Saddest story I ever heard

There I was, doing what I do, checking into social media every 30 minutes (come on, there are more interesting people on Twitter than I've met my ENTIRE life), when I came across a YouTube comment that broke my heart. It was under a love scene from an interesting TV show, and this stranger wrote something on the lines of "I wish I was one of them, either one. But since I'm almost 80 years old, I guess that will never be. Young people don't seem to understand that sex is something older people can still be into. I'm on YouTube because I like the music I find, and for the porn."
I had to go and sit down for a while. Of course, young people will find the truth of what he said - if they live to be almost 80. They will also find the honesty to admit the truth in everything he said if they live to be almost 80. But I swear, it was the saddest slice of life I've heard in a long, long time.

Akshaya Mukul wins Shakti Bhatt prize

In its ninth year, the Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize 2016 has been won by Akshaya Mukul for his book “Gita Press and the Making of Hindu India”.

Judges and authors Samanth Subramanian, Mahesh Rao and Janice Pariat chose Mukul’s work for its “eye-opening and captivating exploration into a parallel literary culture that can often feel at a great remove from English-speaking metropolitan India.”

They added, “Mukul’s painstaking research tells the story of a publishing house in the Hindi heartland, which, through its output of religious texts and magazines, achieved enormous influence to become the vehicle of an intensely focused political project. The current overseers of that regrettable project – of Hindutva, or Hindu nationalism -- have only become bolder and more powerful, which makes "Gita Press" challenging, timely and provocative.

“Mukul's book was a highly original and commendable work

involving a dogged determination to set out the many particularities of the Gita Press and the colourful personalities that drove its agenda. It is also a book that is relevant to cultural homogenization across the ages, since at its heart it reveals what it takes to be a cultural mythmaker, and how a specific nexus of religious, caste and linguistic considerations have reaped extraordinary rewards.”

As shortlist judge, author Arshia Sattar said: “This year’s shortlist for the Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize reminds us that the diaspora is writing hard and writing well. Four of our selected writers live and work outside the sub-continent. But their exceptional work is counter-balanced by equally noteworthy books written within India. All the books this year should make us reconsider what we think we know but have either forgotten or not acknowledged: the long (and often sinister) shadows of particular events and people, the individual lives nestled inside large histories, lives that shimmer on the margins of our vision and as always, the darkness hidden inside families.”

Shortlist

Manu S Pillai The Ivory Throne

Madhu Gurung The Keeper of Memories

Sophia Khan Yasmeen

Nisid Hajari Midnight’s Furies

Akshay Mukul Gita Press and the Making of Hindu India

Kanishk Tharoor Swimmer Among the Stars

The Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize is a cash award of 2 lakh rupees, and a trophy.

It is funded by the Shakti Bhatt Foundation and Priti Paul through the Apeejay Trust.

Need my Stash

I never buy fragrances until I've tested it about three times but my favourite scent (since I fell in love with "Babe", modelled iconically by Margaux Hemingway before she went grandaddy's way), is Sarah Jessica Parker's "Lovely", so I'm just going to try and procure her new "Stash" sight, and smell, unseen. "Lovely"'s bottle is shaped like a woman's body, mine holds pale pink liquid and the aroma reminds you of spiked ocean breezes; there's never been anything quite like it. SJP was personally involved in its debut so I would trust her when she says "Stash" will also be worth my while. There was a run in the Ulta online store, a little bird told me, (oh, ok, I read it on Instagram), and SJP has had to rush in fresh stock. I feel like a junkie waiting for a fix.
On a side note, Narciso Rodrigues' "Her" is too close to "Lovely" to not warrant an eyebrow raise. Originality can never be prized highly enough so while I'll give NR his due for those band dresses, this is a bit much.
"Babe", another birdy told me, (oh, alright, I read it online), has been relaunched. That sweet, innocent, hopeful, young aura could me mine again? Say it's so.
Also, bloody hell, why am I so far from civilisation?

Birthday cake

The tattoo I dare not get on my arm.....not THAT feisty!

