Revenge of the Shakespeare Hater

A strange thing happened the other day at a restaurant I was eating out at. Munching at the delicacies laid out, I had kinda ignored the French-fries that came along with the other stuff. A boy-man came up, stood beside me and made a funny argha-ahem noise. When I looked up, he cocked his head at the other end of my table and moved his thumb in a look-there kinda obscene gesture. In turn, I raised both my eyebrows, stopped munching, questioning him with a you-talking-to-me look. (God! Had I done something weird again?) My eyes quickly darted around. Nah, all seemed well. The BM(boy-man) tilted his head and stared at the food. Now, I’ve always prided myself on understanding sign language but this wasn’t anything close. So, I asked BM what the matter was. He looked ruefully at my table, “you gonna eat all that?” Strange q. It took a minute to understand he expected a civilized reply from me. I yes-I-ammm..ed. He said, “well, you have an appetite, huh!” What a moron! Before I could um-hun, he said, “I don’t think you’re gonna be able to eat the FF, too. You’re gonna throw them away and I hate people wasting food when the rest of the population starves.” He made a grab for my precious FF and said, “there, lemme take care of that.” NOT SO FAST, MISTER! Gimme my food back! “hey hey hey!” goes the nincompoop, “what’s a little pack of fries to you?” Unbelievable. He also looked at me as if I was taking HIS food away from him. “Take it back for all I care!” said he. The kids at McD were watching me, the parents looked accusingly at me, too. Saying, “What’s wrong with you, man?” he walked away, leaving me with a torn pack of fries in my hand.

Before I could walk down to the counter and talk to the manager, my 15 year old nephew marched in and led me away. Yeah, 'twas a prank played by a pack of juvenile dolts. This was punishment, you see, for making him memorise entire passages out of Shakespeare’s plays for his exam.

I have forgiven him and his pals.

Of course, not a day goes by when i don't do a little ‘heh-heh-heh jig’ and rub my hands together in sheer, malicious pleasure, for special effects. If only the kiddo knew what’s in store for him around his next exam.

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Fame mongers! I ask you!

Rakhi Sawant...sigh! The woman who, despite multiple plastic surgeries, enhancements and what-have-you, still looks like a distorted mask, claims to become an “ideal wife” on national television!

Gimme a break! For a C-grade someone, she sure has gone overboard in acting demure and pure! The struggling item girl-turned big-boss-celebrity-turned-virginal-actor will now get married on TV! What will people not do for publicity and eyeballs! First a bhartiya-nari charade on being kissed, then a sob story about her life, a coupla third rate minute-long appearances in bhojpuri films and now this! Come on, she doesn’t even sound convincing!

Remember what happened to Rick Rockwell, the silhouetted multi-millionaire figure, in 'Who Wants to Marry a Multi-millionaire?' It so turned out neither was the man a multi-millionaire nor was the marriage real! The woman was paid to act along. They all got what they wanted: spotlight. By the way, the so-called marriage was annulled 2 months later.

Alas! There are some who think people like Rakhi are great. Haven’t I heard the “at least they are honest” dialogue a million times? Honest about what? The stories are “leaked” as media hype. One knows the truth is bound to come out sooner or later. Remember Mallika Sherawat? Turned out she was married and had concocted all those crazy stories of supposed ill-treatment.

Poor MJ’s not even buried when his ex comes up and reveals the goriest of details about their bedroom and what not. Is this the time, I ask you!

What IS the matter with people? What will they not do for a bubble reputation! One has to achieve higher goals, but at what cost?

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MJ: More Sinned Against than Sinning…

No, I am not a fan. But, I still think MJ was a man more sinned against than sinning. And, now, he shall sing no more.

A celebrity hounded. It’s unfortunate that a lot of people remember him for the wrong reasons. Enduring physical and mental abuse by your own father for years is not a simple thing. Growing up branded in a cruel world that thinks nothing of you if you ain’t white or rich can be psychologically devastating.

But, MJ not only made it, he made it like no other! His was THE breakthrough. He is the reason other African-American singers were noticed and recognized.

