The Pregnant Thought

Year 2012! AN ORGASMIC WISHLIST...

2012-01-01T16:12:00.000+05:30

caution: some seriously dil se, some seriously na-jaane-kidhar-se.

what to do man!!! dil toh baccha hai ji

In 2012,

May you be as cute n smart as bacchi karkaria,

May luck, bravery, intelligence and talent breathe down your (low-deep) neck as vidya balan

May you be as insanely hilarious and naughty like karan mehra is on sets.

May you take heart-felt initiatives as wilson college students.

May you be a dreamer like suyoung kim

(May your getting sloshed at new year party and at the 'heat' of the moment going all the way lead to a happy moment, i mean,)

may you making many babies - more than one at a time like farrah khan, manyata and our lovely queer-dost celina jaitly

may you get engaged and announce it with utmost pride like the lovely deepak and jerry.

May you become so popular that it hurts like kolavari

May you be as photogenic - and a sweetheart and lovable... like little kabir kher

May you speak things about atma, soul, bliss and the connection to that one feeling of unison with the divine cosmos that plays with the tune of the robust soul- like mother sheetal bhan kher

(you didnt understand what's written?

yaa! I didn't understand either)

May your status messages be as thought-provoking as madhusmita sahoo and deborah grey

May you never ever be stupid as madhuri dixit is by downgrading herself to stupid ads and silly shows.

May your partner be as horny as sunny leonne in 'her' films...

May you release the next part "sherlock homos" this year...

may you have the strength, stamina and courage to the extent that you can bear Don 3, RA-TWO and Mausam Returns!

May you be a bomb!

May you be bombatt!

May you have the courage to face

not fight the world!

May you have the courage to love, and love again and again.

May you be blessed.

Shooting Star

2011-12-23T11:27:00.000+05:30

"the night is young, the moon has cast its spell" he said

....And I said "darling! it's time to say good bye"

"Was it only so much of the night I'd have with you" he asked

...And I fluttered my wings, and said "it's time for me to fly"

"I'd want to wake you with a song and sleep with the smell of you in me " he said "how will you hear me from that far"

...I said "look outside, in the grey sky, wish aloud, I am - 'the yet so near, yet so far'I'm the shooting star"

MIRAL To Mirage : a (re)view From Real to Reel

2011-12-08T19:04:00.001+05:30

I had a chance to watch Miral at a special screening of the film after the inauguration of Flashpoint Film Festival at Alliance Française. Being privileged to be amongst the select few invitees, I picked up the seat with my Swiss-French India-born pal- Nasha to my right and the woman with the sexiest attitude, whom I am extremely fond of – Shobhna of Queer-Ink. As the moon rose the skies in South Bombay, the stars flowed in- tisca chopra, Mahesh Bhatt and Jean-Raphaël Peytregnet Consul General of France in Bombay. Compeered by an actor who has starred in the debut film of Miral's star Freida Pinto (Slumdog Millionare)– Arfi Lamba. Mahesh Bhatt stole the thunder with his one liner. I will rather end this review with that. SridharRangayan, the festival director, should receive a humanitarian award for facilitating dialogues on diverse issues that plague our society. Flashpoint Film Festival would screen award-winning films from across the globe that touch upon the important issues that are life-impacting. It will also hold a panel discussion with the film makers. Sridhar mentioned that my friend Vinta Nanda along with Nandita Das and Others would be there to partake in group discussions as panelists.

With events like these Human Rights will always be at the forefront.

“Discussions are triggered at forums like these, and then transformations happen at dining tables at home”

Miral

the transit from somewhere to nowhere.

An address adds rest to your life. Not before would you have felt the comfort of an address. How often have you felt deserted? When was the last time you were lost in the sands of time with no hope of finding a way. You become either a ship that wades through the flood of devastation, or you become a piece of metal that sinks and settles rock bottom. Miral is not a film, it is a mirror. A mirror of human rights. In our very prolific cyber “ www” world, this is a film that speaks about one other www – WHAT WOMEN WANT. Through the myopic lens, not so small than the human mind is, a tale so lucid that elucidates the war and the wrath of the Israelis and Palestinians.

The cinema revolves around several characters and the film tackles many issues, and guess that is an issue with the film.It is both a boon and a bane, the film doesn't lose its plot, but the ignorant viewer does. The film has several “let’s freeze this frame” moments.

Girth and the mirth of a tantalizing belly of a woman who revels as she rebels.
The nurse who helps some prisoners of war escape.
The same nurse who wanted to save lives, turns a bomber and coyly goes to a cinema hall and leaves a bomb behind.

The film steals you with moments, though at places, it loses the momentum.

The French author and philosopher Albert Camus puts it,

"Instead of killing and dying in order to produce the being that we are NOT,
we have to live and let live in order to create what we are."

Living to the spirit of the above quote, powered with a performance – nonpareil is that of Hind Hosseni, played by Hiam Abbass.

She literally woke Hind from her grave with her brave performance. Hind is the mother of hope, who mothers children orphaned by war and does it aptly. The determination, the zeal, the zest and the fervour for human rights is all exhibited so very well, that you want to be like her - giving and forgiving. What steals your heart, is not just the empathy that she exudes to orphaned children like Miral, but the apathy that she embodies when she decides to not take political sides even at the most compelling of situations. She keeps aloof to float her own boat midst the murky waters of the bloody politics of the land. Her character – spotless, unpreachy, yet full of empathy

For the average joe, I would like to let you know, that don’t go by what the trumpets blow. Well, the best part of the film is not Frieda. Frieda plays the title role. But she is not the one whom you would remember after the film. She plays the orphan who is caught in the web of love and war. She loves the enemy, the police catch her and lash her.

And she continues to date and mate with the enemy. One of my favorite lines which are apt for her character penned by Samuel Taylor:

An orphan's curse would drag to hell,

a spirit from on high;

but oh! more horrible than that,

is a curse in a dead man's eye!

But you know, even at these painful moments, she fails to evoke the desired level of empathy in the audience. I guess the director was too bedazzled by her international ‘diva’ness though slumdog millionaire, that he has her looking like the Frieda of Slumdog yet again. Though it is much marketed as HER film. She is just a director’s moll who does what is expected from her - Listen and Act. She has Indian genes, like mine. But babes, you need to do more to win praise. Too naïve, but does as expected from her. Brings nothing more to the role – frieda. But having said that, I am sure that she will blossom into a fine actress. After all, India is the land of vidya balan. Our actresses are thus a class apart.

As for the dynamics of societal change -

Cinema is just a medium, YOU are the media.

In keeping with the spirit of Flashpoint Film Festival, MaheshBhatt sums it all

‎"When someone points at the moon,
look at the moon,
not at the finger those points"

Helpless + Opportunist = Kamatipura??

2011-11-04T15:00:00.001+05:30

it was just yesterday, at byculla station that this incidence happened.

a woman, in her early 30s, who hails from pune, was here on a vacation with her sister and bro-in-law. her sister and brother in law boarded a slow train and she missed the train. naive, uneducated and scared - she poured her heart out to a random stranger... who told her to get into a train. she got into an empty ladies first class.... and he couldn't get into the same because male passengers like me and a couple of others, in the attached general first-class objected.

the man came back at sandhurst road station (one station later)to urge the woman to get down. rizwan, a co-passenger, enquired with the woman if she knew the man. she said - NO. then me and rizwan warned her, as the crook behaved like he was her husband. he was touching her and pulling her. we did not interfere, as we did not know what was happening. but thanks to rizwan's 6th sense that he asked the woman.

i got down with the lady at CST station, and went to the police to report and help her find her lost relatives. also, i took her to the deputy manager - railway office to make an announcement for her relatives. i gave her some money. i tried reaching her relatives on the phone, but in vain. finally her husband picked up and he requested me to put her in a train to pune. i was just going to do that and the woman's relatives came looking for her. she quickly returned the money i had given her and said a million thank yous.

now, yes, i feel nice to have been helpful. and am thankful to rizwan for being proactive and noticing. sometimes being nosey helps. i kept updating the entire episode on facebook... so that we all are connected. also clicked photographs of the woman, just in case something untoward happens. there are some questions though....

rizwan and I are sure that had that man managed to take her along, she would probably land up in kamatipura.

what if she did not find her relatives.

the crook, seemed like a naamcheen goonda. and i spotted him chatting with others,

what if he beat us up...

would any of the spectators who came later to say thank you and give me Duaa's and blessings would have come forward to help...

will the nosey public - aam junta from dombivalli or a young elite crowd of davidoff perfumed cuties from bandra would have done anything more if they saw another woman in the same plight...

would they have watched us getting beaten and then in full josh??? and sung praises of us later.

what keenan and reuben did is remarkable. read about them here. they lived for what they stood up for, and now they will live forever..

but how alive are you???

lets keep their name alive.

by acting, and not reacting.

by not watching, but helping.

by not sympathy, but empathy.

HOPE CALLED DOG

2011-10-25T17:04:00.000+05:30

i wagged my tail,
in pain,
in vain,
i was huge and bulky,
people were scared,
and i was so hated for that.

but i loved till i dropped.
they pelted stones and whips,
i still didn't stop.
i still didnt stop.

i didn't want to reap,
no riches no biscuits or treat,
but i wanted to stop my master from being a creep
i wanted to stand by example
i wanted him to understand.
i wanted him to stand,
i wanted him to take a stand.

so i stood my ground.
and showed him the way.
listened and licked his tears,
and told him to love and love
when the fate gives away.

today he stands,
in front of my tomb.
with heart full of love
he is fresh out of the cocoon.

those prickly thorns long forgotten,
i smile from haven,
i know my love has been fruitful and it is to use,
for he has learnt to say no to abuse.

wish he was smiling, when i was with him.
wish he didn't think then he sinned.

im happy now,
for now i know that he seeds his heart,
decides what grows.
for this is not the life he lives,
this is the life he chose.

- jimmy parvathy venkateshwaran

happy birthday jimmy.

i don't miss you.
how can i, when i'm with you.

't never happened.

2011-10-23T11:08:00.001+05:30

scared and scared
woods so stark,
the lonely me,
within a windy sea.

home afar
life ajar.
the crooked clock
timed untimed.

crime-a- time,
mind-a-whine,
then like a trick
black-n-yellow rick
came to pick.

single n sole,
pounding soul,
balm and bomb
hymn n shriek
got in it.
with a mind so sick
road alone,
night overblown,

silent sound
so loud
cloud un-cloud.

off the spark divine.
scare inside
no uncouth me.
alone distressed,
tainted, stretched and spread

two more got in.
now three and driver
not left to die in lone night
the night sea and divers
then ahead,
a little ploy
the two aboard,
middle me.
wanted to toy.

touch uncomfortable,
sensed rhythm-less fiddle.
told it off
sick un- meddle

the two dirty minds,
babel and bable,
straight and strait,
daunted tainted disdained

shriek-a-squeal
the prey prayed
as the dirty-wretched
hands played.

give me all you have,
a voice said,
pushed the head
down unzipped to give a head.

touched and felt up
emotions rocketed
all the pent up.

no one else
lonely road
only voices heard
of crocking toad.

victim man
a lad in mind
ran with a scream.
in time untimed.

then came, another rick in scene
a boon godsent for
the woe underwent

hopped in it
as it ran away
the windy winds
withered away

in the rick,
night of pain
do i speak as i tremble,
i tremble as i speak…
standing in the rain.
inane. insane.
inane. insane.

still haven't given up hope.
still hold on to my song.
"no night is too long.
no night is too long. "

tomorrow is another song,

no use being grief stricken,

tell the mind.

for what happened,

never happened

it never happened.

it never did happen.

... group grope

2011-10-23T10:33:00.000+05:30

scared and scared

in woods so stark,

the lonely me,

within a windy sea.

home afar

life ajar.

the crooked clock

timed untimed

crime-a- time,

mind-a-whine,

then like a trick

black-n-yellow rick

came to pick.

single n sole,

pounding soul,

balm and bomb

hymn n shriek

got in it.

with a mind so sick

road alone,

night overblown,

silent sound

so loud

cloud un-cloud.

off the spark divine.

scare inside

no uncouth me.

alone distressed,

tainted, stretched and spread

two more got in.

now three and driver

not left to die in lone night

the night sea and divers

then ahead,

a little ploy

the two aboard,

middle me.

wanted to toy.

touch uncomfortable,

sensed rhythm-less fiddle.

told it off

sick un- meddle

the two dirty minds,

babel and bable,

straight and strait,

daunted tainted disdained

shriek-a-squeal

the prey prayed

as the dirty-wretched

hands played.

give me all you have,

a voice said,

pushed the head

down unzipped to give a head.

touched and felt up

emotions rocketed

all the pent up.

no one else

lonely road

only voices heard

of crocking toad.

victim man

a lad in mind

ran with a scream.

in time untimed.

then came, another rick in scene

a boon godsent for

the woe underwent

hopped in it

as it ran away

the windy winds

withered away

in the rick,

night of pain

do i speak as i tremble,

i tremble as i speak…

standing in the rain.

inane. insane.

still haven't given up hope.

still hold on to my song.

"no night is too long.

no night is too long. "

The Autobiography Of A Breast

2011-10-15T16:12:00.001+05:30

Abreast in first class.

I’m a citizen of Bombay. My name is BREAST. Boobs, balls and bablay are my nick names.

I boarded the train at Andheri station. It was the ladies compartment. The first class ladies compartment. The one that has the general first class compartment that has organisms that are the other sex.. you know the ones with of globular glands between legs (again in a pair just like me). I think they are called – Balls too. And the complete whole organism is called a man. But id call them – The Mustached Ball.