Rio grand

Went online to see which medal Tom Daley had won - and screamed. How could he bomb out? Is that even possible? FOUR YEARS of trying and then not qualify?? How he resurfaces from this will be the real test, of course. He's an idol especially to young divers so to show true grit when you fail spectacularly will be much more significant than grinning at the camera holding your gold.
They say character is destiny but that's not entirely true: The universe spins on a roll of the dice; your character is all you're left with after destiny flips you the bird.
Not that I feel too sorry for Tom. A passion that is the singular focus of every day, fans worldwide, a supportive family, great friends and the love of his life. Also, does he have a mirror? Come on. So when he gets over the trauma of the semi-finals, he should be alright. And I hope we see what he's made of when the glory misses him by the curve of his back for one miserable moment.
My other all-time favourite was this Indian girl who none of us had heard of because she's not a cricketer but who showed us with an adorable swagger and grace under pressure what she's made of. P V Sindhu may have got a Silver in Badminton at Rio but she's a 24-carat star in the homeland today.

Dear Johnny

Poor Johnny Depp. Didn't he know that trophies are sometimes heavy to carry? There he was with the sublime Vanessa Paradis for decades and then he simply had to answer the call for a younger model on his arm, although it's ok that HE's become portly and a bit of a caricature of himself. Fortunately for the woman, no one dares call her out on the timely photos of her bruised face, (without Snapchat, what is this, 2010?), except for the Internet commentators - and as we know the Internet Always Wins. No one dares to say that women cannot always be trusted when they yell abuse, just like men can never be trusted when they swear undying love. Recently read a tweet where some wit said he would rather be happy than write. Happiness is for cats and dogs, as the saying goes, Humans should aspire for something more.

Idris baby

Idris Elba's baby black eyes would have drawn me in but Luther was great in various ways. Ruth Wilson? Come on. Talk about killer baby blues, and that smile was like a shark grinning in the water just as it smelled blood, yours. I will ignore the fact that they stayed with the same script, Luther solving cases and living a parallel life of crime for 4 seasons because you know, all I remember is Luther pouring petrol over his body, Luther hanging a guy off a building to get some answers, Luther disposing of various bodies because it was the right thing to do, Luther recognising a sociopath, NOT thinking There but for the grace of God... and donning her like a second skin. Great stuff. The series was people-centric in the best way. It had passion, pain, flawed and yet honourable individuals, and a complete disregard for moral absolutes. Which one of us can throw a pebble, much less a stone; this is why the show struck a chord.
Which is also what made the latest seasons of CSI so awful. The people were lifeless, and we're not talking about the corpses. Did they take Elizabeth Shue off her meds? What was with the perpetual sneer, the twitchiness, the icy capability? Remembering her in Leaving Las Vegas, I don't even know what to say anymore about life's perpetual disappointments. And Ted Danson? Really? William Petersen gained some sympathy even if he was such a cold fish, but what did DB stand for, deadbeat?
From being one of my favourite shows, all I did was heave a sigh of relief when CSI finally closed its doors.
Thank God for Bosch.

Conversations, Bangalore

Me: Hi, Do you have nail polish remover?
Store salesperson: Yes, madam, what colour?
********

Me in auto, relaxed, listening to music, halfway to my destination.
Driver: Madam, where did you say you wanted to go again?
********

At vague eye clinic, explaining to well-known doctor that the new lens he prescribed is uncomfortable and that my vision was better with my old pair.  He rambled on about how light is transmitted, about colours and perception and so on, until he was satisfied my eyes were glazed from more than just the wrong lens. When people ramble in response to a question, asking the question again seems futile, something evasive individuals understand and use to the fullest extent possible.
His final word: There's no need to wear a higher power. The distance in this room meets international standards.
(Did I mention the new lens cost me thousands? And that this is why I wish I could pray to a God that when I am struck down by one of His whims, I will succumb quickly, with no need to meet my end at the hands of an utterly indifferent physician. The only Hippocratic oath this lot takes is what that word sounds like.)
********

Receptionist at same eye clinic, taking down my particulars, name, age, do I have hypertension or diabetes.
Her: How do you spell your last name? T..H..A....ok.
Pause.
Her: How long have you had it?
Pregnant pause.
Me: How long have I had what?
Her: Hypertension.
Me: Oh. Years. (In my head: From the beginning of this conversation.)

