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Out of India
Published: Verve Magazine, Features, April 2012
It’s best if your kids get trained on home ground to face the intricacies of a splashy European holiday, as you travel in season with the jet setters of the world. But while tossing around the Mediterranean waves, are Indian kids missing out on knowing their own turf, asks Sitanshi Talati-Parikh
It took a leisurely Sunday brunch conversation at Café Zoe, a new Manhattan-style eatery in South Mumbai – exposed brick, metal beams et al – to remind us of what makes an Indian Summer. For those without school-going children, vacations are all about nipping off to the next hotspot all year round. Children tend to make social lives non-existent and travel plans seasonal. In my time, childhood summer vacations expanded into long sunny and muggy days of reading, swimming, learning tennis; the lucky ones travelling to Disney World or coral sighting around the Reef, catching spring on one end and autumn on the other. Now, with the advent of the International Baccalaureate educational system (IB) – prudently adopted by the crème de la crème schools of the country – the concept of a summer vacation (matching the international breaks around June-July) if not travelling abroad, would be incredibly difficult days of watching the rain pelt away and probably kicking around some slimy mush.
No sensible parent would make the mistake of keeping the kids homebound during these difficult months. And so, as a matter of course, summer breaks have changed dramatically to be Riviera cruising or Tuscany villa-bathing. Indians and their little tots are quite in with the European jet set, hopping onto a chartered yacht for a soiree or catching a rave in Ibiza after the kids are snoozing. Not surprisingly, the IB system fits in beautifully with the LV-armed maternistas’ (mothers who are fashionistas or even simply, yummy mummies) idea of a chic vacation. The Far East is suitable for a quick turn during Easter, Europe and its many sophisticated charms make for a cultural rendezvous in the summer break, and Latin America and its mysterious Incas and Brazilian parades fit in quite neatly during Christmas and New Year.
The world is the child’s oyster and you may actually counter: for someone who must surely play a part in global politics of the future in some capacity, is it not important to start the education young? To that effect, it might just be ideal to switch Sunday brunches from chilli cheese dosa to whole-wheat apricot pancakes. From the local Udipi guy to Pali Village Café. Ironically, what we New Age Indians love about these new café hotspots is their intrinsic non-Indianness. You find yourself celebrating the escape from what is India into a safe haven of faux cobblestones, rustic interiors and Latino soundtracks. In any case, it is wise to alter their (the children’s) taste buds to suit the vacation spots, for most ease of use. After all, no self-respecting Burberry mum will allow for her child to demand dal-chawal in Marbella. Popularised by Zoya Akhtar’s 2011 film Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, children look forward in tangy anticipation to the La Tomatina festival in Bunõl as a wonderful cultural experience to whet an appetite for a freshly stomped meal. It’s not surprising then, that there’s an unnatural buzz in the air about Starbucks finally coming to India this year and Australian coffee house Di Bella making its foray into desi turf. Does one actually expect those little Gucci shoes to prance into a genuinely unpainted local Iranian café when there is an option of a peppermint frappuccino in a Christmas-carol touting, chicly hand-painted coffee shop?
The kids are wonderfully globalised, with curios for their rooms from every part of the world, and possibly a cultural hangover which can be passed off as jet lag. It is unlikely that Mount Abu or Meenakshi fit into the grand scheme of things, unless it’s a part of a school field trip. India is exactly that – a field trip, quite like going to the zoo or bird sanctuary or a museum: to be looked at with wonder, noted for a history or sociology class. You turn away with the first roots of cynicism as you wonder why our monuments can’t be as nicely kept as the ones we see abroad. You come away with a sense of loss and a protective distaste for the sights and smells of the country that will possibly stay with you a lifetime. The same smells that writers of the diaspora sigh about dreamily form a noxious accent to the lives of those who live here. Would we want our children to grow up fondly reminiscing about the urea-scented trips to the Elephanta caves, when they could deliberate on the Mona Lisa’s mystical smile over a Parisian pain au chocolat?
As it turns out, India is merely an option – or more rightly, Indianness is merely an option. It’s like a home menu that reads: Thai Monday, Mexican Tuesday, Italian Wednesday, Indian Thursday and Hibachi grill Friday. It’s not just about the food; it’s about looking at an Indian life. Cosmopolitan India is about rapidly assimilating the lifestyle of the world and making the city more palatable. It is no longer the expats who crave a Chilean sea bass and hop across to their local gourmet restaurant. It is the Indian who craves something regularly non-Indian to make him stay sane in a city that exhausts him with its grey clouds of monotony. If you can’t live abroad, at least the proverbial ‘Chef’ Mohammed can bring ‘abroad’ to your neighbourhood. There may have been a time when Indians just wanted to be cool and try new things. Today, Indians want international flavour with a sense of permanence. Indianness is merely chutney on the Mediterranean focaccia: in turn, layered, dipped into, hidden or wiped away.
Maybe in spirit, a city-dweller is a restless species, an eternal traveller, one who is looking for escape from home before he returns home. Maybe we just need to slow down: the pace of the city – with our always-online work, rapid-fire social connections perpetually drain us, and we need to be recharged often if not sooner. Our children face it from the word ‘Go’ – with their language classes for six-month-olds, baby gyms for nine-month-olds, and birthday parties every alternate day. Maybe it is a genetic illness we are passing along in growing measures down generations – that we can’t quite stop planning the next getaway before the first break has ended. It keeps the adrenalin pumping, keeps up the excitement to land at Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport (or your own desi equivalent) with a spring in your step, just brimming with the knowledge that soon you’ll be back here, taking off to another place of intrigue.
An acquaintance points out that her sister has spent five years in the coolest, hippest, buzziest city in the world – New York, and yet, can’t wait to get away occasionally. So maybe it is less that we tire of India and more that we tire in general. It’s just that when we do get weary, we look far away for solace – wine country, beaches of Croatia…. What’s wrong with a neatly reworked heritage place – think Neemrana – in the nostalgic Matheran of our own childhood to build the memories of our children’s youth? As the desis would say it – though I doubt they would be couture (kosher) – ‘Culture ka culture ho jayega, aur holiday ka holiday.’
