Dead children? Ha, ha.

I really don't understand 'political correctness'. An immediate example is the whole Shashi Tharoor and the cattle-class non-issue. Now apparently the minister has apologised (for being witty?). Since much has already been said -- both the politically correct and incorrect -- I'll desist from adding more. However, I want to know: Who decides the correctness of things?

Who decided that 'slumdog' is appropriate description/definition of the slum dwellers in India? If there is a logic to that nomenclature, can we refer to the moneyed, jet-set as Billionaire Bitches?
Perhaps Mr Boyle's 'slumdog' reference was merely for the protagonist of his film and was not a description of the 61.8 million (2001 census figures) Indians who live in slums.

However, for all purposes, 'slumdogs' is now being used to describe all slum dwellers. Television Channel 7, for instance has been advertising this episode of it's series, The World's Strictest Parents with the words, "...when they see how the slumdogs live..." When did Channel 7 decide that people who live in slums are slumdogs? Are they being politically correct? Chic even?

One of my father's favourite Dad-always-says-this lines comes up whenever we are watching Sholay. It's the scene where dacoit Gabbar Singh kills the Thakur's family. If you see the movie (or remember it), while the directors show Gabbar killing all adults, he does not show the child being shot. The camera gives us a close-up of the gun, the boy's perplexed face and moves away. Each time that scene comes up, my Dad says, "See, that's sensitive. You NEVER show a child dying, it's in bad taste." At least my Dad seems to have his ideas clear, not so with everyone.

Recently a popular Aussie TV series, ABC's satirical programme, The Chasers War on Everything got into trouble for making jokes about terminally-ill children. In an episode that's a spoof on the Make-A-Wish-Foundation, one of the Chasers host visits a childrens' cancer ward and concludes the episode with, "Why go to any trouble, when they're only gonna die anyway".

I realise that Chasers is satirical, much like South Park is deliberately blasphemous about everything. But do we draw the line somewhere? As I wrote earlier, who decides what's politically (in)correct?

Often when discussing this issue, people roll their eyes and say, "Oh we get sensitive about everything. It's a joke, we should stop taking ourselves so seriously." To be honest, I do agree with them that at times we get unnecessarily sensitive about stupid things. Like Tharoor and the cattle class. (While slumdogs goes unchallenged) At other times though, I have serious doubts and do think that this particular sense of humour -- more thoughtless than insensitive -- is rather overrated.

Like last evening, when watching an episode of animated series American Dad -- described as "...satirical, usually directed at the United States Government, the media or current affairs" -- the alien character Roger says, "...we will make your Dad cry like an African woman who cries when all are her children are blown up with a scatter/cluster bomb." (not exact quote)

Was that funny or did I miss the point? And if it's funny, can someone please explain the joke and let me know who's it aimed at?

Photo credits: Stanford uni (Tharoor), Sydney Morning Herald (Chasers) & TV Shows on DVD (American Dad)

"Things I have to do"

Recently we saw Pixar's latest animated feature, Up. It was the second time I was watching a movie in 3D, the first being Spy Kids-Game Over. As a 3D and movie-watching experience, Up beat Game Over hands down.

Better effects, much better storyline, absolutely adorable characters and complete involvement for me as the audience. I really loved Up. It's a bit strange since when I had first seen the trailer -- before the screening of Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds -- my reaction had been "Duh, who wants to see a movie about a 70-year-old widower?" I am really glad that I was proven absolutely wrong.

I've always had a soft-spot for animated movies and those that are dubbed kiddie-flicks. What I enjoy about these movies is the lack of pretense. They all want to entertain you... Yes, there are messages in the movie, but I appreciate it that the messages are woven into the stories much better than those in 'adult' movies. Up is a total entertainer, whether you watch it alone, with your partner or with the entire family. It had me bawling -- but I bawl easily in movies -- in the first 10 minutes and then completely took me along for a laugh ride soon after. Even Partner, who is not always up for 'kiddie' movies (he refused go for Coraline), was smiling through Up and came out of the theatre happy as well. Other than the antics of the characters, the sheer brilliance of the 3D effects and the all the action in the movie, I related to some bits of Up in a really, personal way.

A week or so back I wrote a post on how I'm feeling that there's something big about to happen but I have no idea what... I've been stewing over it for a fair while now. When I stew, I get grumpy with people, feel unmotivated and I'm generally unpleasant. In other words, I'm not the best of company. Browsing through websites yesterday, I came across Up again. The message hit home.

Up talks about having a big adventure in life. Rather how we all wait for that something big to strike, to exhilirate and thrill us and to change our lives. I know I'm waiting. Waiting for a number of things to happen before I can say, "Yes, I'm happy now." And while I wait... I stew and I ignore all the little things around me.

Will I be truly happy only if I get a book published? I think I do a good job of keeping my house beautiful, I'm good with plants, getting better with cooking... But I often forget to be happy about those things because I am waiting for THE break. Will I be truly happy if I get married? And yet, I often forget to appreciate that I have a truly loving relationship, in fact, almost what I'd visusalised a "happy" relationship to be.

Will I be truly happy if I get a job? Of course that would mean earning money of my own... but to do what? Rather, what is it that I can't do now? A job would perhaps mean a sense of personal ratification, of putting a 'value' to my self worth in dollars. But am I not worth anything if I don't have a job or can't get one? Hmm. Ok, honestly, before making a big statement on that one, perhaps I need to sort out issues of self-worth within my head. :)

The point being -- and the message in Up -- is that we get so caught up in defining the big things that define happiness that we completely overlook the smaller things. We don't even notice them. I don't want to do that. I want to be constantly happy. Whether it means a sense of satisfaction when I sow the seeds and the first portulaca saplings burst out of my pots. Or swimming in the heavenly aroma of baked muffins that have turned out well. Or basking in the peace that spreads on Partner's face when he comes back to a comfortable, clean home. Or even enjoying the few, but treasured comments/conversation that I have on this blog.

I don't want to die regretting the things that I didn't do or didn't happen. I want to remember and cherish and enjoy the things -- however small -- that I have.

There are days I will forget and bemoan the lack of the big stuff, there are days I'm sure you will too. But here's hoping we both remember. That while we wait for the big stuff, we remember to look at the small ones and be happy about them. It will be emancipation in a way...

PS: Please do watch Up. You will not be disappointed.

Cancer

So Patrick Swayze passes away, aged 57, after two years of combating pancreatic cancer.

One of the Aussie TV channels here showed a clip from his last interview (by Barbara Walters, ABC) where the interviewer asks his wife Lisa, "Have you thought of life without him?" Lisa tried to answer but choked up.

That question disturbed me a little. Scared me. Has any of us thought of life without the ones we love? There are those who lose people to sudden death. Then there are those like Lisa, who know someone they love is dying. Is it easier when you know?

Australia is big on talking about cancer. I never heard the word as often in India as I hear it here. It gives the feeling cancer is all around. It's scary. But I'm not sure of what scares me more: Being diagnosed with the disease or being the one who has to think of a life after someone I love is gone...

Till I came to Melbourne, I hadn't known anyone who had cancer, ie. not known them personally. Now I know at least one person who has survived testicular cancer.

How many of you know a cancer patient or a survivor?