My boy Leo & the Oscars

Leo DiCaprio has always fascinated me. The stories they tell about him, the way he has kept the same friends he's had since forever, how he doesn't take any woman apart from his mother seriously, his instinctive genius when it comes to his craft. There's just something unique about him. It's almost as though he's pretending to be human - and I mean that in the best way, humans are scum - when he's actually from somewhere beyond the stars.
That he got an Oscar is a double-edged sword. Maybe he wanted it, maybe he didn't care, but it almost seemed as though there would have been riots if they HADN'T given him one this year, like bonbons you're handing out after dinner, so it really does take away from the seriousness of it all. From the very beginning with What's Eating Gilbert Grape? to Blood Diamond to Wolf of Wall Street to Inception to Gangs of New York to, hell, what has he been in where he hasn't shone like a crazy diamond? he should have got 6 Oscars by now. I think awards are daft, as the marvellous Mark Rylance insinuated. His face in the bridge scene of Spies got him that statuette btw, which was the reason Leo should have got one for the way he turned to the camera in the FIRST scene of The Aviator, or the look in his eyes when Armie Hammer kissed him in J Edgar for that matter. Sometimes it is literally a moment that wins the highest accolade for an actor, (Judi Dench in Shakespeare in Love), a bit of an insult when you think the rest of the cast spent almost 2 hours for nothing.
I wait for Leo's next venture, although something he said on the Red Carpet made me wonder if he was thinking of moving on. I hope not. He is one of three reasons for me to get out of bed every morning.
Oscars2016 was interesting for many reasons. Chris Rock's opening monologue was brilliant but he should have stopped there. As a comedian how do you forget the nuances of timing? And going on ad nauseam about black and white Hollywood to the very people who pit one against the other, or worse, disregard one in favour of the other (it works both ways, surprise), was ungracious. You made your point, now get on with the entertainment, please.
I loved the speeches this year. Leo, who instead of talking about himself, spoke about humanity, Inarritu who spoke about the stupidity of thinking Colour instead of thinking Human, the incomparable Louis CK who, presenting the award for Best Documentary Short of all things, was both funny and clever.
Best-dressed, Male: Pharrell, cool from his blond crop to his rolled-up trousers and still elegant.
Best-dressed, Female: Jennifer Garner. Not sticking to the cookie-cutter style Reese Witherspoon and Kate Winslet choose every appearance works big time.
Best Performance: Lady Gaga
Worst performance and much Twitter tangle later: Sam Smith.

Flat but still fabulous

MAC Cosmetics has a reputation for having the best products worldwide - and the worst customer relationships. Any Youtuber will relate the horror stories but it's so strange because they're all the same. That when you walk into a store and if there are just 2 other women there (the men are part of the sales team if at all present), the staff will completely ignore you. The usual line when they deign to acknowledge your presence is "I'll be with you in a minute. Just let me finish here." If they've been taught the spiel you'd think they would also have been taught not to then proceed to giggle and talk and then saunter through various product aisles and then giggle some more. All I wanted on the day I went was a lipstick. After waiting 5 minutes or so I asked the cleaning lady if there was even one other rep in the store. She called someone from the back. What was everybody waiting for? Just point me towards Lady Danger, honey, I wanted to say, and I'll make my own way to the cash counter. The rep was polite, if cold, (which is ok, I'm not here to make you my BFF), got me what I wanted and I was on my way. But you don't want to be pissed when you're shopping for the Holy Grail, do you. Which, in case you were wondering, was in this case a chalice brimming with
Lady D, Rebel & Flatout Fabulous. The fact that I fled the scene with only one I would count as both my loss and MAC's.

