Desicritics Category: Culture: City Life

The Coffee Shop with a Twist

Javits — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:31:59 EDT

I love coffee. And you guessed it I love coffee shops. Houston boasts, if perhaps I don’t know any better, one of the most coffee-shop congregated ‘happy’ areas; caught somewhere between, behind and beside Westheimer road and Montrose road. I don’t know I guess it’s the whole atmosphere. You know writers, fellow artisans, geeks and normal people like coffee shops.

I’m usually a traditional Starbucks kind of a person, but they are getting expensive these days. And the music sucks at Starbucks, most of the time, depends though on who the store manager is, and what kind of genre she or he likes. There are so many restrictions; you don't get juice blends, humus or mango chutney. And then one is sort of forced to get into this never ending loop of double espresso shots with chai, yes you read that right. Or else it’s the green tea latte, or simply some ice cold passion tea.

My roommate invited me to join him and his friend to go to this particular Café called Café Agora. I had been there before, but never on a Wednesday night. The place is crowded, anytime of the day when it’s open. If I had to go there, I wouldn’t go for all the imported ale at the bar, not for the European-like effect they try to arouse, not to cozy up on the lounge upstairs, not because the people behind the counter are extra courteous than their Starbucks counterparts – or pause till you drop the tip in the tip jar, not to watch what I call football, or get into a chatty mood with all the nice people who hang out there, well maybe the last one. But the main attraction, yeah you guessed it again, Coffee, duh! They carry lots of coffee blends for 2 bucks, and refill for 50 cents; not bad. So, the unsuspecting me tags along to go.

We arrive at the place. More friends are to join us soon. I am handed my empty mug, and there’s ‘double bean’, ‘Texas Pecan’ but I go for the Hazelnut. Three cubes of brown sugar. I’m off to the chairs, trying to slowly grasp all the images, the ‘classic’ photographs and Egyptian hieroglyphs and ankh, my art class finally coming into some use, yet again. Hip art, magazines, American and Indian gypsies. “Oh its intoxicating, I love it, I love this place, I love the music”, my friend who’s about to leave Houston for good in 20 days exclaims, realizing how much he has missed in all those days - actually studying in Houston. Friends arrive. The place is packed. I’m trying to get the women sitting next to me, to move to a different angle, so we might have more space. She’s not willing to budge. She’s talking something about dancing. I’m thinking she must be crazy. My roommate apologizes to her and says, “That’s alright, we can manage”.

What's the big deal with all this sudden surge of population in the cafe? “It’s going to be special”, one of the friends tell me. I don't realize what he’s talking about until the music starts to change into this really contemporary Arabic music and out pop the belly dancers. Belly dancers at a Coffee shop, really?

Restaurant Review: Via Milano, Bangalore

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:18:54 EDT

What makes a restaurant a success? Food alone does not cut it but the ambiance and service are of equal relevance. While the food in Via Milano, a Bangalore-based Italian restaurant run by Italian expats was reasonably good, it had an impersonal feel to it and the service sucked.

The Salmon was subtle and tasty. The spaghetti and shrimp were good but there was no accompanying bread basket with the main course. We had to remind the waiter to serve it and by then we were already midway through our meal.

The waiters were completely spaced out. We had to be on the lookout to catch their eye to get even basic needs met. What bugged me was the socialist mentality of waiters hovering over the 'gora' tables while 'naturally' ignoring the desis. One table had three waiters grouped around it. How hard was the decision making?

Once we had finished dinner, our plates were taken in a rather haphazard manner; a few taken by one waiter and another returning to look under napkins in case the side plates were left behind. I was weirded out.

Our coffee orders were mixed up and far from feeling at home at their pristine white 50s-style lounge, I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Which by the way took another fifteen minutes since they forgot to return our bill till we reminded them that we had been waiting for a long time for the card and check.

Instead of Via Milano, I recommend Fiorano in Koramangala where the service is far better. Another place is Magnolia which despite being crowded on weekends offers impeccable service and awesome Thai food.

Interview: Straight Talk With Onir, Director of My Brother Nikhil

Sakshi Juneja — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 14:59:48 EDT

Not too long ago, I had the opportunity to meet up with Onir, director of My Brother Nilkhil at a coffee shop in Versova. Onir, (who goes only by his first name), arrived a little late and wanted to wrap things up in fast. So without much ado, I went right ahead and asked the first question.

Please tell us something about your creative background?

I always wanted to make films, the only thing I can remember wanting to do is make films. When I joined college I took up literature parallel with film studies. Literature I think is very closely related to films and in India you don't start with film studies after school, you can only after graduation. And then I got my scholarship for Training in Film Making for which I went to Berlin.

And what brought you to Bollywood?

After I trained in Berlin I went back to Kolkata because that's where I did my university and initial training in film studies. I worked there for a while, made some documentary films and all. But anyway my aim was "fiction" and I realized the environment of Kolkata is not where I wanted to work because I was very young and wanted to be respected for what I do. And I found people very patronizing at that point there and it didn't suit me.