Not for nothing was he described as, “an unstoppable juggernaut, possessed of all the tools to dominate the charts seemingly at will…” He had star power and that fact is undeniable. Remember him for his music, his songs, his voice, his dance moves…forget the rest…he was human, like us. So what if he got a nose job/other surgical treatments? Don’t forget – he grew up believing black was not beautiful. Isn’t that something the society needs to feel responsible for? What’s wrong in wanting a better nose anyway? He was just another human who wanted to look better than he thought he did. Is that a crime? Any one else would go unnoticed; but, just because it’s “MJ,” people badger, attack, stab, gibe, mock, twist, distort.

Limelight does strange things to people. Maybe he was weird or a rebel. So what? He was a man who could not only hold but arrest your attention. And, for decades! How can you forget his path-breaking work?

Let him be…let's not judge...he made mistakes…we all do. Life is complicated. Let’s celebrate him for what he was: a singer, a dancer like no other, a song-writer. The rest does not matter. As Auden once wrote for Yeats, so it is for MJ:

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all;

Sing of human unsuccess

In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the Prison of his days,

Teach the free man how to praise...

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How Much?

How much? Kitne ka? WHAT! Are there diamonds in there?
This cacophony of shrill and crass voices brought my attention to the source of the sound. I turned around to see two youngish women, identically dressed in jeans so tight I wondered how in the world they'd got 'em on, streaked hair, make-up & what have you. (Ah! No, I have nothing against the D&G bags...and the rest of it either)They stood there, pouting. I turned back to look at the artisan who looked at them with the kinda benign patience only a poor man can have.(Oh, by the way, I was in a tribal art & craft fest)If you were to look at this potter's wares, created outta mud, wrought in fire and sweat, you'd feel the same way I did: horrified at the words of the women. What he'd created in a remote village of Maharashtra was mind-boggling. Creativity, beauty, art at its ethnic best! What these women found "expensive" was a foot scrub, a curved fish shaped as if it were in the last throes of death. Rs 50. That's all. The younger of the two then looked at other stuff, found it ridiculous and moved on to the next stall. The potter and I exchanged looks. It was an odd moment. I plopped down next to him. He sighed and said nothing. I let him be silent. After a bit, I asked him about his work. This chap comes all the way from a tiny hamlet in a Godforsakenplace, travels for 2 days in a general compartment of a messy train, all the while wondering if his goods will reach Delhi intact or not, pays a huge amount of money to be in a place like Dilli Haat and is not even entitled to earn a few pennies as profit? His hands are magical...they create such beautiful shapes outta the shapeless mass! He even has fridge magnets moulded into exaggerated heads of animals, people...even tiny V-shaped chappals! All these are glazed and in different colours typical of India. He's also got miniscule cups and saucers, threaded to be hung on a kitchen door...I mean his goods are so NOT run-of-the-mill. But then, how can a woman who lacks imagination, wears what the others wear, carries bags that are supposedly carried by the elite(shucks! people are so dying to be 'like' somebody!)and probably buys stuff only from the malls, ever know what it is like to appreciate the smaller things of life? She is running after the west so blindly that she has no time to "stand and stare" (Wordsworth said that?) at the beauty that is there in the 'unbranded' things of life.
Hmm...I looked at this potter's dark face, white teeth, silver hair, knotted fingers, bare feet,, bent back...and his life kinda flashed before my eyes. I felt deeply touched.
As the old man sipped tea, a gaggle of giggly teenagers passed us, tarried for a bit, and moved on, exclaiming...eee...didya see that or what!
It was time to move on. My bags and I found our way back to a small bench, where I sat down and wondered...I don't know what this woman must have bought( I have serious doubts if she managed to buy anything at all...she wouldn't have liked to buy a banana-skin bag, a coconuthusk tray or mugs made out of lavastone) but I do know this: with all the education and the frills, if one cannot appreciate the unpretentious things of life, it can't be called life...it's merely a semblance of it...and one, then, is not living, one is hurrying on to finish up life.

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