This was first published a few minutes ago on Clinical Research Forum where I write under the identity Goldeneye.

One of the most dreaded moments of any interview is when, after you have batted carefully on a difficult pitch elaborating your achievements and strengths in a painstaking manner, the interviewer gives you a strong disapproving look and throws a bouncer, “Tell me about your weaknesses”. Enterprising candidates have been known to come up with clever responses like, “Ummm….er…..my greatest weakness is…..eh….that….I don’t really know about my weaknesses!” Take that!  

Imagine the horror of the interviewer when a interview went like this…

Interviewer: “Tell me about your weakness.”

Candidate: “Well…..Sir, I have got weak knees.”

Interviewer: “That’s what I’m asking you. Be specific. What’s your weakness?”

Candidate: “I told you sir. I’ve really got weak knees!”

Interviewer (quite irritated by now): “No..no…you don’t get my point. I want you to listen to my question carefully, think over it and give me a considered reply. WHAT IS YOUR WEAKNESS? Do I make myself clear?

Candidate (thoroughly alarmed): “P..Please believe me sir. I’m telling you the truth. I h..have very weak knees. I…I can show you my weak knees if you wish sir!”

Interviewer (completely blowing his top): “What the @#$%^&! Are you a moron? You want to SHOW me your weakness? Where is it? Inside your jockeys?”

Candidate: (badly shaking by now) “I said weak knees sir….I’ve got weak knees….WEAK KNEES…see here? And…you are b..being very rude and dirty…so @#$% you and your company….huh!”

Well, jokes apart, the question of discussing one’s weaknesses is understandably one of the most critical issues of any job interview. Battle hardened candidates, who have appeared in scores of interviews vouch for the fact that it is only the relatively-new-on-the-job HR guys who put up such a pomp and show of asking about misgivings and weaknesses minutely. Experienced business managers seldom trudge into the ‘weakness’ territory. If you fit the bill otherwise, a good interviewer wouldn’t even dream of asking you this question. Nevertheless, it makes sense to prepare yourself, for you never know what’s on the interviewer’s mind.

First of all, let us try to fathom why an interviewer would want to know about your weakness(es). Assuming the interviewer too is human, it would be his or her foremost concern to find a candidate that fits the job, and not the opposite. To err is human. Most human errors arise out of inherent weaknesses, not strengths. So, it makes sense to understand that awareness of one’s weaknesses is an effective way to cut down on possible errors while at work. In business, errors translate into losses, sometimes running into billions. The recent fire at a petroleum storage terminal in Jaipur, Rajasthan (not very far from where I live), was a result of an avoidable human error. So the hiring manager is well within his limits to seek the strengths and weaknesses of those who would build his future team. Nothing wrong there.

So, what would be an appropriate reply??

Not these, for God’s sake..

1. I am a workaholic (tomorrow, you may become an alcoholic; not my problem)
2. Kindness and simplicity (er…go join Missions of Charity, that’s the place for you)
3. I cannot work in a suffocating environment where everybody plays politics (sorry, we don’t keep oxygen masks here)
4. I’m often jealous with successful people (duh…suicidal; even God can’t save you)
5. Dissatisfaction…even though others look satisfied (O! Our ideas match! Even I am thoroughly dissatisfied!)
6. I work very hard and also I study for 6 – 8 hours a day…(all work and no play makes Jack a dull CRA)
7. My emotions are my weakness (where’s the tissue paper…I feel like crying a bit….sniff…sniff)
8. I have trouble sharing responsibilities with others (and I’ll have delegating responsibility to you)
9. I burn toasts while cooking breakfast (you really need a structured course in cooking..get that first)
10. Weaknesses? I have none. (O! We forgot to tell you…we don’t have any jobs either!)

So? What is to be said?

Without going into the specifics, I can only say that honesty is still the best policy. However, that does not mean you shouldn’t be clever too. The most important thing to be kept in mind while answering this tricky question is one must show an overpowering urge to rectify the mistakes of the past and take concrete steps to turn weaknesses into relative strengths.

1. I am poor at computers, but I am learning fast. I have joined a training Institute.
2. If I’m focused on one subject, I have a habit of missing deadlines on others. But nowadays I am learning to multitask.
3. I have been too much of an optimist in the past. Optimism isn’t bad, but I’m learning to be realistic too.
4. I am told that I’m slow on occasions. But that’s because I care too much for perfection.
5. I am a bit harsh with my subordinates sometimes, but that’s because I want them to excel in their careers (claps! claps!)

