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Women Untamed
Verve Magazine, Musings, February 2011
Women wearing the pants is passé, but now we find men holding onto their women’s pants with quiet desperation, afraid they will fly the coop even before the nest is made. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh muses on the metamorphoses of women in a liberated society
The Queen Bees of society are silent killers – men have for centuries been braggarts and women have found a way to get their own back. Who actually goes to a bachelor party expecting to get lucky and laid? The boys-trying-to-be-men come back with tall tales of passion galore, but the paunchy Indian men of the day (who need a compass in matters of orgasmic satisfaction) are hardly going to be the source of irresistible temptation to svelte Scandinavian women – unless a good deal of money is thrown their way. And if you need to pay for it, it doesn’t count. Indian women, who are generally in much better shape compared to their male counterparts, have an exciting, exotic appeal that makes a bit of harmless flirtation nothing more taxing to the purse than the bat of a mascara-ed eyelid. The PYTs of today can roam the cobbled streets of Europe kicking up a merry ruckus and returning quite the merrier. But we won’t go deep into the details – what happens at a destination bachelorette party, should be forgotten the moment you board the flight back home.Women today are unselfconsciously raunchy, unafraid of their sexuality and are more than willing to take the leap in expressing it. As last year’s release, Aisha, suggests, gauche is out, and manipulative girl power is in. And of course, a foreign locale makes indiscretions completely acceptable – think Sex and the City 2 (2010) where Carrie steals a kiss with ex-boyfriend Aidan, in lieu of hubby Mr. Big being around. Or Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008), where straitlaced Vicky gets sorely tempted into an affair before marriage – even considering calling her wedding off. And while selling kisses for change at a Scottish bar at her hen night, Hannah in Made of Honour (2008) is left weak in the knees for her best friend, not her husband-to-be.It’s not as much about infidelity and indecisiveness (that’s a thought for another day), as it is about choices. Where once women either didn’t have those choices, or didn’t give themselves the right to make those choices, now women are all for options. If men are like ice cream, women have the entire range of flavours to pick from. And choices that have to do with emotional involvement can get complicated, but we find it surprising that women can be quite the cold fish – unemotional about their liaisons and irreverent about the heartbreak they may leave in the wake of their decisions. A 20-something girl of my acquaintance was regularly chased after by men of all shapes and sizes. She flittered in and out of relationships, with unbelievable emotional ease, while trying to unravel the knots in her on-again, off-again relationship with her long-distance ex-boyfriend. Eventually, after years they decided to get married – and she seemed freaked out by the idea of ‘settling down’! She allowed herself, in that moment of cold feet, one last (we hope) indiscretion abroad. Her now-husband apparently understood her perfectly well and thought it would be most prudent to get it all out of her system. And this – acceptance of women’s wild oats that need to be sowed – is not uncommon in relationships today.You can’t help but be slightly amazed at this development – since when did cold feet become a paddle ground for men and women, and decisions made on the call of these frozen extremities allow for getting your toes wet in alternate waters? Women today are afraid to take the plunge – in committed relationships, in marriages, towards motherhood…. It is the time when women want ‘space’ and ‘freedom’ to explore boundaries and create new ones, to feel free of the impositions that they have seen other women suffer for generations; and in that very experimental stage, often swing to the other end of the pendulum before slowly clawing back to level ground. At exactly what stage they decided to give themselves the same rights in indiscretion and fun that men have had for years, one can’t quite be sure, but the metamorphoses has firmly taken place and the butterflies are spreading their wings and flying the coop. Women do make up about 50 per cent of society – and realising this, they began to take liberties and make decisions for themselves, subservient to none but their own moral and possibly immoral code.And this isn’t exactly bothering the men – while it may make them insecure and quite whipped, what turns men on is the winning combination of ‘girls gone wild’ – the hottest selling video in America of women crossing the line (what line?) at foam parties, Spring break, bachelorettes, sleepovers is of the same name. Women for the longest time have had silent power over men, in bed and out of it; it’s just the matter of wielding it, and wielding it right. There is something vicariously pleasing about women going wild, and something entirely irregular about men doing the same. Maybe it’s the fact that men have been having their slice of cheese on the side for years; or maybe it’s the bit where we don’t really give two hoots about a sausage fest in a bowl of hot soup? In fact, the best kind of woman is the naughty moral one: the delicious anomaly defined by the kind who isn’t afraid to kiss, but won’t tell and won’t cheat.You can tame the man, but can the man tame his New Age, expressive woman? It’s the era of female domination – what existed in the echelons of the kitchen and household has moved to the bedroom and workplace. It’s not really about who wears the pants, rather who finds himself holding the skirt.Purrfect Relations
Verve Magazine, Musings, June 2010
The woman behind or rather in front of the powerful Somebody, is a true gatekeeper: she can smile and grant you permission to interface with Somebody, or unleash the claws as you scramble to find cheese for your daily bread and butter. In the Tom & Jerry-esque melee, Sitanshi Talati-Parikh circumspectly lets a few cats out of the bag
You’d think you would be up against brawny armed guards that patrol the corridors of their high-profile clients, but you’d be surprised to discover that it takes but a wee woman to muscle her way into the upper echelons of high profile relations and become what we fondly call the ‘gateway’ to the terribly famous. These women can vary in designation from PR, personal assistants, secretaries, girl Fridays, media managers, simply managers…you name it and you will find that they exist. What’s interesting is the relationship quotient that exists between these people (gatekeepers or GKs and the Famous Person or FP), with whom the latter spend a good amount of their time – liaisoning, tantrum-throwing, exhibiting their inner idiosyncrasies and unflappable spirit. One of the biggest GKs of the movie industry is possibly Farzana, Rekha’s personal assistant of many years, without whose approval no one can get remotely near the reclusive actress.You would imagine that the main idea of having this sort of a liaison officer is to make the FP look good – to steer FP’s eccentricities and indiscretions away from the public eye, and to keep them ‘clean’ and ‘lusted after’ as particularly perfect role models. While some GKs manage to do so quite effectively, ensuring that through major string-pulling certain delicious facts are never unearthed and