PS: For all who cook, please check out LiveSTRONG With A Taste Of Yellow and contribute your recipe. It's a cancer survivor's way of spreading awareness... For those who don't cook, pass on the link to someone who does and spread the word.

I hate injections...

I am not squeamish. I also like to believe that when faced with life-threatening situations I will be quite brave.

In fact one of my favourite, recurring superhero-type day dreams involves us (random people and me) being hijacked -- as in train/plane/car -- by terrorists*. So I indulge in some hand-to-hand combat and save the day. However, sometimes the dream gets muddled in technical details. Like, how many terrorists can I handle at once? Maybe kick one in the groin, poke another in the eye...what happens if there's a third one and he shoots me in the head? Or if one of them has dynamite or something strapped around him?

In another dream, the pilot faints and I have to fly the plane reading How To Fly A Plane In An Emergency manual. I bet I can do it. It's a plane after all, not Twitter that you cannot figure it out. Like on Twitter, I know RT means re-Tweet, what the heck does "#" mean?! There. I've committed twittricide (twitter+suicide) by announcing I can't figure the "#". Is it "f##k I don't f######g understand it?"

Anywho. The point of all this is:
1. I am procrastinating finishing another assingment. I've done the requisite research but can't be bothered about writing it down. Hopefully the can't-be-bothered mood will pass and I will maintain the deadline.

2. Billy got two shots today. :( One was a little one but the other needle was the size of his paw. Poor thing. I didn't go of course - (assignments) -- Partner took him to the vet. The vet says Billy also has worms and that we are "not nourishing him properly". I am in shock. He eats SO much. (fat cat) We are apparently feeding him the wrong things. Tuna+cod? Chicken+veal? Dude, that's better than what I eat.

Partner says Billy cried really loudly. Apparently the nurses at the vet's found Billy really cute. (Hmph. Have a feeling it might have something to do with Billy's dadda). Ever since he's been back, Billy has been really slow -- as against jumping on everything, running around the house and giving me a new scratch, in a new spot -- and looks all sad.

I know exactly how Billy feels. I hate injections. The sight of them more than the pain of them. Once poked, of course I hate the pain of them too. I hate sad faces on kittens even more.

The vet has also asked us to "look at" Billy's potty for worms. Why? So they don't crawl back?!

PS: *Before anyone says that I am being disrespectful about terrorism or being hijacked. I am not. It's a dream. I cannot control dreams. If I could control dreams, I would be single, Wolverine be real and single. We would meet in a bar and have a one-night stand and forget. Then meet again every night and have one-night stands so neither of us would get bored. And oh, his claws will be detachable.

PS 2: What's the name for checking your pet/child's shit for worms? Peek-a-poo.

Dear Mr Rushdie, I love you.

How bloody convenient for Danny Boyle to completely remove Christianity and insert that Hindu-Muslim rioting in Slumdog Millionaire.

Did you know there is no Mumbai Hindu-Muslim, communal violence sequence in Vikas Swarup's Q and A? That's the book Slumdog is based upon. Instead, what the book has is a scene where the hero of the film is nearly molested by a Christian priest. Why the change I wonder? Meryl Streep can play a priest-questioning nun in Doubt but Danny Boyle cannot show it in his 'Bollywood' movie? The West wouldn't want India questioning the priests perhaps?

Please don't misunderstand; I am no great lover of Hinduism. I don't understand it, like almost every other religion. I get the point of God, I don't get the point of religion. But that's another post, another time. What's got my goat (again) is the sheer idiocy of Slumdog and how the West sees it as India. It's not and it's rot.

I have really tried to think about it in positive terms, I cannot. This is called being vindicated. This is what Salman Rushdie has to say (I forgive his Padma Lakshmi debacle because of this):

Author and critic Salman Rushdie has responded negatively to both the film Slumdog Millionaire and the novel on which it is based, Q & A. In his essay on film adaptations, "A Fine Pickle," Rushdie argues that the plot of Swarup's novel is "a patently ridiculous conceit, the kind of fantasy writing that gives fantasy writing a bad name. It is a plot device faithfully preserved by the film-makers, and lies at the heart of the weirdly renamed Slumdog Millionaire.

As a result the film, too, beggars belief." He made similar statements about Slumdog Millionaire in a talk given at Emory University, arguing that its plot "piles impossibility on impossibility," and in an earlier interview with The New York Times, where he conceded that he found the film "visually brilliant. But I have problems with the story line.... It just couldn’t happen. I’m not adverse to magic realism but there has to be a level of plausibility, and I felt there were three or four moments in the film where the storyline breached that rule."

Rushdie also blasted Boyle's admission that he made the film in part because he was unfamiliar with India, challenging Boyle to imagine "an Indian film director making a movie about New York low-life and saying that he had done so because he knew nothing about New York and had indeed never been there. He would have been torn limb from limb by critical opinion. But for a first world director to say that about the third world is considered praiseworthy, an indication of his artistic daring. The double standards of post-colonial attitudes have not yet wholly faded away."

Freida Pinto, one of world's sexiest?

From being the girl-next-door to the Oscars and now on the walls of many a panting man. Freida Pinto is going places. According to one poll at least, Freida's one of the world's top 10 sexiest women.

For the few who might not know -- because they didn't care or whatever -- Freida (not Farida), is the skinny lissome young lady who has recently starred in Slumdog Millionnaire.

While reports of her conquering the red carpet at the Oscars and bagging other meaty roles abound (there's rumour she's doing a Tarantino film. Why?), here's another feather in Freida's cap.

According to the World's Sexiest Woman survey conducted by lad-mag FHM, Freida has been voted the 10th sexiest woman in the world.

For those who might say, "What's the big deal?" Well, none really but I am quite enjoying the fact that Freida has 'beaten' former favourites like Jennifer Lopez and Angelina Jolie.

I do have a feeling though that la Jolie and Jennifer Lowpants's fall in popularity has more to do with their being mommys rather than due to any fall in their 'sexiness'. After all beauty is skin deep and cosmetic surgery fixes everything.

For now though, desi oopmh is getting international 'recognition'. (If being wank material can be called that) The most Mrs Aishwarya Bachchan came to igniting passions -- I'm ignoring the Miss World title, that was eons ago -- was winning the world's sexiest eyes in 2008. Guess even lad-mag subscribing blokes found her cold.

While both Aishwarya and Freida cannot act -- yes, despite the Tarantino rumour -- at least Freida isn't as frigid as Mrs B Jr.

Do you think Freida is hot?

How to look like a man

(click on the above picture to see greater detail. Ahem.)
So much for metrosexuality and shaved chests. It's official now; with the worsening global economic crisis, research says that women prefer the "more muscular, primal, hairy male" to the ones who go about getting their eyebrows tweezed.

I had always known it. My first recollection of having a crush on any man goes back to Amitabh Bachchan riding a motorcycle and singing Rote huye in Muqaddar ka Sikandar. I clearly remember him wearing a white shirt, button undone and looking bloody delicious. <--- This picture is from Deewar, and you can still see some of his fuzz. Now of course grandpa B wears covered tees since I suspect his chest hair must be turning grey.