These are just a few examples, and I really wish that all of you who read this article come up with appropriate answers in the comments section. I assure you it will be a lively and fruitful discussion if we debate this topic threadbare.

Cheers!

I was quite perturbed to see a notice pinned on the hospital notice board early this morning which staidly announced -

All doctors and staff members are hereby instructed to observe strict austerity in their public conduct and refrain from wasteful expenditure wherever deemed applicable. Indulging in inappropriate acts of profligacy while on duty shall attract penal provisions and adverse comments in the annual report. Expression of public displeasure and/or mockery of the order (like calling the undersigned ‘holy cow’) will be treated with zero tolerance and may result in dismissal from service.

By Order

The Hospital Director

I winced. Austerity drives, like sex drives, were decidedly secretive issues and needed to be kept under wraps for best results. This hue and cry was entirely unnecessary and distracted us from the dignified cause of fostering doctor-doctor, doctor-patient and doctor-nurse relationships. Moreover, this sort of decorous prose was certainly not the handiwork of our HD. I suspected an element of foreign hand (Phadnis?).

Susie was the first to accost me as I settled in my chamber, and reflected dourly on the lump.

“Saar…!” she said, as usually adjusting her large and attractive pair of spectacular spectacles. (My older readers are quite familiar with, and largely appreciative of Susie’s assorted habits by now)

“What is it Susie?” I replied, with a tinge of irritation in my voice.

“The notice saar…”

“Yes, I saw it. So?”

“No saar….I mean….it is totally wrong saar!”

“What?” I sat up.

“Saar….wrong….the notice is wrong!”

Amazing! It implied that Susie had not only read the whole notice carefully, the promptness with which she had grasped the agenda and formed an educated opinion on the matter reflected her deep understanding of such abstract stuff as austerity, profligacy, tolerance and displeasure.

I felt terribly ashamed that I had doubted Susie’s aptitude all along. The girl, it seemed, was not so dumb after all. My chest promptly began swelling with pride for her. Soon I was so uncomfortably swollen (with pride of course) that I had to reach out and pat her arm tenderly to relieve myself.

“You are right Susie”, I observed with solemnity as things settled. “This notice is not only wrong, but wicked, prejudiced and sadistic. I know exactly why it is wrong, but I want to hear it from you. Give me your honest opinion Susie, as to why you think it is wrong.”

Susie bit her lower lip and twisted her hands in a sugary way that appeared quite engaging.

“Come on Susie, bite the bullet!” I exhorted her.

“No saar…”

“Soosie…!”

After another moment of silence, Susie lowered her eyes and said abruptly, “Saar….cow!”

This was so unexpected that I really thought Susie would thrust her hips forward and start crooning “Saar-cow lo khatiya jaada lage!“ But she did nothing of the sort. She just leaned closer towards me (ooh!), looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and whispered,

“How can we call the Director saab cow? Cow is always female saar! But he is not female cow….Director saab is definitely male cow saar!”

“Holy cow!” I gasped. This was indeed indisputable logic. “Okatto jukti”, as we often say in Bangla. Had this been some other occasion, I’d have assumed that Susie had gone through the elaborate exercise of lifting the bovine’s tail from behind and peering underneath to ascertain it’s gender in a methodical sort of way. But since this was a weird situation, I dismissed her forthwith, thinking hard how to wriggle out of the mess without being branded as a cow-ard. I picked up the intercom and dialed the HD’s number to fix up an appointment with him.

.

.

“Yes, Dr. Bonerji?” The old codger rumbled as I took a seat opposite him.

“Good morning sir” I said, lowering my bottoms.

“Good mourning.  What is the matter?”

“Sir, I just saw the notice. Do we really need an austerity drive and all that?”

“Yes..yes…Dr. Bonerji! Don’t you see it is very important to give the impression that we are also caring for the poowar (poor)?”

HD was right in a way. He always struggled hard to give the impression that he was exceedingly concerned for the plight of the poor. As soon as a poor looking patient from the villages descended upon the hospital, he would summon the relatives, slap his forehead repeatedly and ask  “Tell me quickly….how poowar you are? Have you got a couple of farmlands or not which you can sell to pay for the treatment.” He was so concerned, that he’d even go out of the way and offer a huge 1 percent discount on the bills after adding another 15 percent in the name of (dis)service tax!

“Yes…but…..”

“Dr. Bonerji….last month the electric bill only was 3 lakes! Three lakes! We must reduce hospital expenditure. How can we make profit if we do not reduce many missile anus (miscellaneous, that’s how he pronounces it) costs?”

“No…but…..” I tried to interject, but in vain.