I came to Bombay as an editor actually…I started off as an editor. And it took me 10 years to make my first film. But for me it was very clear – I don't come from a film family, I don't come from a family where someone can say, here take 3 crores and make a film. I wanted to do it on my own, on my own terms and make the kind of films I wanted to make. Probably that's one of the reasons why it took that long because I was definite about the kind of films I wanted to make. And for me everything that I was doing while trying to make a film was a step towards that. I mean I produced music, directed music videos, made documentary films and then scripting; basically a whole lot of things.

And all this helped me to be able produce and direct my film within a controlled budget, since I had worked in every possible department.

For your first film, what made you pick a dicey subject like alternate sexuality and HIV?

Actually it became my first film by accident. The first script I wrote was also a dicey subject but it never got made. Hopefully it will someday. It was basically a story of a gigolo and nobody had the guts to finance such a project. And then I wrote my second script but nothing happened and then I wrote my third script. At that time I had just finished editing a documentary script on Dominic D'Souza who was the first known case of HIV in India. And that story kind of stayed with me…you know his photograph haunted me. And at one point I was getting frustrated because every story that I was writing found no one to finance it.

That's when I decided to do it myself. Sanjay Suri is a friend and has complete faith in me. I decided to go ahead with Dominic's story and make it into a docu-fiction and release it on TV. It sounded good and so I started writing. It was something I wrote in 10 days as it had left a lasting impact on me. It just came…just came like that.

And then we started meeting actors and everyone we approached said "yes" so we thought that instead of making it a TV film let's make a feature film.

Actually till I completed the film I never thought that this was a taboo. It was just that this story deeply moved me and the entire crew and cast were doing this for peanuts because they simply loved the story too. It was only after completing the film that I realized – Oh my God! In India, homosexuality is illegal what with Article 377 and there might be problems for release. So I was worried only when the censor time came, luckily that went through smoothly without any controversies.

It became my first film by accident, but all in all, the subjects I generally choose are slightly off the beaten track. Stories, which have already been told do not interest me; I need to tell stories wherein I too grow as a person and not just become a director, that's not my aim.

'Bas Ek Pal' (2006) didn't do well at the box office. According to the tabloids, it didn't appeal to either the critics or the masses. Where do you think the problem lay?

Two things. After My Brother Nikhil I got slotted. People expected My Brother Nikhil Part 2. For me it was however very clear that I didn't want to do that. I wanted to do something totally different which would help me grow as a director. In fact to me I have matured as a director only after Bas Ek Pal. In terms of reception it was a mix. Some critics really raved about the film whereas in print it didn't receive a favourable response.

The first reaction is obviously you get very defensive about everything that you do. But later on I sat down and analysed the film all over again and realized that there were certain things that went against it. The distribution for instance: In Mumbai only 14 prints were released and only two night shows were available in the suburban side. Another thing I believe I messed up with was the execution of the film's climax scene.

Otherwise I think it's a complex, very mature film, which to me was the exciting bit. Unfortunately the current trend involves audience watching comedies and idiotic comedies. And it's very worrying when rubbish films like Welcome, Partner become box-office success. Personally I have nothing against comedies but these are bad films, period. And good, deserving films like Johnny Gaddar and Manorama Six Feet Under are complete washouts.

Sometime in 2006 you were thinking of making an adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' starring Hrithik Roshan. Is this project going to see the light of day?

Again, today no one wants to do a dark film. I am talking around, speaking to artists and film banners but everyone is looking for profit. For example Omkara was critically applauded but financially, it didn't do well. Therefore actors are skeptical about taking up such offers. Actors, producers, basically everybody.

You also acted in Schau mir in die Augen, Kleiner (2007) aka Here's looking at You, Boy - The Coming out of Queer Cinema (International: English title). This is a documentary on the history of gay and lesbian film. How was it like acting in an international setting?

No I did not acted in the film. It was a documentary film which featured 14 directors from across the world on the subject of homosexuality. And I was selected as one of the directors and it was featured during the Berlin Film Festival. A fantastic experience overall.

What do you think about the censor board's stand in today's Bollywood?

Honestly speaking I have been very lucky. Like with My Brother Nikhil I thought there will be plenty of issues but it was cleared without any cuts.

But then it was backed by Yash Raj Films.

No. The censor dealing was done before Yash Raj's takeover of the film for distribution. My team consisted of all first timers, including myself. I was literally shaking once the film was given for censorship approval. When I met them they said that we will give the film a 'U' certificate provided you give a statement at the beginning that it's a fictitious film, which I was ready to comply with. And for me this was a huge thing, I mean we live in a country, which is still very outdated in terms of its views on sexuality, especially alternate sexuality.

Do you think there is a lack of good scripts in Bollywood? If so, why?

Yes it's true. Because apart from actors we don't want to pay anyone else. Actors believe they are the film themselves and therefore charge enormous amounts. Then there is no budget left for anything else. Also our copyright laws are weak that it's an easy job to keep making remakes. Plus financiers prefer to stick with the 'tried-and-tested' formulae and our audience goes ahead and approves such re-creations. And at the end of the day everything boils down to the audience.

Which actor/actress you would like to work with in the near future?

Actually I never had this fascination or inclination towards working with any special set of actors. For me the script comes first and whoever suits it best and is within the budget is offered the role. So no wish list for me as of now.

Any recent movie you wish you were part of?