Everyday when I get into the train the mustached ball looks into me- as if I am some long lost cousin of his lost in the mela of kumbh.. I was for once embarrassed, and I covered myself with my hand and drifted my focus on to the other breasts in the compartment. Two stations passed by. Now it is Santacruz. And this Mustached Ball was still looking into the depths of my nakedness. I could sense that he was not just admiring. He was doing some pelvic movements and was feeling up his balls too. It looked like he was going to spurt out to an orgasm any time. Till now, more stations had passed. The train was to stop at Wadala and move back on another track towards Panvel. As the train changed routes, my mind was violent with this brute. I am a young breast of 22. He was a hefty old mustached ball of 40 something. I was scared, but I smartly tried to ignore his perverted NetraChodan. This happened day after day. This Mustached Ball had boarded the train one station later - at vile pale.

I should say, I have named the station vile parlous in my mind. There is this certain uncertainty of the unknown fear that I had deep in my heart. I had a clean chest. And he didn’t. Every day, he would ogle at me. One day, I had draped a saree… and hid myself inside a blouse. It was a rainy day. And I was wet. The sari was transparent. The blouse was stuck to me. My pointed nipples were his delight. I could never forget those stares. Those looks. Those lusty movements. Those dirty lips. I can never. I thought he would do something bad. Bad like – touch me, or press me, or oppress me.

He never drifted his eyes from that sight. I felt I was stark naked. As I alighted midst the mad rush at my destination – Kurla station. He followed me. The day was bright . The crowd was noisy. But I could hear it right. He was soon accompanied by 2 of his friends. They said “BABLEY KYAA HAI BAAP”.. As I walked past Kurla station bridge. There was hardly any room to move my hands. Three Mustached Balls joined him and they kind of encircled me. I was felt. One hand was on my breast. Another on my nipples. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout. I wanted to revolt. But I couldn't. I was scared. Really scared.

The four mostached balls were mushtandas and I was a little breasty bubbly babli ball. I have marks of their hands on me. I can see them, even if you cant. I can still feel their lusty hands on me. I felt so violated that I switched jobs. i ran away from my city. I ran away from my country. I reached florida. Things were not any different here. I returned after 7 years. Married to a Mostached ball now. I haven’t mustered the courage to let him touch me. though we have had moments of penal-vaginal sex and as a result we have a baby boy. I left my husband. I am alone today with my folks. I hate to breast feed him. After all, he will grow up to being a mustached ball. I mean. He would also be a mustached ball. Another mustached ball. Just another mustached ball.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My idea of feminism has been very different. A firm non-believer of extremist thoughts, I, for once, never really struck a chord with the bra-burning feminists. (You belong to that category? Koi nahi – the world is big for two contrasting thoughts to co-exist and find our own footing) I have never found it offensive when someone looked at a woman’s boobs or booty and said that they were a beauty. Well, voluptuous or anorexic each has their own tale to tell and a whole lot of woes. Let me delve deep into the plunging necklines and get into deep secrets of the booby world. This is something that a friend of mine had narrated. It took her 2 years of her following blogs and articles, and stalking … to speak about openly to a complete stranger – ME. and that’s all that she needed. A ear that hears. A shoulder to cry. And yeah... drama queen friend like me… who makes a joke of every serious situation. You know all i had to do, was not to counsel her. I cant. I am not a professional counselor. all i did was i listened to her. and slowly directed her to a counselor. and O! Man, it takes a lot of patient ears to hear the unsound heart. well, but then, when finally when she stopped singing "why me"... i was all smiles and think all my listening was worth it.

And today, I share her story; I've changed some details, to conceal her identity. And yes, I have her permission.

Today, she has grown from being a breast to being a woman. And she has learnt to love, and learnt to live. Though, this never came easy. How I wish, it was easier to say no?

you think of it, while i admire the new titillating boobeshwari Vidya Ball an's ballflick - Dirty Picture's promos.

Balls, after all, that's the first ever thing that i and ManKind have touched, clasped, pinched and suckled to.

Hai Naa?

Know Not

2011-10-12T16:49:00.001+05:30

do you see liar written?
source: BrainDen

The moon is listless,
the sun is lost in clouds,
Why can't you hear my heart beat aloud...

The bird is chirping,
it is singing our song,
I think she knows how much I long...

The sea is quiet,
the waves recede,
how much to control how much to conceal ...

I think it's time for me to know,
I think it is time to give my life a go...

I can't be more helpless than I already am,
I need to cajole my mind - un calm.

I now clasp my life,
A firm grip alone i hold,
The unsaleable part of my heart so bold.

I'd let you play the guessing game,
Be content that all content has been known,
But mind it, my mind has a story of her own

I am in many folklores,
but still with a chapter unwritten...
Buried deep within....

...Still with a story untold!!!!
... Still with a story untold!!!!

the art of deception

2011-10-05T22:11:00.000+05:30

am tired.

really tired..
of lies and liars.
and of truth that's hidden
and everything forbidden.

wish to go abroad far and beyond.
to somewhere that no one knows.
where the sun shines bright
and no one raises brows.

where i can be me.
like i have never been before.
will someone hear my plea
someone take me to a new shore...

i have grown my wings,
i flutter them, i am about to fly.
but the sky is sly.
the sky is sly.
the sky is sly.
the sky is so damn sly.

(and old old poem i had written. guess when there was slander campaign against me in college)

Love Letter To The Angry Madarasan

2011-09-16T13:58:00.004+05:30

Dear Beautiful aand Very Angry Madarasan,

I am nice tamil pullai from Bombaai. I am ketai nakshatram, vadulya gotram… I am from chittoor in palaghat. I am just like that only zending you some dedails so dhaat you caaan cheg with youaar vaadiyaar if see eef you aaand I caan get alang. Aaas friends only… naat faar marriage sake okay. So don’t misunderstand me. you know it is better to tell gotram minnadiye, to avoid any painful fights dhaat iyer pullais and iyengaar ponnus or kaveri tanni and palaghat beople haav.

I wand to dell you little moor about myself. Liszen okay.

I haav lived in matunga and chembur which is like the mini madras of this mad rush called bombaai. All my atthai’s and atimbers, and chittis and chittapaas and paata and paatis and all the maamas and maamis are from heer only. But zome 3 generations baak they haad migrated from their ooru in south India. It must be near your place only. I haav so many yegstended reladives ovher there, you know. When we meet in zome kalyaanam with over other reladives, we discover oft-ten dhaat the beople I used to gaal my friend is aactually reladive. You know no. our paati’s and paataas haaad some 7-10 kuttigal. They made more kuttigal. Some fought. Aaand they got zaperated. And now O my gaad, we gould be gouzins. When we draw family trees, It can get embaarasing. Who wants to realize dhaat you aar doing your own gousin.

You would be glaaaad to know, dhaat I thrive on masala dosai and idli vadai.. if there is sambaar- then sooper. when I go oud with my amma and appa I go to madras café or myzore café in matunga only okay. Or even brindavan in chembur. Or mani’s lunj home in sion. tho i haav been only in bombay aal my life. i should be more marathi illaiyaa? so?

And yaa.,.. i go do tembles. and loove mallaigai poo vaasanai. i aalso lige going to tembles like sabari malai aaand guruvaayur. all my faaamily members are graduates or bost graduates from IIT. engineeering is in my blooddu.

and you are what? reporter.. illaiyaa? besh-besh.. adum nalla profession dhaan.

I aam in awe of your writing skills. I may agree or disagree with your comments. But let me dell you like that only – you-aar post is awe-zome.

Anna girl, dake a chill-pill, I say. I know dhaat the delhi-pullai will be yennywayz drowning in shame. May be idd iss naat about delhi but about yeah bartigular pullai.. that made you make such morbid generalizations. Delhi is not all dhaat bad. All delhi pullais are not so sad. You know, I haav a lot of awesome beebal of delhi origin. aaand they are lovely beoble. i aalzo had a general view about all delhi pullaigal at one boint aaf time. but i feel now dhaat i was being too rigid with my generalizations.

You know my reladives aaand zome aaf my glose friends aalso dislige youar post. They mighd get aangry with me aalzo. But, what-to-do gril.. I love you-aar post as much aaas I love my delhi-loving-fair-pullai and friends.

I am bidding you good baai.

Achhah.. varein..

Aiyoo abushtam!!!… poiyittu varein kittaya …

(And in Punjabi style,

Bending half only to touch your knees)

Paai laagu madarasan! :)

Youaars tair chaadam loving iyer gousin from bombaai, (bossibility is theer, illayaa?)

Chitoor Venkateshwara Ramakrishna Harish Vishwanath Iyer

P.S. This is in response to this original open letter to a delhi boy by Shahana

glossary for my north indian pullais and ponnus also. esp.. delhi pullais

vaadiyaar : priest , ponnu : girl, pullai : boy, atthai : bua, atimber : bua's hubby, paata : dadaji, paati: daadima, chitti : mausi, chitappa : mausa, kalyanam : marriage, kuttigal : kids, malligai poo vaasanai : the aroma of jasmine flower, aiyoo abustam : bad omen, varein : coming/ jaata hu, poiyuttu varein kittaya : jaake aata hu, tair chadam : curd rice, illaiya : isnt it?

speaking up... weaning out

2011-09-14T11:29:00.003+05:30

A curious stranger in train recognized me and asks me if he could have a word with me in private.

We got down at the next station and sat on the railway bench.

He initiated the conversation with a tremble of happiness in his voice.

It was like he has seen some happy ghost like casper or so.

He knew much abt me, much about me.

- my blogs, my love, my education...

...Everything.

I was kind of amazed by the way he spoke about me.

I was obviously flattered and pleasantly shocked.

I wondered what was it that he wanted to tell me more.

Did he ask me to get down with him so that he could just tell me that he has read about me.... ??? So wandered my mind.
When I was abt to leave he suddenly opened his buttons to reveal a scar.
His father had beaten him when he refused sex with him.
And I was the first person to know about it.- a stranger.He in his 20s and living by himself now.

Smart, young, straight and handsome.

Before we Hug a good bye - he quotes me..
"The greatest pleasure of life is not finding someone to speak to, but finding someone to listen. "He wanted me to share. So, the post.

YUPP! My posts invite and incite a lot of attention.

and the endless name calling starts.
Popularity comes with a prize. Me and my loved ones pay it everyday.
(O! i'm almost sounding like a martyr. Which i actually am not :) lol)

But I wonder, had I not shared,
Had I not spoken,
Had I not lived life inside out,
this one boy,
like many others I have met ever since i opened up,

may be would have not mustered the courage to speak up and share their innermost well-kept secrets.

Guess i know the sound of silence. it is deafening
Yes, I know how it feels to be quiet and
So, do I say - it is important to share.

It's good to believe that the world is beautiful. Indeed it is.
But like the cliché goes... Chaand mein bhi daag hota hai...

And nothing comforts a bleeding heart, than a heart that's weaned out the pain....

Hai naa?

A Kind Heart

2011-09-02T12:12:00.000+05:30

sometimes you pray so strongly that it manifests itself in action.

on wednesday, i set out on a lunch date with 2 of my pals.

my bag was open. and my wallet found its way out of my bag.

i had some money. and some credit cards, debit cards. but more than all of it, i had some very fond memories stored and associated with my wallet.

i called up Shiv like i always do when i am in crisis.

he was praying then. he heard me out and said - you will get it. kattayamma kadaikum (you will definitely get it). he also advised me to not block my cards in haste, as he just so strongly felt that strongly.

i wondered how could be so sure that i would get my wallet that i lost on wednesday with credit cards and cash back. i didnt take the risk. i blocked my cards.

and today, on friday, i get a call from an absolute stranger- Mr. Shinde who found my wallet. Now this man, Mr. Shinde, is a man in his 60's-70's. he found my credit and debit cards. he called up my debit/credit card bank for my number... he then chanced upon my office identity card which had my office number.

he called me just now. he verified the details. and told me to collect my card.

it is so easy to get enticed by the lure of money. he did not have to resist the temptation... how could he resist... when he wasnt tempted at all?

such is the power of positive belief. Especially when you pray for someone other than yourself. And so strongly.

Thank you Mr. Shinde for returning my wallet. you might not be on FB but this would reach you. this had to be shared. i will share it. kindness kindles kindness... and the wave of kindness shall spread its tentacles far and wide.

Shiv, I thrive on your positivism.

needless to say

thank you for being you. :) thank you.. and love you for this. :)

.. hang on!

2011-08-06T12:22:00.000+05:30

my moonlit night
so out of sight,
i wish it could stay
and not stray away...

o! my little day,
with heart-full dew...
will you leave me too??

stay with me,
be good to me,

till tides are tidy...
till time is timed...

be eternal,
be true!!
be eternal,
Be true!!!!

... this is true

2011-07-30T13:29:00.001+05:30

... The night is shy,
The moon is sly,

And then there is you,
With dove eyes unslept too...

The cloud will pass,
Moon will be overcast,

Now just,
Slip into a slumber,
My little wonder
Let dreams invite,
Touch stars in the sky,
Find all the answers to all the "why?"

Earl' you will arise,
To a morning new, too good to be true
But this is true, this is true,
only this is true!

... beyond

2011-07-30T12:49:00.004+05:30

"this is but a passing phase",

"some go far, some stay behind in the race"

is yes a banaity - a cliché

remember... a mind distressed - like a spring oppressed,

it shall propel, it shall propel....

even in stillness of time ....

....when seems fucked all the kindness expressed in rhymes

keep the faith, you will have it all.

keep the faith, you will walk tall.

when times seem dire,

the newness is not as desired...

still, it is a new beginning,

it is challenging, it's compelling...

a mind distressed - like a spring oppressed....

....it shall propel.... it shall propel... it shall propel...

Eternal

2011-05-20T11:10:00.001+05:30

pic by : parikshith sambasivan

i know the coldness,of the summer,
i have seen many such winters in summer before,
but never did i think i would, without you
see life beyond the shore...

then one day, you called out my name,
in this dizzy whirl, i found a world,
i now found new wing,
and realised i was also a bird

deep in the mountains,
when you fly over,
i would wait then, with pride in my eyes,
with wings not so strong but,
i'll idly watch you fly out of sight...

then when one day,
you call out my name...
i would then,
be born again...

when the phoenix left,
ashes turned to fire,
with a promise
"i will be born again,
after being offered to the pyre..."