My second Bollywood crush used to be Salman Khan. Rather the Salman in his Maine Pyaar Kiya days... I was 12/13 and he was the 'boy' who dared to fight for the girl he loved AND had chest hair. My adulation quickly changed as Salman turned into Bollywood's biggest prick who now looks like a sausage walking around in tight jeans. (Hmm, in retrospect, this ---> poster is quite servile, isn't it? But then Rajshri productions has never been known for strong female characters. They always whimper.)

As for Hollywood, my first, fierce crush was Pierce Brosnan as Remington Steele. Oh, how I loved him. I was insanely jealous when I first saw the episode where he kisses Stephanie Zimbalist's character. So heartbrken... Pierce was so handsome AND had a hairy chest.

Since Steele, I have really liked Mel Gibson and George Clooney. Both men have chest hair. Hmm. All my screen men have also had good voices and strong chins. Now of course I am simply crazy about Hugh 'Wolverine' Jackman. If my chances of meeting Jackman -- as Wolverine -- were not nearly-nil, Partner would have great cause to worry.

Boys/men need to understand that not all hair on men is unattractive. For instance, both Anil Kapoor and Akshay Kumar had body hair as well. Just a little too much of it.

The rule for Male Body Hair is simple: If you have a monobrow that hides your eyes, please do get them re-shaped. If your chest hair looks like a carpet, please feel free to shave. If your body hair covers every inch of you -- including your neck and ears -- it is wise to get a wax or something. You don't want your girl reaching for a toothpick each time she kisses you.

Other than that, men who shave/wax their body hair -- unless you are a porn star -- LET IT BE. Some fuzz on a man looks good. For instance, I simply cannot understand how grown women can swoon over the likes of Toby Maguire and Zake Ephron. Despite the ripped bodies and all, both look like they'd cry if slapped.


While Daniel Craig is also being touted as a macho man, I find him quite putting-off. Firstly, it's that pout. It makes him look like he really needs to shit and is holding it back. Secondly, it's his much written about body. To me it looks quite rubbery; like if you ran and hugged him, you'd bounce right back.

The idea being a man does not have to be hairy; but neither does he have to look like the human version of a poodle. If you have some naturally, show it off.

That said, I shall go perv at Jackman some more.

PS: Partner caught me staring at Jackman's pictures. He asked me what I was doing. I solemnly said I was researching how chest hair makes men look hot. For a minute everything was all right. Then Partner looked at me and said, "But I don't have chest hair." (grin) He does and just the right amount. Let's just say I proved it to him that I find him really hot. Sigh. Can't wait for return-from-office-time.

Popped

I love watching movies at the theatre. The screen, the whole dimming of lights, people laughing together... Mostly, I just love the whole popcorn-cola thing. :)

Except, that after the movie, I have a tummy ache and er, gas.

Like right now. Both Partner and me... And the house smells like nothing you want to smell.

PS: We saw Best In Show at home with microwaved popcorn. It hurts and stinks.

I see porn. Food porn.

What’s the worst that could happen to someone who loves food and has recently started a food blog? PORN. It distracts from cooking. And eating. How do I know this? Because I see porn. Wherever I go. Especially when there is food involved.

It all started when Partner came back from the buck’s weekend I had written about earlier. So he is back and is showing me pictures of what the blokes got up to. And right there on the laptop screen is a picture of the buck (groom), holding a sausage that is peeking out from under his shorts. I mean a real sausage. As in the sausage- sausage. Despite knowing that sausages are used as a euphemism, the picture of a bloke I know pulling out a sausage… I swore off sausages. ]

A day later, I am walking down the aisle in the supermarket; there are these two girls standing next to the fruit stalls and giggling away. One of them was holding two kiwi fruits in her hand and squeezing them and both were laughing like mad. Kiwi fruits as you’d know, are small, brown and have little hair on them… So I struck kiwis off my list of edible things as well.

Then I am researching recipes by celebrities and I come across Paris Hilton sexually molesting a burger. Thankfully, Hilton is too skank to put me off burgers. Then of course I came upon Nigela Lawson’s website. If cows see what Nigela does with/to cream, it will curdle the milk in their udders (cows’ I mean, not Nigella’s). Yet, I will admit, I am quite jealous of her website, it looks good.

If Nigela weren’t enough, now there’s Italian-American Giada De Laurentiis who squishes tomatoes in a way that even gives me hot flushes. And I am bloody straight. What was/is worrying though is that for a couple of wild minutes, I considered putting up a video of me on ‘So What’s Cooking?’ wearing high heels, a top with a plunging neckline and dipping my hands in creamy, rich mayonnaise… Or caressing a Bratwurst, or beating eggs into stiff peaks. I could not even look at chicken corn soup the same way because of its texture…

I thought sleeping over the issue would settle things. So the next morning I’m ironing clothes and watching The Today Show on Nine Network. And there’s hostess-with-widest-grin-on-earth, Lisa Wilkinson trying to be oh-so-cute and recounting what she did on the weekend. Wilkinson says, “…and I wondered where I could hide my sausage?” I nearly burnt my hand. For those who might not know, “to hide the sausage” means er, to hide the ‘sausage’. (Think sausage else see the first pic again!) And here was a hostess on national TV saying it. I refuse to believe that Wilkinson didn’t know what she was saying. A minute later she adds, “Oh I was so sweaty, so wet.” I quickly turned off the TV.

Two days later – after I have resolutely refused to look at sausages or kiwi fruits in the supermarket – Partner and I are watching some silly TV show that had three beefy blokes talking about women. One of the blokes says, “I like them Sheilas* who have a nice, juicy taco for me.” Partner bursts out laughing at which point I ask him to explain what’s so funny about juicy tacos. Partner gives me a she-is-weird look and says, “Taco baby, means vagina. Y’know pu…?” Till that day, I had thought of tacos as Mexican and something to be eaten. Now well, they are just to be eaten. (Gosh JB!)

(Sheila: Aussie term for girls/women/chicks)

In fact I cannot seem to escape tacos and see them everywhere. I am crossing the street and a tram passes by with an advertisement. Two women holding a, well, taco and saying, “I like her taco” or something. I blushed and walked with my head down. We went for a wedding this weekend. Six of us walk into this café for breakfast and right there on a huge blackboard are the words, “There is nothing as good as free tacos.”

Scowl.

Imagea courtesy: Pic 1, Pic 2, Pic 3, Pic 4

Back to school

So today uni opened for the first semester for this year. Melbourne was quite bleak today...a winter day in the middle of summer. Since this is also enrollment time for the first years, there was a whole bunch of new 'kids' as well. If you can call 33-65 year olds as new kids. Shrug.

Seems like 'Edward Cullen' from the Twilight series is quite the heart-throb; everyone from 25-year-old bouncing young things to young moms gushed about him. Book stores here have everything from Twilight posters, Edward Cullen posters and tee shirts and even key chains with the Cullen family crest. Apparently, a radio show also interviewed a dude who BELIEVES he is a vampire. Given the fact that Meyer justifies the existence of vampires without drinking blood; something tells me this isn't the last we're hearing of 'humans' believing themselves vampires.

As for Edward Cullen, if you overlook the fact that he is a vampire, he is being called the 'perfect man'.