exposed, others in fact, choose to use their shield to create an aura of star presence.A glittering mirage is not always the aim, though. Actress Priyanka Chopra doesn’t come across as a diva or a star, but rather (in part due to her own personality) as a friendly, hard-working girl-next-door. Natasha Pal, chief operating officer, Vitcom Consulting, is responsible for creating a well-rounded strong brand identity for Chopra which extends to the Internet as well.But if we go back to those with star presence, what exactly are we talking about? Busy, tut-tut, of course they are. Calendars are never free, they are always either on shoot or constantly travelling or ‘busy’ with other alarmingly important activities. Benefit of doubt given, until you read a gossip rag talking about how they are vacationing and turning down offers because they are ‘waiting for the right opportunity’. This is the lot of the GK of an FP who may not be a public favourite at the moment, but must be made to appear to be!Entourage? Check. I mean no self-respecting FP will travel without his/her motley crew of spot boy, bodyguard, bag holder, dog walker, coffee maker, hairdresser, make-up artist, mobile-holder, companion, GK/manager(s), chauffeur and ego-panderer. But often we discover that it may not be the FP who believes in crowd-sourcing as accruement of power but actually their GKs who encourage the general view that (a) It’s best to squeeze out the favours one can (b) By throwing one’s weight about one’s star presence increases even more, in fact it solidifies it (c) What’s the point of being an FP if you don’t act like it? The others all do!At one time, FP’s mummy would say ‘baby ke liye lassi laao’, now the GK informs you ahead of time that FP will require such-and-such items, and that the young and hearty FP cannot under any circumstances climb a flight of stairs for a shoot, or walk ten seconds under the sun (despite the FP being a person known for her athletic prowess) – therefore the most expensive and convenient locations and rooms must be chosen or she will not turn up.Not to forget that the staff – such as a chauffeur or spot boy – will often have their own letterheads with which they invoice the third party, because if an FP is expected to come to a shoot or interview, her staff must be paid for. So very often, the FP comes for about half an hour, and her staff is paid by the third party an approximate month’s salary. With an FP going regularly on shoots and interviews (supply and demand being such), it makes you wonder if the FP takes a cut from the staff’s earnings! Of course, the GKs, hairdressers and make-up artists when travelling with the FP will want to travel with the FP – i.e. business or first class. The tab, once again, is picked up by the third party. Pal feels that not all clients have insane demands. “This is actually more an archaic myth than a present-day reality. The evaluation of a client’s requirement is subjective really – what is a necessity could be seen as an undue demand.”While the relationship between an FP and a GK is mutually beneficial, you can never be certain who the real diva is in the relationship. Is it the FP who believes in throwing his/her weight around, or is it the GK who insists on doing it this way? Maybe the FP – getting filtered information through the GK – is quite unaware of what the GK is up to and how he/she is being represented. And maybe, the GK is the innocent victim of the FPs demands, often feeling foolish having to represent these to the outside world as diplomatically as possible.Archana Sadanand, proprietor of Imagesmiths, who ably handles high-profile clients like Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, Akshay Kumar, Imran Khan and top production houses, admits that it is not always an easy road for a PR person: juggling the time constraints of an FP as well as the requirements of the media. “At times it can get sticky: a failed film or a bogie in an interview that needs firefighting. At other times a journo rubs a maker or a star up the wrong way. We have to find ways to mend the situation; some of these moments can be hilarious. It’s like being in cage with a tiger and hoping he won’t have you for dinner, but that’s the fun of it!”GKs are often way busier than the FP – many who are affiliated to a professional organisation are not dedicated to one FP alone, often manage multiple FPs in one shot. Try calling a GK…actually rephrase that to try ever getting in touch with a GK. It is practically impossible, unless they believe you are someone worth talking to, or have something valuable to offer them in return. And at any point of time, if you have taken the effort to massage their ego, or made their FP happy, you may find yourself welcome with open arms (hyperbole). And lo and behold! If you ever make the mistake of having a personal equation with their FP – and manage to make inroads in the future without the GK as an intermediary, you will soon discover the strange truth in the wise words ‘...a woman scorned....’ You may never get through the GK again, you may find the GK publicly and unabashedly admonishing their FP for ever allowing a friendship to develop, and you may find that GK’s entire remaining client list banned from your access.Don’t for a moment imagine that the FP controls the strings of this equation. There is no one stronger than the aide of a FP, as you will soon reluctantly come to realise. FPs who are afraid of being alone on travels, have begun to use their GK or their hair/make-up artist as the chaperone that Mummy once used to be, and you will find them even going to the extent of sharing a room with the person for companionship, as evidenced by a minor actress and her hair-dresser. Where at one point of time, you couldn’t get past a top businessman’s secretary until she wanted to let you through, or when the way into an FP’s heart was through that of her Mummy’s (Luck By Chance ably proved that), you find more and more that now you have to break through the tough shield of a GK.Natasha Pal has often been considered Chopra’s girl Friday – she’s developed a strong personal equation with the actress. “In most situations, friendships do develop. But, there is always a line that we draw between the job that we have to do and the friendship that has developed. In order for us to be fully effective we also have to be brutally honest and in all professional situations the friendship is relegated to after working hours.”Amitabh Bachchan’s long-time secretary, Rosie is the model of efficiency. Once a request has been received by her, you don’t need to go through the torturous chase of follow-ups. A legit query will always be handled and she will respond promptly.However, there are those – Who Cannot Be Named – who have taken their role as a gatekeeper much too seriously. Possibly the power has gone to their head a bit, leading to the detriment of their own standing and that of their FP. Unfortunately for all, the demand for FPs far outweighs the supply, so we are forced to continue to play the cat-and-mouse game as long as divas are around and people remain interested in reading about them.Killing me softly with my own smog | Jaagore
Guest Post by Sitanshi Talati-Parikh, Features Editor, Verve Magazine
The problem with writing about issues is the fatalism that creeps in and tends to swallow you whole, where you want to scream to the world to wake up – before it’s too late, but you get the sense that they are simply not getting it. And makes you want to sink into a mire of desperation and helplessness. *Shudder*.