“See Dr. Bonerji. I have noticed that your department is not careful about spending money at all. You peepal drink four five cups of coffee everyday. That is why you need the AC at full speed for whole day! That nurse in your department, what is her name…..yes….Sooji…..she pours so much cocknut oil on her head! Her apron becomes oil stained. Why sud the hospital pay for dry clean? And why you are using Lux soap in toilet? You sud use Lifebuoy! I still use Lifebuoy while bathing. We cannot afford this kind of lugjery in these times!”

I was getting hopping mad at these allegations. Had I really been active on Twitter, I’d have declared “Susie and I would be ashamed if we were spending the hospital’s money to pay for the coffee and the coconut oil. But we are not, we are spending our own savings.” And it’s not my fault if the bill is 3 lakes or thirteen oceans! Who asked him to employ a bevy of simpering mermaids as receptionists who do nothing at all except cavorting around and playing with his fish the whole day.

I have not actually seen the mermaids tinker with his fish, I’m assuming that. What else do mermaids do except playing with fishes? This HD had to be taught a lesson or two in austerity.

.

.

“Sir…” I began.

“Hmm..”

“I think you are right.”

“Eggjactly! That is what I am saying.”

“Sir, I have a suggestion to make…” I said , clearing my throat “…that will reduce expenditure by at least 50 percent.”

“50 percent!” The Hospital Director’s countenance lit up with profuse expectation, just like a toad that had seen a fat fruitfly shaking it’s ass nearby.

“Yes sir….50 percent.”

“How….Dr. Bonerji?”

“Sir, I suggest we form an austerity committee that would look into various ways of cost cutting and enforce austerity in the hospital. Of course I will see to it that my department takes the lead in cost cutting. I shall only use the AC when patients are around. I will instruct Susie not to apply mustard oil on her head…”

“Cocknut oil…”

“Yes…coconut oil. I will instruct Susie not to apply coconut oil, and I shall limit the number of coffee to two cups per day per person.”

“Very good Dr. Bonerji…very good. And Lifebuoy…”

“Yes sir. That too.”

“Go ahead Dr. Bonerji. I authorije you to form that committee. Your ideas are very promising.” HD chuckled.

“Thank you Sir” I rose from my seat. “There is one more request….”

“Please…please….”

“Sir, I wish that the committee be headed by Madam…”

“Madam….?”

“Yes….Madam”

“Which madam…?” Thunderclouds of bewilderment were starting to build up on HD’s quaint expressions.

“Your wife …Sir. That way we shall have the opportunity to share her pearls of wisdom…..”

The HD gave me a look of utter disbelief, and let out a short, painful grunt. Exactly the kind of grunt that you get to hear from a large, well fed pig which has just swallowed a rotten bag of potatoes.Then he reached out for a glass of water.

I was out of HD’s chamber before the old coot could recover his senses.

.

.

The austerity notice was withdrawn a few hours later. I ordered coffee for everyone and gifted Susie a large bar of Lux soap from the hospital supplies. Readers are requested not to gratify themselves by imagining sizzling visuals of Susie unwrapping the soap in her bathroom.

Lugjery Zindabad!

PS: I recommend viewing the ‘Sarkailo Khatiya Jaada Lage’ video on You Tube [link] with the sound off. It’s an unforgettable experience.

I was recently tagged by LEB, alongwith the following prolific bloggers-

• The Thoughtful Train
• Savitha
• ZillionBig
• Ekta
• Adesh
• UdtaHaathi
• theishu

To say that I feel honoured is an understatement. So, without much ado, I begin answering the tag questions in earnest. This happens to be the first tag that I’m doing, and I hope to be excused for inadequacies on my part. I wrote the answers at around 10.00 pm yesterday, so I’d like you to keep the time frame in reference.

1. What is your current obsession?

There are two concurrent, albeit somewhat non-current obsessions to be precise. One is to figure out how to discourage pigeons from laying eggs in my balcony, and the other is to find out a workable way to thwart eager male doggies from using my car’s rear tyres for fire fighting practice.

2. What are you wearing today?

Today? Tonight? At this hour? An ash-grey pajama and a black T shirt smelling of naphthalene, and of course assorted innerwear, the sensitive details of which really need not be divulged in this august forum.

3. What’s for dinner?

Some wholesome stuff cooked in a vigorously healthy way. The best of bland n’ boiled. (Atonement for the uninhibited gluttony during the Durga Puja festivities).

4. What’s the last thing you bought?

Precious ‘time’ …to complete this tag.

5. What are you listening to right now?

My soul. Tags, strangely, make me introspective. And also to my own croaking cough that I developed a couple of days back from ogling at a few ice maidens at a Pujo pandal. 