The not-so-queer case of Male-Jhol

2011-05-07T16:58:00.000+05:30

this was an article i wrote for the "out of the closet" page of the DNA newspaper.

Male-Jhol… naa... this isn’t a hindi word.

It is hip and hinglish. I am one of the many males) in this orgasmic island city whose hormones get thumping and pumping, cajoling and jholing looking at other males (call us a minority and I will give you a thappad.

Yaah yaah.. I am gay. And I love men. I think of making love to a man. I am engaged to a man and have a ring to prove it.

And let me tell you. Our joys our sorrows are as different and unique as a boy to a girl or vice versa. (What are they called?yeah STRAIGHT!) I’m often asked who plays the Man and who the Woman in the relationship is. The truth is that gay relations are unique and different so are our love stories. We don’t

fit into moulds. We define moulds.

I don’t believe that I need to identify as man or woman in the relationship or for that matter the sexual act. We are two men in love. Period. ( I mean no period ) Our love stories are just the same and break offs – ditto as straight ones.

Let me share my love story with you.My first love. (One sided though) In an early night of a drizzling June, at the windy Bandra reclamation, I fell in love… and for the first time. Was it love at first sight? NO. It was love at first kiss though. And now I know the questions raging in your mind.

Aiyoo. So did someone see. Naahi vaatla bheeti?

Nahi.. Mumbai is a busy city. Who has the time to see and bajaao seeti. He was not the perfect man. But he was as imperfect as me and perfect that time for me. As the dark clouds further stained the orange sky, and the drizzle ended and therewas a cloud burst. It was a perfect gulzar moment for us with a very situational

“ek akeli chatri mein jab aadhe addhe bhegh rahe the" playing in his iPod that was plugged into our ears, a ear each. – now it was “jaane do naa… paas aaoo naa…” all this at the very straight Bandra Reclamation that kissed the Arabian sea.

The moon waxed and time waned. I looked at my watch, two hours had passed. We decided to move to our respective homes. I called out for a “rickshaw”… and surprisingly, he sat in it. Puzzled, I stood there muzzled. He said, let’s spend the night together. I muttered huskily “where”. He whispered “Bombay”. I hopped in. The rickshaw meter kept ticking and we sunk into our past and present and future. from bandra to andheri. and from andheri to bandra and then from bandra to sion and then from sion to goregaon, we just “rick”ed it all over the ricked night.

He spoke I listened. I spoke and he listened. And the conversations that were initiated this dawn-less night, held us together for 4 months. Then we tripped and missed our steps. He found another and I was left alone singing melancholic tunes of the 40s. I kept a big face for 3 months. And then it took me 4 years of sad poems and reams and reams of tear absorbing tissue papers to finally gain the confidence to rise in love again. And finally change my facebook status to “in a relationship”…

Does my rainy day story sound alike the laila-majnu love relationships that go little beyond raat-gayee-baat-gayee?

well, we and our relationships are not queer. And if you insist we are.. then I’d say “as queer as straight ones”

our dill’s, in the same way go rock-and-roll , so what if it is Male-Jhol?

DNA Feb 06, 2011

View more documents from hiyer.

The Sympathy Seeker...

2011-05-07T16:17:00.000+05:30

this blog post was specially written for the csa awareness month blog .

I remember the day when my ship had capsized and I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The devil that was all around me, and the deep blue sea within me. And guess what, I did not know how to swim. Struggling, I created ripples in the water. And all that the world could see is that someone was screaming… yelling, so barmy… seeking attention famously. I held on to anything afloat – but the things that were floating were nothing but an illusion. I went deep, so deep in the trenches of pain that I could hardly comprehend what I was feeling. Morose, I wilted like the withered petals of a rose.

I was just out of a trauma of child sexual abuse. Something that I had been experiencing for the past 11 years. I was out of it. The silence and the “want” to speak had been heating up lava inside me. I wanted to get it off my system. I had spent years wanting to speak, and now all i wanted, was a ear to hear.

I spoke. I spoke. And I spoke. People were compassionate with me. Some tapped me on my back for having found the courage to speak. Some simply cried bucket full of tears with me. I felt nice. I felt nice because I found someone to hear me out. My emotional scars were diminishing i thought. I started speaking – up and about about my abuse. About the fact that I was just merely at a merry age of 7, when i was abused. I was mauled. Clawed. And that I had no language to protest what I detest. I couldn’t object to the objects that were inserted in me. That I cried just once, and felt the pain just once.. It was that first time, and after that, my emotions had numbed and i turned dumb to the pain. At just the age of 7. I knew the taste of semen.

I know what you must be thinking while you are reading this. Some of you must have shut your screens in absolute horror. And the others, must be thinking, and many would have the question at the tip of their tongue but not have the exact choice of words or courage to ask me… their concern is genuine, and there are some who have been up-straight-insulting.

“To shout, why you didn’t dare?” – o! yaah, people have asked me this, and so poetically, funnily, mockingly. Rhymes, isn’t it? Yes, one can but not deny the rhyme.

But had they only known what it means to be sodomised at the tender age of 7. Something that continued till I reached 18. In school, i used to get up from my bench as my rear used to hurt. And get reprimanded by the teacher. I went to the loo, only when there were none inside. Kidney bursts and private emotional outbursts that happened within me. I tried telling mom about the bleeding, and mom had no clue… she said ”mangoes! you eat too many mangoes… and that creates heat”… I did not have the power of language then to tell her that “heat” it was, but not mine, someone elses that I was satisfying. And that, in the bargain, i was bleeding.

By the time I grew up, i turned from a boy-whore to a man-whore. Satisfying every sexual need, many sadomasochistic experiments. Experiments that i was the guinea pig for. Did I have a choice? YES!… Did I muster the courage to exercise the choice? NO! Did I share it with anyone? YES.

I confided in a friend about my “history” and he ensured that everyone geographically close and beyond knew about it. Soon, i had college walls adorned with graffiti that read “for gay sex contact harish”. When i sat on my bench, it had chalk marks written “fag”. People spoke about me- in front of me spoke so loudly that I could hear “dont talk to him, he sluts around with his uncle”. I contemplated suicide. I tried. I failed.

I had no friend. And then, I found one. A four legged pal called – Jimmy. I spoke to him. Loud and Aloud. I spoke to him. And he licked my tears. He understood every emotion of mine. And acknowledged me without judging me. That real me.

This gave me the courage. Courage to speak up for animal rights. Slowly, i started speaking up. From animal rights to human rights to my rights… i transited. The courage to say NO. And all that it took, was a kick and loud and stern NO to stop the abuse. The abuse that lasted for 11 years.

Did my struggle end then? Not really! It was then that it started. I waged a war against the ones who violated a child’s right to be a child. I couldn’t stop offenders in this country that had no law against child sexual abuse. I could create awareness though. Make teachers, parents and children aware about “good touch and bad touch”. And form a support system for them, should they need to speak. I started receiving counseling calls. I told them that I wasn’t qualified to counsel. But I am good to be a friend who listens. The goodness of Jimmy, and that attribute of his to listen without judging is what lived in me even after he died. A dog taught me something that even god could not.

I spoke at many forums. Openly. Even about my sexuality – which is gay. Because there is this common perception that if you are abused as a child by a member of your own gender you “turn” gay. I believe, that there are two things – sexuality and sexual habits. Sexuality is innate, and sexual habits could be born out of experiences. I did have consensual sex with a woman. It was a one night stand, but it wouldn’t stand. (LOL).. I could either have “experimented” with a wife as a dummy, or stood up for my sexuality. I chose the latter. I am a gay man. And I am in love with a lovely man. That’s what I am. My identity.

As I spoke about abuse. There were several calls I attended to. Just that, I cant share about that openly here. And may be, that gave people a chance to believe that I overdo things. And my very close friends, and family too, have said nasty things “do you need to do this” asks someone. “O Do you know people see you as a sympathy seeking bas!@rd” says another. And now that I have two films and a book that i underway inspired by my life, it gives them even more the reason to speak and presume that “I am doing this for my self publicity” or that i cringe too much and “cling tosympathy”.

Does it hurt me? Yes! when it comes from people who matter to me, it does. Do I mourn and cry about it? Yes I do. Do I love them anyway? YES.

One day, they would understand. That it takes a lot of self-talk, self-belief to share your dirtiest secret. And not that it is… but that even if it was to market myself. What’s wrong? It eventually wakes up the conscience of several souls and magically helps people to heal. The sympathy seeker – me, does wake up, and speak up because I know.

“Nothing but helps a bleeding heart, than a heart that has healed. ”

TV9 - sleaze stings stink!!!

2011-02-24T17:11:00.000+05:30

When you thought stings are to “expose” the evils in the society and make people accountable for their mistakes. You are wrong.

Now-a-days channels are interested in sleaze.

In short this is what they did –

TV9 Hyderabad did a story on the “gay culture” in Hyderabad. They logged into a popular gay dating site with a fake profile and dirty-chatted with some gay men and then exposed them on their channel along with their profile details.

What happened to the exposed guys?

Some still grappling with their sexuality have attempted suicide. My phone, email and facebook chat is abuzz with distress and worr

You could get the detailed story here at Gaysi

I was initially toying on the idea of a condom protest where we could wear a condom on our middle finger as a sign of protest. Discussed it with members of Queer Azaadi Mumbai and the popular opinion was that it will look frivolous. So now we are going to give them letters of dissent.

Aditya Bandopadhyay, a lawyer and a friend, has also slapped a legal notice against TV9’s irresponsible shoddy journalism.

Time is now to put our activist hats and get on ground to do something about whats happening.

We just cant be sitting ducks here.

Least we can do is express our dissent and the fact that we are upset to other channels and use the power of social media to boycott channels like these which are unethical in their reportage.

I am going to their office tomorrow as a part of the collective effort put by Queer Azaadi March group in Mumbai.

what we will do there we yet don’t know clearly. But for sure, no slogan shouting or anything close to that. Will update this space when there is more clarity – promishhhh.

Join me for this peace protest…?

Address and details here

BlogCamp @IIT Bombay

2010-12-20T20:58:00.003+05:30

happa! what an action packed weekend. saturday i was with some wilsonians speaking about child sexual abuse, and sunday ko blog camp. this was a sickly sunday, when i almost gave the blogcamp a miss. i sent messages to everybody saying that i might not join in. but dil toh bachha hai ji! and my dil was in iit, and wanted to be where the action was. i jhatpat popped in a few pills and rushed to iit bombay.

i jumped in the middle of the presentation and with my usual “rukhavat ke liye khed hai” style.

then i sat through all the presentations. there was so much about travel and tourism, for a second i thought i was sitting for an iata lecture. i could hear giggles whenever the speaker spoke about “going down”... (uff! and i thought i was the pervert! lol ) jokes apart! the sessions were nice and with a lot of value. it felt nice to see everyone so enthusiastic to speak and share. and what preparation – wallah... powerpoint presentations and all. i am impressed. i liked the cartoon stuff that dashing andheriwala blogdost shared, (i want to put cartoons on my blog too. send me the website url na) and there was talk about poetry- very very insightful i say... there was something that the speaker spoke about - haiku... i have seen it doing its rounds in my timeline, but couldn’t make head or tail what it is. now i have some idea..

photograph chorried from vishal gakari's facebook album without his permission.

ki karaa, control nahi hotta.

i spoke about sex and sexuality – (i mean- not porn stuff) but about child sexual abuse and how blogs are coming out of the closet. i mentioned about how i wrote a poem to my beautiful maa in law... and how my other half – parikshith knew all about me through my blog. i also mentioned about my quirky train tweets about how no one is amused or amazed when i tweet about finding a hottie in the train! it has become as common as someone spotting an item or a maal. optimist that i am, i believe, sooner or later, sexuality will become a nonissue. i mentioned about my spammeshwari dost chandni who spams for a cause and how she contributes to hiyer.posterous.com that also auto populates in my facebook and twitter.

simply boleh toh.. had a fantastic time at the iit bombay blogcamp but i wished there were some studentlog from iit who were there as active participants too. it looked like we had rented the place... it would have been better if it was iit b who was actually organizing it and driving it. khair, koi baat nahi... agle saal hi sahi... id love to watch students get into the organizer mode.

i eagerly await the next blogcamp... you all are invited to join in.

faltu ka bhaav nahi khaaneka... gup chup aaneka.

aayega toh welcome.. nahi toh bheed kam.

kaun kyaa bola about the experience...

read here

Ramya : Mood Indigo-BlogCamp Dec 2010: Visual Blogging, Quality versus Quantity, Travelogues & More

Srinivas Kulkarni: Srini’s Stuff>>What a bloggy day!!! #blcm

Pradeep Mohandas: Parallel Spirals>> BlogCamp Mumbai – MoodI 2010

Vishal Gadkari: Facebook Photos

Ramya Pandyan: The Idea-smithy Facebook Page Photos

TechGreek Stuff: Facebook Photos

p.s. pardon my typos, and #grammargandu giri

wikileaks of india... radia tapes!

2010-12-07T13:08:00.006+05:30

i eavesdropped into some interesting conversation while traveling by train. as usual i tweeted all along, this time it was too tempting to blog. this is the conversation between 2 students. they looked smart. and their conversation, smarter.

student 1: who is barkha gate?

student 2: bill gate ki wife?

student 1: o! she is miranda, i thought. (cold drink??)

student 2: yaa yaa, she was, they divorced as bill spent all their money on charity. then he got married to barkha.

student1: so cruel this bill!

all through, i was wishing that one of them would burst into a laughter. but they did not. they were damn serious. call it the height of ignorance or just that we have been hearing and churning so much bad news these days that no news seems that newsy.