Baby's Week Out
Published: Verve Magazine, March 2010
Illustration by Farzana Cooper
Singapore – the destination everyone’s been to. Repeatedly. With children in tow. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh keeps a diary of her eventful trip to baby-friendly Singapore with her eight-month-old – where things turn out not quite as they were meant to be
Day 1: Mumbai baggage
It’s a packer’s nightmare. You start by making a list. Until you realise that you could go on adding to-dos, but you may still forget something. And then you start hyperventilating. You take a really deep, shaky breath and realise – ‘Oh big deal – it’s Singapore. They have everything.’ As an intrepid traveller, I’ve battled my roots to attempt to travel light. No longer is it about, ‘What if I need this very pair of understated Anne Klein pumps over the glitzy Nine West ones?’ I am now confronted with packing for an eight-month-old infant. Her suitcase is nearly as big as I am. I’ve called ahead and asked our hotel to organise sterilisers, bottle warmers, baby cot, baby bathtub and stroller…but even so, as a friend once shrugged and said, “You want to travel with a baby, you can forget about travelling light.” And I’ve only taken one pair of shoes – the one on my feet.
Day 1: Flights and bassinet seats
The flight is uneventful, relatively speaking. My darling child dutifully falls asleep in my arms, soon after take-off, I gently put her into the bassinet in front of me. I’m just about to loosen my stiff limbs and try to settle in for a nap, when there is a slight rumble and the harried air hostess requests me firmly, ignoring my appalled expression, to remove the child from the bassinet due to anticipated air turbulence. Baby sets off a heart-wrenching wail at being disturbed from her deep sleep. I shush and rock her back to sleep over the next 45 minutes and hold her in my arms for the hours until we reach, setting off cramps in muscles I didn’t know existed. That’s the eventful part.
Day 2: Singapore and strollers
Landing in Singapore, I smile in the early morning light, dreaming of organic baby food, chic baby-friendly restaurants and malls with comfortable baby-changing stations. I already know that the city is organised around strollers – making it a piece of cake to walk around the wide pavements. Except…when your hotel accesses the main walkway through an underpass. So, I need to lug Baby and stroller down a flight of stairs, walk, and then up another flight of stairs to reach the pedestrian street. Oh no! How many times would I have to do this every day? I spy the biggest Zara on Oxford and a Starbucks right next to it. I can already see many happy hours spent between the two. Both are accessible via a flight of stairs. I’m not really into this lugging-the-stroller-up-to-shop-and-sip thing. I turn away with a sinking heart.
Day 3: The Great Singapore Sale and diapers
Of course, I have unwittingly chosen an optimum time of the year to pop into the city – at the end of the Great Shopping Festival – which means that all the malls are sickeningly busy and crowded, and waiting for the elevator to traverse floors means waiting forever. So Baby is now getting accustomed to travelling at an incline. The stroller is angled onto the escalator, with a bemused toddler strapped in.
I make a beeline for the nearest store to buy all the required baby things. From grocery store to medical store to convenience chain, each shrugs and points to the next one. I find myself amazed. My part of Orchard Street is completely sold out on Pampers’ diapers in Baby’s size. Apparently, every child in Singapore is a size medium. Good Lord, help me find diapers.
Day 4: Jurong Bird Park and lorries
At Jurong Bird Park, Baby discovers the lorries. Startlingly awake from her afternoon nap (as we sweat up and down the park route driving the stroller and a sleeping Baby), she is thrilled to see them squawking away, flying in and perching on our hands and eating off our palms. She laughs and claps her hands at the sheer number of them, gurgles at the happy swish of colours.
Day 5: High chairs and changing stations
If there’s anything that Singapore should get full marks for, it’s the fact that any and every restaurant, even the tiniest coffee shop, will have a high chair. It makes it seem that children are wanted and are meant to be assimilated into the culture and not to be left home, like in India. While shopping for Baby on the fifth floor of Paragon, we take a break at the café nearby. It is also possibly the only one in Singapore without a high chair. A tad ironic, seeing that it is located in the children’s section of the mall!
After a run on the toy train at the play area, I walk smugly to the fancy diaper-changing station. I know this is going to be easy. What I haven’t accounted for is that Baby isn’t taking very well to being placed flat on a cold hard surface for her least favourite moment of the day. She sets off a massive howl that scares the daylights out of the ladies around. I don’t dare imagine what is running through their minds. I move away from the sophisticated station and prop myself onto a sofa and try to change her on my lap. There goes convenience. Not pleased at being huddled about, Baby doesn’t stop shrieking until she’s sitting up. I manage to pacify her with Olivia the Owl – her new best friend procured from the toy store nearby.
Day 6: Tiffany’s lullabies and the many colours of Sephora
I’ve worked out a great schedule based on where I want to shop and eat, so that Baby gets her sleep and meals bang on time. But as I cut through Takashimaya, right outside the understated bling of Tiffany’s, Baby suddenly wants to get out of her stroller and into my arms to sleep. I can’t sing lullabies to her in front of Tiffany’s with a straight face! Finding a quiet niche, I settle her in and tuck her into the stroller. As I quickly make my way to my target, Sephora, she’s up and awake dazzled by the colours and jarred by the music in the store. How will I ever shop here?
Day 6: Dancing rainbows at Clarke Quay
We set off for a quick evening meal at the lively waterside. Baby is quite well behaved, checking out the happenings. How perfect it all is! I excitedly prop open the newly acquired, organic, European baby porridge. I see to my horror that the food won’t mix, it’s coagulating and poor Baby is valiantly trying to chew with distaste. I distract her with the dancing colour water fountains in quiet desperation.
Day 6: Designer indecisions
No one goes shopping in Singapore without returning with a few prized designer goods. Some, like the Verve stylists, pre-decide what they have their eyes set on. For me, it would be impulse buys. My indecision leads me to make the walk back and forth between Prada and Miu Miu – which means Baby comes along for the ride. If only she could help me choose…but she seems content to sit back and listen to the muted music in the stores and eye the expressionless Japanese lady buying six pairs of shoes. A people-watcher, already.
Day 7: Night-time margaritas
Taking a taxi to grab dinner at Margaritas is totally worth it. Great Mexican food and ambience and enough wall paintings to keep Baby busy while I wolf down that enchilada, washing it back with the restaurant’s signature drink. From express dim sum lunches to fine-dining Thai, Baby has settled well into high-chair eating, but doesn’t quite master the patience bit, wreaking sweet havoc with the silverware and table mats. A shoe falls off, a spoon goes tinkling down, a fork spears the tiles, paper napkins find themselves arranged at floor level and a mischievous grin keeps you from tearing your hair out.
And then you take a sneak peak around – other children are equally busy self-entertaining themselves, and the only glances in our direction are indulgent ones. That’s what makes Singapore baby-friendly. Not the availability of baby food and diapers (or not), but the fact that they get it – what it means to be a parent who wants to eat a nice meal out and doesn’t want to leave Baby behind. And for those who do, most hotels in the city offer baby sitters.