Johnny Gaddar. I thought it was a brilliant film. Sad it didn't do well. Then there was Manorama Six Feet Under and I also liked Chuk De minus the beginning and the end.

Define 'crossover cinema'?

Frankly I really don't know; I mean crossing over to what? Films from India which are screened overseas are mostly big budget films. It has nothing to do with quality but everything to do with who's backing the project (film).

People perceive that films like Page 3 and My Brother Nikhil are crossover films but unfortunately they don't even get released overseas. Especially the US and UK market, the thing is NRI audiences are worse than the audience back home because they are so nostalgic about India that they prefer to watch its glossy image. And therefore you have big banners making films especially to please them by inserting glamorised costumes and bhangra songs.

Where do you see India cinema going over the next decade, given that in recent times we have seen a shift in the kind of movies being made and scripts being written, as well as the willingness of mainstream actors to try different genres other than commercial flicks?

I don't know really. We keep talking about how big is Bollywood but frankly we are living in a make believe world. For example, if you look at the earnings of a biggest grosser of the past couple of years and compare it to a Korean film, which would be looked at as world cinema, ours would be barely 13% of that.

Our films are not world cinema. When we talk about overseas we simply mean NRI audiences. Our films have still not matured with respect to world cinema. The day we are able to get the local audience in cities like New York, London, Sydney maybe then we would qualify as global filmmakers. But then our population is so huge and spread out that we really don't care much about the world market.

Hopefully 10 years from now we will have audiences which are open to all kinds of cinema.

What is your take on depiction of homosexuality in today's Hindi films?

It sickens me honestly. I find it silly mostly the way it is depicted. I find it stupid how actors are insecure; if it's not making fun they wouldn't want to do the character. They are insecure about how they will be perceived but that's really stupid because enacting a homosexual character doesn't make one a homosexual. Even our double standards are put on display. Today one animal rights group will ask for help and the whole Jing-bang will be there to lend a helping hand but when you talk about human rights, basic human rights let alone homosexuality, no one will give you the time of the day.

Similarly our whole society including the film industry is so homophobic. So they'd rather make fun of it. And what is even more depressing is that some of them are closet homosexuals themselves. I mean they don't have to talk about their sexuality but the least they could do is not make a mockery of others and their sexual preference.

I feel it should be dealt with with a certain responsibility; after all you are talking about someone else's life. But I suppose Bollywood specializes in making mockery of those who are 'different'.

Can you tell us something on your new and forthcoming films?

Well I am working on a film called Sorry Bhai. A romantic film with an interesting star cast. I have Shabana Azmi, Boman Irani, Sharman Joshi, Sanjay Suri and Chitrangada Singh is making a comeback with this film. I am looking forward to it because it's a different genre for me, it's a happy film but it also deals with complexities of adult relationships.

Your involvement with HIV/Aids awareness campaign.

After My Brother Nikhil I have been involved in all kinds of campaigns, seminars, conferences dealing with Human Rights. I am also trying to remove time for conducting workshops for Aids infected youth in Shillong, hopefully every year. See the thing is movies and all will keep happening but life also involves personal growth and being part of such activities helps me achieve that.

Straight speak and blunt – Onir was a refreshing change from the run of the mill Bollywood interviewees. Here's looking at you Onir and wish you all the best for your future projects!

Understanding Myself in the US

Chaitanya S — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 02:35:39 EDT

The past year in the US have made me believe I’m God. And by God, I’m not talking about my divine experiences of floating in air or walking on water by the grace of the Holy Spirit called Smirnoff. That’s a different story and hard to pen down since all my friends have a different take on that.

The cause of this godly sensation is because I have read in the Bible that 'You shall not put God to the test’. Well paying heed to the Holy book, my university did not test me with a single exam this semester. My belief in my divine abilities were confirmed when my friend heard about the situation in my school and commented in a tone of reverence, “You are in heaven, dude”. Duh, of course, you mere mortal, where else does God reside anyway!

This conversation took my mind to one of my favorite songs “stairway to heaven”. All I want to say is that if you want to take the stairway to a university in heaven like mine, I’d recommend you slog your ass off under the supervision of a “verny” devil in hell called Mumbai University for 4 years and bear the scourge called Mechanical engineering. Toss in another 3 years of working in the city and you’ve won the devil’s sympathy to be granted parole in heaven for 2 years.

“I never knew my first time would be this good”, I said as I handed the pretty blond girl some bills. She gave a smile and said “Come again” before handing me my denims, belt and shoes. I gave her one more look as I walked out of the door feeling rejuvenated. After almost 5 months of self control I needed this. The urge to resist temptation is too great for a single young man to bear. I’d made a promise to my soul before coming here that I would not indulge myself in such acts. But some pleasures come at a price and every person has to pay a price for that. For someone in a distant land, such prices are usually paid either in cash or card.

I’m not ashamed to say my friend had recommended the place to me. He said it was where students usually went to seek “solace”. As I entered and looked around, I knew it would be addictive. Everything about the place was enticing. “Retail therapy never killed anyone”, I smirked as I came out swinging my shopping bags.

