Chez Moi

Oh how the mighty have fallen! A R Murugadoss, who gave us the fantastic Ghajini last year, is back this year with a bucket of old tripe called Stalin. I, for one, am convinced that the only reason good folks around the globe are putting down their hard-earned money is because it has the ‘mega star’ Chiranjeevi in it. From Chiru’s point of view, he delivers a decent message, possibly laying the groundwork for his political career but the movie is just one big washout.

The story is nothing new - the hero is this champion do-gooder, an Indian Army Major, who has been discharged due to some mysterious reasons. His hankering to spread goodwill amongst his fellowmen comes to fruition with his pyramid-scheme plan of helping three strangers, who help three others and there on, it spreads (members of GoldQuest take note) to include the general population. He thus helps a mum get an infant back, who in turn, helps somebody else and the chain carries on, and on, till the climax when one of the benefactors of said scheme ends up helping Chiru make an escape from the villain’s henchmen. But the way it has been portrayed, the plan progresses rather one-dimensionally, instead of the envisaged pyramid format.

In the course of the day, he comes across a semi-thug, whose FIL is the real thug (Prakash Raj in one of his most pathetic roles) who want to thrash the life out of him. Helpfully enters Trisha into his life, to provide the necessary leverage for the villain’s goondas to collar her and start yet another fight with the hero.

The movie continues along the same vein, a few song and dance routines in far-flung exotic locales interspersed with action sequences, which finally end in a climax sequence, where the hero is fighting for his life in hospital, after fighting off Prakash Raj’s goons as well as the assorted junta who had gathered around to watch the shooting but who were roped in when the supply of baddies ran out, with the doctors trying to patch him up. The docs cave in half-way as an old Army injury (the real reason why the man got the boot - that it was a medical one and as such, might be of slight importance to him totally escapes everyone’s notice) threatens to get worse but the hero’s brother shouts at and pleads with the medico in turns, who then does an about turn and starts where he left off and hey presto! the man wakes up to thank the auto fella who drove the vehicle that helped him escape the baddies who were chasing him down the highway who, just happened to be one who benefited from the ‘help 3 people pyramid scheme’ hatched by said hero, who is thrilled to bits to hear the success of his plan. Phew! Of course, by now, most of Andhra Pradesh is camped outside the hospital, praying for the hero’s recovery.

**Yawn**

How many more times will we be served this same old, left over tripe, glossed over with just enough glaze to pass off as a new movie? I have had it. This movie has so many holes in it that it can put any slice of Swiss cheese to shame. Granted, helping others is a good concept and post-Munnabhai, a lot of movies seem to be going this route but why the rest of the palaver to deliver this simple message?

There is none of the professionalism the director exhibited in his previous venture. The movie comes across as a B-grade imitation affair which is real sad, really. Take, for example, the scene where the hero puts his ‘help three strangers’ plan into action. The first person he helps is a mum, who has left her baby in her car (helpfully leaving the keys on the door) while she goes to the pharmacy. The hero and his sis happen to walk past the car, even as the baby starts to wail, open the car (!), take the baby out and take it around the shops, asking if the shopkeepers had seen the baby’s mother (!!). By now, the mum has got back to the car, which unfortunately has been towed by the traffic police (!!!). In a state, she gets to the impound lot and gets to the car instantly (!!!!) but of course, there isn’t a baby inside the car. She starts hitting the police asking everyone where’s her baby. No one helpfully points out to her then or ever, what an idiot she was to leave her baby all alone in the car, along with the keys, whilst she went shopping.

The hero has of course, rescued the infant and has left his details with the R.T.O office, who trace the car and give him the owner’s details. Hero takes baby to its home and rejoins its with its mum, first imploring with the happy dad to help three strangers. This whole parody had me in stitches, I tell you. Where in our country do we get such a wonderous group of people, pray tell me, that turn out such examples of instant service? And who are we talking about here - the traffic police, the impound lot, the blessed RTO office, for chrissake! In which opiate dream did they become so?

There are loads more rib-tickling moments of similar nature, the fight sequences, for instance. The stunt-director seems to have been inspired by Hot Shots: Part Deux - thugs literally fling themselves at Chiru from all directions who simply spins about and poof! they fall down like dominoes! This is the way every single fight is choreographed baddie runs headlong into hero, only to go flying out and ends up on his face; baddie 2 follows suit next second and so on the routine continues till the supply of baddies is exhausted.

Trisha seems to be there in the film purely for decorative purposes. But if she gets to take home a cool Rs 25 lakhs (rumoured to be much more) for wearing skimpy outfits and shaking a leg in exotic beaches, then hey, I’m sure she’d sign on the dotted line a few more times. Though I am sure she can swim passably, she has to work on the rest of it. Being shown as a champion swimmer is one thing, but jumping into water to start off a race with all the finesse of a sack of potatoes is another. Oh and the fact that she looks and is, young enough to be Chiru’s daughter shall not be mentioned, ever!