So, the idea is to calmly embrace the fact that the world as we know it, will really not last very long. I have a distant uncle who is geared into amassing family wealth for the next seven generations – and while I am truly proud of this generous gesture towards his family’s well-being, I feel that he is just a bit deluded. At the rate we are going – denuding the earth’s natural resources without a thought towards replenishment, ransacking and pillaging and foraging like barbarians, without once questioning what it implies for tomorrow, there will be no tomorrow. And I don’t mean like, oops I’m going to wake up and June 1, 2010 will no longer exist, but really, June 2, 2020 might not!
Do we really have as many years as we think we do on this planet? As we plan the next generation of pillagers, do we really believe they will make it through another 80 years of living in toxic hell? If the planet doesn’t implode on our own sins, we will definitely self-destruct in some way or the other.
1. We have waste disposal problems.
2. We have severe water shortage issues.
3. The air we breathe is so polluted that there’s no point smoking – you’re inhaling crap anyway.
4. We are rapidly consuming all limited natural resources without really figuring out alternate sources of energy, power etc.
5. Global warming is bringing in volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, earthquakes, tremours and a lot of other stuff that should shake us in our heads, not our houses.
6. There is severe overcrowding and over population, which is merely compounding the crises mentioned in 1-4.
Specifically talking about Mumbai, do we realise that as the incorrigibly corrupt government and municipal corporations allow illegal construction of sky-rises in already sandwiched areas, it’s not just the pressure on the land, it is also the impossible question of the pressure on infrastructure? Our infrastructure is quite simply redundant – there are old pipes, rusted and cracking under the pressure, drinking water getting mixed up with sewage and refuse, there is already insane amounts of fuel, water and power shortage; and with the advent of that many more homes, families, people and cars, the problems on the surface and below will only compound. So as spanking new buildings start popping up left, right and centre, who plans to deal with the repercussions of these short-sighted activities? Forget problems like soil erosion, pollution and cloud cover thinning that you can’t comprehend, but think of the really basic stuff. Say you spend multiple arms and legs buying a flat in a nice Sobo area, in a brand new building, with a great view. What are you going to do when the pipes burst with the pressure and you get filthy water to drink and bathe with in your new luxurious haven? What are you going to do when the already choked area doesn’t allow for you to take your brand new gas-guzzler out because there’s a perennial jam of cars being taken out for unnecessary spins?
The problem is that we think that it’s not our problem yet. It’s not relevant now. It’s not about me. As long as we continue with the current status quo, living in mass oblivion, we are barely able to grasp – despite Hollywood’s barrage of disaster ‘2012’ flicks – that everything is very real, everything is NOW. Tomorrow is not just another day in the grimy city; tomorrow may be a day where we no longer exist. And it would be entirely our fault. No amount of words can make you sit up and take action – until you realise that it’s your and your family’s life at stake, not your neighbour’s.
Pixie-dust Romances
Verve Magazine, Culturescape, February 2010
The immense worldwide success of the Twilight vampire love series and James Cameron’s epic film Avatar have made fantasy a romantic prerequisite. Fangs, love bites, fairy dust and aliens pour out of the Pandora box of magic potions, brewing tales that sell imaginary love to bewitched humans. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh finds herself taking love-struck bites
As humans get more barbaric as a race, romances tend to swirl around a fictional character of an imaginary species. What is it about Pandora and the Na’vi tribe that makes them so beautiful and desired? Or about the blood-sucking undead that makes them the modern version of Byronic or Darcyian romantic heroes? Or what attracts us to a ghost, a spirit or a powerful figment of our imagination? It’s not just the fact that their being unreal or non-real, gives me the ability to superimpose the characteristics that I wish to see in the person I love. It is also the fact that by virtue of being unreal, they can be more than we are. Either as humans we are deeply ineffectual at romance; or as people we need, nay we demand more. The inability of romantic deliverance from a human race appears to send our hearts racing towards the inhuman – in true escapist fashion.Escapism at one point of time was candyfloss romance – where the romantic hero was kind and considerate and loved you for the woman you were, not the woman he wanted you to be. It was human to be imperfect, it was human to accept these imperfections and it was human to love them. Women have always been suckers for the knight-in-shining-armour story – it is as if, we are still waiting to be rescued if not from atypical danger, then from ourselves, and our deep-rooted insecurities. The age of Feminism masked these things under the coat of smart trousers, shorter hair, and a career. Scratch the surface though, and you will find a rather unapologetic little romantic girl hidden inside every driven woman. As Vatsala Kaul Banerjee, editorial director, children and reference books for Hachette India, publishers of the Twilight, House of Night, Sookie Stackhouse, Blue Bloods, Vampire Diaries, Night World and other such series states, “Feminism is not, and should not be, exclusive to the idea of love. Not everyone who chooses to love a male or be loved by him, even if occasionally beyond all logic, is a needy little twerp. C’mon, we’ve all been there – fallen for someone so bad, it’s been hard to think of anyone or anything else, including school or friends or family. But eventually, you get real.”What is Edward Cullen, the famous vampire hero of the Twilight saga by Stephenie Meyer, if not a paternal caregiver to the rather insipid heroine Bella Swan? His primary role is in protecting her, because he is that much stronger and more powerful than she can ever be (until she turns into a vampire, that is). As she gets embroiled repeatedly in danger, he appears miraculously to save her – because she means the world to him. When he can’t be around, it is the young werewolf Jacob Black, who, again with greater powers, remains her protector. Bella, it appears, is in love with security, and whichever good-looking, charming man who can provide that kind of security to her. It is primarily the love of a