I was chatting with my friend the other day and she proclaimed something on the lines of “dancing is more of a mental skill than a physical one”. Now before I contest this statement, let me clarify that I suffer from a syndrome called “dancing dyslexia”. I just cannot read the steps which are being taught. I shamelessly admit that have I fractured my ankle while learning to dance. And it wasn't even break dancing (pun intended). It was jive. The only person who showed no hint of sympathy was my dance partner. To her the “accident” was a blessing in disguise as she had already suffered sore toes because of my flat footed stomping. Also, she almost had her arm ripped off a couple of times and narrowly missed crashing into a pillar when I spun her round.

But before I dwell too much in the dark ages of my youth, back to the mental aspect of dancing. Well I believe if dancing is such a mental activity, Einstein would have been an award winning choreographer. Also, Shakira would have made an amazing physics professor. Not that you’ll ever hear a whimper of a complaint for the latter. Some purists may argue that Shakira lacks the communication skills and knowledge required to teach the subject. Such purists have definitely not attended lectures in Mumbai University then.

I’ve been here for quite a while now and have been picking up some local terminologies. Americans have a habit of saying “I’m good” akin to our “No, thank you”. For example if you are asked by a host “do you want another drink and pastry”, the polite thing to do is smile sweetly and say is “I’m good”. I know I don’t do that for such invitations, but it’s just an example.

Now in my native country, the new age national language is “Hinglish”. Whilst conversing in it, at times you have no idea whether you are conversing in English or Hindi. So saying “I’m good”, if not interpreted correctly, gets a look of scorn from the conservatives, quaking in the boots by the conformists and a whoop of joy from members of the Indian Gay Society (or whatever it’s called).

Had a kind Indian lady ask me the other day, “so beta, do you want me to help you find a nice Indian bride after your graduation”. Instinctively I gave a sweet smile and replied seconds before I saw palpitations for the first time in life, “thanks auntyji, I’m good”.

Real Women Don't Cry

IdeaSmith — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 10:17:52 EDT

They were in the same class. In my class.

She was the quintessential behenji in a hip crowd. Plaited hair, salwar-kameez and a sharp brain. In accordance to her curd-rice genes, she took copious notes, had a near-perfect attendance record and consistently high grades. She told me once that her ambition was to become like 'one of those Matunga Tamilians' meaning the kind that preened in a new kanjeevaram at every wedding, pattu-recital, arangaitram and poonal-ceremony. The ones that shopped in Matunga market and had kaapi at Madras Bhavan. The ones whose accent bespoke Tam-Bram-Americana. The ones who worked for multinational software companies in Silicon Valley. Or married someone who did. I didn't like her. I never liked wannabes and the ruthlessly ambitious ones always scared me.

He was Mr.EasyGoing. One of the many small-town boys who made it big by getting a toe-hold in Mumbai, starting with a college admission. He hated mathematics but managed it better than several of his classmates, owing to his engineering background. Engineering in something quite unfashionable like...instrumentation? Textiles? I forget, it didn't bear remembering anyway. He was dazzled by the glamour of Bollywood, the smartly dressed girls around, the flashy cars and cool clothes that his Mumbai peers owned. He had a rustic wide-eyed charm along with the sweet modesty of someone who knows he is just a moth in a crowd of butterflies. I liked him. Everyone did.

It seemed symbiotic. She was authoritative, demanding and bossy. He followed her around meekly, doing her bidding, snapping to her orders. And things always turned out well with high marks for everyone. We called him her P.A. Only because we liked him too much to call him the more realistic-but-demeaning 'puppy-dog'. He bore it in good humour, as he did everything, smiling shyly. And all was well.

An entire year later, we had moved on to more serious things than other people's admirers. Ardent admirers had metamorphosed into abusive boyfriends, cheating rogues and impossible cads. I looked across the canteen to her, a tinge of envy in my gaze. She had always had him right under her thumb and she wasn't even that nice! And he was devoted to her.

Later that evening, I wandered back into the canteen for a quick bite and to pore over my books in solitude. The library was always too crowded and charged up with nervous adolescent tension during the exam fever. The canteen, emptied of its regular raucous crowd (now frequenting the library) was the peaceful haven I needed to concentrate.

As I sipped my tea, I looked across to the few occupied tables. They were sitting at a table in the corner. I would have moved on, except he spotted me and waved. So I waved back. And shouted a HI! across to both of them. Oddly enough, neither responded.

She had her head down on the table, turned away from me. I thought I could lip-read him telling her that he was speaking to me and that she might look up any minute. She didn't. With a surge of annoyance at her impossible rudeness, I looked back into my book. Then he called out my name. I looked up to see him frantically gesturing for him to come over. What a bother.., I sighed and shut my books.

As I walked the few feet over I suddenly had a premonition that something was terribly wrong. He wasn't smiling. And she sat stone-cold in her seat, head down like she was dead. Only when I neared their table close enough to sit down did I hear the soft anguished voice. I had to force her head up from the table. She looked awful. Hair awry and eyes swollen, alarmingly red. And a voice like I had never heard before. She was murmuring,

He says he is going to leave me. He says he is leaving. I asked him why did you say you loved me? He says he was just joking. And he is leaving.