******** ******* ******** ******* ******** *******

it is gone buffalo in water (gayee bhains paani mein) for the hello hello janata of the upwardly mobile india. this nadia gate aur red tape is real dimaag ko traas, now lets see how the scene changes -

Nadia Ke Paar!

but really

the average joe isnt bothered about what gupshup she has with tata or bata, what bothers him is the rise in the cost of batata.

and all the media badshaahs who were shunned or stunned by the uprising of the Dutt will be singing... "barkha raani... zara cham ke barso"

we the tweeple, have given a tough time to the young anchorni of "we the people".

i continue to love her, but mind not a joke or two about her. (peace, if you are reading this.. pls know barkha, i love you. and respect you)

barkha's online avataar took a paradigm shift from "Alice in wonderland" to "malice in blunderland"

... thanks to flop flick

"telecom rights and radia tapes"

"barkha ka insaaf!" seems like the season 2 of "raja ki jaayegi baraat"... wonder if in third season she will be with rajat sharma in "NDTV ki Adalat"

and manu joseph the kartha dharta of open, gets ready to give takkar to the WikiLeaks .. with an indian version

well, open magazine is the wikileaks of india... (or is it vice versa?)

******** ******* ******** ******* ******** *******

when barkha rani cried "why me" there were others with whom telephone aunty (radia) chatted naa....manu uncle said "maybe it is because you are so pretty.”...

that is the "Hadd Kardi aapne" of Indian Television... Barkha should have given him one jor ka jhaapad then.

but guess
the zhakmi aurat kept quite about the media havarat attacker because she knew he was making a fool of himself with that "tongue-in-wherever" comment.

suggest vipaasna for Barkha... let her vanish into the snow capped himalayas for a while.

people have forgotten 26/11 barkha is which mooli of which khet then..

there is no issue.. here people have memories like aamir in gajani, so when she could wake up in a while and come back like priya tendulkar of the famous rajni.

******** ******* ******** ******* ******** *******

wondered what sells more... jawaani ya badnaami...

badnaami wins hands down...hai naa?

you lead, i'll follow

2010-12-06T20:26:00.003+05:30

i did not let you flow.
i chained your stream,
and froze your dream.

i said i would come along,
but left the duet
alone you were left to sing alone your couplet.

i hate myself now,

that i realize how wrong i was.
i see your crushed maps, and i realize i am the cause.

i wish i could have mellowed,
i wish i could have asked you to not kill your route...
i wish you fought with me, and called me brute.

but you followed me,
like the sunflower does the source of the day.
blindfolded yourself, entrusted and trusted me with the decision of your way...

i may have to walk a mile,
to reach, without refrain,
i wish i could reach too, and sustain...

don’t crush your maps for me...
please direct the way,
i have lived my life, now i wish to live it your way...

make me a way...
dont blindly follow mine.

just keep your hand on my shoulder and see me shine.

but remember my other half,
to be with you, i long,
for to without you, i just don't belong...

it scares me

to see your river so shallow...
now you lead, i shall follow

pregnant with you!

2010-11-17T23:30:00.003+05:30

hey little child
my little wonder inside me,

did you tremble, did you get scared

of what you did not see?

you and your emotions

are no more light,

hug me tight,

in this scary night...

let me feel your claws

inside my waist,

as i run and run,

with you within..

in this mad race...

i know when

you grow out of me,

you will be the cutest thing

for the world to see...

for now but,

you stay quiet,

the moon has

come over the night...

the sun has also set,

through my navel

can you see,

the setting sun, the rising moon and the starry purple canopy.

tonight be quiet,

tonight dont you scream,

for today tomorrows begin,

and life takes a new stream...

you are the little child in me,

let me shower all the warmth today,

before you see the light of the whole damn world,

and the world see you in the fake glitter of the day.

let me feel my stomach, your forehead,

let me feel my ribs, and hold your arm,

let me feel the child in me,

so serene, so pleasant and so calm...

tomorrow when you are born,

to me, in our lovelorn bombay,

i shall steal you away,

to the shine in the glory of just my way.

sleep baby,

sleep today,

let me sing you a lullaby,

in me today,

i wish to kiss you now,

but for my face cant reach below my chest,

i long to kiss you and

feel you on my breast,

i know you can see

what i can see,

so time to close my eyes,

and baby see yourself as i look at my mirror,

and see my fairy,

my pari!

really Donno Y... Na Jaane Kyun!

2010-11-14T21:32:00.000+05:30

my review cross posted from pink-pages

The film had excellent PR… coupled with the human angle with the trigger created by the fact that the lead actor – Yuvraj was ostracized from his family for portraying a bisexual character in Donno Y… Naa Jaane Kyun. I should say, that I had several preconceived notions about the film – All Negative.

DONNO Y… NAA JAANE KYUN is a film with myriad complex stories… and one simple message. The film is set to raise many brows for it shakes your conscience as it takes you through the rigmarole of relationships
The protagonists of the film are two male characters. Kapil and Yuvraaj (forget their screen names). Yuvraaj is a family man, married to Rituparna Sen, and has a daughter with her. They seem a happy Anglo- Indian joint family. But when one looks closely they can discover several cracks in relationships.

I wouldn’t want to reveal the entire screenplay of the film here in the name of criticism, but will throw light on several points that stir an emotional chord in the film. Zeenat Aman who plays Yuvraaj’s mom in the film is shown as a single woman who cootchie-coos with her boss to pataao him to fund her children’s bicycle or the Christmas party. She has a monster-in-law, the evil saas (played by Helen) who gossips about her daughter-in-laws affairs with nosy neighbors. While we brand her as the insensitive gossip monger, we suddenly see her standing up for Zeenat when her boss calls her a slut. She stands up for her daughter-in-law and shoos away the incorrigible sex-maniac by telling him that she knows what Zeenat does to fulfill her children’s’ dreams but his wife doesn’t know of his sexual explorations and she would not stoop to his level by informing her about his waywardness.

Another high point is when the happily married Yuvraaj gets into a relationship with Kapil. I know the excellent naked pics of Yuvraaj and Kapil are doing their rounds creating orgasmic pleasure for our eyes that are left lusting for more, the center point of the film is not the scenes that are mercilessly cut by moral guardians in our censor boards, the highlight is that for the first time ever, a gay couple is seen on the Indian screen doing stuff more than just sex, like feeding puppies… gifting each other… or casually conversing about life and romance. Kapil breaks his relationship with Yuvraaj as he decides that Yuvraaj should live with his family and should not two time. Kapil is a model-turned-hooker-turned lover who turns back to his hookergiri after Yuvraaj leaves him.

Meanwhile, Rituparna almost runs away with her brother-in-law Maradona after sleeping with him, but decides to stay back with Yuvraaj at the nth minute. So Yuvraaj and Rituparna become family, while the akela-bechaara Kapil sluts his way to the top of the Bollywood line.

Though, as I said the film has several tracks, where even Kabir Bedi, who happens to be Zeenat Aman’s husband, emerges from the oblivion and gains acceptance slowly slowly in the Anglo Indian household.

Though the relationships ka much-much is a little too much. I feel the film needs to be applauded for its script which is what got all the top-notch actresses from the Kal and Aaj of Bollywood to sign up for this film. What’s beautiful in the script is that it doesn’t show a daughter-in-law who sluts around as the “witchy-bitchy-slutty-savitri”.. it doesn’t pass a moral judgement but leaves you empathizing with a bisexual who sleeps with his boyfriend and his wife… it doesn’t justify or crucify the wife who sleeps with her brother-in-law… and of course, it asks you to accept the present and pardon the past with Kabir Bedi who returns to the family when he is struck with terminal cancer. That’s what is lovely in the film.

So, is this film all good and will it be India’s official entry to Oscars? Is this THE Brokeback Mountain of India??? MADDDOWATT… this film is no close to any Brokeback Mountain. The performances are very unreal, including the ones by stalwarts like Zeenat and Helen are very nautanki type. Kapil and Yuvraaj, I wonder why you guys had to make this an English language film. The film is a perfect #GrammarGandu (twitter slang for incorrect grammar). There are several gadbad gotaalas in English.. but if you have the sense of humour, you will laugh it out like I did. There are several overtly emotional scenes, where you could rather ROFL over the English, than cry or empathize. The scene where Kapil tells Yuvraaj “First you are AN husband” had me biting my lips in control my laughter. Aiyyo Aiyooo Aiyoo! Also, though I will be killed for stating this as in our country we don’t question human gods.. the track by Lata Mangeshkar is boring and ludicrous. I think there are some people who should very royally retire. Lata should retire in her best, for it is an undisputed fact that she is one of the best voices in Asia.

All said, and all done. You should watch this film. For the guts and gumption of Kapil Sharma and Yuvraaj… WOW. Though the debate of which is the first gay kiss on Indian screen will go on and on. The film needs to be watched by one and all for you don’t get to watch films that are bold and non judgmental. This isn’t a gay film. It is a film about relationships where one track is about a gay guy and a bisexual guy. Complex relationships are explored in this film.. bisexuality, homosexuality, promiscuity, just wish they got a lesbian angle too… then sone pe suhaaga. Here’s my own twist and additions to the script. How about getting Zeenat in love with a girl-next-door?… it would have been a museum-film with all sexual flavours naa. Wallah!

My Anadi in Kannadi!

2010-10-27T19:05:00.004+05:30

Im so fucked up at times. Trying to understand my trying emotions that often go haywire… has never been easy. And you are responsible for this. You are bloody responsible for this!

I mean, I was a nice boy. A nice seedha-sadha TamBrahm from the new of bombay. And see what you have done to me! See what you have done.

I remember three days before Independence Day this year that I met you and lost my independence forever. O I remember, that night that I was criss-crossing around in the gay lanes of a dating -mating site and I found you. you seemed so different. You had your whole CV put up on a dating site. Aiyyo! I thought, you had real balls. Like I do. Unapologetic about what you are born as. Then we chatted over the phone. It was shocking to know that you were a southie too. And a tam. And a brahm. And a chemburkar. Happpa! Too much I say! I quickly started drawing family trees in my mind. Aden Gappa… so wonderful it would be to know that one of my cousins was gay. And “out” out there. Id love to retort when some crazy atthai /chottai of mine says “aiyyo! you do boy-boy”.. with a candid “It is your gene’s coy-ploy”. Wallah!

I decided to meet you for a decent cup of coffee. And no hanky-panky. I was waiting at vashi station, close to the ticket counter. And there you stood… kaan mein jhumka.. chaal mein thumkaa.. types. I still remember that anadi in kannadi, wearing some crazy thing on his wrist. You were yapping away to glory intellectually over the phone. Like a zygotic hybrid of bappi lahari and jumpa lahari. You then kept your phone and started talking to me. And mashhallah! In less than ½ an hour you shared your akhaa khandaan ka details. I thought you have your screw dheela. Then I thought about how I used to start ranting about the ifs and buts of my life, to any stranger… with dew filled eyes… full of hope… you almost had shamelessly taken over the emotions that I so fondly had a copyright on. HUH!

we dined and decided to take a walk in the straight lanes of vashi in the dead of night. We walked from one gully to the other, from cross roads to dead ends, from foot paths to man holes. I remember I was so engrossed that I hit a lamp post and had a bleeding toe. Inside I was going aiyyo aiyyo.. outside I was smiling and yapping with the yapping you. That dud of a thing, were you. 22 years young. And I the fataaka at 31. Soon I realized age is a matter of the mind, it doesn’t matter if you don’t mind. We walked chumma chumma over the streets… and we did no chumma-chaati. I looked at his lips and his beauty spot. But nothing lustily. Guess, we cant “lust”ify and justify everything.

In the middle of this beautiful night that I was spending with you, Platonically. Under the lonely moon that was just out of the cocoon, came a screeching noise of my mom. She had the dinner ready and wanted to sleep. i had to bid good bye to you and rush home. You said, I will follow me till my house. I wondered in my mind, that is to much illaiyya? … for a 22 year old tamil pullai to be so late out with a 31 year old ghabru jawaan… it was some 12:15 or so. You came to khandeshwar station. I stood there, with you. we were late. Real late. You had to head back to your chembur. I offered taking you home. But inside inside, wondered what I would tell my parents. The police uncle, I asked “last gaadi kitne bajje ki hai”… and it was a train to belapur. Aiyyo. Calculations started in my Tam Brahmish mandaiii. The taxi meter was speeding in my mind. I thought “how will a young boy spend so much to go by cab from belapur to chembur” … I asked you if you had money. And you said yes.

Then you left. And I kept thinking on my way to home…. Thinking why I am thinking so much.. about some stupid mad fellow whom I know just since a few hours. I thought it was love. Then I thought no way. Then I thought I wish to adopt a child like him. And then I thought no.

And fuck! And fuck! And fuck! My first thought should have been my last thought.. for that lasts forever.

I was a nice boy... and now am mad. mad in looov

here is glossary

Kannadi = spectacles
Aden Gappa = O my god!
Tam Brahm = tamil brahmin
illaiya = isnt it?
pullai = boy

games people play...

2010-10-19T17:06:00.001+05:30

the hazaar karod balloon at the opening of the common wealth games did manage to shift our focus from kalmadi who was chewing india like he would some bubble gum.

but it sure scared the shit out of the chief ministerni, when our desh was rangeela, peela peela was our sheila...

no wonder while the world was waking up to glory of india, sheila was busy singing " you are my sonia"... sitting baaju-baaju with the mrs. of gandhi.

here in bombay, (oopsie - mumbai)... all are hand in hand .. big boss and candyfloss.. devi, devil and the wohs... with added attraction by sena's who never shy from showing their "mard taange wala" attitude and press the trigger with no agar magar. Big boss is definitely tempting... we love gupshup about love sex and dhokha, more than we love "love or sex".. here voyeurism gives us more orgasms than what an human organism would.

our land is ripped and raped... by the goons of our world... and lust is the reason... the sole reason... the lust for money for one, and the lust for power. one uses violence, other balloons.

as they look into the matter,
the other critical matters get overlooked.

coming to games...

our gajnified memory... benefits our kalmadi, our modi...
unkaa game nahi bajjega.

game khatam paisa hajam!
it soon will be another case of "khao khujao batti bhujao"

in our country, we have seen so much keeda- kaandi- that we can easily forget, forgive and enjoy another kalmadi.