Khushboo fits the part of big sis comfortably and does justice to her role, as does Sharadha, who plays their mum. Sunil in a light-hearted role with some serious overtones comes up trumps. The rest of the cast is there just to add strength to the numbers. The cameraman’s awe of the mega star is visible in every frame as the camera simply dances away merrily, giving everyone watching sore eyes. The soundtrack is instantly forgettable; none of the songs even registered in my mind even while I was watching the film.

Strictly for die-hard Chiru fans ONLY. Rest of you can stay at home, relax with your favourite HotShots DVD.

In the past few weeks, quite a few people have written something about my hometown be it their brush with the humidity and the pollution or how diametrically opposite it is to the North Indian cities, such as Delhi. Reading about these have made me quite home sick for my lovely city and I thought I shall put pen to paper and write about what makes me love it so.

Chennai, or Madras as it was known then and familiar to me today, has always been the perfect amalgamation of the old and the new. It is a city, where the kancheevaram sarees and old maamis live hand-in-hand with the Mocha coffee swigging, tank topped teeny-bopper. It is a city where the December Music Season is the highlight of the year’s cultural calender. But it is also the city where multi-stored malls and ginormous technology parks are coming up at an alarming pace. Kapaleeshwarar Temple still holds sway while Dublin continues to rock the party, come Saturday night.

The old and the new have meshed together so well that one barely leaves a dent on another. The Geetha cafes and Saravana Bhavan clientele still continue going about their daily toils, the latest opening of Baristas notwithstanding. Pizza Hut still has a mile long seating queue outside its premises most evenings and the latest branch of Madurai Idli Kadai just a little over a mile away doesn’t put any pro-Italianos off their stride.

It is also a city of crazy traffic and diabolical drivers. Having a countdown at the traffic lights seems to have made these speed demons crazier than before, what with all the revving that happens even when the timer has a good 20 seconds to go! Latest model Honda Civics aside, the potholes the latest bout of rains have gifted to the repaved roads will give your bones a workout no Shiatsu massage ever will.

It is also the city where the humidity hits you like a wet blanket the minute you set foot in. The sweat running in rivulets, combining with the dust and grime will make you look rather like an Indian brave by the end of the day. If you are not used to it, it may well make you weep!

Though Tamil is the language of the state and the DMK fervour had made sure that there is a bit of ziddi in speaking the language, the people are not averse to learning a new language. Proof of this would be the hugely popular language programmes run by the Alliance Francaise and Max Muller Bhavan, which teach French and German, respectively. But this trait is not to be found solely amongst the younger generation. My old vegetable vendor used to speak in highly fractured but extremely serviceable Hindi to one of my neighbours, who had moved to Chennai from Bombay a few years back. Though the lady had been a resident of the city for about 3 years then, she hadn’t picked up a word of the local language while the wizened vendor knew enough to sell her bhindi and baingan on demand!

Chennai, the city, is split into many zones, depending on its population. Accordlingly, in Sowkarpet, you will find Sindhis and Marwaris whilst in Parrys Corner,you will find lot more Telugus than Tamils. (Aside: Though the Sindhis and Marwaris have settled in the city and generations of their families have been calling Chennai home, none of them could speak a word of Tamil amongst them. This was a highly irritating factor during my college days. )
Eastern Madras is full of the brahmins whilst the South has folks connected to tinsel-town.

Though the city is now expanding in all directions at break neck speed and once shunned areas such as Velachery and Virugambakkam are now extremely sought after, the old demarkations still exist. The new perimeters haven’t erased the old they have simply, in typical Chennai fashion, become a part of the fabric.

It is also the city where education is supreme. Every year, during admission time, you will find anxious mums and dads queuing outside the city’s top schools, just to get an application form. The streets will be bereft of children come evening, as they will all be busy at the abacus classes, trying to master that ancient art, before taking off to the Bharatnatyam or singing classes. It is the same city where John Britto and Swingers dance schools flourish, helping wannabe Prabhu Devas turn their dreams into reality.

This is also the city where NIFT sits comfortably next to Co-Optex showroom. The city where the latest fashion trend is a saree with a pocket for one’s cell phone. The city where heels come with butti patterns to match the pallus. The city where hipsters jeans are worn with a zari top. This is the city where the paati’s Annamacharya keertans jostle for space with grand daughter’s James Blunt.

That is the magic of my city a city where the roads are full of potholes, the traffic snarls legendary, the water problem one of epic proportions, where sabhas are as important as the multiplexes but one in which a person can go for a spot of masala dosa and milkshake at mdnight, on the way back from a disco or a pizza and fresh juice for high tea, before joining the pattu saree maamis at Music Academy for a K J Yesudas kutcheri. A city where aalaapana and Air Nikes exist comfortably.

This is Madras, nalla Madras. We are like this only, saar!