I looked up at him, frank embarrassment at being privy to a private conversation. And I was startled by something I had never seen in his face before. It was cruelty. Sheer, cold cruelty. He was cutting her up with a knife and he knew it. It was deliberate. And then, before my eyes, Mr.Nice Guy cooly got up, dusted his palms and walked out of the canteen.

For an hour I sat with her, a girl I had never liked, while she poured her heart out to me about the crimes of a guy I thought of as a jolly good fellow. The dreams, the hopes, the expectations - everything that had lain under the ruthless ambition. All her drive and zeal to do well and carry both of them out of their lower-middle class status, out of the gargantuan family expectations that they may both be able to stand up and do what they wanted one day. And just before the very end, just before the final exams, he had cut her out. He hadn't meant a word of it. It had all been a sham. And she was devastated.

The first exam was the next morning. I kept a watch on the door, wondering if she would make it. She did. Face badly puffy, she drifted in unobstrusively. And across the room he sat, laughing and joking with his friends like nothing had happened. He didn't bat an eyelid as she walked in, deeply wounded dignity intact and sat down in the seat in front of him. And then the test begun.

In the second week of the exams he was seen chatting up two girls from the other class. And by next month it was rumored that he was seeing one of them. The P.A. joke faded out and was never raked up again, even while other mortifying love-tales were dug up at every alumni meet.

But something shifted for all of us in that one month. All the boys from her "I'm a tomboy!" days seemed to be saying with their sneering glances, "It served her right."

And what about the girls? She had never had any friends among us. We never discussed it across our cliques and no one ever said anything to her. But none of us ever spoke him again.

She graduated with top marks and found her footing in a job-tough market. Marriage happened a year back, to another man of her own choice. Of him I know nothing more and have no desire to, any furthur. It's good to want something and wonderful to get what you want; just not at the cost of stepping on someone else's toes - or heart.

She once introduced herself on stage with -

When it rains, I feel the rain.
The others just get wet.

Perhaps she never knew that there were people who would hold out an umbrella for her. But then again, she probably didn't need it. Real women don't cry - they just feel the rain on their faces.

No Longer An Estranged NRI

Deepti Lamba — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 12:53:47 EDT

I suffered a reverse culture shock two years ago when we returned to India. America had been the exact opposite of India in many ways.

Silence had been the first thing that had jarred my senses back in the US. There had been too much silence. I could hear myself think. And then there were so few people. The only time I saw lots of people was at concerts, malls or in New York but California and Milwaukee made me love silence and open spaces.

Then I came back to India after five years and found myself vulnerable to all that I had forgotten. I had to teach myself to grow a thicker skin, to be immune to the beggar banging away on my car window, to learn to live with filth and crumbling infrastructure and not complain about it.

I was suddenly a returned NRI estranged from her country and out of sync with her own family. But with time I found myself rediscovering the soul of her country. I found myself loving the noise, the irrationality of living in every little available space, of crawling over each other in buses, trains and ferries but never making eye contact and finding out that the poor of our country are far more helpful than the rich and snotty.

For all the little tots pooping on the sidewalks, the religious processions causing traffic jams, the crazy divide between the rich and poor I found myself easing back into the fold.

It was like rediscovering love with the same person without going through the headiness of honeymoon stage. It was like a pragmatic love, where after all the whining and the soul searching one came to a simple conclusion that this was it and nothing else would be better- there could be no other relationship and I had to make it work.

When I realized that this was all I had it got easier. I came back to India but left my excess baggage at the doorstep. I came to realize that each country is different and there can be no comparisons.

I still love America, I'd love to visit her again, meet my friends, eat at my favorite restaurants, browse the bookshops but India is where I would finally like to return.

Book Review: Unimagined by Imran Ahmad

Vinod Joseph — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 02:19:59 EDT

Unimagined is the growing-up story of Imran Ahmad, whose parents migrated from Pakistan to England in the early 1960s when Imran was a year old. The story, told in the first person in very simple and elegant English, consists of a series of anecdotes from Imran’s life, which get more and more mature as Imran gets older. Most of the early vignettes are set in Imran’s school, after which the cameos are taken from his college and later his work place.

Imran’s parents are shown as hardworking migrants who came to the UK with the hope of fitting into middle class England, only to find that they are at the lowest rung of society, just below the Irish. However, they work hard and slowly move up the social and economic ladder. Those were days where racism was rife in the UK and Imran experiences his share of it. Imran is academically bright and does well at school, even though a few teachers and students don’t like him on account of his background. Imran is one of the few coloured pupils in school and he knows he is very different from other students. For example, unlike other children, Imran’s parents take him to Pakistan for vacations. Imran tells us how once as he walked past a classroom full of senior boys, a few started shouting ‘Enoch, Enoch.’ The reference here is to Enoch Powell, a politician who sought the compulsory repatriation of all coloured people from the UK. A teacher saw what was happening and did nothing other than apologetically tell Imran, ‘Sorry about that.’

In certain respects Imran’s school is not much different from schools in India. There’s an interesting description of a competition for credits between Imran and an ethnic Chinese classmate.

But Imran’s tale is never one-sided. There’s a story of how Imran’s father is angry with an Irish oil tanker driver who, having brought oil for their boiler, refuses to park the tanker as per Imran’s father’s directions. ‘Send me another tanker, not another Irishman,’ Imran’s father shouts into the phone as he calls up the supplier.