teenage girl for an older, stronger man, a benefactor, a lover, and a protector.With the fact that there is a burgeoning cult of ‘Twilight Moms’, the notion that this is merely the infatuation of teenage girls is immediately put to question. As some of these 30-plus women grudgingly admit, there is something deeply hypnotising about this romance – which fulfils their own unrequited high-school love. The trials of high-school romances and self-doubts never change – Bella, in her rather characterless state becomes an easy avatar for the reader to identify with. As an avid reader from France in her 20s, Myriam Belkis admits, “We can empathise with Bella particularly because of her unremarkability.” The reader, hopefully a stronger Bella, can morph into a young girl, who just wants the perfect guy to love her unconditionally. And so what if the guy is a blood-sucking, cold-blooded (literally) vampire? The very fact that he finds her blood intoxicating and thirsts for it, fights a moral battle every time he is with her, struggling to control himself to be with her, kisses her and withdraws from her raw passion, is inherently sexy. It is guilt-edged, morally unsound and dangerous desire that leaves the reader panting for more.What is bothersome is Bella’s lack of control and vapidity as a heroine – at least in the first three books. While it may be easy for girls to slip into her character because it’s an empty shell, it’s rare to find readers rooting for Team Bella. The men superimpose the woman, and despite it being her story, she remains vacuous and annoying at best, irritatingly dependent on a man to make her life credible (except for the fourth book, Breaking Dawn, where she comes into her own). ‘Even after half a year with him, I still couldn’t believe that I deserve this degree of good fortune,’ says Bella in New Moon. We can’t believe it either, because she never considered herself worthy of anyone. On a very superficial level, her crisis is that of any teenage girl’s deafening insecurity and self-doubt; on a deeper level, it is disturbing to see the protagonist in one of the most popular romances of the time behave like a suicidal sacrificial lamb at the altar of love. It makes you wonder if women have come a full circle – willing to do anything for love and for a man – and does that make it endearing or frightening?Bella is unnaturally attracted to the supernatural, making us wonder if she is inherently other-worldly (they suggest she was born to be a vampire) or if she is battling a normal teenager’s rebellious nature with an uncanny curiosity for trouble. Isn’t it more likely for Bella’s love to be infatuation than the unflinching deep love it is proclaimed to be? As a 17-year-old she takes the kind of hazardous decisions – in the name of love – that a 27-year-old would shudder to contemplate. Belkis confesses that, “At that age you are often reckless, and personally I remember my teenage feelings as the most intense I’ve had in my life.” While its appeal to a teen audience is understandable, its appeal to an older audience is Potteresque – fantasy captures the imagination like nothing else does.And it asserts the notion of being attracted to the bad guy, and wanting to ‘fix’ the bad guy. Edward (and later Jacob) try to make Bella believe that they are dangerous and therefore shouldn’t be anywhere near her, but that just draws her to them even more, testing their endurance. We understand why she loves them, but why, oh, why, do they love her? Is it meant to be a beacon call of hope for all the spineless women out there who want to believe that Mr Perfect is hovering somewhere, even if he is an alien?We are constantly reminded that Edward is beautiful and perfect, Jacob is warm and attractive – and it seems to be okay, particularly from a sound feminist point of retribution, to objectify men under the pretext of unconditional love, in this three-way interspecies romance. No regular teenage boy (or man for that matter) would stand a chance against a sophisticated vampire or powerful werewolf with super powers and a burning, intense, monogamous love.It is in much the same way that the Na’vi tribe and the female lead Neytiri are objectified in Avatar – their other-worldliness, devoid of the trappings of human failings, the beauty in their every movement and relationships with their environs is viewed with reverence, envy and admiration by the voyeur-protagonist Jake Sully. It is easy for Jake to be reborn as a freer soul, powerful in ways that a human cannot be, and in tune with a better moral and ethic fibre. He is escaping from a rotten life to a better world. Aren’t we all hoping for an avatar that can help us escape the monotony and failings of our world? There is the obvious call for humans to be better, to rethink their priorities and non-ideals, because if not, all the good men are going to be falling in love with good aliens!The love affair in Twilight is as, another reader in her late 20s, Megha Gupta, believes, “unrealistic and teenage, even stalkerish in the real world – but oh so romantic! What attracted me initially to the first book was the fantasy element, but what kept me hooked was the star-crossed lovers theme. I wanted Edward and Bella to stay young and beautiful and in love, ‘every single day of forever’.” The romance of eternity is an obvious attraction with the love of the undead: to be frozen in time appears to be an acceptable price to pay to remain eternally bound together – even if it is at the risk of losing your soul.In Carole Matthews’ It’s a Kind of Magic, the protagonist, Emma wishes the love of her life, Leo, could magically turn into a better boyfriend, and lo behold, he does, but with an impossibly fabulous fairy girlfriend, Isobel, in tow, whom Emma cannot possibly compete with. Love has some sort of magical element attached to it that leads you to do uncontrollable things; and yet often rights things that are wrong – because as humans we are sometimes incapable of doing so.Lara leads a desperately boring life in Sophie Kinsella’s Twenties Girl. It takes the advent of the ghost of her great-aunt Sadie to create delicious havoc and weave a wand of romance in Lara’s life, with the touch of a nostalgic past – that of a more chivalrous time. Are we harping back to a time of better – different, more meaningful love? Is something old-fashioned genetically imprinted in us, where we wish for a time where things were simpler and more complicated all at once?Banerjee finds that the attraction lies in “an unusual, unreal, unearthly, extraordinary romance, against all odds, enticingly impossible, potentially dangerous and possibly forbidden. Whether it’s shape-shifters, ghosts or vampires...it’s dark, action-packed and sexy. Because it’s not just ordinary men and women, the parameters of romance itself become fluid, different and challenging. The emotional and physical