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you?

I do not wish to get ‘embroiled’ in such needless debates.

7. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?

Right here. Yes, of course I’d like to have another totally paid for, fully furnished penthouse on some exotic island in the Pacific, situated right between the penthouses of Megan Fox and Scarlett Johannson….

8. What are your must-have pieces for summer?

Odomos (to counter the dire threat of mosquito squads), a haath-pakha (hand held bamboo fan), and a fairly large container of Nycil. 

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?

Fort Knox. That’s probably one place in the world which is out of bounds even for the mistress of the President of the United States.

10. Which language do you want to learn?

Mandarin. To be able to call the Chinese all sorts of names standing safely on this side of the border.

11. What’s your favourite quote?

“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” Old Groucho of course. Who else had that devastating wit.

12. Who do you want to meet right now?

You. And I am not kidding.

13. What is your favourite colour?

Blood Red. The colour of life and lifelessness.

14. What is your favourite piece of clothing in your own closet?

The handkerchief. It takes all your filth on itself, and transfers the cologne to you without so much of a fuss.

15. What is your dream job?

A cosmetic surgeon in Hollywood. If that isn’t possible, I’d settle for the job of Ambani’s personal physician. 

16. What’s your favourite magazine?

Reader’s Digest. Though I have not yet been able to comprehend what do readers digest and what really is left after the efforts of digestion, or even, what the byproducts are of accidental indigestion?

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

A book written by some female author and titled ‘How to Spend Money Wisely’.

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?

Lungi and shoes, noodle straps and saree, wearing a striped underwear to the swimming pool. 

19. – Question Deleted-

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer?

Not my choice. The terms are wholly dictated by my barber.

21. What are you going to do after this?

Heave a huge sigh of relief.

22. What are your favourite movies?

Action thrillers – those with abundant punches and punchlines.

24. What are three cosmetic/makeup/perfume products that you can’t live without?

Cosmetic – Does Old Spice Shaving cream qualify as a cosmetic?

Make up – Cherry Blossom Shoe Polish. The best make up for my shoes.

Perfume – Lavender air freshener in the toilet.

23. What inspires you?

Hospital fumes in the day, diesel exhausts while travelling and a bit of fresh air at home.

24. Give us three styling tips that always work for you.

1. If my shoes look a bit dusty before an important meting, I rub them on the backside of my trousers, and then dust the trousers off with my colleague’s hanky (borrowed on some flimsy pretext).

2. If I am anticipating trouble at a meeting I make a style statement by rolling my shirt sleeves up. I really works.

3. Before making an important point at a board meeting, I take my glasses off, wipe them over the arm, and then proceed to wear them with a spectacular flip in Rajnikanth’s style. My adversaries are usually rendered speechless.

25. What do you do when you “have nothing to wear” (even though your closet’s packed)?

I wrap a towel and ponder over the situation for a while. On a couple of forgettable occasions, I forgot to wrap the towel.

26. Coffee or tea?

It’s the same pot anyway.

27. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?

Nothing. I just sit there with a poker face until the depression withers off.

28. What is the meaning of your name?

ROFL means Rolling On Floor Laughing. It’s an abbreviation of ROTFLMAO, which expands as Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Donkey Off. Indian is someone who was born in India.

29. Which other blogs do you love visiting?

All blogs which profess their love for humour.

30. Favorite Dessert/Sweet?

Bikaneri Rasogolla made out of camel’s milk (that’s the best of desert and sweet put together)

31. Favorite Season?

Summer of course. All deals work out nicely. The shadier the better.

32. If I come to your house now, what would u cook for me?

That’s not the question. If I cook something for you, would you be really interested in eating it?

33. My question: What’s the worst thing to eat in the world?

Having to eat your own words!

Rules for those who are tagged: Respond and rework – answer these questions on your blog, replace one question that you dislike with a question of your own, and add one more question to the list. Then tag eight or ten other new set of people.

Two bloggers I know would do ample justice to these questions. I’m tagging them. Hope they’ll respond.

• Showa
• Doctoratlarge
  

“Saa…aar…”

I confess I become dizzy with arousal (an emotional and innocent kind of arousal, so to say) whenever Susie calls out in her husky coconut milk flavoured Mallu accent, and today her pitch had that unique seductive chirp to it that augured a sense of general happiness and robust well being. This girl is something, I tell you. And she was smelling quite strongly of coconuts too.

“Saar…!”