Verve's Bollywood Style Awards 2012
Published: Verve Magazine, Features
Indian cinema has proven with its recent offerings that it can confidently step up to the plate and serve style that matches the character and mood of the movie rather than cook up a half-baked stew of fashion and metre. As Verve pointed out last year, couture has found a definite place in Indian cinema, whether through a subtle pair of designer shades or through a statement handbag. The good news is high fashion isn’t being used as candy floss on the big screen – it’s playing a specific role. Costumiers are equally willing to turn to village threads for authenticity, or design garish, bordering-on-the-vulgar outfits for a real-life character, as they are to doll up their actors in an international label. While there may not be any path-breaking moves here, costume design 2011 has been authentic, stylish and character-oriented. It sets the stage to push the envelope further, away from the sensationalist and dysfunctional ensembles of the past. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh picks out four movies that impressed with their true-to-the-grain styling, and Verve recreates these looks with young actors Sarah Jane Dias and Sahil Shroff.
AUTHENTIC RECREATION: MAUSAM
Lovleen Bains for Sonam Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor
URBAN SASS: ZINDAGI NA MILEGI DOBARA
Arjun Bhasin for Hrithik Roshan, Farhan Akhtar, Katrina Kaif, Abhay Deol and Kalki Koechlin
perpetuate stereotypes rather than demolish them, it does so rather appealingly.
YOUTH CULT: ROCKSTAR
Aki Narula for Ranbir Kapoor
RETRO RENDERING: THE DIRTY PICTURE
Niharika Khan for Vidya Balan
Even before the film released, Vidya Balan’s bosom encased in Niharika Khan’s suggestive designs made for feverish conversations and post the film’s release, one hears of ‘Ooh la la’ saris becoming popular commercially. If Vidya Balan has the mettle to take on an author-backed sensational role of this kind and further it with panache, then Khan has done more than her job to ensure that Balan’s character stays suitably unclothed throughout. For the racy protagonist, the costumes of the ’80s south are garish, loud and boldly uncouth – as the script intends it. The camera makes love to Vidya Balan’s unfettered body, and the clothes caress her intentionally untoned figure: you watch Balan attempting to button up her jeans over her flabby stomach with an enviably unconcerned attitude towards her generous midriff.From the tight short dresses, the pelvis-hugging flared pants, to the cleavage-baring cholis and retro shirts, everything shrieks for attention. Where Bobby’s Dimple Kapadia and Once Upon a Time in Mumbai’s Prachi Desai conveyed youthful, shy sensuousness with their midriff baring, polka-dot front-tie shirts, Balan is unabashedly lusty and in-your-face with her wantonness in similar outfits. And yet, caught in a moment of vulnerability, Balan’s character, Silk, makes the walk of shame the morning after being dumped for the wife, attempting to shrink into the folds of her red sequined gown; but in the harsh morning light, it’s too tight for comfort or respect.Ironically, for Silk, it’s all synthetic and the glitz of sequined make-believe. From the dull, aged South Indian cottons of Reshma’s village wear, and the lamé and brightness of Silk the superstar, to the unflattering wardrobe of an alcoholic, the clothes define every turn in the script. As Khan points out, “The film is about the character’s relationship with her clothing and body – and Balan is brave, far braver than even I could be, to take on this role.” These are the clothes of a woman whose attitude speaks more than her wardrobe, and her wardrobe merely perpetuates her freewheeling attitude. Whether Silk tries to hide or take the world in her stride, her clothes reveal her spirit and character – loud, brash, irreverent, attention-seeking, ambitious and vulnerable – and always exposed.
Superheroes, ha!
Published: Verve Magazine, February 2012, Features
Illustration by Bappa
This summer, costumed crime-fighters return to the big screen in their darkest form – plagued by physical failings and emotional dilemmas. This may be their sexiest avatar, ever. What is it about sinister grey shades that make a woman see passionate purple? And can a woman ever stand by a male world-protector, holding her own? Sitanshi Talati-Parikh explores the subterranean world of fantasy fictionMALE SUPERHEROES: the ultimate turn-onThere’s a general buzz in the air about the much-awaited release of Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises where the costumed crime-fighter, Batman, is pushed to breaking point. The Amazing Spiderman, also releasing this summer, grapples with human and super-human crises. Superheroes are by default meant to be indestructible. That makes them sexy. But in the world of karmic angst and philosophical revolt, our superheroes are sexier in their existential and painfully human form. Maybe the allure lies in the fact that these are people who have transgressed above and beyond and are able to fight their own weaknesses and fears, and ours. Every cathartic battle makes them take a leap of fantasy in our psychedelic emotions – our subconscious mind becomes a battlefield of latent desires, every fight is a fight for survival. It’s about power. Not just at the obvious level, but at the level of hope. We hope that good can still win over evil. And yet, we hope that it’s a photo finish, because we are afraid of closure. If it all ends today, if everything is said, and all ends are nicely tied up what will we take home to our fantasies?
Indian superheroes are fantastical caricatures at best and over-the-top mystical drones at worst. There is no real superhero culture in commercial Indian cinema. We watch Ra.1 (2011) for Shah Rukh Khan’s exaggerated antics, Robot (2010) for Rajinikanth’s omniscience, and Drona (2008) for…nothing. In Indian cinema, the movie star is the superhero – he’s not an actor, he’s playing a larger-than-life persona. It gives him the ability to do anything, while also at a very simplistic level describing good and bad. Superheroes of Hollywood are a far more refined species, evolving over time to greater levels of depth and mystery. They have undergone many changes, versions and personalities to reach a point of climax. From a rather simplistic beginning during the time of the World War, where economic downturn led to a desire for a better life, a strong role model and a saviour for the average man; to returning in a new avatar: the confident anti-hero, standing up to the establishment, patriotic and powerful. Today we have a disturbed, grey superhero: who is battling his own demons, external and internal. No one can fight evil continuously without feeling the ramifications. Even in fantasy literature, Frodo and Harry Potter found themselves turning vicious under the brunt of carrying the malicious ring and destroying Horcruxes in Lord of the Rings – Return of the King and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows respectively. Similarly, in superhero fiction, what makes the current Hollywood costumed crime-fighter worth his weight in gold is the intensity of his emotional drama. His mental battles are ours as we make constant switches between the right and wrong decision. What is good and bad? Who defines it? Is making a bad decision for the greater good okay? Most people don’t face the weight of decisions where cities and worlds get impacted. The superhero’s crisis is supreme. He fights more than his own anxieties; he fights a world’s anxieties.
