voting and choosing are not the same thing. I choose not to vote, and that is my democratic right. I choose not to support this system which encourages the immoral opportunists and stupid ideologues. I choose to say that I as a citizen of India refuse to buy into this tamasha anymore. I choose to say that I do not want any of these people to become Prime Minister. I choose to declare that these bozos do not desrve to hold any elected post.

I choose not to vote. For democracy. Join me and declare that you will refuse to vote until you have an actual choice. Refuse to be co-opted into this corrupt system. Refuse to validate the existence of these politicians (so-called leaders) by deigning to vote for them. Refuse to call this farce a democracy...in fact expose the farce by keeping the numbers so low that they can't even claim to represent the will of the people.

Don't vote if you want actual change. Not passively, but actively and vocally.

Viva la revolucion!

And the Golden Kela goes to...

Well, the much-awaited event, the 1^st annual Golden Kela ceremony, is over. The event was enthralled with appearances made by Mr. and Mrs. Bhatti, Valentine Shipley, Amit Saigal (editor of RSJ), RJ Sarthak of 95 FM (unfortunately pet-friend Adam did not accompany him) and also the auditorium was throbbing with media and news channels.

All were present to acknowledge the 'true' talent of the Bollywood. And all of you, who were unable to make it and are eagerly waiting for the result of the 1st Golden Kela Awards, here are the winners:-

Main Category

   1. Worst Actor Male: Himesh Reshammiya for Karzzzzzzzz.

   2. Worst Actor Female: Priyanka Chopra for Dostana, Love Story 2050.

   3. Worst Film: Love Story 2050.

   4. Worst Director: Kunal Kohli for Thoda Life Thoda Magic.

   5. Worst Supporting Actor Male: Salman Khan for Hello.

   6. Worst Supporting Actor Female: Kangana Ranaut for Fashion.

   7. Worst Debutant Male: Harman Baweja.

   8. Worst Debutant Female: Anoushka Sharma.

 

Special Categories

   1. Bawra Ho Gaya Hai Ke Award:  Ram Gopal Varma for Everything He Did.

   2. When Did This Come Out Award: Wafaa.

   3. Lajja Award for Worst Treatment of a Serious Issue Award: Deshdrohi.

   4. Insensitivity Award: Fashion.

   5. Exceptional Dialogue Delivery: Tusshar Kapoor.

   6. Dara Singh award for the worst accent: Katrina Kaif.

 

Most Wanted Categories

   1. Most Atrocious Lyrics Award: Anvita Dutt Guptani for Lucky Boy from Bachna Ae Haseeno.

   2. Most Original Story: Hari Puttar.

   3. Most Irritating Song of the Year Award: Tandoori Nights from Karzzzzzzzz.

 

Links to the media coverage:-