That Stephenie Meyer is a horrid writer was unanimously agreed upon. That every hot-blooded chick digs vampire Cullen was also unanimously agreed upon. However, since Edward did not exist before Meyer created him, is she really such a bad writer? Everyone after all IS gushing about her fictional character. The writing in the book is nothing spectacular, neither is the story-telling. However, she has created a fool-proof character for women/girls. A man who will not look at any other woman no matter how beautiful, who thinks of you ALL the time, who wants to spend every waking/sleeping moment with you, who thinks of you as his best friend, who makes crazy love to you and who's drop dead (pun unintended) good looking is Prince Charming in a new avatar. Of course given that only your blood 'calls' to him, he doesn't need sleep, does not need to work or earn money and does not have any guy friends (or other friends) to demand/share his time with you, doesn;t matter. Those are practical things and perhaps I am a cynic.

You might scoff at Meyer's writing, yet you're in 'love' with her creation. Funny. Hating or disparaging Stephenie Meyer's writing is perhaps cool, like it's cool to say that people hate Harry Potter. Or love Slumdog Millionaire, or hate it. Ah yes, the Slumdog questionnaire still exists. Now interestingly -- just to prolong the fun -- I also bring in comparisons with Danny Boyle's Trainspotting and City of God. For the sake of debate, how many out there -- who are reading and care to participate/share their point of view -- think there are ANY similarities between Trainspotting and Slumdog?

On a different note though: Is anyone SCARED by what's happening in Pakistan and the repercusions in/for India? First the Mumbai attacks. Then the Taliban takes over Swat and now cricketers are shot at. New Delhi is a two-hour flight or less from Pakistan. What happens if Taliban takes over Pakistan??? What if they bomb Delhi? So perhaps Pakistan -- or its non-fanatical leaders -- might not have nuked India... but is everyone so sure that the Taliban will not think nuclear?

I am very scared. Are you?

The Wait...

It's surprising that Linda Goodman and every other 'astrologer' worth their salt seem to insist that Taurean women have a LOT of patience. I say they are absolutely bloody wrong. According to Goodman and gang, I should be Venus' own child. Venus, by the way, is the ruling planet for Taurus. Again, according to numerology, 6 is supposed to be Venus' favourite number. That should make me doubly influenced by Venus... May 6th being my DOB.

However, patience is singularly lacking if you were to list my characteristics. Apparently, Taurean women are also supposed to have a 'serene' disposition. Snort. Currently the lack of both these laudable traits are NOT helping. I am going to sue Goodman and gang for dissemination of wrong information. I HATE waiting. Yet I have to...

For May 26th, for the release of Infinity Gate (DarkGlass Mountain Book 3) by Sara Douglass.
For July 17th, for the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, movie number six.
For September (or worse, March 2010) for the release of The Sending (The Obernewtyn Chronicles, Book 6) by Isobelle Carmody
For Lord-knows-when for the release of the yet-unnamed book four in The Inheritance series by Christopher Paolini...

And between horcruxes, the Sentinel project, Sapphira the dragon and pyramid-turned-man-
The-One, I am going nuts. Between Crookshanks and Maruman, I REALLY want a cat too.

Ugh. Might start on Bryce Courtenay's Australian trilogy. I have Solomon's Song, need to buy Potato Factory and Tommo&Hawk... Siiiiiigh. At least that story is over. Recently read his Sylvia and completely loved it. Do read it...
Irritated.

"And your mother too"

<--- How to ensure a good weekend when Partner is away... 1. Try new SFF (science-fiction-fantasy) author... However, it's grandly irritating that these days authors don't finish a story in a trilogy. Isobelle Carmody's Obernewtyn series runs into seven bloody books. (And am now starting on those...) 7 X 25.5= do the math.

Given that Sara Douglass' third book in the Darkglass Mountain series -- The Infinity Gate -- is supposed to hit book-shelves on/around May 26th this year; it's a long wait. I cannot even curse Sara to hurry up because the dear storyteller is underoing chemotherapy. I love her writing. If at all I have spent money reading Terry Brooks, Fiona McIntosh, Stefan Brijs, Stephen Donaldson (groan) and Stephenie Meyer (bigger groan), it's because I am waiting for Infinity Gate... Oh Ms. Douglass, do get well soon. Someday perhaps, I shall either interview you or sit and discuss plot-lines. (Weekend also involves day-dreaming)

2. See the movies I've really been meaning to see: That would NOT include full-of-full-frontals French movie Romance or that loser-werewolf crap called Skinwalkers. I mean, what self-respecting werewolf remains wearing jeans and a leather jacket when s/he phases? 'Phasing' is when a human shifts shape into werewolf and back. More insulting, was when three of the bad-werewolves -- those who still kill human beings -- are busy feeding; the female werewolf and leader werewolf are busy screwing. WTF?! Aren't they hungry or what?! If it was that bloody easy to control werewolves, Remus Lupin would never have died. And DON'T ask me WHO Remus Lupin is. Scoff.

Thank-you to all those who recommended City of God. I LOVED the movie, loved it, loved it, loved it. And highly recommend it to the miniscule who haven't seen it yet. Isko kehte hain piktar! And again, Rio and Mumbai...the similarities shook me. But that some other time...

As for Romance, it was scandal for nothing. The scandal was because the movie had real sex scenes; as in the characters actually do it instead of just simulating sex sequences. Apparently the movie was banned in Australia because the film board here could not find the right rating. Seriously, it should be banned, it's SO badly made. As one reviewer on Rotten Tomatoes says, "Porn was never so sleepy." If it was a blog though, it would run away with traffic. One scene stood out -- only one -- when the girl screws this street-bum and as he is finishing he screams, "Whore! Slut! I did you good!" and she starts howling and screams back, "I am not ashamed." That was the whole point of the movie and in my humble opinion, only that scene managed it.

3. Drink lots of wine, coffee and cola. Have donuts and Lindt's Lindor dark chocolate truffles for accompaniment.
4. Sleep.
5. Blog.
6. Clean house.
7. Maybe cook something...
8. Maybe put it up on my food blog.
9. Try not to mope.
10. Count hours till Partner comes back...

PS: Partner has gone for a buck's weekend...that would be a bachelor-party-weekend. There will be nearly-30 men drinking, playing golf, swimming, drinking, cracking dirty farts and dirty jokes, playing some more golf, drinking... you get the picture? Why don't girls do anything like this? The girl's version is called a hens' party. But isn't 'doe' the female to buck?? Why hen?!! And hell...if I ever get married here... who will come for my hens? I have no hens. :(
I miss my friends.

FA-F*****g-Qs and Bollywood dancing...

Pic = southasianlife.com
Oh well. I will never, ever review a movie again. I know I stopped doing so ages ago, but just in case I ever think of it again, I will not.

I should have known it, you know, the fact that Slumdog Millionaire would bag the Oscars. It’s a case of history repeating itself. No, no, not any first-slum-movie history, but JB’s-film-reviewing history. It seems that the moment I declare any movie the biggest crap, it goes and sweeps awards.

The first time it happened, I was panned publically – and online – because of my review of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s scam-for-art, Black. Yes, THAT Black. I had given the movie two-and-a-half stars declaring, ‘It’s bleak for Bhansali’s Black’. It did not matter that Pooja Bhatt and Dipak Tijori wrote/called me to congratulate me on a good review…. As far as the public was concerned, I was way off the mark. Numerous and then some readers and bloggers declared that it was my film reviewing career that was bleak and the bloody movie (I still hate it completely) went on to win Filmfare awards and more.