“Yes Soosie” I extracted myself from my reverie and looked up. Whoa! Susie was standing at the door of my chamber wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a bright red tee shirt that proudly proclaimed ‘Oops!’ in striking white letters across her voluminous, well, you know, frame. My God! She looked stunning!

I doubted if she had indeed chosen the tee shirt for herself. It was quite possible that either Sebastian or Verma had gifted it to her. Sebastian was the shy lab techie with a bushy moustache who watched only aesthetic Mallu movies on his computer when no one was around. Verma, the sly office clerk, preferred western atheletic workouts. Both, I knew, had designs on Susie, and I had on earlier occasions apprehended both of them red handed for trying to slip uncouth love letters into Susie’s purse. Verma had even the gall to write ‘Sozy I will dye far you’  in red ink which he tried to pass off as blood! But you cannot really hoodwink me so easily, you see. I made Verma confess that it was indeed red ink, and as punishment bade him to pay for a round of kachoris and coke that was relished by the whole department, including Phadnis, Dimpy and even the Hospital Director’s peon. But presently, the smell of coconut oil was so overpowering that I couldn’t really take my eyes off Susie’s tee shirt.

“Saar…what are you looking saar?”

My gaze was fixed on the ‘Oops’. Why ‘Oops’? What had spilled over? And it must be Sebastian. Now I remembered. He was untraceable for a couple of hours the day before. The scoundrel must have slipped away to buy this for Susie.

“Saar….o saar! What are you looking saar?”

“Coconuts…”

“What saar?”

“No no….I mean….no…er….not coconut, I wasn’t looking at coconuts….I said you are looking wonderful!” Though I was thoroughly shaken, I barely managed to recover my composure. That was a bad slip of tongue.

“Oh..thank you saar.” Susie smiled coyly.

“Not wearing white today?” I cleared my throat.

“Today is my bird-day saar. I thought I will come to hospital without wearing my dress.”

There was a loud clatter as I choked and dropped my coffee cup, making a mess of things. A lizard, which was lustily eyeing Susie from the roof, quickly disappeared behind the tubelight in deep fright. In trying to move back, I knocked over the examination lamp, kicked a jar of spirit and broke a couple of glass slides on the side table. The spirit jar toppled over, spilling over a litre of the precious thing on the floor. What a waste. Though it was spiked, it was alcohol nevertheless.

“Without wearing your uniform you mean…” I barely croaked. I noticed that my voice, among other things (my back, for example) had gone stiff. 

“Yes saar…” Susie squeaked. Her face was rapidly turning purple (a heady mixture of dusky and crimson, you see).

“Happy Birthday Su….” 

But Susie wasn’t there at the door. She had already disappeared into the adjoining room.

Warning: Long and oblong post.

Main ’sh’ ko ’sh’ bolta hu.

So what? Sabhi ’sh’ ko ’sh’ bolte hain!

Arre tere ko kaishe shamjhaaun? Shtupid ash hole…. 

There are two kinds of people who inhabit the earth.

One, the clever, articulate, bourgeois, intellectually gifted, laterally thinking, vertically pissing, upwardly mobile and fiesty geeks who really understand, interpret and dissect Cinema down to its silky underwear, and the other, crass, vernacular type, bookwormish, obtuse, girlfriend-less, tongue tied exasperating idiots who turn stiff and woody at the mere mention of Woody Allen or Quentin Tarantino. Now, if you too are one of the latter breed (as I am one I suspect), you may well have to forget about ever getting to sit in the same league with those who appreciate and discuss, with disarming nonchalance, the subtle nuances, analogies and symbolism of world cinema and are stared at with awe and reverence. 

What a shame! Are we then only fit to rot in a hole dug by RGV during one of his horrifying disaster shoots which gets filled in due course with Salman’s stout poop dropped from Katrina’s vanity van?  Tch! tch!.

Nyet! Non! Ka-ddu!

Sample this. Most of us watched Kaminey. Only a handful of clever, articulate, bourgeois, intellectually gifted laterally thinking, vertically pissing, upwardly mobile and fiesty geeks understood the movie in its fierce totality. Most of us dumb-asses who watched Kaminey and came out gasping were railroaded into believing that this was a grandiloquent, timeless, ageless, toothless classic of Indian Cinema; an earthshaking, sky splitting, head banging, spectacular, kickass movie that changed the rules of filmmaking forever.  Those who did not exactly feel like shaking their assets (heads, butts or booties) in consonance with the above theory were considered to be committing blasphemy of the most unholy kind. So we had no choice but to believe what the pious texts preached and the worthy blogs blogged, and worship the deities in toadyish reverence.