The power to be in that position and the eventual control he wields makes him obviously an object of desire – but the real sexiness comes from how human he actually is. His turmoil appeals to the nurturing instinct in every woman, and the desire to have him win, willing him along mentally, grips a girl through another superhero summer. Gadgets, indestructibility, strength, resilience, super-intelligence, metaphysical abilities…and an inner reservoir of good make the superhero a classic stereotype of attractiveness. What’s a regular girl asking of a regular boy? Physical desirability, material comfort, good nature, the strength to be her man. Every man spends a lifetime trying to be a superhero and every girl waits for a man to become one for her.
Popularised by teenage comic-book geeks, the genre grew from strength-to-strength inside the mental fantasy of a boy who was yet to come into his own. He is exalted in this make-believe secret world of crime fighting, where his deepest desire of leading a life far removed from his own, where what he believed himself capable of in an alternate universe appears to become a reality. He isn’t the jock, but he’s the guy with secret powers to save the world. He will be an outcast, because he isn’t like them, he is more than them. He yearns for the cutest girl in school, but he can’t have her because of the life he must lead to complete his mission. Along the way, he becomes desirable – he is so focused and inherently strong, that women begin to notice him. We begin to take him seriously. And in there lies his fulfilment – he may be too busy to get anything more than a chaste kiss, but the very fact that he is desirable is enough for him. And it must be enough for us. His sexiness is in his unreachability, in his very unavailability.
FEMALE SUPERHEROES: a failed species
In this whole scheme of things, what’s a woman’s role? Superheroes have evolved in their failings and flaws, but their women remain the same – waiting to be rescued, waiting to be loved. Spiderman yearns for Mary Jane, but it seems trite that he can never have her, despite being a superhero, because he’s a superhero. Superheroes have a duty to protect and cherish, but no place for love. They cannot endanger their lady love by bringing them into their web of crime-fighting and uncovering their secret identity. Is that merely ironic or is it a foundation for martyrdom? It’s like a Mills and Boon romance with an unresolved ending. Maybe, as the Twilight romance has proven, endurance – in the age of free sex – is a turn on. And it is possible that we want the people we look up to, to not get it all – to suffer and pay the price of power. Who does the superhero come home to after a hard day’s work? Would his failings and existential pangs have been resolved had he been able to experience a companion’s love, advice and support? Is a woman a superhero’s Kryptonite or elixir?
The story of good versus evil is romantic – whether in its blatant form of a leading love interest or in its subconscious form of bromance (Batman and Robin) and in its metaphysical form of evil serenading good, calling it out and finding itself extinguished in the flame of its love. And in this romanticism, detractors find much to say. Spiderman 2 spent too much time philosophising and romancing and too little fighting crime, say some. Indian superheroes are supreme – they manage to dance and make merry love while all along giving a hearty fight to the supervillains.
A superheroine? Does she exist? Catwoman, Batgirl, Spiderwoman, Ice, Wonder Woman, Xena... the list is quite long but unimpressive. While more popular in their comic book versions than their cinematic ones, these fabulous women don’t leave a lasting impression (except for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but when vampires get involved it’s a different story altogether) the way the men do – probably because the men watching want to be in power and not be overpowered. So there is waif-fu. A character dependent on waif-fu is best described as a pint-sized powerhouse: an attractive woman with moves that can bring a man to his knees. Literally. If she is captured or pinned she doesn’t stand a chance, making her a good kidnap victim and a key plot turner. We want our women strong, but our men stronger. In women men look for resilience, patience, love... no superhuman powers and strengths. Men want to be seen as protectors and women as their emotional saviours. One would think a supergirl with powers would be the eternal turn on, but apparently, a woman in power is far sexier than a woman with powers. Demi Moore in Disclosure (1994) wins over Halle Berry’s Catwoman, any day.
The comic book industry may actually be male-dominated – after all, a lack of female readership of comic books was suggested as the reason behind keeping ‘women in refrigerators’: an inside term among the comic book circles implying doing away with the female lead as a plot device. And can a woman be his partner in crime? Fan blogs yearn for a true female superhero, the kind that can be more than just a foil to the male lead. But that may not actually work. Take the case in popular fiction of famous sleuths: The Hardy Boys – if you plan to read them, can you complain about the female positioning (or the lack of)? Bringing Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys together, we have seen, never really worked – it is a recipe for disaster. How can the balance of power sit on the fence? Drew being rescued will make the Boys’ fans snicker with glee and annoy Drew’s fans; Drew playing power woman will turn off the boys. It wouldn’t be much different for a thrilling plot play of Batman and Catwoman, for instance. Coming together of male and female superheroes and crime fighters – unless it is for some fun on the side – is like treading on eggshells. One would have to be subservient to the other: there can be only one dominant hero, and by default and by popular vote, it tends to be the male hero. The fantasy industry does propagate stereotypes, but that isn’t surprising as most of popular culture works on the foundation of male supremacy. And in that world, women are but accessories to the greater good of mankind. And so we must lie.
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.The World According to Aishwarya Rai Bachchan
Published: Verve Magazine, Cover Story, March 2011
Photographs by Mike Ruiz
Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s natural precociousness springs up at every twist in the traveller’s tale. Sitanshi Talati-Parikh watches the ex-Miss World-turned-moviestar-and-homemaker switch from child to Inca queen, Bollywood dramatist to casual honeymooner, lost tourist to Disneyworld explorer, through loud giggles, flashing smiles, dramatic enunciations and passionate inflections, exploring a few of her many memorable journeys
A little girl sets sail for the world in an “enormous ship”. The romantic notion of travel becomes a kaleidoscopic reality, possibly even a way of life, with her “shippie” dad and family. It is the mid ’80s when Japan is “very disciplined” and China is yet to come into its own. Around a decade later, winning the Miss World pageant makes her “a cultural ambassador of India” in places unpronounceable. And through it all, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan has felt the power of being Indian, of coming from “a world within the world”.