Another was Bhansali’s Devdas – I didn’t review it, but hated it nonetheless – which also won awards. More recently, I have been asked by EVERY single Australian I’ve met, “What do you think of Slumdog Millionaire?” Most don't really care about what I think; it’s just a convenient conversation-filler. But I have my fun and proceed to bore the person asking that question with e.x.a.c.t.l.y. what I think/thought was wrong about the movie. Now, it goes and wins the Best Movie at the 81^st Academy Awards (aka Oscars). I know that am going to have even more people asking me about Slumdog… and India. Sigh. A thought: Do those of us who dislike Slumdog, do so because it's simply not that great a movie or perhaps, because it embarrasses us as Indians? I know I didn't think much of it as a movie, but I am not certain if my reactions don't include a bit of the other emotion as well... Read this.

You know, India seems to confound and confuse most people; Bollywood even more so. I am still trying to understand my own reactions to my country and Bollywood and more so towards what people think of both...

Like this well-meaning bloke asked me, “Does India have arm-wrestling?” EH?! I don't know if I was amused or offended. But the answer would be, no, arm-wrestling is too tribal, India just has world chess grandmasters. Then there are those who demand, “Can you do Bollywood-style dancing?” and proceed to lift their hands in the air and do something that is a cross between bad dancing and bad aerobics. Or ask me, “Show us some Bollywood moves,” and wait with a wicked gleam in their eyes. Well, sorry, no. Firstly, you are not paying me to dance and secondly, you will not be able to. Not when you are smacking of misplaced superiority that is! I've heard there are many non-Indians here who enjoy Bollywood; I'm still to meet any. As for Bollywood dancing, ANY Indian can do it. Even Indians who quote Satyajit Ray and scoff at commercial Hindi cinema know at least one Bollywood dance move. Our 23^rd chromosome IS the dancing chromosome.

And now Slumdog has smacked people in the face and Jai ho – which in my view is very, very average Rahman fare – has won best original score. Funny, our average is a global best.

So Hugh Jackman (what a tasty man!) announces “The musical is BACK!” and everyone cheers. Er, I don’t see the excitement because India and Bollywood have been producing musicals for like, ages. Try 1950s. Yet people ask me, “Why does Bollywood have so much singing and dancing?” Because we like to! And we can. Because every Indian state, every 50 kms you travel in the country, has its own dance form. Because as a child, mere me has learnt the Bharatnatyam, Kathak and danced the gidda. Because India has more things to talk about than four versions of Underbelly (Melbourne underworld), Gallipoli (with due respect), the indigenous people (even more respect) or numerous shows on every possible government department (emergency services, firemen, customs, immigration police, trillion cop shows etc)?

So Slumdog wins. While it’s a feather in Danny Boyle’s cap, I wonder if it will translate into anything for Bollywood as an industry. Or will it, perversely, just validate what the world is apparently saying about Indians now: “India and Indian youth have a new-found aggression.” You hear it during cricket commentary, each time the Indian economy is mentioned or even the rise of the Indian middle class. I find it a little irksome. Indians have been always been aggressive; we are global masters at bargaining for a reason. Just that the world has developed new ears I think. Anyway.

Irrespective of what I think of Slumdog, I am really happy for two of my favourite artistes, AR Rahman and Anil Kapoor. The latter hardly had a role in Slumdog and has delivered a winning performance every two-three years.

Here’s my list of favourite Anil Kapoor movies and moments:

1. Virasat: I love the way he transforms from UK-returned to son-of-the-soil; the scene before the interval where he comes out looking like his father still gives me goose-bumps… Amrish Puri was the best on-screen pairing with Anil I think.
   
2. Parinda: it was supposed to be a Nana Patekar movie, but Anil’s vulnerability was unparalled
   
3. Ram-Lakhan: hahaha, I love him when he plays the rogue. And that moochie. Again, Amrish Puri!
   
4. Nayak: Perhaps not the greatest of movies, but there’s something very earnest about Anil’s character. Yet again, with Amrish Puri.
   
5. Tezaab: Ah. The rogue woman-charmer who turns into someone with a burning vengeance. He just fits the role of tapori…
   
6. Mr India: “Anil bhaya” at his best. Cute, charming and one of our best attempts at science fiction, if I may!
   

As for AR Rahman, I am not too crazy about Jai ho or Sayya… but some of his other work is in my list of favourites. Here goes:

1. Yuva
2. Roja
3. Vande Mataram
4. Rangeela, first hindi music with original score
5. Rang De Basanti
6. Swades
7. Saathiya
8. Dil se
9. Bombay, the six tracks he composed
10. Lagaan

PS: I am still not convinced about Slumdog. But if it could mean we might get Hugh Jackman to come and act – and sing and dance – in Bollywood movies; I am all for it.

Related: Is Slumdog Millionaire a poverty porn?

The object of my (des) ire

"Do you ever get tired of thinking?" read the comment. No.

It's involuntary, like breathing. Inhale thought, let it mix in the blood stream, pump through the arteries, convolute in the veins and exhale out. In notebooks, on napkins, on the margins of whichever page of whatever book the eyes are on, behind book covers; sometimes here.

Some thougths are triggered by a song, a scene, a scheme. Some are like the past, with a subconcious claim over my dreams. The purest of those thoughts, those dreams are fuzzy... I don't know how to consciously create them. Like you can consciously create a day-dream where everything is geared to make you come out the winner. To make you happy. Day-dreaming and cynicism are mutually exclusive.

The clearest thoughts/dreams involve pain. Hurting others. A departure from reality, where always, I am the one left curled up, tired to cry, hoarse to scream. With such a tremendous pressure on the chest, it feels the heart will disintegrate and pour out of my mouth in a bloody vomit. Each droplet out like acid splattering on another's face. Burning through their skin, eating into their brain. Demanding reasons, retribution, revenge. Justice.

But justice is overrated, poetic justice befuddled. And revenge is like your own personal rancid rainbow -- of reeking reds and gory greens -- that you can run to, but never touch. So you run from it. You think you are "letting go". But the scarlet-tinged, fluoro colours are always, always there in your peripheral vision. Mocking. "You idiot! Others are reaping the rewards of your hurt. Of your heart. Ha, ha."

I don't get tired of thinking. But I tire of repetitive thoughts with no results. Of a clingy past that I cannot shake off. Because I cannot seem to stop remembering. How do I let go? ... Or how do I hurt? Because sometimes, so many times, I really don't want to hurt. I WANT to give it back.

And if that makes me a bad person, guess I am like everybody else.

Saw pseudo-vampire flick Twilight last evening. Pseudo because they have no fangs, just strong teeth. More a horse than vampire I say. Hrmph. Have read all four books by Stephenie Meyer. It's a teen romance masquerading as a vampire flick/book. So S.L.O.W. Kristen Stewart looks constantly constipated, Robert Pattison looks anemic (well, he's a 'vegetarian' vampire, snigger) and there's zero chemistry between the two. The books are a cruel joke. My translation: A perfect man is only possible if he's a vampire, i.e. a work of fiction. Hah. Read the books if you have to, give the movie a miss. Partner either groaned or yawned through it all. But at least we are even; four history documentaries against one chick-flick.