...Care To Share

2010-10-16T20:38:00.001+05:30

crossposting my column in PINK PAGES - the premier LGBTI webzine.

It was a crazy summer afternoon. I was out on a movie date with a friend…a friend who I knew since the past 3 months. I picked corner seats, the cozy ones, aloof from the rest of the crowd. Our intentions were definitely not noble. Within a while, the lights went off, the screen was lit and the Dolby was on. My hands touched his, and we exchanged a kiss. His hands moved over my body and I ran my hands over his. He suddenly got scared. He jolted, he shook and he stormed out of the theater. I followed him out. He was crying in the corner next to the popcorn stall. I went over to him. Hugged him, looked into his red eyes and understood something was indeed wrong. I didn’t know what to say to him. I did not want to say the wrong thing and cause him more pain. I was scared. I thought it was my provocation that was the reason behind his tears. I watched him in despair and did not know what I should do to show that I cared. I did not say a word, just held his hand…and did not let go of it till he spoke to me. He continued weeping profusely and I just watched him in the dumbness and stillness of loud silence.

He gave me a tight hug and drowned his head in my chest as if he was hiding from the rest of the world. He and I sat gazing at the moon, letting our silences speak. After a long pregnant pause he delivered his first words “thank you”. I acknowledged with a nod. He smiled. Took a deep breath and started speaking. And now, he was speaking as if he was possessed. He wasn’t bothered of who was watching him cry and swear. He turned pages of his life backwards, to reach the age of 8. He was at home then with his aunt. Alone with his aunt. His parents had gone for an overnight wedding. They were to return only the following day by noon. His aunt, a young 20 something, college going girl, thought it was the perfect opportunity to call her friends’ home for a party. She called a couple of her friends and asked them to get booze and cigarettes. They came and the music was set blaring. The smoke engulfed the room. My friend, the little boy, was introduced to all his aunts’ friends then was asked to go and sleep in the room. The time passed, and the boy slept oblivious to understand what was happening in his house. As he slept the volume of the music blared. At unease, he woke up in the dead of the night. He walked in the darkness to the loo. He passed by the Hall where he found his aunt getting cozy with her friend. He came back from the loo and when he was on his way to his bed. He was stopped by one of his aunts’ female friends. She was scantily dressed. She lowered her cleavage and asked him to touch ‘it’. He detested. He was scared, but he obliged. She kissed him and went naked in front of him and she felt him up too. He dint know what was happening. But he just knew that he was not feeling nice about it. That little child had an irreplaceable dent in his mind forever. He grew away from the girls in his class. He never liked the idea of marriage. He always spent time lost with himself…he grew up to be an introvert loner.

When he had his first night fall, he was furious and curious at the first feel of sperm. Furious, because he thought he had some female disease and had started milking from the wrong side. And he was dead curious about what was happening to him and in him. Days passed, the issue recurred. He woke up spending time and life in the closet of silence. He wondered why he got aroused thinking of his classmate who happened to be of his gender. While his friends always talked of and stalked girls in the neighbouring school, he would spend time ogling at boys. He found endless joy in just being with that special boy in his class. The days he would get to sit beside him, when his leg would touch his and the days when he would get a chance to brush on him just with no one actually knowing of his innermost feelings…these were the days he would very eagerly look forward to. He was happy on one end, and on the other he was scared and troubled. He had no one to share his feelings. He thought he was different, sometimes he thought he was cursed. He felt special for his classmate, and called him his “best friend”. He went from school to college, and they continued to be classmates till graduation. It was at graduation that his classmate started dating a girl. And he felt completely left out. He woke up to the existence of his sexuality amid devastation of losing his beloved eternal classmate, his best friend to a girl. Best friend is many-a-times, though not always, the nick for a crush, especially when language and understanding is challenged. Like we see in movies, in frustration and the undying urge to find himself and be himself he found refuge in alcohol. He thought his instinct towards men was because of his sexual abuse in the growing years. He was in a state of ambivalence, a state where he wanted to have sex with men and also had a feeling of extreme aversion towards it.

My friend hugged me and cried. For a long time. He confessed to me that meeting me and getting cozy was just because of the similar past of child sexual abuse that we had experienced, something that I was open and candid about. And this was something that actually prompted him to share one of his worst kept secrets with me who was just a couple of chats old. Thereon, I met up with him, everyday. Not to judge or to preach or to support him. Not by kind words or the usual “see positivity all around you” talk, but just by listening. I realized pain is such a binder. And listening is an art. Glad I could listen. That was one of my first memories of counselling… by chance though. Sharing makes a lot of difference…sharing of tears, sharing of joy. I call it the “flint stone effect”. Though not everyone can come ahead and speak openly about their bad childhood experiences, the ones who can, if they would, it would help someone find that one friend who serves as a flicker of hope.

…the hope to find oneself in this quest and to realize the power of Aham – the “me”.

love is praying!

2010-10-02T01:26:00.002+05:30

don’t worry, don’t you cry,
this distance is a moment,
this too will silently pass by.

when the wind is blowing,
sometimes too hard!
when your shadows are
yet so near, yet so far.

i am near.
with you dear.

feel my breath,
feel me wet.
my tongue my lips,
between your teeth that are kept.

close your lips,
trap me in.
hear my beat,
let’s do the sin.

feel my palm
over your hair,
feel my heart
beat in despair.

in a night so young,
with a moon over blown.
let the bed get drenched in our sweat,
shut it's eyes and hear us moan.

let me touch your hip,
and take a dip.
while you take a sip,
of my lip.

let me die this moment,
let me be born.
lets wake up beside,
and wish the night was long.

let us grow long,
let us grow along.

why do you shy,
why are you sad and scared…
you aint dirty,
i aint bad,
our today’s needn’t have our yesterday’s clad.

we are still as pure as dove,
no matter how many we have loved,
or with made love.

love is but not about bodies preying
it is our bodies, where love is praying!

i could, if need be, wait longer…

distances make hearts grow fonder…

your son and me are... 'we'

2010-09-15T19:48:00.002+05:30

when i heard you maa.
i was really scared.
i dint know what to do,
im sure I sounded bizarre.

that little day, maa,
with your little son,
i managed to entice him towards me,
using my love as the binding ribbon.

i have met him just twice maa,
but couldn’t dare to say it then,
only when he left maa,
i missed and wished he would return.

then i lifted the phone one day, maa
and bared my heart to him,
my tongue and lips trembled maa,
i fluttered like a netted fish with a trapped fin.

he said in the same tone,
over the phone
i was vision-less i found sight,
i had no wings, but i had flight.

then we walked a little further,
we stumbled, we had a fall,
but we held on to each other,
gained our feet, we now walk tall.

you know what maa,
it’s just barely been over a month,
but to spend my life with maa,
i choose your little son.

i don’t know how you would feel,
for you and i are just a phone call old.
but i simply love your genes maa,
the way they grow and mold.

i know its not conventional maa,
your son and i cant be man and wife.
but more than that maa,
we’d redefine our world with all that’s kind and nice.

i want you to know maa,
that i will love your little part, till the end.
i know there exist none that are known maa,
we will set the trend.

i could have sent you a private mail maa,
but this is our world, and it should know
that i will not just cow and bow,
if it is love, i will show!

so be it. be it so.

love you maa.
saasu maa!

lol. :) love you maa.

Child Sexual Abuse - A Reality

2010-09-15T18:02:00.000+05:30

Mentioned below is an article that I was published in Free Press Journal. Thanks to my friend Ketan.

Child Sexual Abuse : A REALITY THAT OUR MINDS ARE CLOSED TO

Innocence is a virtue that children are naturally endowed with. But what if it is violated? What if they grow older than their age? What if they have known and seen much more pain and trauma in their childhood than what some people do in an entire lifetime. Such is the issue of Child Sexual abuse, where children make friends with darkness and silence, sometimes forever.

I have been through it, but today have put it in my past and moved forward. Today I speak of it openly and brazenly embrace the many truths that were lost in the ebb of silence. I was just in primary school when I was sexually abused. The abuser was a close male relative of mine. He used to give me a bath often. My family didn’t object, as they didn’t think there was anything objectionable in someone giving me a bath at that age. And one of these days when we were naked in the bathroom, he demanded that we have oral sex. I refused, and wanted to run away, he gagged me and then what followed was 11 years of continuous mental, physical and sexual abuse, from the age of 7 till 18.

Dipika Lal, a documentary film maker, directed a film on the issue of child sexual abuse, aptly titled “Speak Up! It’s Not Your Fault”. This student graduate film of hers touched upon the issue of Child Sexual Abuse in depth and also won the best student documentary award at the Kashish International Film Festival. The documentary featured her speaking about the trauma that she went through as a child. The perpetrator was her tutor. He was respected and no one suspected that he could be involved in this ghastly crime. He would touch and ‘feel’ her inappropriately often under the pretext of teaching. She was too small to understand what was happening. She didn’t complain to anybody.

Nicholas (name changed) was raised by a single mother. His father expired in a car accident, when he was very young. He also lost his little brother to the same accident. His mother appeared to have coped up psychologically from this huge trauma, but this was far from the truth. Nicholas is 23 now, and his mother still treats him like he used to treat his toddler brother. She has been giving him a bath every day as one would a young child, from the age of 10. Nicholas faced serious issues with respect to relations. He feels overtly sexual towards woman and at times gets panic attacks and suicidal thoughts due to his incestuous feelings towards his mother. Both mother and son underwent counseling to deal with the issue.

We are just 3 examples of people who have now come to terms with the issue of child sexual abuse and have managed to put our past in the past and move forward. We don’t mind sharing our stories as we have dealt with the monsters of our past and understood the importance of sharing. Deepika, Nicholas and I are confident individuals who are now successful in our own right and understand that sharing is perhaps the only way to create awareness. Until then, such issues will always be considered a myth. Or as something that happens in “their” house, but never could happen in “ours”. It is important that people who can speak up, speak up for the cause. Those willing to share their stories should do so, so that this myth of child sexual abuse being an alien phenomenon could be washed by the realm of reality. Child sexual abuse is not restricted to any class, caste, creed or gender. It is a myth that child sexual abuse is more common in low income groups and that the girl child needs to be protected, whereas the boy can take care of himself. More often, child sexual abuse is about power play as much as it is about sadistic sexual pleasures. The abuse needn’t always be physical or painful; even verbal (erotic blabber) and visual abuse (exposing ones private parts or showing porn to a child) is tantamount to child sexual abuse.

Chandni Parekh, a social psychologist is involved in designing modules and conducting workshops that ensure that the child is educated about sexuality. She accentuates the need for trained counselors to help affected children deal with the trauma. Speaking specifically about the lack of psychological support systems she says “Most schools grapple with not knowing how exactly to deal with a child sexual abuse case. Many counselors too feel ill-equipped to work with such issues since their Master's programme does not really address trauma work. Several schools are unaware of the NGOs that work on the issue of CSA in their city or of the bunch of psychologists in Bombay that started an intensive study circle to specialise in trauma healing.”

Besides trauma healing, being a survivor myself, I understand that had I been aware of what was happening to me and my body I would have been able to muster the courage to say a firm “NO” earlier and save myself more years of youth. But I had no sex education in school until I joined college and was taught reproductive biology, as is the case with many children.

Chandni agrees with the need for sex education. She asserts “If we continue to disallow sexuality education by withholding information about sex and the possibility of sexual abuse, as well as information about reproduction and disease, we put all children at risk. Refusing to talk about sex does not mean that children are safe, that nothing bad will happen to them. Only by opening up the discussion about sex, and beginning to talk to children from a young age will we ever be able to protect them from abuse. Ultimately, it will only be when sex and sexual abuse are commonplace topics of conversation will perpetrators be held accountable. Only then will our society ever truly be able to prevent one of the most traumatic things that a human being can experience.”

Indeed, there are some secrets that are best hushed in the closets or under the carpet. Sex abuse isn’t one of those. There is an urgency to give up our myopic views about sex and Speak Up. How many cases of child sexual abuse would it take for us to realize that closets are most comfortable, but not one of the safest places to be in…

Let’s break the silence and speak up!

For more information on child sexual abuse, and how you could protect/ counsel your child, please visit www.arpan.org.in

read the article here

Free Press Journal September 05

View more documents from hiyer.

love : the alibi

2010-08-27T19:45:00.000+05:30

i love you more than every yesterday,

i breathe you, every single day,

my heart that beats says it loud,

like a little girl whose riddle was unwound,

i found my treasure, my life in you,

richer than haven, pious than morning dew,

you came like a rainbow, shielded miles of my sky,

when i missed my steps, you filled in, camouflaged the stage with your entice,

today, i slip, i stand,

yet you withstand,

you hold mountains of love in your hand,

when even slips away from my hand a grain of sand,

i know when we are done with life, and bid good bye,

we would but still be living, our love would be the alibi.

pic courtesty : http://www.claudiampublications.com/TheCards/CardReflection.shtml

find no love, feel it!