Since then, there have been movie shoots in exotic locales: from a desert full of water bodies in Latin America to remote towns in India, brand endorsements in cobble-stoned Europe, and the world becoming a stage, literally, with performances like the Unforgettable World Tour. “I will go out and experience a place, I won’t live in an ivory tower, while gauging it and being responsible. Ever since Miss World, people have given me a lot of love – whether you call it recognition or adulation, they have always been expressive in their connectivity with me. When they saw me on the streets, it wasn’t like ‘Ay, Aishwarya!’ – women would come forward blessing and embracing me.”Always politically correct, her carefully polished voice modulating with occasional bursts of enthusiasm, the intrepid traveller sits easy, knowing that the subject of the day is one she can be naturally passionate about. She points out that while the world advanced technologically, becoming a “smaller place”, her life mirrored the advancement: “Everything became from a 14-hour or 18-hour flight to ‘just an overnighter’, because you started doing it so often. Abhishek (Bachchan) and I love flights – we’re psychotic that way.” And, as she inevitably spends an exorbitant amount of time in transit, the covert people watcher admits “feeling a lot for elderly Indian passengers who walk around staring at monitors. Airports can be overwhelming – with the distances, pace, people and security checks; and while they have become second nature to me, I can still relate to how the experience can be for the uninitiated.”South Africa: “I had a funny feeling inside me – looking outside the airplane window – a sense of going away.”There are three times that Aishwarya Rai Bachchan recalls feeling this way, with a distinct sense of poignancy. It began with the flight to South Africa as she left to compete for, and win, the Miss World pageant title in 1994. “I suddenly felt that I would be away from everyone and alone for a month. And the thought of being with a whole lot of people foreign to you; but when you get there, you just fit in. I don’t know if it was a premonition or not, but I sensed that life was changing.”London: “When you land there in winter, you barely wake up from the jetlag and feel that it is dark, like night again.”
In London, where she was to spend a year as the reigning Miss World, she had the option to have her own apartment or to live with a family in their house. “And I, being the responsible one, chose to stay in a house with a very sweet elderly couple rather than alone in an apartment, knowing my family would feel more secure. It’s a very Indian thing.” It was the first time she was living on her own: “For further studies I never went outside of Mumbai, because my father was a marine engineer, and it was just my brother, mum and I living together; I would feel for my mother and didn’t want to leave her and go away.”Shanghai: “Suddenly Shanghai was an absolutely different city, and the world was beginning to talk about the change in China.”
It was a very different China during her repeat journey in 1994, when she went as a model with Hemant Trevedi. “Shanghai was a symbol of that change – the modernisation and globalisation, like the US on this side of the world. This was a new culture, very much in keeping with the times or ahead of the time. Very interested in India and Indian fashion and it was almost a privilege to be there with our fashion and our designers.”China: “This time I was shooting a song on the Great Wall doing a little jig!”
In 1994, she had walked up to the fifth gate of the Great Wall, with a “more grown-up taking away, recognising the passion of generations working on building this incredible wonder that we live with on our planet”. She was back on the Great Wall as an actor, shooting the song Poovukkul, which showcased the Seven Wonders of the World, for Shankar’s Jeans. “You never know when you are going to revisit a certain part of the world. As a kid, when I was there in the ’80s, they took us to a uniquely Chinese opera, and sang some of our Hindi songs, with all the Chinese in the audience looking at us because we were the one Indian family sitting there. You’ve heard of people in China and Russia listening to our music, our film songs, and then to think, on my third visit there, I was shooting a song, with a live audience of people fascinated by our cinema and the song culture of our movies.”Times Square and historic sites: “I am an actor – it means you have to do everything!”
Dancing atop the Great Wall – did it feel ridiculous at all? “Interestingly enough, never,” Aishwarya answers decisively. “From the beginning, I never felt odd. When shooting for Aur Pyar Ho Gaya, I remember Bobby (Deol), even though he belongs to an actor-family, feeling a bit odd when we had to do ridiculous things in public arenas, like jump on a car, or run on the street with a toothbrush in our hand and toothpaste on our face.” Or the time when she was in New York City shooting for Aa Ab Laut Chalein in Times Square wearing a fuschia pink gown with a bow, big earrings and a flower in her hair. “I had no inhibitions. You’ve grown up watching it, song and dance is so much a part of our cinema that you don’t feel silly doing it.”Disneyland: “We both were like excited kids – free, happy and wonderfully reliving our childhood.”
A youthful exuberance springs up as she recalls memories of the past. “That family trip (’80s) that started with Japan ended with Disneyland, and Abhishek and I ended our honeymoon – after Bora Bora’s ‘drop in the ocean’ experience – in Disneyland. It wasn’t planned, but worked out beautifully into a great circle.”Tunisia: “In my interviews, when I say ‘Every day I feel like a newcomer, or every day is like the first time’ there are those special moments when I actually feel that, very, very strongly.”
The third time she felt “the pit of the stomach feeling” was when she took off to shoot for “one of the best film experiences”, The Last Legion in Tunisia and Slovakia. “Not only did I have no one from my nationality on the crew, it was a guy flick – everybody was a dude! I was going to be a warrior, this action character. I was feeling it again: going away for a very long period, and I had to step away from very interesting work that was happening here. I had gone through that predicament too many times in my life and career: ‘Heck, all good things happening, do I have to choose?’” Without any idea of the geography of Tunisia, she was bowled over by the spectacular beauty of the country. She arrived three days before the shoot, without rehearsal. “Everyone was in panic mode, but my dancing helped me, I embraced action instantly. Beautiful Mediterranean water, very hot and warm…a bit much in the costumes, with all that armour! The places were so quaint and simple that we all became that much closer as a group.”Slovakia: “These guys are HUGE. When you sit on these buggers, you don’t walk straight for two days after.”
Slovakia was familiar because she had been to Prague. She found the “cold (weather) and green” country replete with beautiful castles. “We were all like kids. We had so much fun working together, and such incredible discipline – whether it was Colin (Firth) or Sir Ben (Kingsley) – we were like children in a giant videogame.” And the most remarkable experience was spending time on horseback. She emits a loud, expressive laugh: “The horses in Tunisia are one size and then you get to Slovakia and you realise that the horses there are different. These guys are HUGE. When you sit on these buggers, you don’t walk straight for two days after!”Budapest: “Ajay kept telling Sanjay (Leela Bhansali) that the two things he dreaded the most, dancing and singing, were what Sanjay made him do in the film.”
Budapest was special because Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam was shot there, for which she got her first Best Actress award. She recalls with a smile, the dance sequence with a rather nervous Ajay Devgn. “It was exceptional because it was an insight into their culture – the music and dance sequence was local to the place. So you actually experienced something unique, apart from the magnificence of being by the river and bridge. Also, we saw very few children in the country, and then we realised that they were encouraging people to have more children because of the mortality rate. Apart from the cuisines, it is always interesting to come away with an insight into the place. For me, it is not about hitting the shops; it is about getting to know a place.”Brazil: “I was reliving my college days, being vicariously part of a gang of childhood friends.”