Imran gains admission to a good medical school, subject to the condition that he gets certain minimum grades for his A Levels. However, Imran takes his A Levels too lightly and does not get the necessary minimum grades. In a sense Imran is relieved. He never really liked the idea of studying medicine. Given a choice, he would have studied the classics and philosophy, but if he did that, how could his parents face the rest of the Pakistani community in London? Imran goes to Stirling University in Scotland where he studies Chemistry. I found it amazing that the pressure on Asian children to study medicine and engineering persists even when they are brought up in the affluent west.

As Imran grows older, his stories mainly involve girls and cars. In both these respects, Imran is not much different from other children. Imran doesn’t have much success with girls. This is partly because he is very different from others in his class and partly because he is very shy and introverted. Imran loves cars and is willing to work during holidays to save money for a car.

However, Imran is different from other youth in one respect. In addition to girls and cars, he is also interested in religion and theology. Imran is not particularly religious even though he slowly gets into the habit of praying five times a day. When Imran is sent to a ‘Sunday school for Islam,’ he hates the idea of memorising the Koran in Arabic, but he is very keen to understand Islam. Imran’s school has religious studies and Imran is constantly comparing Islam and Christianity. Which is the true religion? Imran wonders constantly. Is it Islam or Christianity? Imran is very much impressed by evangelical Christians. Their die-hard faith in their version of Christianity terrifies him. What if they are right and he is wrong? They warn him that people who get the opportunity to know about Christ and reject him will be condemned to eternal hell. Islam, he is told, is a conspiracy by Satan, to mislead people like him. Dinosaur bones are also apparently a part of Satan’s design to mislead people.

Imran’s interest in religion is carried over to college. He requests for a single room on the grounds of ‘religious privacy’, meaning he needs to pray. A single room is also convenient if he needs to meet girls. If you think Imran sounds like a person willing to use his religion for such purposes, you are right, but Imran does it in a genuine way that you will not find any fault with him. Imran’s interest in theology, especially whether Christianity or Islam is The True religion is also equally genuine. At Stirling Imran spends a lot of time with an evangelical Christian named Magnus who tries to convert him. One keeps wondering why Imran doesn’t ignore Magnus, but Imran just can’t bring himself to do that. He digs around in his quest to find the truth, even though his studies suffer badly and he does not get his honours degree.

Slowly, Imran builds up his case for Islam. It is the irrational fanaticism of evangelical Christians which finally convinces Imran that Islam is the true religion. Once again, I need to emphasise that Imran does not come across as a fanatic. For example, while discussing Hinduism, initially Imran talks of how Hindus have multiple Gods and Goddess, something unacceptable to monotheist Islam. Later he tells us that Hindus also believe in the oneness of God, even though there are thousands of manifestations of God. Imran never becomes too religious, though he doesn’t drink and prays regularly. He also starts fasting during Ramadan.

After Imran fails to get his honours degree, he finds himself a job selling advertisements. Initially he likes the job, but soon starts hating it since he is forced to act in a manner that he does not find to be very ethical. He goes back to college and gets his honours degree. He then enrols for a Ph.D in Chemistry. But his heart is in theology and not in Chemistry. He spends much more time researching theology, especially Sufism, rather than Chemistry. Finally, he decides to chuck his Ph.D and find himself a job. His application to Unilever is successful. He is hired as a trainee in the audit department.

Imran’s parents want his to marry a Muslim from Pakistan. The idea of an arranged marriage revolts Imran, though after he gets a job, he goes for various ‘viewings.’ Till the end of the book when Imran quits Unilever to join GE, there is no mention of a wedding.

Even at work, Imran stands out from his colleagues. He is not willing to drink. He does not enjoy vulgar jokes. He continues to be interested in comparative religion. And the novel ends on that note.

It is impossible not to compare Unimagined with The Islamist. There are many differences between Imran and Husain. Husain was brought up in relative comfort by middle-class parents. Imran’s parents on the other hand, struggle with finances during his early years. Imran talks of racism at school in detail. Husain does not mention any instance of racism directed at him by his teachers or classmates. After primary school, Husain goes to a boys only school dominated by migrants from Bangladesh. Imran on the other hand, always studied in schools where he was one of the few coloured pupils.

The main difference between Husain and Imran is that Husain became a fundamentalist. Imran never even considers violence against any other community. In fact, he is distinctly uncomfortable whenever he sees signs of creeping Wahhabism or fundamentalism. In one instance, when there is talk of a global Islamic state, Imran is shown to be hoping that it never materialises. He wants the West to remain as it is. It is very tempting to theorise and say that if Husain had been exposed to a diversity of people and views during his youth as Imran was, he would not have turned to fundamentalism. Maybe if Husain’s parents were less well off and Husain had a less economically secure childhood, he would have focussed on his secular studies and not turned out to be an Islamist.