Came back home and saw Korean director Chan-wook Park's Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. Loved the movie. Completely empathised with Geum-ja Lee... what if vengeance does not liberate? What if it doesn't shake off the past? DO see the movie. It's black.

PS: This doesn't make any sense does it? Good. It's still my blog you know.

Curious co-relation between the two movies? Tofu. 'Edward Cullen' says surviving on animal blood is like living on tofu, does the job but never satisfies you. Lady Vengeance has tofu too... it signifies purity of soul. But never satisfies?

India: Slums, dogs and millionaires

Happy Republic Day.

One of the first things I remember about describing India -- it was a grade three/four essay on “describe your country” -- was “India is a diverse nation.” To a seven-year-old me, “diverse” really didn’t mean much. The first real awareness about any patriotic identity I had was that we -Indians - “hated” Pakistan, rather the Pakistani cricket team.

Over the years there have been many things I have realised about my country. We are in the top 10 list of most corrupt nations and would soon become world leaders in terms of population. Recently I learnt that we have more honours students than the entire population of Australia. And that Indians doctors and IT guys are wanted the world over. I could go on…

What is India? “Everything” is the word that best describes it.

Structured chaos, patience for long traffic jams, slums with the best TV channels and early morning lining-up for water. Praying to cows and killing of female foetuses. Gods with many arms and beggar kids with none. Rising divorce rates in cities and a reluctance to put parents in old-age homes. World-class chefs and mothers who still make awesome, detailed home-cooked food. In Amitabh Bachchan, the star of the millennium (BBC says so) and every state and every district with it’s own distinct dance form and music. We might suck at global sport but you can’t beat us at mind games…

Pizzas with paneer on them and the world’s best bloody street food. Metal head chicks who still get henna on their hands for weddings. And weddings! The many different kinds of Indian weddings are a study by themself. A blooming real estate industry and shitting in the open. Politicians with criminal records and yet a surprisingly, surviving democracy. I would love to challenge any other country to take even a quarter of the population we have and try and make something worthwhile from it. They will fail.

It gets difficult though, when people here ask questions about India: some honestly curious, some mistakenly superior. My father keeps telling me to not get into arguments and let people think what they might. Well, we shall see.

What is India? The list can go on… She is different things to different people.

So I asked friends and my ‘network’ to contribute a photograph: something they think denotes or represents India. But then, as contributor George Koshy pointed out, can any single picture really capture India? You decide, or not...

Captions provided by photographers where not specified

<-- 1. Good Morning India: pic by Shashwat Nagpal, 28, freelance photographer, Creative Director with a multinational IT consulting firm.
"I took this picture in Benaras/Varanasi. To me, it reflects the spiritual face of India... showing the faith in our culture and customs and how people make living through it too."

2. Years of Raniket: pic by Shefali Sewak, 28, lawyer -->

"I've been going to Ranikhet every year since I was about 8-years-old. It really is my 'home away from home', except that unlike Delhi, it is spiritually unsoiled. Every time I'm in Ranikhet, I see and feel things that touch me to the core. This is strange because I don't usually get moved easily.My last visit in October 2008 was no different. There's this one picture which I took of an old woman. She had typical Kumaoni features, and her face was wrinkled with years of Ranikhet. But gorgeous as her face was, I found this photograph more intriguing."

<-- 3. Varanasi tradition: pic by Ben Tregear, 28, freelance photographer currently living in India

I met Ben at a terrace party, smoking pot and strumming Bob Dylan or someone else on the guitar...

4. Die Swimmer Die (Pong Lake Watersports sign board, Kangra, Himachal): pic by Colin Fernandes, author (Viva Santiago!), contemplator, lad-mag features editor -->

<-- 5. Mishti khabe?: Pic by Michael Oberhardt, 29, senior geologist, currently living in India

"It was taken in a small village called Rajdih in September last year. It is about 7 hours drive north of Kolkata in Jharkhannd state. We were drilling nearby and I decided to stop at all the little villages to hand out some sweets to the kids (and parents)."

6. Sushil and I: pic by Rajaraman Ganesan, 47, former sports editor, current consultant --->

This picture shows "the down to earth nature of an Olympic medal winner..."

7. Family portrait: pic by Jesse Rapczak, 28, video game developer, living in India

"This is a portrait of a family that lives near my office in Noida. They run a small corner shop and usually sleep on the street. After I took the photo I realized they probably did not have a family portrait as a keepsake, so I printed several copies and took it back to them. We didn't speak the same language, but I'll never forget the joy I saw in their eyes and how grateful they were as a result of this simple gesture."

There are more contributions, just that I'm running out of time.. will come and upload those later. For those interested in contributing as well: email me ONE photograph --that YOU have taken -- that represents India or what you think of India. Hope a lot of you will participate! Email contributions to foxytanya@gmail.com WITH:

1. your photo contribution: perhaps a caption or two about where/when you took it and what it means

2. your name, age (optional) and what you do for a living/ otherwise

3. a link to your website/blog so people can check out more of your pictures

You DON'T have to be a professional photographer; anyone can send in a contribution--- if you know people who might want to contribute...please forward this note to them.

PS: Saw Slumdog Millionnaire last night... a post on that later.

Happiness is a state of breast

Or who’s afraid of gravity?
Pre-Script: I will come back to the abortion ‘topic’ another day. For now I know that Life is the tenure we complete on this planet. Things often happen in a way, which force you to make choices -- if forced, can it still be called choice? -- that you had never considered in your This Will Be My Life plan. So letting sleeping dogs lie (or dead babies, dead?) we shall speak of...Boobs! (click on the pic on left and read the article on pin-up girls.)

If a woman talks about penises and men, it’s called penis envy; what when she talks – like I do – of breasts, incessantly? Boobonic plague?

The under-wired bra is the single, most evil invention meant to constantly denigrate the female body. It is a constant reminder of that which you don’t have, those that were once pert and those which look better on other women. Whether it was God or chemical reactions that lead to the evolution of the human body, Breasts were supposed to hang. Think about it. If breasts were meant to stand on their own or face a different direction (than down south), breasts would come with a set of bones in them. There are 24 ribs to hold the lungs in place (the rib cage); there could easily have been 16 more to mold the breasts and keep them on constant perkiness.

Now women are made to wear their insecurities on their chest. Irrespective of your cup size, you’re always doing something wrong and the bra-tzkreig will get you.

No cleavage? Try the bra with a ‘wow’ effect. HUGE boobs? Try the minimising bra. Saggy boobs? Try the push-up bra. Perfectly normal boobs? Try getting a “fitting” done to make them look even better because Pamela Anderson’s are the most admired boobs, Eva Longoria was the flavour of the season and Lara Croft can tomb raid without jiggling hers. OR, try a lace bra that ‘showcases’ them. Do it for yourself gurl!

Even though I have been generally happy with my breasts I realised that no matter what your boob size, there is always scope for improvement.

Realisation came as I modelled a backless outfit before Partner. Now Partner is usually considerate and particularly smart when it comes to ‘things you say/don’t to a woman’. Perhaps the slip-of-tongue was because he was fiddling with the remote... As I shimmied before him and demanded to know what he thought of the dress – which is usually a cue for any/every man to say he likes the dress – Partner took one look and said, “The dress is nice but if you had smaller boobs, you could have pulled off the bra-less look.”
:(

And THAT pretty much is the truth. Happiness is not a state of mind, it’s a state of breast.
PS: I started thinking boobs (again) after reading ‘Go Fug Yourself’. Reasons hereunder.