After Columbia during her Miss World reign, she was back in South America much later, when shooting for Dhoom 2. “The genre of the film we were working on made us relive our college days. I was privy to a close unit of kids (Abhishek, ‘Duggu’ Hrithik Roshan and Uday Chopra) who are childhood friends, and felt that I was vicariously part of the gang. Brazil offers that kind of spirit, the film gave that kind of energy.” Her eyes take on a faraway look as she recalls a surreal moment towards the end of the Dhoom 2 shooting schedule. They lay sprawled below the “magnificent” Christo, in the wee hours of the morning, before Hrithik Roshan was returning to his son being born. “We were in that woozy state of mind, because we had stayed awake the previous day and night and were watching the sun rise. It was a very quiet time, the early morning hour before the tourists arrived. We had had such a noisy schedule, all of us buzzing throughout, that it was the best silence we all shared. As we lay on the ground, we felt that Christ was looking at us from the skies. You hear terms like, ‘listening to the sound of silence’, but we experienced it then.”Machu Picchu: “In my little bling feathered costume, I looked like one of the Inca queens.”
Shankar’s Robot took her once again to “the other side of the world”. She had taken a break from her career for the first time in her life. “I was facing the camera after an unexpected eight months all the way in Machu Picchu (Peru).” It was the longest journey they had made – counting the kind of flights, number of flights and locations. Upon reaching the place, a tiny township, after a train journey, they all walked from the railway station dragging their bags on the road. “As we trekked along, we suddenly passed a marketplace. My staff was exhausted, but I was thinking, ‘What an adventure!’ I love walking, because we don’t do that enough, and you actually get to feel the pulse of the place, get in contact with the people and culture, otherwise it could well be structure to car, car to airport, airport to plane, plane to car, car to hotel.”Mexico City airport: “I was the pride of India and all that – and I didn’t have my passport. This was the worst moment for me.”
With her valet in tow, and running a fever, Aishwarya was connecting via Mexico City en route to Melbourne, Australia, representing India in a performance at the Commonwealth Games. Special Services, who had come to help them with the language barrier, disappeared with their passports. “It was bizarre. People there would smile a lot and look blank, because they didn’t speak the language.” She was taken to a private room that was empty save for two people who could be guards eating a home-cooked meal. “It was like the movies – being in a prison cell and these guys going at their meat sauce and bread. They would say something to each other and keep smiling at me. My valet has piercing eyes, so I would keep telling him to smile and keep his face easy. I suddenly felt I had to be protective and get us out of here. I had never felt that before. I wasn’t getting through on the phone to anyone and at one point I felt myself go a bit cold. I had wanted to visit Mexico, but this was not the adventure I was looking for!” After an encounter with a man who spoke perfectly-accented English and suddenly refused to speak any, to a bunch of “strong-looking women” who used the word “off-loaded”, Aishwarya nearly gave up. And then suddenly, in the crowd she spied the person who had disappeared with their passports and chased him down. “He was carrying our passports in his hand, and till date I have no idea why.”Los Angeles: “With time, travel, age and experiences, you begin to like the easier, more social pace of LA.”
After boarding the flight from an eventful Mexico City, she was transiting through LA to catch her Melbourne connection, hoping to make it in time to perform. “I reached LA and suddenly life was beyond fabulous. It was the one time I cherished being who I am, in terms of the celebrity life. Suddenly, it was beyond comfort, think all superlatives. I always say that once in a while, if it gets too comfortable, God just does a little schickt (demonstrates a click with her fingers like playing carom). He’s watching his own little rom-com, thinking, ‘I want to have fun with you’. So I think, ‘Enjoy it, and turn it when you want to.’”New Zealand: “The life that we lead, we are like gypsies, nomads, and I’m very quick to feel at home in any place in the world.”
She’s spoken a marathon, and yet looks like she can go on. I’m right; this would make a coffee-table book. “We don’t realise how quickly time flies and because a part of our life gets captured on celluloid forever, I feel as actors we live lifetimes within our lifetime.” She is off to join Abhishek in time for his birthday, in New Zealand where he is shooting, in a place she has never been before. Some people are meant to be children of the world, explorers in their own right. “And yet, when one travels so much, there will always be something unique to being home. It is your family that makes home what it is – it’s not the physical structure even if you say bed and all of that. I live a very homely life in the places that I go to. Besides, as Abhishek rightly puts it, one in six is an Indian: you can go to the farthest of places and we (Indians) will be there, saying, ‘Hello, you want home-cooked food?’ That’s the best part about Indians – they are there to feed you. You are at home anywhere in the world.”
Romance Diaries: Knot of Love
Published: Verve Magazine, Features, February 2009
Illustration by Bappa
It’s astonishing how deeply romantic it is to tie the knot, slip on the sparkly on your ring finger, walk down the aisle with a swishy fountain of lace behind you, or take a turn at the wedding mandap with dramatic chants sung against the sacred leaping flames. At every moment, you are shivering with anticipation, thinking of that spectacular wedding night that awaits you on a bed of roses. From the moment you drag your weary stiletto-ridden feet home after ‘receiving’ your many guests, you’re ready to crash. Literally. In a fun, wine-laced conversation at a recent bachelorette party, we did a show of hands to see how many people actually consummated their marriage on their wedding nights. The handful who did put up their hands, I’m dead sure, were all cock and bull stories, no pun intended. I mean who in their right mind actually does it on the wedding night?! One chica claimed – ‘You must – I mean, just for the heck of it – you have to! It’s your wedding night, after all!’And that’s exactly how marriages begin. And romance begins to lose its edge. You do things because you have to, not because it’s always fun or scintillating. So what happens to the calls late into the night when you curl your toes under the covers with glee, the little pecks of promise, the anticipation of meeting soon, the entwined fingers and the burning look of intensity in the eyes that sends your spine and neck tingling with sensation? They are replaced by the harried look of multitasking chores, the absent-minded, disoriented air, the brow furrowed with concentration, the distracted monosyllabic answers at the breakfast table over coffee, toast and wireless BlackBerry compote, the intense concentration of a person who has his ambitious head turned skywards straight at the stars. I remind him it could get lonely at the top.As I plan another vacation, in memory of the bygone days of wooing, to give me a brief glimpse into the young lovers we once were, I placate myself with the thought of a new destination that allows one to forget the responsibilities of life and focus on the simple pleasures. Like enjoying each other’s company in the companionable silence of golden sands and crashing waves. He slides his hand into mine; we flash back in time. At that moment I sense that romance never left us; we left it because of our preoccupations. The young boy’s romance has matured into a man’s love – deeper and subtler. Instead of wallowing in a time warp, I realise the romance didn’t die. It just changed, adapted, grew. The candyfloss tinted glasses fell off. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
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.Whom Women Want: Imran Khan cover story
Published: Verve Magazine, Verve Man Supplement, Cover Story, October 2010
Photographs: Joy Datta
He’s the hot cake of the film industry, has a thriving gay fan following and is quite the favourite with the ladies. This is Imran Khan after he’s delivered his second big hit, I Hate Luv Storys and has a movie lined up with nearly every top actress in the industry: a big notch up from his overnight debut success. While Verve’s camera captures a day in the life of the movie star, Sitanshi Talati-Parikh looks beyond his distracting good looks to discover what makes him tick and makes him the coolest catch in town
“I’ve wanted him to be a man women would like,” is how Nuzhat Khan begins the conversation about her only child. Even the toughest detractors and hardest cynics would find it impossible to dislike 27-year-old Imran Khan, who admits to have consciously imbibed the best aspects of favourite characters from classic books, movies and comics. So, in a sense, the elusive, romantic notion of the man that women chase from fiction is actively present in Imran’s personality. Does that make him perfect? “It’s a work-in-progress,” he grins. In Nuzhat’s ideal lies a fundamental difference that sets Imran apart – while others stop at being good according to their own definition, Imran without self-deprecating, without martyring himself, goes the extra mile to be universally likeable.