However, in certain respects, Husain and Imran are similar. Both Husain and Imran hate doing jobs which they think involve unethical practices. Husain gives up his job with HSBC and Imran quits selling advertisements. Both of them have no answers to how Muslims can integrate into a society where alcohol is the fuel for most social interactions. Neither of them even suggests that it may not be unIslamic to drink socially, provided one does not get addicted to liquor. When Imran goes for Karate classes (while at college), he is uncomfortable with the bowing that is part of the Karate culture. Bowing is unIslamic, he feels, since Allah made all men equal. It is quite unfair for me, a non-Muslim, to judge the degree of compromise Imran and Husain are willing to make in order to integrate into British society and so, I shall say no more.

All in all, this is a very readable book, a lot lighter than The Islamist, which does not have much in the way of humour. I guarantee that Unimagined will make you laugh out aloud many times before you reach the end.

"Scoring" in the United States

Chaitanya S — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 01:07:55 EDT

The Indian economy is on an upward growth path and showing a tremendous growth at 9%. My girth is doing exactly the same, though I feel my growth rate is much more. Talk of being a true representative of your country on foreign soil!

What can represent Indian more than a game of cricket? I finally played a match last month. I was looking forward to having a dream debut and leaving an impact on the game. I had this personal ambition of seeing a 50 next to my name on the score card. I got the game off to a rollicking start and reached 40 in the 3 overs in which I was in action. Suddenly the captain gestured me to stop and let someone else take over. He made it pretty clear to me that the 50 looks better next to my name while batting, not bowling! Whatever! I clearly remember hearing commentators saying “A half century is a half century in any form of cricket”. Shooting down aspirations of budding sportsmen is such an Indian trait. The captain thus displayed his "Indianness"!

I was chatting with a friend and he asked me “So have you scored in the US as yet?” I was a bit ashamed of my batting performance, but being an honest soul, I said, “Yeah it was pretty tough, but I managed 5”. Knowing every honest bone in my body, he gave me a phone call within 30 seconds of me sending the message in. “So how were they? Americans or Indians? How did you manage so quickly? Damn, 5 chicks in 3 months is rocking! Wish I’d studied there!” Maybe this is the communication gap between virtual teams that the professor warned us about in class. No wonder most people say that MBA education is mostly based on real life situations.

Back to the point, I did not have the heart to act like my captain and curtail someone’s excitement. But after a few seconds of listening to a running commentary of his own exploits, I let the bubble burst and told him I meant cricket. Suddenly I was flooded with comments of how busy he was, how late in the night it was for him and how he really had to hang up.

Statistics show that 80,000 Indian students come to the US annually. I am dead sure that when these 80,000 cross the psychological barrier of making the first long distance call to their friends, the first question they are faced with is the one which faced me. Friends back in India don’t give two hoots about whether you are pursuing an MS, an MBA or a janitor’s diploma.

Hard as it may seem since I’m a “pakka Mumbaikar”, I’d rather be a Dravid than a Tendulkar on foreign shores (figuratively speaking, of course). That will equip me with the perfect technique to “score” consistently in alien conditions rather than just “plundering” on home soil. Now I’ve realized what they mean by accomplishments in India not being appreciated as compared to foreign ones.

Since I’m on the topic of sports, I have to mention my experience in a bowling alley. Now my bowling in the alley isn’t as accomplished as that on a cricket pitch. So by the time we were half way through the game, the screen displaying scores appeared like a chart of noughts and crosses. I had most of the noughts because of innumerable gutter balls and my friends had the crosses because of perfect strikes. One of them asked me “Bet you’ll never manage 3 straight crosses?” Well I could have shown him a few sheets with my name and lots of crosses under that. Too bad Mumbai University does not return our engineering answer sheets. But the score sheet surely evoked nostalgia of my engineering tests, with the crosses, and the zeros right next to them.

But things aren’t all that bleak in my life. I think I’ve finally learned to cook now and my roomies have heaved a sigh of relief. Well I don’t blame them. If the cook doesn’t eat his own food, it surely does provide food for thought to the others. Well I’m proud to state my cooking has reached a stage where I can satiate my own taste buds without going green in the face.

I was chatting with one of my friends yesterday and she asked me,”You’ve been there for almost 3 months, what was the most difficult thing you found fitting into?” I read it and I bit my lower lip with regret. That question hit me where it really hurt. An honest answer was typed back. “My denims”.

Travel Review: Bangalore's Innovative Film City

Anuradha Goyal — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:11:55 EDT

If you have enough money in your pocket, all the wonders and attractions in the world will walk up to you and park themselves near you, so that you can visit them as and when you want, without having to go around the world and hop cities. The Innovative Film City is one such ambitious project that brings a lot of world attractions to India. It is a place that is aiming to be one stop shop for all forms of modern day entertainment.

The Innovative Film City is located about 40 kms from Bangalore on Mysore road, a good strategic location as it will be accessible from both Bangalore and Mysore. The whole city is said to be spread over 58 acres, but to me it looks slightly larger than that. The place is still under construction but was opened formally in April, 2008. There are few attractions and amusements which are operational, some are in the process of coming up and some are planned to come.

The Film City is planned to provide 360 degree solutions for entertainment, both for the customers of entertainment industry and the industry itself. Its website says three major planned sections of entertainment. The first is Innovative Attractions which covers amusements, attractions, museums and entertainment. The second is Innovative Style which covers shopping, dining, leisure & lifestyle. The third is Innovative Studio which would have an academy, studio and facilities for film shooting and production.