The Hindustan Times, published, august 7, 2008

Fab, fad or fugly?
Jhoomur Bose
There are some things in life that are great equalisers and show how despite colour, caste and creed, human beings are pretty much the same the world over. Having a television camera shoved in your face is one such equaliser. It makes people say stupid things.

Like the Los Angeles police commissioner who was on a roll – happens when you put both your feet in your mouth – when speaking to KNBC-TV recently. When asked if the paparazzi was a problem in LA, police chief William Bratton helpfully added, "...since Britney started wearing clothes and behaving; Paris is out of town not bothering anybody anymore, thank God, and evidently, Lindsay Lohan has gone gay, we don't seem to have much of an issue." Er, right, except that Miss Lohan has an issue with the police making comments on people's personal lives and all that.

Unfortunately for Miss Lohan and Like (read, celebrities and celeb wannabes), life only gets more complicated. If the press, paparazzi and Mr Blackwell (of People magazine's Worst Dressed list fame) were not enough, the blogosphere has now unleashed the glamournazi on them. The bloggers who follow celebrity fashion and are adept at deconstructing celeb attires – even those who write on them – thread by thread.

Mrs Tom Cruise, aka actress Katie Holmes – lovingly referred to as 'Tommy Girl' – and fashion columnist/presenter Steve 'Cojo' Cojoruco (E! Entertainment) are the leading slam-icons with Dark Knight actress Maggie Gyllenhaal, making a close second. Pop Hangover declare themselves to be 'pop culture satire with a vengeance' and often list things and people in their 'Suck Files'. Despite questionable satire and too-evident vengeance, at least Pop Hangover is honest: "...the straw man in the Wizard of Oz had nicer hair than Cojo." Truth hurts.

Despite the subtlety-overkill, the glamournazi have a knack for coining new terms. Like D Listed that labels the Angelina Jolie-Brad-Pitt twin-hype as 'Brangeloonism'. The site garners its hit-counts from stating the obvious: "They look like babies. Seriously, just babies. I ran home from the bar for this?" But then, if People (allegedly) paid $ 15 million for the twin-shots, why blame the bloggers?

The cake for mastering anonymous bitchiness though goes to the writer(s) at Go Fug Yourself , who are found on the blogrolls (list of blogs you read) of many a reader and have declared ' fugly is the new pretty'. Fugly by the way, means very ugly.

Take them as authorities on what celebs should be wearing or see them as jealous, disgruntled writers, the glamournazi are sure 'gruntling' many even as they point to the efficacy of underwired bras to Gyllenhaal, "Fear gravity girl, for it does not fear you."

C for church. C for choice.

A for abortion.
Cocaine is illegal in umpteen nations of the world but the coca plant grows in the wild in other South America. Much like marijuana (Cannabis sativa subspecies, indica), which is regularly burnt off in big cities but grows wildly (it’s weed!) in the picturesque, small hillstation Manali. And why just Manali, I was pleasantly surprised (er, shocked that is) to find it growing in happy bushels in a very respectable colony in Ludhiana. Meanwhile Amsterdam has cafes selling ‘joints’. As you change nations and boundaries, you realise that facets taken for granted in one country/place are alien to another. Even illegal. And then some facets don’t change.

Like abortion. Or the presumption that brave women have babies and bitches kill theirs. Or sluts.

For one, whether it’s India where abortions are legal and dont have religious connotations attached or whether it’s Australia where it’s almost semi-illegal and would displease the Church (for Catholics), there is no sympathy/ empathy for a girl who chooses not to have a baby.

If a woman is pregnant and lord forbid, she has a miscarriage or loses the baby, her support system will be around her. It was a mother who lost her baby. She is allowed to mourn the loss. But if a girl chooses to terminate the pregnancy, the reactions change. No one considers that she could perhaps mourn the loss too. After all, she chose to kill her baby, didn’t she? She is the bitch who could “lie back and enjoy being fucked” (said by someone close when debating the abortion-issue) but did not have the moral strength to give birth to the product of her carnal sins.

She is the woman who for her selfish reasons did not have the baby. She should either not have had sex or should have ensured she did not get pregnant. What if she does get pregnant despite all precautions? What if she is raped?

“Unborn babies have finger nails,” said the girl holding a banner with the picture of a foetus still in the womb. It’s a scene from the movie Juno (2007). Despite the theme of teenage pregnancy, the movie is funny. Juno is funny. Was the joke on the audience though?

On instant recall, of the three Hindi (popularly known as Bollywood) movies that touch upon the subject of pre-marriage pregnancy, the formula has been more or less the same.

In 1969, there was Aradhana (literally means prayer, Sharmila Tagore, Rajesh Khanna), where the heroine gets pregnant with her lover’s baby and he dies in a plane crash. The result? She is ostracised, thrown out of her house. BUT she sacrifices her life, chooses to become a housemaid and have the baby. The audience empathised and the movie was a major hit.

In 2000, we had Kya Kehna (what’s there to say, not literal), where actress Preity Zinta’s character gets pregnant and the boyfriend backs out. She too chooses to have the baby even though her father stops talking to her and all that. The movie was lauded for taking a step towards the coming-of-age of the Indian screen woman. She does not cry, she roars! She was seen as a positive step for single mothers and the movie ends with the character’s best friend marrying her. La di dah!

Circa 2005, there was Salaam Namaste (Preity Zinta, Saif Ali) shot entirely in Australia. It was supposedly avant-garde in talking about live-in relationships and pre-marital pregnancy. The girl gets pregnant, the boy gets cold feet about having the baby, the girl bravely goes ahead with the pregnancy, boys realises mistake and comes back and they live happily ever after.

In the 30 years or so between the three movies, the message has been the same. If you are not married and you get pregnant, a brave, morally couragious woman WILL have the baby. Even if she becomes a house maid, even if her family ostracises her and even if she has to do it alone. A woman is always a mother. All portrayals of women who dont want children is negative. Whether it’s Eva Longoria’s character in Desperate Housewives or Priyanka Chopra’s in Aitraaz (a 2004, Hindi remake of Fatal Attraction).

Brave has baby, bitch kills baby. Or doesn’t want it.

Why is the emphasis always on s/he who is not born? If the pregnant woman is 16, why should she not think of herself? Or even if she is 26 and does not have the means to give that unborn child all s/he deserves – good food, a proper home, an education, adequate time, a father perhaps – is it more prudent to make something out of herself first or to have a baby in penury? Or even NOT have the baby because she is not ready?
I DON’T know the answers. I want to know.

Hex appeal anyone?

The Hindustan Times, July 24, 2008
"I get beaten up regularly, you will learn to adjust too," her to-be mother-in-law told her. Luckily she didn't take that parental advice and walked out a week before her marriage. She was 23. Another was not as lucky and grew to be very scared of the night, that's when her husband came back from work. She was 18. He never beat her, technically, but he raped her every night, every possible way. She took three years to get out of the marriage. Both women are 'comfortable' sharing their stories over a cup of coffee but neither of them is a blogger nor wants to be one either. One wonders if there would be any takers for their blogs or would they be labelled 'feminists' and cast aside?