interfaces between two people are transformed...that’s quite thrilling, I daresay. It raises the unpredictability bar and makes for exciting unknowns to unfold.”It is as if we, as humans, yearn for everything good that doesn’t exist in our own version of the world. Is it a deep existential quest for a better world, a better life and a better romance that we are now looking at extraterrestrial fantasy? Or is it just that a Clueless-type romance doesn’t meet our thirst for romantic fulfilment as much as the thrill of a blood-sucking or alien fantasy might? Edward has the trappings of a perfect romantic hero – he has the lineage and hails from a time of great chivalry, he is the strong-silent type, loves unconditionally and is deeply faithful, morals and ethics mean the world to him, has all the right educational qualifications, is knowledgeable and artistic, is extraordinarily rich and doesn’t ever age! It’s true – he isn’t real. It is easier to establish perfection in one that is not human – because isn’t by definition the idea of being human equal to being interestingly imperfect? And yet, Bella and Edward are a romanticised version of award-winning film, American Beauty’s (1999) Jane and Ricky – freaks to the world that doesn’t understand them.So what are we saying? Women thoughtlessly yearn for men they can never have? The fantasies will remain largely unrequited and there will be a deep sense of dissatisfaction with their men – who will, being human, be unable to live up to these other-worldly expectations. Which human man, because he may hurt her with his brutal strength, will be willing to abscond from the pleasure of sex eternally? While Meyer’s Mormon background leads her to spell out a strict moral code of abstinence and a romance of deep fortitude, I wonder if the spellbound teens may follow suit. In a racy age when sex scandals and illicit love are the order of the day, Meyer, Kinsella and to some extent Matthew refrain from it. The sensuality is derived from restrained kissing, controlled passion and stemmed desire. It is the contemplation of the act that leaves one wanting more – it is the romance of mental and suggested foreplay. It draws one to a time where love precluded lust, where instant gratification was frowned upon.These books are not making excuses for what they represent. There is no deep-rooted agenda, no desire to change or improve the world, but in that very sense, as popular fiction, they are making a statement about society as a whole. As Banerjee points out, “Fiction is not about being prescriptive, didactic, apologetic or redemptive...not for publishers, and not for authors. The protagonists are characters, not examples for edification. Readers may subscribe to the subtext in their personality or personal life, and that’s their choice; but for some, saying that they are what they read may be akin to saying something as simplistic as they are criminal-minded if they read crime fiction or bile-blooded freaks if they like horror. Many mothers/parents use books such as those in the Twilight series to discuss issues of love, relationships, boundaries and choices with their girls – now there’s an unexpected good thing.”Whether you consider alien fantasies escapist fare of the worst kind or a subversive pleasure in the other world, the fascination towards romance, whether human or interspecies will remain one of the most popular forms of writing to come. As we explore galaxies, planets and the dark side of human nature, we open our minds to that which may exist outside the realm of our understanding, imagination and acceptance. It’s just heartening to know that romance isn’t dead, even if it is with the undead.Is Fiction Tastier Than Fact?
In tabloid journalism, respect for the truth and the other person’s dignity never existed, that’s why it is politely termed ‘trash’ or a ‘rag’. All the hoolaa in the media about wronging celebrities got me thinking about something that I have realised for a very long time. In much the manner that terrorism becomes a clinical act of violence, where those who cover the crime beat begin to lose touch with humanity, sensitivity and emotion simply because after a point it is too hard to keep up; in much the same manner (but with no similar justification), the general media treats a celebrity like an object they own – to be used for sensationalism and to sell copies. After all, money taints many things and when money is involved (think buyers, subscribers, advertisers and targets) there is a very clinical attitude towards celebs. They end up being names, that people throw around, that are replaceable by the next available or prominent personality. They are evaluated like objects with features, and their time is up for grabs. But we forget that just as quickly as we are willing to sully friendships for cheap gossip, we are willing to drag celebrity-strangers through the muck because their pain is irrelevant to us. A conscience is an archaic word that has lost meaning a long time ago. And since when are celebrities people? It appears to be a price we believe they should pay because they enjoy fame: it is a way to level the field. You can’t have the cake and eat it too, you should end up paying for it in some way, and that is by being muck-mired. Even if a celebrity has chosen the path of the limelight, nowhere have they signed up for public humiliation. If it has become a part-and-parcel of public life, it is because, we as an audience, have made it acceptable. It is because we buy, read and excitedly discuss Aishwarya’s supposed health problems, Hrithik's spring cleaning, Deepika’s relationships and Imran’s equations with his co-stars. We choose the lower road, and that makes us as bad at the media who print stuff like this. Whether the rumours and true or false, whether the celebrity is a good person or bad is logically irrelevant to his/her job. Just the way we judged Clinton’s presidency on the basis of his sexual choices or Tiger Wood’s golf game on the basis of his loyalty to his marriage, we are wrongly judging our own actor or a sports-person on his/ her personal life. If they open their life to us, it is their choice; if not, still their choice. But spreading rumours (whether based in fact or fiction) about their personal life should not be our choice. As media and as readers we should be merely interested in relevant facts – or is that too boring for our palate now? Can we digest dull, boring facts after being brought up on a gourmet diet of tasty hearsay, rumour and Chinese whispers?
Is it not our responsibility to respect the people we admire for who they are, who they appear to be, who they may be, and for who they may not be? Isn’t that being human? And shouldn’t we concentrate on good sport and on good cinema, as opposed to trying to be a voyeur into another’s life? Really, let live and let be.
Actually, get a life - your own.