Of the attractions, most are ready or almost ready. There are museums like Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Museum, Guinness Book of World Records and Jurassic Fossil museum. There are attractions like Dinosaur world, miniature city, Snow Park, mock sets, cartoon city, haunted mansion. In Amusements, they have Funplex where you can play many video and high end games and also see a 4-D movie. Then there is go-karting, mirror maze, mini golf, aqua kingdom where you can go and play around for some time. There are two amphitheaters - one an open one with a seating capacity of more than 5000 people and another for children. A 21 screen multiplex is planned too. The other two segments Style and Studio are yet to come up.

The facade of the city gives a magnificent look. As you take a turn from the road, and enter the city it makes you feel as if you are entering something majestic. As you go inside, at this point in time you see a lot of construction going on, but you can also see that something world class is being built, both in terms of attractions and the way the facility is being managed. There are a lot of employees spread across the length and breadth of the city who keep guiding you towards various places, though there are well printed maps and guides that they hand you over with the tickets. The facility is very well maintained even though half of it is still under construction. There is a food court where you get various cuisines at reasonable prices, and there are Cafe Coffee Day outlets for your caffeine and snacking needs. Drinking water is available at various places.

Entry to the city is priced at Rs 50/- per person and each attraction comes at an additional cost which ranges from Rs 50/- to Rs 200/- . You can plan for Rs 800-1000 per person for a day to visit to the film city, and I am sure you can see only a part of it in a day. Once it is complete, it looks like there will be many things that will keep bringing people back to the film city, especially the huge and well designed amphitheater. I think this is going to become a major destination for the future shows in the city. Parking is outside the film city on the road at the moment, I am not sure if a proper parking area is planned, but I hope there is one, otherwise that may become a bottleneck very soon. Probably they may also want to come up with differential pricing for people who might not be able to afford the current or the future pricing. Maybe something like happy hours on weekdays…

Overall, this is a good project that brings something new and different to the city to keep it engaged. I usually do not like visiting artificial places but I would still say that it is definitely worth one visit, post which you can take a call if you want to visit it again.

Fiction: Dismal Reveries

Diya S. — Wed, 9 Jul 2008 08:41:10 EDT

The beautiful golden retriever’s coat almost gleamed in the sunlight. He seemed to be in immense hurry as he tugged hard at his collar, but some how his master seemed least concerned. She was tired of her shoots and had no intention to be punctual. she was also tired of people screaming her name all the time. ‘Katrina Kaif’ might have become a brand name- but she just didn’t care. All she craved for was some peace and serenity.

As she walked on, she became lost in her reveries. She though of all the things she had- the cars, the money, the beautiful clothes- she had it all. And yet she felt that she had been a happier person seven years earlier. During those days her feet might have adorned Hawaii chappals instead of Gucci and yet she longed for those care free times. Also, she missed her mom and dad so much. Her dad might have been a humble clerk, but the compassion contained within his heart simply surpassed anyone she had met till date; except of course her darling mom. She might not have had been a great cook- she still remembered those half burned chapattis- but she was a great mom and even a greater human being. They had not been too well off but they led a happy and contended life. But she obviously yearned for more. Like all other misled youth, she also believed that luxury could buy happiness. She so wanted an A/C and looked on at the almost ancient table fan with contempt. And it was due to all these expensive wishes that she had decided to become a model and eventually an actress. Five to six years down the line, she had achieved her goals and all the goodies that came with it. And like all busy actresses, she too had no time for anything else except her work. And soon she saw less and less of her parents- the two people she cared most in the world about. She still remembered those mid shoot calls of her mom, which she had to unceremoniously reject. She tried her best to keep in touch with them, but in spite of her efforts, it became more and more difficult to do so.

Then one fateful day, they were gone- two wonderful human beings effaced from the face of the earth due to someone's reckless driving. When the news of their accident reached her, she was shaken beyond wits and it took her almost two years to recover from her grief and guilt of being away from her parents during their last days. Even their thoughts made her cry till date.

Suddenly she stopped, to shake off all the unpleasant emotions that had taken over her for a moment. She then checked her watch and realized that it was almost past eleven and decided to return home to get ready for her shoot.

As she entered her apartment, she was greeted by a fruit basket, which invariably made her smile. She knew that it was send to her by her gym instructor, who was always advising her to eat healthy. As she nibbled at a papaya and got ready for her shower, her thoughts trailed towards her upcoming movie. It was a typical masala mirch film - the type she was weary of. The movies she really wanted to do seemed so out of her reach. There had been a documentary she had seen recently, which was about young Muslim boys and how even in their tender age, they were made to parade around in AK-47, in the name of jihad. That documentary had chilled her heart and she really wanted to make a movie on the topic. But when she presented her ideas to a famous producer, who also happened to be the director of the movie she was enacting in, he had been too busy to even consider the idea. He had more important things to think about, like the song which was supposed to be shot at the locales of France, and for which they were to leave soon on his private jet, which happened to be a Boeing 747. Anyways, she already knew that there was no producer who would take her seriously- to them she was just an air headed actress who also happened to be famous.

She checked on the time once again and decided it was time to buck up. So she chucked away all her unwanted thoughts and got ready for her refreshing shower.