Not that there is anything wrong in it. Kaminey was good to watch, but what I say folks,  is that those of us who feel periliously handicapped when it comes to understanding and discussing cinema, should shrug off the stinking rug of slothful hesitancy and get serious about mastering the artful vocab of cinematology (I am not sure if such a word exists). For God’s sake, stop being a nincompoop at the coup and brace yourselves for a coup de grace. From now on, I urge you to watch every movie with the intent of tearing it apart at the alter of blogs. If you like what you see, heap lavish praise on the director in the most ornate of technical words. For God’s sake, do something. Speak out. Trust me, those who hang like formidable thunderstorms on the horizon of movie blogs are as human as you and I. Let me assure you, we too can become really clever, articulate, bourgeois, intellectually gifted, laterally thinking, vertically pissing, upwardly mobile and fiesty geeks with a very deep understanding of celluloid chemistry and slug it out in the open with considerable valour and chutzpah. Yes! We too can! But some toil first.

Shaala…..c-h-u-t-z-p-a-h kaishe pronounce karte hain? Chooshpa? Chu*-spa? Dhatt…..kya choo*iyapa hai!

Okay guys. No more nonsense. Here’s a list of some must learn words that you must learn to fortify your grasp on the subject of cinema. These words are the secret ingredients of all review curries. Sprinkle them here and there, add a dash in the beginning and in the end and enjoy the flavours wafting around.

1. Linear and Non Linear Narratives – This is one of the most fundamental phrases in the business of appreciating cinema.  Most good movie reviews use this at least two to three times. A non linear narrative is a description of events with a firm and unwavering disregard for sequence. In a linear narrative, the hero eats a plateful of spicy chowmein, burps, farts, kisses his girlfriend and goes to the loo to relieve himself.  In a non linear narrative, you hear a loud flush, someone farts, hero kisses his girl, enters the loo, burps and then is seen eating chowmein. It’s all there, you just have to have a keen sense of judgement to appreciate the turn of events.

2. Escapist cinema - Among the words liberally sprinkled by acclaimed critics in their articles, the word ‘escapist’ stands out in rapt erection. All fantastic, unbelievable and deceptive acts of jiggery-pockery carried out by the hero, like clinging to an aircraft’s tail at ninety thousand feet, pummelling a dozen baddies to pulp in ten seconds, frolicking on the beach with twenty nubile nymphets in revealing swimwear and all acts by Rajinikanth, Dharmender and Chuck Norris come under the banner of escapist cinema. I once went to watch an English movie with my girlfriend which had a lot of truly unbelievable sequences (the movie had a lot of unbelievable sequences, not my girlfriend).  A knowledgeable cinephile sitting next to me casually remarked that this was a fine example of an escapist movie. My girlfriend probably overheard. “Who pissed?” She asked next.

3. Jump cuts – One of the most astounding technical developments of the previous century, jump cuts owes its name to the unique act of weilding the scissors while trying to cross a floor swarming with fierce red ants. The results of such an exercise is singularly breathtaking, to say the least. With deep cuts at the most strategic of places, the scene acquires a refreshing staccato flourish. RGV shows a lot of jump cuts in his horror flicks. He cuts loose, you jump out of your skins.

4. Art Film - Once considered to be the cornerstone of all coffee table discussions on the evolution of cinema, this term probably has got its sheen knocked off in this era of multiplexes. Nevertheless, it is worthwhile to remember the word, for all genuine reviewers do get this recurrent itch to use this word in the textual foreplay of reviewing. But first, let me define what an art movie is. An art film is a movie which invokes deeply aesthetic thoughts (as opposed to commercial movies which provoke anaesthetic thoughts, i.e., the kind of thoughts which make you go numb and dizzy). While commercial movies give you a high on glitz, art flicks twiddle your psych’s innards and fill you with an overwhelming desire for scratching the abstract. Let me give you a lucid example. You must be remembering the famous VICKS jingle ‘galey mein khhich khhich’ which used to be aired on Doordarshan once every five minutes or so, once upon a time.

“Galey mein khhich khhich, galey mein khhich khhich

Kya karoon, kya karoon?

VICKS ki goli lo, khichh khichh dooor karo”

Now, this is the quintessential commercial movie. There is the throat, the hapless heroine. Then there is the baddie, the soreness, And finally the saviour, the hero, VICKS, who kicks some ass here and some ass there and genereally gets to screw the soreness, forcing a round of applause from you. Compare this with the following -

“Chaddi mein khhich khhich, chaddi mein khhich khhich

Kya karoon, kya karoon?

Beech ki ungli lo, khhich khhich door karo.”