Political Balance Sheets and Media Glory
When we consider how ineffectual our political system and our elected representatives are, we often wonder what we can do to make them accountable or care. Obviously, seeing the recent barrage of films and reportage, we believe that the media is responsible to a very large extent in the lack of accountability. In much the manner that in a democratic set-up we elect representatives, we also 'elect' our media to play an important role in defining our thoughts, opinions and in ensuring that we remain protected and taken care of at all times. The easiest way for the media to do this is through responsible journalism - by not distorting the news, not grabbing eyeballs just for TRPs, not sensationalising but simply stating facts and pointing out areas that have gone awry. So, very simply, if the political dailies were to - every week or fortnight or month - run an impartial page on a political 'balance sheet' - a report on what promises were made at the time of contesting an election, and what the current standing is for all our elected reps., where the problems have occured and what is expected now.... This can't be an occasional expose that happens in India Today or TOI etc, but rather, a regular accountability system that keeps the people abreast and the reps on their toes. So, you can't fake it, you gotta do it and then find yourself written about and held accountable. This would keep the political media busy enough that they don't need to create drama and fanfare over trivial issues, and political debates that lead nowhere, but rather an administrative system of checks that we can refer to at the time of elections.
Trust-fund Trysts
Published: Verve Magazine, Musings, December 2009
Oh how we long to be young! Ironically, the young long to be mature and sophisticated. Mud wrestles and creamy cakes are not child-friendly anymore – the quotient has been upped with designer parties, kiddie spas and island hopping on private jets. The one-upmanship is like parental roulette and the trust-fund babies hold the strings to throwing a mean party, Russian circus et al, finds SITANSHI TALATI–PARIKH
I COME FROM THE ERA OF BRIGHT balloons, candy floss, Goriawala’s chocolate cake and deliciously buttery Camy wafers. It sounds like a cliché, but I don’t know where in the space of two decades childhood became a cliché and sophisticated maturity became the new youth buzzword. Recently, at a Verve A-lister party, I was amazed to see that these Chanel-bearing, Choo-tapping and Vuitton-wearing younglings (under 25, mind you) carried themselves with an air that made them out to be well beyond their years. They eyed the paparazzi through the fringes of their long masacara-ed lashes, simpered and smiled, posed and pirouetted with feline grace. I was almost embarrassed to think back to the gauche teenager I used to be. Carrie and Samantha – the ultimate echelons of style and sophistication – shared my concern in Sex and the City. Where the Hamptons are taken over by beer-spouting kids and ‘grassy’ romps on the beach, childhood has entirely gone to pot. Besides ruminating on questions like ‘where has the childhood gone?’ and ‘why must everyone be in such a tearing hurry to grow up?’ we arrive at the things people are doing to grow up super fast.Ever heard of the ‘sparty’? Let’s take it a step further, ever heard of a ‘sparty’ for eight-year-old divas? So, you pick a cool spa like Rudra, Myrah or your favourite deluxe hotel, pack off the little pretty-somethings for a day of relaxation and detoxification – because of course education can be so stressful nowadays. Primping and softening the tresses, pedicures and manicures, will have them looking the best for their play dates. It’s a fabulous way for the little girls to bond and create lasting friendships. After all, every girl worth her bath salt knows that the secrets shared at the most vulnerable – attending to the most exquisite feminine rituals – are secrets that will last a lifetime.That’s probably still rather tame compared to having an entire Russian circus troupe flown in for a birthday – I mean you can’t get more global than that. But then, Raj Kapoor was a trendsetter in many ways – though the poor chap may be turning over in his grave at the thought of the fresh age group his ideas now cater to. So custom-made Hello Kitty invitations-and-theme-parties probably don’t stand a chance against a Russian circus, but then what are the less fortunate to do?Pyjama parties – sleepovers – are still in, apparently. It always helps to read the updated fine print – because you might find your knickers in a twist when you realise that sleepovers come with a spanking new avatar. I may have studied at a co-educational school, but believe me, my mother would have not stood for mixed-sex sleepovers without parental control (she probably wouldn’t have stood for it even with parental control). The buzz is in on a recent sleepover of seven-year-old boys and girls at a premium luxury hotel: a heavy-duty suite booked to accommodate the growing demands of the kids, who probably enjoyed an out-of-control and slightly racier version of not-so-Home-Alone part deux. I’m guessing they weren’t just painting toenails, or is that just me?For the concerned parents who prefer chaperoned luxe, they are careful to plan a trip for the mommies as well as their darlings – all flown out to an exotic locale – logistically preferably to a nearby country, like Koh Samui, in Thailand – to bring in the birthday of their special little someone amid Thai massages and palate-stinging curries. To be honest, however, birthday bashes at luxury hotels are passé unless they happen to be an entire island – secluded and completely private. American reality show Paradise Hotel comes alive with a private jet flying the closest friends of the 16-and-18-year-olds to the Vivanta Coral Reef (by Taj), Maldives – the latest hip resort perfect for the swish set to unwind with tantalising curry Martinis. The new avatar of the resort sits well with those willing to party hard rather than just sunbathe. The long weekend is sunny and bright: with a private cruise liner floating around, just waiting to be boarded and there is no better way to get the perfect tan that will be flaunted when back in the city.iPhone-wielding kids in the age group of four-10 are generally used to being cajoled with TAG Heuer watches and Mercedes cars – because toys and books just don’t cut it anymore. BlackBerry phones are the order of the day for the busy eight-year-olds because they can always get a ‘BlackBerry thumb’ massage to release the stress from their little fingers at a ‘sparty’ later. And the outfits are chosen with determined precision and care – a pre-planned outing to Emporio in Delhi (or the equivalent in your urban centre) is required to make the spectacularly difficult decision between a chic Moschino and Marc Jacobs outfit for the little one who has about a decade to go before her debut into haute society.So it is not exactly surprising that these kids as teenagers