Grammys in tune, and not

Weren't the Grammys great? It threw up real talent, not the teenage pop crap a la Taylor Swift who's old enough now to know better (and whose reaction when Ed Sheeran won was so painfully "Look at me, aren't I magnanimous and well, look at me, not Ed, look at meeee!" I cringed). Alabama Shakes with their black, cool af beat & their love for the sound and feel of their music, the utter genius of Kendrick Lamar who also fights a very real fight decades after the civil rights movement, Diplo and Skrillex on the same stage, even the song Girl Crush and Hollywood Vampires were such highlights (but why does Johnny Depp look like a wannabe rock star starting out 30 years too late when Joe Perry doesn't have to get up off a couch to achieve the same effect? It can't be because we're used to seeing him as an actor, look at Jared Leto). 
Unfortunately, the show also felled 2 great talents. Adele went off-key (pretty much like Jesus failing to turn water into wine) and Lady Gaga's homage to Bowie was missing a certain fluidity although her heart was in the right place, apparently as a new tat on her skin. I couldn't have put it better than Bowie's son Duncan Jones' ouch-inducing Tweet: "'Over-excited or irrational, typically as a result of infatuation or excessive enthusiasm; mentally confused.' Damn it! What IS that word!?'"
I know everyone's excited about Demi Lovato's new sound (as in no one knew she could sing) but can I just say she seems to try too hard, it has to be effortless like Leona Lewis to make us acknowledge there is no doubt about how talented you are.
On a last note slash plea: Can someone stop LL Cool J? He's about as interesting a host as watching your accountant run through your tax returns.

Catching up

I was just frothing at the mouth over this so-called journalist who had interviewed an adult entertainment star now acting in Hindi movies. The offensive, antiquated, totally Indian male mindset questions he asked, no interrogated her with, were so incredible you knew instantly he could only do it in this country. Anywhere else he would have been fired on the spot. I would love to know what his search history consisted of after he reached puberty. Oh, wait, I don't think he ever did. I shall now wait with bated breath for his viewers to grow by leaps and bounds. Why not when we have news anchors who are national jokes with such high ratings that they make more money than a dozen talented, hardworking individuals could dream of in a single lifetime. Of course we can froth but nothing will change. So I caught up on my reading instead. My blood pressure is back to normal and I am neck-deep in Vuitton, Gucci and celebritydom. Good times, thank God.

Leo for the win

The Golden Globes were so wonky this year that I was wondering if life held any meaning at all anymore. From Ricky Gervais' tired lines and his and Mel Gibson's embarrassing shenanigans, I simply wanted to cringe back into my duvet with the cold I had been suffering all week. Looked like my suffering was by no means over.
Couldn't someone have given Denzel a script to accept his Cecil B. DeMille thingy? Hanks was more enjoyable (as always) giving out the damn thing. Couldn't someone have told the usually magnificent JLo that wrapping yourself extra-tight in a curtain still wouldn't have saved what she was wearing? No one would have dared with the diva, I suppose.
The highlights for me were Helen Mirren's perfect appearance from her hair to her jewellery to her dress; Lady Gaga's win, I think she has talent we don't even really understand, and Leonardo DiCaprio, not for winning awards which he should know are meaningless (Gervais got that right, at least), but because just seeing and hearing him, an actor and activist that has no parallel in my book, saved this exhausting evening from falling into the abyss where it belonged, never to have seen the light of day. Thank you, Leo, now please don't disappoint me by ever getting married. That, like awards, .......

Paris 2015

New Year's Eve at the Champs Elysees was a bit of alright. But I have to say it was Midnight Mass at Notre Dame that really got me all atwitter. The choir, the building, even the security forces outside signalling the real new world order, was an experience. I believe in no God but it was a sense of community where we were all thinking of those who had gone before that felt extraordinary. On NYE, I thought I was being brave going where the threat of terrorism was so real that Belgium had cancelled its celebrations - until I saw parents with babies at the Arc de Triomphe. Paris, in between, was magic. I get my kicks just walking down its cobblestoned paths.

Shakespeare&Co

Cafe République

Champs Elysees