2010-08-19T02:34:00.000+05:30

i have been here eons before.
here my heart was brought to the fore.

the hearts met, promises were made
i discovered myself under his shade.

then he said, you are mine.
lets undress, lets unwind

we then rolled over the hay,
i felt divine, like night shone over day.

my lips met his,
it was bliss.

he said,
the words in bed.

one by one we turned around, and our virgin joys were spayed,
suddenly under the brazen coldness of heated day,

we started the end
with pretense.

then i realized i was devoid,
null and void.

my silence was lost in the world so quiet,
i found my shadows disappear under the light.

never could again,
feel love flowing in the same vein.

full of ifs and buts.
i turned a slut

the world loves a lover, until he is ditched.
life is a crazy witch

the world teased my fears,
while i fleeced my tears

until my eyes were dry,
and i couldn’t cry.

i saw no hope, in the world so dark
shared my bed with many, just to spot the spark.

then one day, star shone bright.
to the web of someone, i clung tight.

i thought id never say it again,
but said the words from my heart so inane.

i hung on to the phone, and smiled away,
with speechless eyes hollered yay!

you made me blush, but left in rush,
with no sound, he left my mind unsound

i remember the day, i wanted to die.
now, i want my life to fly.

i was once a wingless bird.
i have now found new wings; want to flaunt them to the world.

i want to fly away in the virgin sky,
now, today i want to live, id choose another day to die.

now i no more have to find love, i just have to feel it.

i’m loving it, living it … within me.

the due dew

2010-08-17T14:10:00.001+05:30

that was an other day

when my life was swept away.

off the shore i almost sunk,

battered with one lung.

... and then again, another day,

the wind chimed in my way.

over the shore in pristine blue,

mirroring the sky was a lone droplet of dew.

in heat in despair,

the dew with no care.

before the dew could die,

...the waves could eat and the sun could dry.

...came a whiff of wind,

with me within!

i quenched my thirst,

now dew, you are in my heart and blood,

you run within me.

in me.

sometime back, i was old

2010-08-11T19:48:00.001+05:30

When we met the other day,
the day was young in her own way.

Our paths crossed, our battered lives met.
We chatted long about the promises of our lives that were not kept.

We cribbed and cried about our pasts that we couldn’t change.
About the entire transient tomorrows that were without a name.

We shared our joys; we shared our fears,
Spoke of what we loved and what we wish we neared…

I don’t know what we can, or if we can give our relationship a name.
But ever since I have met you, life for me has not been the same.

Those notes, those anecdotes,
those train rides.
That little blush,
the car drives,
the coffee date with you mate.

They say age is a matter of the mind.
May be they just are trying to be kind.

I am graying old, with still no hand to hold
with just tales of pain and a story of frozen love to be told.

As we move on, many lives we might touch,
and many may be loved

you are a young man now,
with a story untold.
i am older,
yet waiting for my life to unfold

I wonder if it is the right time to add,
a chapter in my life…

It would be wonderful, if we are single when years later, we meet again.
And if we still have years left in our lives.

I’d like to confess, (I know this comes out of the blue)
but before you go, I wish you know, “I’d love to grow … young with you”.

...setting a trail

2010-08-04T18:27:00.001+05:30

you know how it feels when your most dreamt dream is realized. you don’t know. you will never know how i feel when i feel what i feel. this is different. this is special. this is me. while others enjoy their joy of taking spree, i am here silently and profusely experiencing the orgasms of joy of believing. a dream that we believed in. a thought that was like a wingless bird, today flies high in the zenith of the sky.

all across, from india to new york, “Amen” travels and leaves a trail of posterity. this one is not a film, it is a design that decodes and untangles the webs of togetherness, of pain, of conviction… conviction to believe in what we thought, and for what we fought. against all odds and ghastly winds, to finally deliver this baby with a flight of her own... now she devices her path. her own path.

“Amen”, you lead, we follow.

“Amen” visits engendered film festival, new york.

*image courtesy : our google chacha

Love The Man In The Mirror

2010-07-30T00:44:00.002+05:30

I’d bare my body, to clothe your soul.

I’d die this moment, to live a whole.

I’d create sound to give waves to the quiet.

Id give up peace of the complacency, just for the unsettling mindless riot.

I’d fly away with half grown wings….

I’d dance on the moon and over the sun sing..

I am in love I feel.

A special kind of feeling this is.

I expect none, seek nothing in return.

Loving is not a favour, it is my instinct… and my being…

Im sure your mind will dance to someone’s rhythm, feel someone’s pulse.

And I love you so much that, I’d love everything that loves you..

Irrespective of whether our roads meet on a highway..

From the truth, I cant shy away.

It is true, I love you…

But!

How can I expect the same from you,

When I love you, your share too?

image courtesy : http://www.beautiful-landscape.com/Print-of-the-month-39.html

Mock Your Fears! … Tere Bin Laden

2010-07-19T19:24:00.002+05:30

It was a lazy Sunday. I had a terrible headache. my plans to hangout with a friend and watch inception fizzled off. And I wanted to see a film. So desperately to see a film. My options were many – Lamhaa, Tere Bin Laden, Inception, Sorcerer's Apprentice, Udaan (Khatta Meeta is off my list). I dint want to sit in the theater with a headache and analyze whats happening in people's minds or what a youth goes through or why Kashmir is burning… I wanted to have a chilled out time… with a total popcorn flick. And thus "Tere Bin Laden" (TBL).

The film is a total entertainer. I hate to "analyze" fun films. Yet I would like to state that TBL is a has a strong message sent out very subtly and in a comic way. The plot is scatterbrainy, the film is a total nonsense… but that's the very essence of the film.

Fear is an emotion, I wish we could we could make a joke of. And this film just does that. The film speaks of the terror phobia post 9-11 and the real desperate methods that both countries deploy to trap Osama Bin Laden.

The film opens with a desperate Pakistani reporter, who wants to make it big in Amreeka. This is post 9/11. There are moments in the film that are so fragile, that just flimsy slip and the film is doomed. Moments like, when the main protagonist – Ali , is seen rehearsing on his handy cam – about the perfect way to speak "Muslim" in American accent. He settles for "MOZZLIM" as the Americans pronounce. It makes a mockery of phobia and racism by showing Ali being arrested for just holding a butter knife in his hand. Guess what… the brutal torture that suspects are subjected too is shown as a song – ULLU DA PATTA. Now, you can imagine, how tiny is the rope that the film balances itself on. But it not only manages the acrobat, it also manages some somersaults on the tight rope. After a series of events, in a wonderfully scripted plot, the reporter spots a man who looks like Osama. And he thinks of making a video with the fake Osama and selling it to a channel for a big quick buck. And he succeeds. Who join him in the coy ploy plot?

A sexxaad makeup artist (who leaves osama awe struck with her vital stats)
A round bottomed cameraman
An lackluster radio jock
The cock raiser (no pun!) – Osama Lookalike – the adorable hero of the film.

And many more mad people…

The film is difficult to describe scene by scene, as it is an experience by itself. The film touches on issues like animal empathy, Racism, Bombing of Afghanistan and of course terror… without spelling it out. It is all done in the passing and in a light hearted manner that you take home the message without being obvious or force-fed.

Though I love serious films. Much that, I am associated with I AM Abhimanyu and Amen, I should admit that cool comic ways of telling gory tales the best way to communicate a strong message to the masses. And this film achieves that effortlessly.

Performances are avant-garde. Ali Zafar as the America-lover is sexy… (Pak guys are super hot). Just that his face looks as if it was smashed on the elevator door. The radio jock is fantastic. Barry John as the dimwit American stands up to the standards of the acting academy that he runs in real life. The make up artist (don't know her name) is perfect. And the taste-the-thunder is Noor – the fake Osama. He is just adorable – take home show mom.

The music is forgettable, but who cares, it fits in the film like hand in glove. We get to peep into Pakistan, which is not very different from what we saw in delhi6.

This film is set in Pakistan, and produced by India. Hats off to the shetty sisters and sharan kapoor for their conviction and trust in the director – abhishek Sharma. This film could have slipped to being crass even
if it missed the point by a whisker. For the producers to have faith in this script and to stand by the director is a great gesture.

A brave film. A fun film. A nice film. Go Watch It! Just leave your analytical brains at home…

Truth is the stranger, not fiction.

2010-06-17T20:32:00.002+05:30

My article published in the eZine – Pink Pages read it here : http://bit.ly/ppag11

He was handsome. Nice. Good looking. He flaunted his dimple, looked rich. He was appeasing and pleasing; he left my hormones bumping and heart pumping. I met him at the loo. A public loo. A place not so sacrosanct for meeting someone for the first time, I know. I found him handsome, and his eyes said that the feeling was mutual. Time was fleeting, every second seemed an hour. I wanted my body to collide with his. Feel his lips with mine. But I had no time. I had my mother waiting for me home. And before I could make the move and give him "those" looks… my ringtone broke the monotony. It was my mom; she was screeching "dinner is set, where the hell you are". I softly replied "on my way", she hanged the phone and my fate hanged in misbalance of thoughts. My mind was back in the drain. It was a feeling insane. And before I could gather all my thoughts, he moved behind the urinal and flashed his willy. I got scared, my face charred, and my fright was on my face bare. I rushed out of the unholy place. I was horny, but I wasn't willing to "do it" with a stranger. An absolute stranger.

He followed me. I got into a different building to deceive him. After around 5 minutes I got down the strange building and headed home. And yippee, finally I breathe a sigh of relief, now that the drama has ended. I joyously hip-hopped to my home, played with my dog. I stood at my balcony to feel the wind. And aghast I was. He stood there, smiling and winking at me. I wasn't out-n-about then. I was scared now that I was busted. He stood there giving me signals for a while and later vanished into the oblivion.

Days passed, I never saw him again. Eons later, I again went to the same loo with no other intention other than emptying my bladder. As I was about to leave, I found the same stranger. This time, he had a smile that said much more than what it did before. I was also not that petrified. He followed me out and as I walked briskly, he walked beside me. I tried ignoring him, as his hands collided with mine while walking. Suddenly, he firmly held my hand. I looked at him with a smirk. He asked- "jagaah hai mere paas, paas mein hi hai" (I have place, it is close by) I replied "abhi nahi" (not now). He insisted and I kept refusing. Suddenly, he pulled my hand and took me to the water tank of a building. As we reached there, he unzipped and popped out his penis and asked me to blow him. I tried running away. He requested me to hold his penis. I obliged. And hell broke as I touched his penis. He slapped me real hard. He screamt "saala Matherc!@d, Gud… mooh mein lega, har!@mi. police ko bataoo kyaa?" (Mother fuc@#$, faggot, U will blow??, bastar!, should I report to the police). I was petrified. And as I was speaking to him, there were a policeman passed by giving at the stranger the "I know you" look. The stranger still had his penis visible. Though his backside was facing the policeman. The stranger slapped me multiple times, and demanded a blow. I was scared. He scanned my wallet and took even the change I had. Luckily, I wasn't wearing my gold chain or though I lost my watch. After money and pleasure, he left me. I ran home and told mom that I was robbed. Ofcourse, I was too scared and too much in the closet to tell her the gory details. My father launched a police complaint. But as expected nothing happened. I was scared to travel alone for a long long time. I changed my route, and my mode of transport. It took me many many years to wake up

Later, many years later, I heard several similar stories from my friends. Many with gory outcomes. Newspapers in Mumbai had reported the murder of a BARC scientist, and though not proven, they suspected gay extortion to be a reason. Similarly there has been a similar case in lokhandwala, Mumbai that I have heard of. And many many such incidences have happened with my gay friends. They have been mugged and molested, but what's most scary is the fact that this incidence has silenced their confidence and they now trust no body. One of them, was deep in the closet, and contemplated suicide. It took several discussions and meetings with other gay men to actually get him to regain his feet.

It is important to be cautious, at 30ish now; it'd be blatant white lie if I'd say that I have not had flings. But anytime that I am out on an aphrodisiacal expedition, I ensure that at least one friend of mine is in the know of my whereabouts. And of course, I don't carry much cash, no credit/debit cards and no costly ornaments.

It is important, so that we are a strong community with many friends so that we can fall back on someone or the other for help. And yeah, it is important that we speak up and if we can, report such cases.

And Now, A Film On This Issue

A positive step forward, is a film that's coming up. Onir's film "I AM" is an ensemble of 4 stories knitted together with the common thread of fear. Of these 4 stories, "I AM OMAR" uncovers the nexus between the police and male commercial sex workers. Played by the talented Arjun Mathur and Rahul Bose, this film should be added to your must-watch list. The latest update from Onir is that "I AM" would be releasing sometime in the month of July-August 2010.

You wish to do something about this issue, silently? well, you could also be a part of this film which truly intends to make a difference. I AM is a crowd-sourced film. Onir invites you to "co-own" the film by contributing as less as Rs. 1000. The film already has some 400 co owners and producers spread across countries and continents. Details of the same could be sought at www.iamthefilms.com

Rajneeti - an orgasm gone awry

2010-06-16T16:18:00.003+05:30

this is adults only. Dont read. if you are below 18. Or if you are one of those who cant take things in a lighter vein and are quick to judge... Dont read further.