This, is the quintessential ‘art’ cinema. The ‘chaddi’ here, is the soul. Ethereal, white, pure, undefiled. Hiding within it the macabre contortions of hell and its hideous fumes. So when the fumes become vicious and irritating, you get this overwhelming desire to scratch your soul deeply and savagely, with all your might. It’s then when the saviour arrives on the scene. The ‘beech ki ungli’ (middle finger). What follows is pure, unadulterated bliss. The storyline is quite like the commercial ones, only the representation is starker, and immensely powerful.

There are many many more such florid expressions which you are likely to discover while reading worthy film reviews. Words like ‘genre’, ’surrealism’, ‘retroactive continudity continuity’, ‘cross cuts’, ‘dark comedy’, ‘parallel cinema’, ‘anachronism’, ‘retrospective’, ‘cult film’ etc., among others in a vast sea of cinematic glossary, the length and breadth of which is beyond the scope of this monograph.

And if you really wish to read some of the best movie reviews that I have ever read, it’s here.

Shaala..bahut bol liya….ab chup kar….

Disclaimer: The following is an original work o fart by Rofl Indian. Resemblances to any person, man or woe-man, living or dud, naked or clothed, shaven or unshaven, or even choleric or flatulent, is purely coincidental, unintentional, suppositous, unsubstantial and decidedly imaginery, even by the farthest stretches of distorted imagination.

Swami Rhymedev: An Introduction.

Bolo Swami Rhyme Dev ki Jai! Meaning thereby, let’s chant the sacred name of His Holeyness.

Born as Ghananondo, Swamiji jerked free of all his earthly attachments to the fruits of carnal labour, allowing him to attain a state of supreme abstraction beyond all evil. At the moment of his distillation with Truth, he discovered he could expound in verse, foot around in verse, snoozle in verse, do his holy ablutions in verse, deliver his pathbreaking discourses in verse and generally have a bally time in verse. In other words, he’d become truly versatile. A true disciple of Swamiji, Rofl Indian has taken upon himself the sanctimonious task of spreading Swamiji’s message of spiritual love and tolerance.

Excerpt from Swami Rhymedev’s Book Of Versace Verses; Page 144, upar se teesra verse (third verse from the top). Attention please.

Raa-ni, Mall-licka, Shilpa Shet-ty

All other bimbos, dumb n’ pret-ty

Bare your soul baby, show me your grace

Come hither, exult, in my embrace.

Interpretation: Here, ‘embrace’ is purported to mean a holy embracement of the soul, without causing any embarrassment for either the bimbos or the venerable Swami. In this verse, Swamiji wishes to say that his knowledge of bimbos is the root of all wisdom, the root of all that is sublime and ethereal in the universe. It is the purest form of transcendental knowledge, silky and translucent, and because it gives an insightful perception of the real self by realization, it is the way to ensure perfection of soul.

For a tougher explanation of things, the reader is urged to visit this remarkable page and try to interpret the magical prose there.

Swami Rhymedev has kindly consented to make Rofl Indian’s blog as his sacred abode. We all look forward to having the tidbits of spiritual nectar thrown up by the Baba every now and then.

Jai Baba Rhymedev.

It was during one of my trips to Rajasthan’s rural outback (travelling in one of the crowdiest of local trains) that I took these pictures with my sexy little Sony Ericsson mobile phone. It was a god forbidden nondescript little place, a halt rather, in the middle of nowhere, where the train took a little breather before resuming it’s tiring haul across the unforgiving desert landscape.  

Pic. 1. – A 10 seater Mahindra jeep is the only available transport for ferrying (those who alighted) to nearby villages and dhanis (hamlets)

Pic. 2. – Newton’s Laws of Motion (read this for an interesting interpretation) find practical application as people jostle with each other in equal numbers and in opposite directions at the doors of the coaches.

Pic. 3. – More and more passengers finally touchdown and rush towards the waiting jeep. A couple of women do a spectacular pile vault and disappear inside in a pile. Only if  Elena Isinbaeva had seen that! 

Pic. 4. – Elite common-dudes of the Gujjar Regiment secure the roof in a jiffy.

Pic. 5. – The jeep now begins to look more and more like Tyreship Enterprise from the movie Tyretrek.

Pic. 6. – Its a display of raw skill as another common-dude hoists himself onto the roof. We never knew Mahindra makes such crash proof roofs!

Pic. 7. – Interim head count: eight on the roof, at least eighteen inside and another fourteen or so looking forward to getting accommodated. The ones on the roof each takes out a jar of Fevicol …

Pic. 8. – The driver (who somehow manages to drive expertly by sitting entirely outside) starts the jeep. Suddenly there’s a mad rush. Somehow all forty people find footholds.