frequent hip nightclubs for their exclusive private parties – tables booked, champagne flowing, and an open tab running – where the kids I’ve seen, look no older than 12. Okay, they’re probably 14 or 15. Where celebratory escapades to Alibaug homes, on daddy’s private jets to Jaipur, Goa beach houses and Ibiza raves are the flights of fancy, I’m guessing this is the point where parents stop being too concerned about their ‘naïve’ kids taking a wrong turn when headed abroad – like making headway during Spring Break at a Cancun foam party or breaking the ice when at a semester-at-sea course.At the end of the day, it’s not just about throwing the party of the century. The cyberworld, paparazzi and glossy magazines should all be buzzing with reverential whispers of your budding creative genius. In whichever way you choose to package your baby’s luxe bash (no pressure, of course), ultimately it is merely a test of your imagination, creativity and trust fund that gives it the right touch of extraordinaire. After all, it is going to set the standard for your child’s future endeavours.Barenaked Ladies' Men
Published: Verve Magazine, Verve Man Supplement, October 2009
Salman Khan, the trailblazer of toplessness in Hindi cinema, transformed from an endearingly lean romantic hero into a full-blown male with an explosion of warrior-like muscles. The others grudgingly followed suit(less). Tongue firmly in cheek, SITANSHI TALATI-PARIKH disclaims all puns as truly intentional as she traces the shirtless journey
John Abraham had it easy or hard depending on who’s judging. He could have been written off as a piece of rugged meat: good to bite, but tough to chew. He met all the traditional bad-boy expectations: hard, chiselled body, a driving desire for bikes and the rough road to success; and to the disappointment of many a woman, a hot babe to go with the hot body on the hot wheels. The slightly crooked, dimpled smile and the wayward earnest expression belie the fact that he has an MBA tucked up his sleeveless arm. Going straight into no-nonsense territory, steamy Jism proved early on that he had no qualms about using his body to the best advantage, Dhoom sent pulses racing faster than his bike and Dostana captured the juicy dimples in all his cheeks. After his serious nudity in New York, we may grudgingly agree with the bootylicious actor when he asserts, ‘You may know me for my body, you may think I am sexy, but you will respect me as an actor.’And just around the corner, the boy next door has come a long way from being a performer in Shaimak Davar’s dance troupe, better known for his flamboyant relationship with Kareena Kapoor. And now he is playing the role of one of the most eligible bachelors, playing the field by playing his current relationship(s) close to his chest. Always sporting a well-expanded torso, ‘F’hahid Kapoor is riding a high horse, with hair askew, grim determination and a lean, shirtless body steering him very close to the winning line, making him the industry’s latest poster child of toplessness. Rather than well-clothed charm and boyish appeal, it is the (unnecessarily) bare-chested appeal of kamina Charlie that seems to tug at female (and box office) heartstrings.When we speak of male nudity, there is a young debonair rake who will possibly never live down the unexpected sensation of a particular homoerotic towel scene in his debut movie, one that will be etched into memories of an unforgiving and salivating audience for years to come. He may hide behind his beard (Rocket Singh), wear khadi (Rajneeti), sleep in (Wake Up Sid) and disappear from the media, but Ranbir Kapoor will forever remain the iconic just-showered Ranbir Raj from Saawariya – all infamously fair and handsome.Proving their own worth in the meatpacking business is the young crop of ‘thinking actors’ who are in various stages of undressing. Neil Nitin Mukesh, who has a predilection towards dark roles, has seriously gone the full monty for his upcoming film Jail. Farhan Akhtar gave us a splashy preview in Rock On!! and Abhay Deol was darkly interesting in his lazy, rather hairy topless state in Dev.D. Imran Khan has yet to show us what he’s made of, and he can kidnap us anytime to do so!
Verve Diaries on 26/11: Sab Nahi Chalta Hai
Published: Verve Magazine, In Memoriam Issue, January 2009
‘Light a candle and watch it burn away
Light a fire in your soul and keep it here to stay....’
I read post after post, article after article of heart-rending stories and traumatic accounts. In reading them, I forget my own pain. But a greater anguish floods my soul – it is a gut-wrenching feeling, like something is being ripped out from inside. The city isn’t burning, we are. We are being caught alive and examined in public – it is our own public hanging and extermination – well-deserved in the face of reality. It made me angry when we revelled in the spirit of Mumbai, to bounce back and just get into work, without a second thought. I came to work, broken and disheartened, walked into the building barely a block away from Café Leopold and watched everyone discussing the horror in muted tones, with escalating emotions. I couldn’t join in. I watched people – young people – say ‘but it will be okay – we will be back to normal soon, sab chalta hai’. My mind screamed out to them – what is normal? Is our apathy – which is neither resilience nor spiritedness – normal?
As I arrived, a few days later for the protest march and drifted along with the throng, as if I were a paper boat riding a wave, something snapped within me. A sense of pride, a sense of conviction, a sense of determination, a sense of change. As the chants mounted into a powerful crescendo, it was the chant of a city finding its spirit. The real spirit – not to sit back and watch, but to stand up and take charge.
I felt a thundering inside me, as I watched the intelligentsia rub shoulders with the workers. Every ethnic community stood unified that night – the remote SoBoites who generally abscond from voting because it is beneath them, stormed the streets and asked for justice, pushed for change.
Of course this time it was because it was the Taj and Oberoi that got hit. Of course it was because these are places that we could have been at – on another day, at another time. And of course, it made people uncomfortable – for the first time, this made them sit up and take notice. It was unfortunately at the cost of so many people, so many people we knew, but all the same, it gave Mumbai a soul.
If we need a cause to get motivated, this is it. Let us not burn another candle in our lives – a candle that may brighten up a dark night, sympathise with a bereft one and watch out for a lost soul; but ones which eventually melt away into the night like stained wax. Let it not be another incident relegated to the archives of human thought – better left undisturbed. Let us wake every day with a fire that eats into us, ravages us, demanding that we do something, to make it right. Let it not take the loss of one more life before we hold onto our very evasive Mumbai soul.