Dildo bachha hai ji. (my title for a tribute to the national award winning arjun ramphal)

this film speaks volumes about petty men and pretty women. o! before i do cheer-faad of the story and rape it completely. let me get you introduced to the star cast.

smooch kumari (aka kunti.. played by someone)
slug (smooch's hubby)
dukhi raja (smoochy's papa)
chaggan naath (nanapatekar the man behind all the shadyantra, he is smoochy's brother... why chaggannaath?? you need to complete the sentence – apna haath.... and rhyme the word )
gochu (played by naseer)
dildo – (arjun rampal – son of slug and smooch. what character of mahabharat does he play??)
just one shot - ( younger bro of dildo. – played by current maal-gaadi ranbir – he just has one sex scene in the film – thats his power – just one shot)
ipill ( dukhi's another grand son, dildo and just-one-shot's cousin. he is called ipill because, he is useless )
slutty savi3 (a sex bimbo.. .god knows her name????)
dohpati (katrina almost has 2 pati's so how can she be called "panchaali")
choosela aam (aka karan played by ajay devgan oops.... devgn it should be. he looks like a choosela aam)
sexy soozie (some chikni chokri from italy)

the film begins on a high note there is commotion, drama and a hazaar people at an election rally. some silly political party is screeching on the microphone. it is a campaign for promoting dukhi raja. gochu (naseer) belongs to some dalit party and he raises many brows when he openly protests and takes on the stage. as he speaks the microphone is switched off. but his determination is bang on. he manages to scare away the political party ka big boss – dukhi raja.

gochu has already won the heart of dukhi raja's daughter- smooch kumari. one day, smooch kumari enters greying gochu's hamlet, and starts playing with the droplets of rain. a worried gochu hurriedly pulls her hand as he doesn't like her wet. she might catch cold you see. as his body touches hers, her heart goes bumping and her hormones pumping. she catches the oldie gochus head and pulls his lips close to hers. her lips touch his, his tongue goes in. and they do the sin. morning morning whilst she lay on the bed, sleeping nangi , gochu writes a letter in which he says that he is sorry for all that happened... he just flowed with his jasbaat and all that crap. the dukhi putri is upset. and guess what, she forgot to pop a pill. (that often happens when it is the maamla of the dil). she is preggy. and within seconds, her tummy develops, and she squeals of labour pain. and comes out the baby – the rightful yuvraj of dukhi raja. but suddenly, smooch kumari's brother chaggannath comes in the frame, takes the baby and drops it in a basket, wrapped in a red stroll> the merciless man sets the basket out in the river. the child reaches a poor family. (does it ring a bell.. aiyyo aiyyo aiyoo)

now, years later, the film shows smooch kumari married with another man. (now he isn't important enough to mention, lets call him "slug" ) okay, so smooch kumari's husband is mr. slug. smooch and slug have 2 sons dildo (arjun) and just-one-shot (ranbir). dildo is the heir of the political empire, he thinks so, but he has some tough competition. the competitor – ipill bajpayee (dukhi raja's other grandson, and dildo's cousin). this is the background of the fight. (you may feel free to label one as pandav and one as kaurav. which one... you decide)

now the grand dad – dukhi raja is in his death bed. he calls in his sons and grandsons, and gives the right of being the next chief minister to son-in-law – slug. now thats not something that ipill bajpayee will take lying down. he is red with anger. he teams up with dalit leader – choosela aam (devgn) (this after a series of shadyantras which is hilarious to watch and difficult to pen). now choosela aam is the real prankster, he decides to get mr. slug killed. he succeeds. slug is killed and poor smooch kumari now wears a white saree.

now, the grand dad dukhi gives the rein of the political empire in dildo's hands. but you know... dildo paagal hai, dildo deewana hai. there is one party worker who wants a seat – she is slutty savi3. she walks in a room full of ministers, and drops her pallu. dildo is excited and asks others t o leave the room hallu hallu. they go and he comes. he cant wash it off that easily. not that he had protein stains like how bill did. but he lands in a big locha. slutty alleges rape. and poor dildo is arrested. and it is advantage ipill. (sob sob)

now comes to the fore – just-one-shot (ranbir). he confirms to ipill that he and dildo will flee to america if the charges are dropped. ipill falls into the trap, and ends up losing his throne. he loses his cool on his co-party-chief choosela aam. but they buck up with the devoted slutty by their side. they do some ghapla, and get expelled from the party. but while they rejoice, even "just-one-shot" is rejoicing, as this was his masterplan. he floated his own party.

the new party of justoneshot and dildo doesn't have any money. there is this one girl who is madly in love with just-one-shot from bachpan. her father is a wealthy man. but insists that he will get his daughter "dohpati" (kat) married only to the next chief minister. just-one-shot gives her up, and like a football she is kicked seedha on the older brother dildo's lap. dildo and she don't consummate the marriage. not as yet at the suhaag raat.

now the family gets funded with the money of dohpati's pop. suddenly ipill vanishes. and dildo flourishes. but dildo is again toppled down by a vilify campaign against him by ipill and group.

now enter sexy suzie, who is just-one-shot 's old girlfriend. as she comes in, there is jealousy brewing in the eyes of dohpati. now while domestically, the temperatures are soaring high. politically, just-one-shot decides to topple ipills empire. there was one guy who spoke against the dildo empire, and declared it corrupt. he is in the council of ministers of ipills' empire. he is gay. and has sexual encounters with masseurs, his photo is clicked in "those" moments, his masseur is killed and he is blackmailed. a few frames further, he unravels the picture, and proclaims on tv that ipill is corrupt. before he switches back, he is killed by just-one-shot.

now how could ipill be quiet. choosela aam, strategizes to get just-one-shot or dildo killed. plants a bomb on his vehicle. parallelly, just-one-shot helps sexy suzzie bathe under the shower. and he smooches her, and does naughty things. you know those things. just as to-be-mother-in-law smooch kumari, this babe from italy gets preggy. but soon decides to flee to her country as her beau has changed. she realizes that he has not only killed one person (the homosexual minister) but has also got his men drag slutty to some place for "revenge".

she packs her bags and sets off to leave. as she touches the car, the car blasts. and as her beau watches, dildo who again has just lost his virginity to his wife dohpati dies trying to save his missed-bhabhi... (confusing??? i love it)

now chaggannath, goes to kill "choosela aam". our-of-the-blue for no apparent reason- choosela aam's parents reveal that choosela aam is not their son (heinnn... why????) they bring out the red cloth, which is as durable and shining as it was after so many years. chagannnath gets emotional, realizes he is his nephew and leaves him. he comes back and tells his sister smooch kumari... "woh tumhaara beta hai". saddened smooch, wastes no time in meeting "choosela aam". she tells him "tum toh mere jyesht putra ho. yeh raj toh tumhari hai." (most hilarious line of the film... you should not miss this one) naturally, choosela declines the offer.

finally, some drama cinema happens, (not important)and choosela is shot dead by his step brother (or half brother... ???) just-one-shot. meanwhile, dohpati becomes chief ministerni. woman power!

story ends. and the are credits and a song with music chorried (say inspired if you please) from vande mataram.

this is a film you should not miss. just that you should think that it is a comedy and not a tragedy film.

The Null And The Void.

2010-06-10T21:34:00.000+05:30

There are too many sad things and that too soon. Life is taking a melancholic turn, fear looms as it seems we get closer to doom. Just look at the way things have regressed. A plane falls up a hill one day, the next day, we hear is that the murderer of 30,000 plus people walks free… hearty and hail, out of the jail.

Funny is our judicial system, and funnier is our psyche. We forget too fast. Remember only dates. Twenty six eleven, seven eleven, and yaah, how can I forget twenty six seven. Sometimes I wonder what's rifer; the shame of the rifle or oxygen denied a refill. The point I am making is that we live in lives so null and void. Our today is not in search of a better tomorrow, but a prayer of not being denied and devoid of a tomorrow… so ominous a feeling of falling beyond repair.

Most of the wounds on humans are inflicted by excited humans. Excited by greed, excited by lust, or excited by insanity. The Bhopal gas tragedy is a result of human greed inciting nature’s fury. Union carbide leaked the gas, and left nature chocked forever. The ones who managed to inhale were welcomed to haven. The ones who exhaled lived in dearth on earth. Some were blinded, the gene pool is left mutated… the signs of this once-upon-a-time leak, cant be just unjustly associate with a date. Come on people, lets move beyond this chronological classification. What has happed has not just left us zapped, but has left a insolvable blot on humanity. This cannot be wiped, or dated. What's abysmal a failure is not that so many died, or so many lived. The failure as humans is when we let the culprits off hook, frisking away to their country so easily. After some 20 odd years, the families of the affected have been given some compensation which is reportedly a joke, and the bigger joke is that the one whose negligence and greed gassed around 30,000 people was awarded a mere 2 year sentence, and almost then-and-there we left on bail. What a shame. Kasab was also indoctrinated, these guys were sanely insane. UC deserved to not just be fucked off but also royally fucked for the sinister crimes they committed. But we left them flee as if it were a fly they killed. Pity. Pity…

On a complete tangent, Sri Sri Ravishankar (love the branding- Sri Sri… double god? Demigod??? ), of Art of Living was supposedly attacked. There was huge drama an hungama over it later to realize that the bullet was aimed at stray dogs. And then the enquiry was stalled. I wonder how, firing a bullet on a dog is “okay” for Art of Living bhakhtjans. I never believe in these god men. I see god in goodness. I know not much about Sri Sri Ravishankar except that he has the sexy Rhea Pillai as a follower who is completely mantra mughdh about his art of living. Art of Living is a course, cleverly disguised as a discourse. There is a fee to attend the art of living, and I have heard that this money is used for charity. I wonder wonder though, with no specific reference to Sri Sri how do god men get to travel all across the world? I mean, where does the money come from? Does god make currency notes, and smuggle them to god men?

I don’t have an opinion against Sri Sri, but rightly put by Shobhaa De, “A Guru is known by the followers he or she attracts”. Shobhaa De was attacked for her view about “Sri Sri” it dint go down well by his followers, which is okay. What's not okay are the comments. Read it for yourself.

http://shobhaade.blogspot.com/2010/06/raajneeti-rocks-i-loved-it.html

Now, I have an opinion against Sri Sri. If this is how Sri Sri followers attack people, then god alone knows what is being taught at art of living. Funny. If these are god men, then yes, gods must be crazy.

The heat is on!

2010-05-25T17:48:00.002+05:30

The heat is on, literally and metaphorically. The Moaists are in attack mode, and Chidds is in the witness box. The case is up for hearing, the case is on. Undoubtedly, this is the Indie Taliban, and has the ability to be brutal and barbaric in ways that we can’t even imagine. Guess these days, insanity seems to be the flavour season, and insaniyaat be damned. These fanatics have killed more people than Kasab. And in more barbaric ways. I feel, they have gone beyond the “let’s sit and talk” phase. Talk what, and why? Are we planning to reason with them? Can there be any reason to justify their attitude? Chidds acts tough; it’s the need of the hour. Matter not, if there is a circus at parliament over accusations about Chidambaram’s carelessness. The session will get adjourned. But then again, what’s new in that. Anyways, Chidds is known to take criticism on his stride from both Gharwale and Baharwale. He is a big boy, so no silly grunts and no public vents from him. My concerns are different, more than anything else, I am bothered his mundu and kanji dipped white shirt, id be shattered if I spot some daag or crease in those. Till then brand “chidds” – Jiyooh!

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Aiyyo. This is too much of silliness to handle. Khaap ka Shaap is Khuda-ki-Awaaz or what? Sure, the science of Gotra could be justified by genetic maps. And it is school boy knowledge that more the variety of genes, the better is the progeny. But wonder if over generations, there has been a complete bhelpuri of genes anyway. I am born to same gotra parents. I am well and unwell, like any other friend of mine. Thank god my parents dint hail from Haryana. Else I wouldn’t be here writing this article. Nothing can justify Manoj- Babli’s murder. Nothing at all. Thought the act is beyond debate, until Navin Jindal offered to take their voice to the Honorable house. How a well educated man can be the Khaap’s voice, I thought. But then it struck me, yeh politics hai yaar. First become god sent messenger, massage egos and win confidence, then come back saying – I understand, I tried, I failed. We call it the Vote-Bank politics.

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Also, today is a reason to rejoice that Rathore, the guy behind Ruchika's molestation, is convicted. Really? he has been giving a sentence of 18 months. It makes me wonder if he has molested a girl or chorried a watch.

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Crazy kiyaa re. Cannes has a lot of Indian flavor to it this time. The Ravan crew - Bahu and Baby Bachchan were at their enigmatic best. But the show stealer was the gorgeous wife of Mani Ratnam. (She doesn’t need to be referred by her husband’s name. She is quite a celebrity herself with a national award in her kitty and Kamal Hasan in her genes) She is graceful, poised, simple and elegant. Wonderful to note that our aaj ka Devdas maker – Anurag Kashyap was also there and so was “anything for the camera” – Mallika Sherawat. She landed with a real saap around her neck. “Tuff” job! What she thinks? She will create hissssstory? Well sweets, love your confidence… try try and try, but Sridevi of Nagina can never be replaced. Never Ever!

Kasab : The Martyr?

2010-05-04T21:54:00.005+05:30

Have been going in out studios since the past few days regarding the Kasab verdict. The soulless sole survivor captured. I had a stimulating radio interview with BBC. I was pushed into a spiced up discussion about terrorists' hero Kasab. The anchor was very spirited and well informed, and more importantly – not opinionated. I loved the format of the show- with callers patched in the discussion… making it truly real-time.

The main viewpoint of discussion was "Execution or Life Sentence". In my response I said –

"I personally am not for death penalty unless it is the only option. If there was even an iota of hope that such hardened criminals could be "reformed". I would stand for their rehab. But in this case, given the alarming Thoughts of people world over asking for nothing less than the harshest penalty, I am sure no one has the patience or the intent to show any leniency towards him. And also, Kasab has shown signs of remorse and regret. What he regrets is that he was a wee bit late at CST, he was really upset that because of his late coming he lost the opportunity to gun a few more. So now the question is… could we explore a Gandhian stance and be patient with him, despite his wild nature" .

This foreword by me kick started a spirited debate and discussion. There were many views; here are some of the thoughts that I found worth mentioning, within and beyond this radio chat.

Thought: "if Kasab would be hanged he would be seen as a martyr by his tribe. So let him live for life".

Reaction: Yes. He would be seen as a martyr by his tribe. Now, do their thoughts matter to us so much. That just to prove that he is not a martyr we spend a colossal amount in keeping him alive. Anyways, tax payers wouldn't want their money to be used for securing a terrorist. And when I say this I echo the sentiments of the many in my hugely and variedly populous country.

Thought: "Everything is mediated from the Pakistan Soil. Let's wage a war against Pakistan"

Reaction: Yes, the nation should take steps. But sometimes we need to look beyond empathetically. Pakistan is a nation still reeling from terror. Whilst we demand real answers from Pakistan, we should not forget that there are some lovely human beings in Pakistan too. We can condemn policies, we can persistently insist on answers and action against terrorists. But it isn't civilized that we think of waging a war against Pakistan. War is no solution. No matter who is right, war will ensure that nothing is left… in humanity.