This precocious child started speaking long, coherent sentences at a very early age – and in Nuzhat’s words, “He was a complete person even as a child, never requiring disciplining – I could talk to him like a grown-up.” It doesn’t appear to be a statement stemming from a maternal fondness, because she has always attempted to look at Imran as an unrelated person, without bias. “I would hate for him to have grown up thinking he’s special because his mother thinks so – it should be because he believes it.” And that is what makes Imran self-assured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had issues with self-doubt. What I can’t change, I don’t let it influence or affect me. Even if it may seem unnatural for a teenager to be so, I have always been a kind of calm, reasonable, logical person – prided myself on being mature. It is something I consciously hold onto, that I’ve never wanted to lose. I always wanted to be the guy who can handle a situation.” And he can do that, MacGuyver-style, in any condition, under any circumstance.This what his fiancée, Avantika Malik, in her light, lilting voice, lists as one of the traits that makes him the man she has known to love for eight years and counting, from the age of 19. She finds that through career choices veering from wanting to remain behind-the-scenes as a director, to embracing the limelight as a hero, nothing has changed in the boy she dated and the man she is soon to be married to. “The great thing about Imran is that at his very core, he remains completely the same, grounded and real, though it’s true that he carries himself with more ease and with greater confidence now than ever before.” Avantika admits that her respect for him also stems from the vital fact that he has never given her any reason to doubt his intentions, always being honest and forthcoming about his feelings. She quotes her mother, Vandana Malik, here, who describes Imran as, ‘one of very few God’s good people.’What makes Imran refreshingly undiabetic, though, is his well-controlled moodiness – evidenced by his need for alone time – his sharp wit, often sardonic and dry, and his toe-the-line principles. You can’t cross boundaries he’s drawn because doing so endangers the very nature of that relationship and his tolerance towards you. But if you work within these limits, you can find in him a genuine friend – warming your grey cells against his razor-sharp repartees. Sonam Kapoor, his co-star in I Hate Luv Storys, marks “his humility and hunger for knowledge, but most of all his quirky sense of humour” as appealing, and Deepika Padukone, with whom he has the upcoming romantic dramedy Break Ke Baad, finds him a fun, supportive co-star, calling him, ‘Mr-Know-It-All.’ “Imran likes to know everything about everything and if there’s ever a time that he doesn’t, he will immediately read up or Google it.” Also known as ‘Imikepdia’ among his friends, intelligence in liberal doses is something Imran prides himself in having: “My dad (Anil Pal, IT professional in Sunnyvale, California) – after all, mera baap hai – knows more about everything than I can ever know. Currently it’s uncool to know stuff, but I have always considered it to be a good thing to be knowledgeable.”That knowledge extends to supporting causes he believes in, whether it is attempting to create a greener world – he contributed an essay on being environmentally-friendly for Verve last year – to standing up for one’s democratic rights like voting or finding a shelter for homeless animals. With his personal brand of humour and wit, he uses his columns and public forums to inspire people into action – fighting religious myopia and mediocrity, for instance. And he walks the talk: ensuring that his house is environmentally friendly, adopting stray animals and taking criticism positively to ensure achieving his own potential. It works for him, after all, women haven’t given up on idealism: Saan, co-moderator of his unofficial fan site (www.imran-khan.org) is rather taken in by his principles: “I find his honest dedication to good causes and his belief in human beings very hot.”Sex-appeal? With Imran it’s never about the superficial stuff. “Good looks are not it. People are sweet and well behaved. But for my family, we lay a great deal of importance on integrity. It means different things for different people, but he doesn’t let go of that principle,” says Nuzhat. Imran accurately assesses that people gravitate towards his personality. “People like me when they meet me. I am an amiable, easy-going person. I like people and that translates well. Rakes work for younger women – say until the age of 25-26. I’ve always been the good guy, and up until a certain time I had absolutely no success with women…and suddenly everyone starts coming forward with, ‘You’re such a great guy!’ and I’m thinking, ‘Where were you 10 years ago?’” While his contemporaries play the field as cavalier Wickhams and Willoughbys, Imran remains the quintessential dependable Darcy. As Shaima, the founder of his fan site observes, “What I love about him is that he may be your typical heartthrob, but he isn’t a heart-breaker.” The fact that he has been in a committed relationship for longer than even he can remember may have something to do with it, but as Imran points out, he is quite the unlikely candidate to be “having short-lived affairs with aspiring actresses and models.” There is a sense of vulnerability about the boy-man that is carefully concealed. I noticed it when I inadvertently came across him eating a boxful of chocolate bars, trying to calm his nerves before going in front of a live audience, over a year ago. You get barely a moment to notice it, before it flickers away. The face is always composed, the voice is always modulated and the feathers are impeccably unruffled. He is never reactionary: his sensitive personality is reined in by his logic-driven outlook. “My motivations are emotional, but my actions are rational. Both take place simultaneously. I’m not a shoulder people cry on; I am the guy who gives advice. Emotionally I am not great – I’m a fairly emotionally reserved person. People bring me things to fix, I’m a mechanic.” And where reason is important, experimentation isn’t a part of who Imran is – he doesn’t choose to tread dangerous waters unless it will take him to the next step in his calculated climb to the top. Despite the fact that the prudence of his choices were questioned when he faced flak for films Kidnap and Luck, Imran makes every decision after great deliberation – he rarely, if ever, backtracks on that choice. He is quick to rectify errors, learn from the past and lay the foundation for the future, all the while maintaining a stoic demeanour about the present. For instance, his earlier bluntness – stemming from the inability to see the ramifications of brute candour – has now been prudently replaced by tactful replies, truthfulness coated with a barely perceptible paint of diplomacy. You would believe him to have a mental check-list, of the kind of movies he wishes to do, about the people he wants to work with, about the path his life should take, and find him actively fitting pieces of the puzzle to make it all fall into place.The culmination of being