It's ironic that while both 'feminine' and 'feminist' come from 'female', one conjures images of Marilyn Monroe's mystery, Sophia Loren's sensuousness and Bo Derek's twins; the other neither invokes such visual richness nor summons any pleasing reactions. 'Hard-nosed', bitch, needs-a-lay are just some of the polite words. Currently the blog world is divided over feminine and feminist too. Feminine will write about sex, or rather who she 'shags' (and how); feminist will write about who shagged her -- and then beat her.

If on one hand there's cleavage-baring (nice cleavage though) Zoe Margolis aka Abbey Lee aka Girl With A One Track Mind who gives insight on men-women-relationships with a generous dose of her generous , there's Fay Weldon who also gives insight on men and women but sans the cleavage or her sex life. She does write on sex though, more on the lines of "It's OK to fake an orgasm" or "Rejecting a lover can give you more gratification". Those are excerpts from an article she wrote on keeping men happy on Femail daily. If Abbey Lee talks about massaging a man's gonads, Weldon talks about squeezing the same to prove your point.

Feminine or feminist, all women seem to talk about bodies, babies, boobs and beatings. There's Samantha Brett on Ask Sam who answers dating and relationship queries. While Sam's writing is neither witty enough to compare with Abbey Lee nor scathing enough to match up to Weldon's, for some quick easy (at times, can-find-anywhere) advice on what's the right thing to do, she suffices.

For those who'd rather read fiction than facts, there's – hold your breath – Witchy Chicks who write fictional, sex-filled, lustful, orgasmic (etc, etc) stories on wicca, sex, women, sex, wizards, sex… Don't read for much quality – 'Hex Appeal' anyone? – but it's worth a laugh.

PS: Current status: No internet yet, course going fine, met awesome Sri Lankan girl, wore green socks yesterday that were called woolly mammoth and moss among other polite things. Cooked Indian dinner. Gave CV to chef saying I was a baker, he was Greek and said he will call back. So that I can bake for him. Like the idea, it should pay. Let's see. Gotta go, this is the library!!!

Have strong legs, make man happy!

OR Queer, Womyn and Cash!

If you see, those three words in the 'headline' aren't really related. Or they are if you see from another perspective. Once again, apologies for rather sporadic posting, particularly since I'm still not sure about the frequency of my writing here. Am I writing elsewhere? Nah, nowhere other than some scribbles in the notebook that are meant to become blog posts, but don't. Why don't they? Hmmm. Perhaps because as information flows in from all quarters, I'm trying to segregate what I see, sense, learn, un-learn; trying to slot into understandable sub-heads that can then make for (perhaps) readable posts. Sometimes, I'm plain tired. My thighs and calves HURT and occassionally the balls (of the feet!) as well. There's a WHOLE lot of walking one has to do in Melbourne and I've never had strong legs.

Hmmm. Perhaps I shouldn't be accepting I have weak legs... In the movie Mongol, Timugin's (we know him as Genghis/Chengiz Khan) father tells him he should be marrying a woman with strong legs as "they make a man happy". If anyone has any doubts about HOW a woman's legs are supposed to make a man happy -- in Melbourne they might mean she can walk fast and do more work, like in rural parts of India it could mean she is a strong worker! -- just think Xenia Onatopp ('on a top' anyone?!) in Golden Eye and remember how she merrily held on to the men with her legs and then even more merrily squeezed the life out of them. Erm, I mean she killed them, no double entendres. Anyway, thankfully, despite my weak-legs-status, Partner says he is very happy with me.

Ah but perhaps I should not be talking about Partner being happy with me, it could piss off the womyn. 'Womyn' -- not woMEN, it's anti-feministic -- is the only-for-girls group that's there at RMIT, the university I start from Monday. I love their common room and the pamphlets on cervical cancer, anti-womyn's abuse and softer abortion laws (huge number of Catholics love, why do you think the revered Pope is visiting?) that are up on the walls. HOWEVER, the promotion of Guerilla Girls stickers bothers me. Not because I have anything against the Girls or their ideologies, but if I, as a WOMAN can get rights, opportunities, a say, a pay and your balls WITHOUT having to leave the man I love, or hate the man who sired me, or the man who hired me, without ever spreading my legs, fluttering my lashes, or wearing pant-suits or pantyhose to LOOK a certain part, I really don't want to be a guerilla. I really want to sign up for the programme and do things like write or perhaps bake some cookies and cakes once in a while, speak to girls/women/womyn who might need an ear or both... BUT...let's see. I was very excited about being part of a 'feminist' college -- Lady Shri Ram -- but unfortunately, other than much slogan-calling and other stuff, I personally don't think they ever promoted free thought. And well, there's no love lost either way. So while am VERY excited (and bloody nervous) about going back to 'college', let's see. Also, thankfully, I am not going to be the oldest. Yay! I'm still to meet anyone from my course, but read the feedback from a 44-year-old lady and made friends
(perhaps) with a 33-year-old Irani fellow.

Currently, am waiting for classes to start and get a move on things. I am also looking/hoping to get a job. No, I haven't applied yet. While I'd LOVE to do different things -- shoe sales girl, chef assistant, waitress --- it is AWESOME experience and hands-on research... perhaps it will be more prudent to try and find something in my own 'line'. Journalism. Media. Hmmm. It's NOT skilled labour you know -- apparently any idiot can write -- so I don't know or am not too sure about the opportunities, but let's see.

Last weekend I went for my first 'footy' game at the Telstra Dome. That's Australian football, a mix of rugby, soccer and Quidditch (refer Harry Potter you ignorami you, the four goal posts remind me it but no broomsticks, sorry). Somehow the cheering/jeering in Aussie culture goes well with my temperament. I love whistling, hooting and generally being boisterous. I didn't feel like an un-lady-like idiot booing the other team or shouting for mine.

Yes, yes, given that the kids here have footy in their bloods and I have been hearing about it for all but 9 months, I DO love the game. It goes fast, takes a lot of skill and fitness, the boys wear cute shorts and have hot legs and the spirit around is just so bloody infectious. My team -- "my" because Partner's promised to be put me in the next container and ship me off if I support another team -- is called Essendon. The Bombers. Red and black are their colours. Hah. Bongshell for Bombers and I love red and black. Now if only I'd enjoy beer.

Between beer and caffeine and despite the many varieties of tea available in the many Chinese supermarkets, haven't seen Aussie's drinking much else. Since am not earning in AUD yet, am paying 120 bucks for a cappucchino, friggin' 484 bucks for a packet of cigarettes (that should make me quit soon and you DON'T have to remind me of me trying to quit, I remember, I wrote it!) ... And it's hurting. I spent ONLY 300 something dollars yesterday, on ESSENTIALS and that translates into 12,000 Rupees. I am poor. :( After 9 years of working, flashing press cards and beginning 2008, being interviewed on bloody television, I am UN-fuckin-EMPLOYED! :(

Sigh. There's SO much to write... SO much... but slowly.

PS: The 'Queer' in secondary header was because RMIT also has a society for queer students -- gays, lesbians, bis, tranvestites, curious... More on that when I get to know beyond just reading their pamphlets.