Thought: "For Kasab this is jihad"

Reaction: It is very easy to take religion and validate your viewpoint no matter what it is. There are always two ways of looking at things, and one would look at it only the way he is comfortable the most.
Not only jihad, people could sit here and argue and counter the argument about issues like any issue by quoting religious texts and proving it is right to be wrong… and inversely. According to me "Religion is not prescribed; it is open for interpretation and is interpreted in a way that suits us best".

Thought: "India is a very humane nation. They wouldn't execute people"

Reaction: "Rubbish." We might have a culture of being compassionate but that doesn't deter us from taking a tough stand if need be. Yes we wouldn't execute people like we chop onions and tomatoes or lash up criminals… inhumanely, but our judicial system does give every criminal a fair trial. And post the trial if the accused is found guilty, and if the law of the land says "execution" so will it be. Irrespective of what we think.

Thought: "For his handlers Kasab was just a pawn, a small solider"

Reaction: "of course". Kasab is a pawn, so do we let him spawn terror or set him loose, or have an sympathetic Thought to him as he is just a small fish in a big pond?.

Thought: "Killing is never the answer"

Reaction: Yes, it is never justified to kill somebody in an ideal world. How I wish we lived in an Ideal world though.

And yes, just in case of a war, no matter who wins, humanity loses.

Thought: "Life imprisonment for Kasab because killing is uncivilized. We should let him live the rest of his life in a jail for that's the only "punishment" "

Reaction: Define Punishment to hardened cold-blooded criminals like Kasab? Would "punishment" to him be civilized in any way? In fact, it would be humane to not have him.

Thought: "We should hang Kasab in public view or stone him to death"

Reaction: Viewing and participating gory acts of killing, be it killing a goat or a chicken or a human leaves a dent in our memories. It shakes the conscience, and makes us numb. I am not saying this, human psychology says. Read up before suggesting such stupid recommendations. Kill the "Kasab like thought" that dwells in your mind first.

Thought: "we are a gandhian nation"

Reaction: Wow! So all Indians are vegetarian? Wear just khadi?

Well… I don't know about Kasab… but Brand Gandhi is a pawn. Definitely.

Thought: The victims will find reprieve and a sense of closure if Kasab is hanged.

Reaction: Well, may be! But temporary.

And to sum it all… this quirky reaction …

Q) Let's say "execution" is not an option. Your punishment to Kasab then will be…?

Reaction: He should be given the job of an underpaid motorman in a Mumbai local. And should be asked to say "STRIKE" at peak hour openly that all commuters can hear.
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UPDATE On May 06 : Kasab gets death sentence.

I dont feel happy that a 20 something guy is dying, dont mistake it for sympathy. Just that it is not a nice feeling. Though it is not safe to keep him living. And it is cruel and inhumane to him too.

You Are My ShoNia

2010-04-06T20:18:00.014+05:30

They always skirt important issues...

.. it all started with her flying skirt, then her dates, and now her life mate.

I usually don’t engage in media bashing. As I am very unfashionable, but this time, dimaag ko shot happened.

The Hyderabadi Biryani has been seen as a mere masala by the digghaj's in the media. The way she laments on TV, it is not difficult to presume that she soon might become the Princess Diana of Indian sports.

Everything she does becomes a headline. Whom she courts, concerns us more than, how she plays on the court. We stand in the stands, left with nothing to understand.

I dont know why the media want to play the real villain in this Veer-Zaara love story.

And the engendered tigers have also roared… They are singing " you are my... you are my... you are my SHO-NIA"... Wish they did spend some time and efforts and raised their voice for the Pune girl. who was raped with the same vengeance. But khair, rape and rapists are non issues. The Sho-Nia love story is where th real meat is.

TOI has become a ghanchakker running behind stories of people’s chakkars. They are fast becoming yesteryears Mid-Day- minus the mate, but with stories of Dates.

Whether Shoaib had hallu hallu "hello hello" nikaah... or did Ayesha dupe her by actually showing someone elses pics.. who cares. Ayesha ulf Maha should just stop churaooing plots from bollywood films... (remember The Angry Chetan ka Chetna)

.

And about Shohaib. What a loss to the Indian media

The Indian Tiger Wood… is not even Indian. Shame Shame.

Love Letter to the CEO of Bombay Gymkhana

2010-04-05T12:10:00.003+05:30

(reposted from Gaysifamily)

My darling CEO,

I read about your heroic act of shooing away Laxmi Narayan Tripathi from Bombay Gymkhana. Wow!

Ever since that time, I have been thinking of you in ecstasy. You have conquered my dreams. My Sapno ka Rajkumar. I can visualize you as a maharaja, riding a white stallion, with a battalion of members of Bombay Gymkhana as your subjects behind you, who support and love you so much, screaming ‘Hail CEO!’

Your subjects, I know, would not ask you to step down as CEO for discriminating. No matter what they say in TV and print, they love you as their CEO. And what wrong have you done? NOTHING! You have just thrown out a transgender. And come on! that’s a superhuman deed.

To me you are a symbol of strength. Laxmi is an international name and is an inspiration for many. People who attended her TEDX workshop loved her talk and championed her cause.

Rubbish!

These people who speak in favor of Laxmi are foolish. Aren’t they? If you don’t like somebody entering YOUR gymkhana, you should not have that person loitering around there. You are right. Always right.

And CEOji I am simply in awe of the way you exercised your power to bulldoze. The sentiments of so many who are fighting for equal rights in our country. No one should have equal rights, should they? According to you, a discriminating society ruled by those who encompass the majority is how it should be. Full stop!

I know exactly how you might feel about these petite people from the media who glorify Laxmi and lambast you. Retaliate, I say! In fact, call the Indian Press and Media “jingoistic”, “looking for masala”, “playing to the gallery”, etcetera, etcetera. You will be seen more fashionable then. A little tadka of fame in your already colorful personality, does no harm na! It will put you in the same league as many other bigwigs.

I’d love to see you in that position.

Finally, Mr. CEO, it must be evident to you, so needless to say – how much I love you. Since you love throwing people out can I ask you out?

Lovingly yours,

Aham

(Backgrounder : Laxmi, A transgender is an active voice for equal rights. She was invited by TEDx as a speaker. The TEDx party was at Bombay Gymkhana, and the gymkhana CEO shooed Laxmi away. This love letter is in response to this incident)

Read the HT article here: Shame on club!

Censor Kills Dibakar Banerjee

2010-03-22T21:07:00.003+05:30

Fultu Time Pass and no Bakwass... right from the word go till the anti climax you sit glued to your seat and watch the funny feats of the human mind…. This film speaks volumes about the “peeping tom” nature that many of us are proudly endowed with. The film is full of human toys and splendid ploys, both complementing each other like ball and socket. Knit together are “joie de vivre” kinds moments and melancholic tides... that follow each other in succession. Never a dull-lull moment.

The film showcases 3 exhibitionistic stories. And portrays us as what we are… Voyeurs. The lives of others excite us the most. Chasms and Orgasms... the film has several slices of these. It has some interesting “everyday” lingo. Is it cheap? Yes. Do we use it everyday. OHH YES!

The first one is a tribute to the evergreen raj and simran of DDLJ and a once upon a time phenomenon and a one film wonder called “Aditya Chopra”. A tribute as in… really a tribute. A film institute student is remaking DDLJ as a part of his graduation film project. The film making process cannot be explained. The script is so full of events… you will have to see it to experience it. After a series of events… the film director falls in love with the leading lady and gets married to her. Baaki ka stuff.. watch in the film..

The second story is the store scandal. An MMS kaand that happens every now and then. (I have seen such lewd MMS’s especially in phones of people who give me a lecture on morality). After a series of drama and hungaama. Twists and turns. The store manager takes the store sales girl into confidence and shoots her by deceiving her on the spy camera. And that video is circulated for paisa vasool entertainment across channels and phones.

The third story is of a music director who lures girls to have fun with him by promising them a chance in his music video. The girl meets a TV channel guy whose specialty is sting operations. They together get a music director caught in the net. And then again a drama and hungaama follows. Again, something that you will have to experience.

Now the big question. , how and where did the censor screw up. They did, with their myopic attitude. It sucks. They chopped off the very essence of the film. It’s like being handcuffed and all lone and on a heavy dose of Viagra… that way… So much so that one moves out of the theater with a word of appreciation, but does sense “that something special” was missing. That something special is the thing that would instigate him to drive back to the theater again and again to watch the same film… that special something is missing. And the censors have to be blamed for this missing ingredient. He reality in the film is seen fake. Though the censor dint shy to show man slaughter in the film, that’s far more gory and unessential (in the DDLJ story). They have reacted absurdly to the butt nude scene which was so integral to the film. Anyways, the film has an A certificate. It is adults who are watching it.

Am I this young blood who believes in no restriction… at all??? No. I do believe that one needs to do away with the censors.

Though I opine strongly against bloody violence.. That’s quite becoming a quotidian with every other film showcasing it as a norm and walking away with a U certificate in many cases. The word “Madhar Ch!d” is now commonplace in films. I take serious offence to the word mentioned. And that’s okay to pass off with a U or a U/A certificate??? And animal cruelty in the name of children films is a big no no. haven’t we seen horses falling in jodha akbar...? and horses falling in so many films… All that is okay??? But sex that’s an integral part of a film is not. And come on, when you have an adult certificate, and adults are watching the film. It should be okay for us to see a bare butt or a kissing scene or whatever should be okay for us to see. We are old enough people with controllable progesterone and testosterones levels.

Come on Censors, get treated, stop PMSing over and over again. Grow up. You killed the soul of LSD. And killed Dibakar Bannerjees piece of art.

Official Spaces: Website: You Tube:

The Noise Of Silence

2010-03-21T19:31:00.000+05:30

this film by avani is a classic. do share it with as many people that you can.

How Much More Can We Divide India?

2010-03-09T18:39:00.007+05:30

One India One People

View more documents from hiyer.

OneIndia One People is an international magazine. Thank you Rajlakshmi for publishing my views unedited.

United we stand divided we fall! A dictum long forgotten in our tryst with history. There was a time when we were one, and together we won, but today we are bruised and battered. We are chopped into pieces in an effort to uphold peace. I am referring to the “request for smaller states” issue that has been in the headlines for quite some time. An issue so very pertinent, it well means the revamp of geography textbooks of school children, and an identity changed forever. I feel against the boundaries that we draw within, I wonder how beautiful would the world be with no lines, but just with landmarks.

Am I against the students of Osmania University and their concerns? NO. The concerns are genuine, though I have my own concerns about fragmentation of our country. I don’t see it as a solution to any problem. But it does satiate ones thirst for power. It does set a dreadful ominous trend. A siren for most fake whistle blowers of humanity and empathy who leave no stone unturned in grasping with a firm grip - the whip of power politics. The manipulative scheming schemes to disintegrate and divide are the ultimate display of dismay. What one achieves with these new boundaries, I think. Does it help governance? I think not. Given the topography of various places in India and the interdependence between states even in terms of basic necessities, I strongly opine that interstate Octroi and other costs could be widely avoided by this. In addition to this, we are well aware of the fact that politics is no habitat of sacred cows. These small states that would be formed could well vanish into the oblivion with a minuscule representation in the center.

The concern of mine, is genuine, I champion the need to speak up for their various causes. But I step back and wonder if the voices and issues that concerns of the small states will go unheard by the overriding voices of the mighty motley majority. A case in example would be the fact that most of us don’t know much about the issues of places like Nagaland, Andaman & Nicobar or Lakshadweep. The case with these states are different, they are apart and separated by sea. The point I wish to highlight is what I fear even smaller states would be subjected to – Gross Neglect.

Do we have lesser issues in hand to deal with that we are adding to the list? Wouldn’t it be more prudent a decision to find solutions to problems in hand amicably and diligently which would involve inclusive strategy with an intent to celebrate and accept differences? Couldn’t there be a middle ground of negotiation? Coming back to where I started, it has already created a trend…. The spark set at Telangana has created a wild fire with Mayawati diverting media attention from her statue spree with fresh new demands for new states. Frivolous demands, not all legitimate and mostly laughable. A thought to ponder by Farooq Abdullah that I have no answer to “ How much more can you divide India”

Once Upon A Time... An Indian!

2010-03-09T15:55:00.008+05:30

madhuri fidaa hussain has been creating quite a ripple in the media than what the silver screen's original diva madhuri did when she chucked AK47 dhaari sanju and tied the knot with injection dhaari nene.

both are chammak challos in their respective fields. madhuri's pelvic thrust is as famous as hussains brush and they both are just visitors to india. madhuri ka bacchas were born in colarado. and are imported. madhuri is india’s official import and speaks a language that we understand best- bollywood. fir… kaiko? kashaala?… no drama was created during madhuri ka exit from india.

and secondly, i wonder if the people who are protesting or protecting mf hussain know anything about art? mf hussain is just a nice topic. unlike his muse who dint irk anyone or invoke any badaa controversy. the microbiologist madhuri just suffered once when she faced the brunt of not being a good student of history in school and stated that nepal was a part of india.

i have received hazaar instigating emails that would make any hindu red with anger. they were about hindu goddess in the nude vis-à-vis muslim deities fully clothed. it is so easy to instigate people. i personally have photos of goddesses at home which have goddesses in the nude. i prostrate to them and watch them in awe. “chitoor bhagwati” she is called, and she is bare chested. did i think of them sexually? no. similarly, i was always fond of lord krishna since childhood, and i disliked lord rama for deserting sita. religion is open for interpretation. this is my interpretation, you are free to have yours and i would respect that too.

now speaking about hussain, im no connoisseur of art, and don’t claim to know the nuances of it. but anyways, at 95, who knows how long he would live, and where his grave would be. and how does that matter. i wonder why the media and his lovers have woken up now when he is becoming officially a qatar national. where were the mfh lovers when he was forced to be on exile.

aiyyo raama yeh kaisaa drama...