inherently good, irrefutably smart, and irreverently humourous makes him a person you’d want to know despite his potential of being a big movie star. Imran is very clear about stardom: “You have to be a bankable star – to justify the money. You wear different hats. Being treated with deference can get irritating, because it can get too much; but not being treated with deference, bothers you too. I wear no hats in real life.” Twenty months ago, Imran prided himself on being the guy next door, who could roam around town ‘practically invisible’. Today, after the aggressive promos and resounding success of I Hate Luv Storys, he finds himself the reluctant star – unable to do so anymore. While he believes in positive fan interaction, he’s withdrawn from the popular social networking tool, Twitter, to ensure meaningful conversations over general mass following. Few can be actors before they are stars, few can uphold the integrity of their work over the drug of adulation and you believe he is one who can, possibly insulated by his rootedness. Nuzhat, with sudden maternal candour admits, “Yes, I worry that his goodness can suffer at the hands of the movie industry, but more so, I hope Imran never becomes content with mere success, but pushes the limits towards better and more meaningful work. And I don’t mean that for movies alone – but for it to extend to every part of his life.”Post the success of his first film and the lack-lustre performance of two soon after, he wasn’t noticeably insecure, but definitely eager to prove himself once again. He took the beating in his stride, with the same equanimity with which he handled his overnight rise to fame. Today, there is a sense of retribution inflected in his tone – his choice of words denote an obviously confident person, who is merely reflecting the assurance that repeat success brings. While he doesn’t believe in destiny and can’t predict the future, he is secure: in the knowledge that he has everything that he would need to make his world go around – career back on rails, the power to pick and choose from the best of the industry lined up at his door, the girl, the family, and complete faith in himself. Al Pacino’s Tony Montana in Scarface famously said, ‘First you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the woman.’ Imran may have got it all in the wrong order, but for all the right reasons, he’s hot, he’s wanted and it looks very much like he’s here to stay.Imran Notes
“Being the only child, I had more one-on-one time with my parents and time to introspect. I can’t deal with loud noise – like TV. I need regular periods of silence and quiet."
He’s been known for his quirky tees, comfort-fit denims and one-of-a-kind sneakers. The ones he is wearing at the Verve shoot are hand-painted Beatles Nike keds sourced by Avantika from LA. Lately, inspired by old movies and the Rat Pack’s sharp “badass” attire, he has decided he wants more from the way he dresses. He’s decided to “bring back the suit by taking that style of dressing and turning it over on its head. It’s not about what you do. You wear it, don’t let it wear you.” To drive the point home, he quotes Alec Baldwin from 30 Rock, who when asked why he’s wearing a tuxedo at work, snaps back, ‘It’s after seven, what am I, a farmer?’
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Captured Memories
Published: Verve Magazine, Nerve, September 2010
The most ignored aspect of a wedding is the one you would ideally want to do right for posterity – the pictures! Verve looks at various options for the album
Ehsaan Faridafsar’s photograph on the adjoining page has been taken from a photo essay in Verve’s iconic black-and-white issue – there is something blissfully happy and memorable about the imagery. Having a photographer willing to render the moments of the most important day in your life in a unique fashion apparently is not something everyone hankers towards. It is surprising, considering how much money is bled into the most spectacular invitations, back presents, sets, jewellery, clothes…and yet wedding photography remains the unfortunate step-child.Mumbai-based artist, curator and gallerist, Bose Krishnamachari traces the evolution of marriage in India to the extravaganza popularised by the maharajas of yore – and in those times, posed portraiture was the norm. As canvases evolved to bulky and expensive camera film and to the digital varieties of date, the traditional form of posed imagery still remains a part of the wedding legacy. It is only rarely – and more abroad than in India – that the photojournalistic style of wedding photography is popularised, where candid shots are taken and irreverent moments captured to add a sense of realism to the wedding album.Matthieu Foss, photography curator and gallerist (Mumbai) feels that weddings have been restricted to a more conventional and conservative form of photography when creating the family wedding album. From the point of the photographer, Foss points out, they are using this form to merely make a living, not as a creative act. While it would be interesting for a photographer to capture moments from a poignant and radically important time in someone’s life, it appears that the subject’s lack of interest in something different would naturally stem the photographer’s creativity, making it a space that is a mere commercial stepping-stone to more absorbing pastures. And if the photographer were doing something different, it may well be in the space of satire and kitsch. Foss gives the example of French artist Jean-Christian Bourcart, whose first job as a wedding photographer led to him being ‘fascinated by those moments of joy in a crude or absurd reality,’ which later defined his other distinct photo projects.It is not unnatural to take wedding photography a step further and explore moments in the nature of fashion photography: styled shoots inspired by high-fashion glossies; think a more involved and personal version of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City: The Movie snapped before her disastrous wedding in bridal fashion, documenting her pre-wedding preparations for an international fashion magazine. Many an aspiring socialite or fashionista would create a wedding album that looks like something out of the pages of a fashion magazine – to feel like the ultimate diva. Of course, this involves a good amount of post-processing of the images and possibly a touch up here and there!At the other end of the glamour spectrum, with digital cameras and phone-cams, every other person considers himself/herself an amateur photographer, and impromptu and often unfortunately-candid shots of the wedding-in-process have been documented – much to the embarrassment of the couple-to-be. Loosely termed ‘contemporary wedding photography’, the professional version o f this irreverent clicking serves to capture the imagery of the wedding from the beginning to the end, without predetermined poses but with strong visual appeal.While tradition is great when saying your vows or taking a turn around the fire, capturing eternal moments is an art and should be considered as such. With couples willing to give enough importance to the form, it may evolve into a universally appreciated aesthetic medium.