MasterChef On My Plate
Verve Magazine, Social Chronicle, December 2011
http://www.verveonline.com/103/life/social-chronicle.shtml
(Illustration by Farzana Cooper)
If you are the latest in the line if PYTs to send your hubby a tiffin that contains pan-seared foi gras with a champagne berry jus, then you know you’ve arrived onto a culinary scene that’s flush with promise and ready to launch. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh describes the necessity of taking a kitchen rendezvous to the next step
‘Do you cook?’ She whispered. ‘Of course not!’ I retorted scornfully. Great parties are never about knowing what to cook; they are all about finding the right caterer. Gloved hands, butler coats, flitting in and out: the spanking German-designed modular kitchen is meant to be seen, not used. Must you fret whether pesto has pine nuts or pistachios? I’m quite certain it’s the latter, logically, isn’t pesto the green one?
Lately though, newbie home-makers carry recipes in their Ferragamo totes, and while sneezing up a bomb at the local Nature’s Basket, can easily tell one nut from another. Blame it on the latest reality TV craze: MasterChef Australia – far superior to its Indian franchise. As the country watches with bated breath which one of the accented Australians go down under and which ones make it to the top, the ladies are picking up a few tricks along the way, and the men are finding a new itch to scratch: the kind which involves a cutting board and a chef’s hat. After all, those men in chef whites skim over the fine line to count as men in uniform – and the way into a woman’s boudoir may well be through her stomach. Many a young man has now leaned over the bar and whispered suggestively into his lady love’s ear, ‘Your kitchen or mine?’Now, you can’t visit a friendly home without getting a sprig of parsley in your Brie, or a dose of balsamic vinaigrette in your chilled watermelon balls. Recipes are snitched from one of the mushrooming gourmet restaurants in the city – the toasted pine nut, goat cheese and watermelon salad is The Tasting Room, I believe – and every meal is judged on the outlandishly clever gourmet competency of the home-maker-turned-chef. Does your beetroot come laced with chevre? Has it been garnished just so? If not, it’s not good enough to be plated up? Play dates (for the uninitiated: the time like-minded infants spend getting to know each other) are also a fine chance to show off those pa(i)ring skills: preparing the finest meal for your child’s little friend – what could be a better sign of love? Ten-month-olds are developing a spectacular taste for the healthy good life – in the form of broccoli-and-spinach risotto garnished with fresh basil, a traditional (low-spice of course) massuman curry and zucchini-and-parmesan ravioli, washed down with a tall bottle of elaichi-flavoured formula milk. And it’s not just the chic young men and women flaunting their culinary skills, it’s about ensuring that you have a system in place to replicate this sensational food – anytime and with the least bother. And to that end, my Bihari cook is now struggling with understanding my desire to replace a Bombay grilled chutney sandwich on Britannia bread with a Mediterranean sandwich on multigrain herb focaccia. And not even adding his own home-made paneer? Instead, layering the green meat of a tasteless fruit that he imagines to be Bengali baingan together with hefty hunks of feta, grilled zucchini and eggplant licked with a killer harrissa paste! He grudgingly grasps that the need of the hour – and the possibility of survival – means his knowing his parmigiana from his au gratin.Chefs are now finding themselves akin to moviestars: in a recent MasterChef India (Season 2) show, one of the contestants cried because she got to meet her idol Michelin-starred, New York-based, Indian chef Vikas Khanna, whom she then proceeded to serenade. With Indians and Sri Lankans making their token presence felt on international cooking shows stirring up a curry-and-flatbread once in a way, and with Michelin-starred chef Vineet Bhatia attempting to challenge the desi taste buds, it appears innovation is the call of the day. You can’t serve up chana-bhatura any more, but what you can do is throw in chickpea couscous, broccoli khichdi and bhatura-flavoured sorbet. Now that would be a meal worth writing home about. No longer is it about spices – it is about tempering taste buds with the appropriate levels of flavour so that they (your taste buds) can regain their virginity – and discard the massacre of years of generous masalas and chilli powder. And it isn’t really about eating – or stomaching to satisfy – as it is about teasing and cajoling the culinary senses into a pleased stupor. Hunger is for the middle-class. Palate-teasers are what fine dining is all about. It is no wonder that young chefs returning from Manhattan, dipping their fingers into genteel party catering, serve up hors d'oeuvres the size of peanuts. So smoked mozzarella flatbreads are actually coin pizzas, the size of, well, the shiny new 10-rupee coin. Tapas are in, or haven’t you heard? A meal in one of Mumbai’s trendy restaurants can consist of merely ordering 17 tapas and needing a hefty bottle of wine to wash all that tiny, tasty food down to feel deliciously full. Wine pairing can’t be missed of course. No self-respecting 30-something will serve anything less than the perfect limited-edition international sipper that goes best with the course being served. All along, the conversation tinkles with very profound discussions on Chinese politics, Rushdie’s literary smackdowns, and whether the Riesling would work better with the coconut soufflé or the champagne tart. My ultimate brain wave is to serve up a passion-fruit-and-lemongrass Sangria. It’s the easy way out of pretentious course-drinking – and is somehow that crass, bohemian sort of thing one can do, to remain cool after all that soul-searching food. Talking about soul-searching food, the gourmands believe in cooking from your heart, and with a dollop of love. How much can you cook from your heart, when your stomach is empty and how much love can emanate from that drop of extra virgin olive oil that you mayn’t get from your grandmother’s hand-churned ghee? The thrill lies in the pleasure-seeker and the social climber. After all, can you really be eating khana-khazana-type makhani food in your Jimmy Choos and Herve Leger? It is worth sharing Gouda and Roma tomato notes, if merely to prove that the world is your personal oyster and you have an international, exclusive and very uber chic stew cooking in your state-of-the-art kitchen. And after that dinner party full of whispered conversation, clinking flutes and a sense of social accomplishment, where the senses have been thrilled with that one lactose-free beetroot foam tortellini, you are more than likely to find yourself kicking back furtively with a hearty macaroni baked dish, folded with about 250 grams of Amul cheese, and a little kiss of ketchup.