Pic. 9. – They’re off. Forty of them. In one jeep. Sixteen in the back. Six in the front seat. Four on the bonnet. Eight on the roof. And six clinging on to the sides.

The train shudders and jerks forward. I settle back into my seat, take a deep breath and make a mental note of putting the pics on my blog.

If the following hold true for you, you have a serious drinking problem and you don’t know it.

1. The floor jumps up and hits you on the face with disturbing regularity.

2. The breath analyser finds only slight traces of breath in your breath.

3. When your buddy says ‘Let’s chill out’, you jostle with the refrigerator and try to sit inside it.

4. You pour whiskey on your cornflakes and try eating them with a fork.

5. Mosquitoes fail the flight test after biting you, and crash into walls.

6. Your car seems to have moved while you were in the bar.

7.  The fishes in the aquarium pick up an arguement with you, and lose.

8. You discover you’re left with two left feet, and then you are unable to find them too.

9. You light a cigarette, pull at the burning end and wonder why your tongue tastes like a barbecued frog.

10. Job interferes with your drinking.

11. The 5 blood groups, according to you, are O, OM (Old Monk), A, B and, ummm….. XYZ(?). Maybe.

12. You focus better with one eye closed.

13. You type a lulid rulid lurid message on your mobile….and send it to your wife.

14. You open the laptop and find alphabet keys all over the screen.

15. The doc examines your butt for your piles and fissure problem and writes the diagnosis ‘KING FISSURE’.

16. Friends armed with fire extinguishers have to stand at a safe distance as you blow out your birthday candles.

17. The trouser you’re wearing suddenly appears to have developed too many pockets.

18. You see your image in the mirror and mistake it to be a burgler.

19. Vijay Mallaya calls you and advises you to cut down on booze.

20. You forget what ‘Bottoms up’ means and endeavour to heave your backside northwardly whenever that is uttered.

Vijay Mallaya: Trademark Beered!   

This was written quite some time back and posted elsewhere.  But Bruce Willis being my personal favourite, I dusted this review from the attic, got it refurbished according to exacting blogging standards and spruced it up with some pics sourced from the net.

Jostling in an unruly queue for 30 minutes and then being told that only a few seats ‘lower down’ were available, was something I had not experienced even during my heady college days. So when this awkard situation confronted me, I took it as an opportunity to add to my rather minuscule cine-going experience and grabbed whatever was on offer than retreat empty handed. It was a seat pretty close to the screen, and amongst an assorted crowd of hardened rowdies. Never mind, I told myself. The opening scene was already rolling when I ambled into the hall, and after trampling on quite a few unhappy feet, finally managed to land myself first on somebody’s lap, and then on a precious empty seat next to him. However, the guy whose lap I consecrated chose to overlook my indiscretion (probably I had not hurt his anything) and stayed glued to the screen, much to my relief. Bruce Willis had made his appearance by now and was already mouthing expletives merrily, when I was briefly distracted by an SMS from a fellow blogger from down South (who enquired how hot it was in Jaipur; to which I replied that yes, it was indeed smouldering!). During the next 2 hours or so, I got terribly busy repeatedly picking my jaw from the floor which kept dropping at fairly regular intervals. And when I was not doing that, I was having a hard time controlling my wayward eyeballs which kept popping out every now and then. I had a loud chuckle when one of the rustic rowdies behind me asked his neighbour “Arre iss heero ka naam kya hai?”, and pat came the reply “Burush Willy”. (He’ll surely have his willy brushed with the toughest of bristles if Bruce Willis gets to hear that!)

Live Free or Die Hard (Die Hard 4)

Bruce Willis returns with a renewed twinkle in his eyes as Detective John McLane, a smartass cop who is just as deft with his ammo as he with his mouth, shooting wisecracks and profanities with equal gusto. A perfect antithesis to complex digitalisations in today’s world, Officer McLane is a nut when it comes to understanding how computerised gizmos work. He hasn’t changed much, still divorced, unable to get along with his near & dear ones (in this case, his daughter), nearly heartbroken, but more than willing all the while to whip the backsides of all those who try to cross paths with US Federal law. Of course there are a few subtle changes which only a diehard Bruce Willis fan would appreciate; his unmistakable, charming smirk which has become a little more pronounced, with a hint of Sly Stallone like crookedness at the corner of his lips, and, his willingness to wear a T shirt this time (as opposed to various states of undress Bruce used to be in earlier).

The Plot

John McLane (Bruce Willis), the quintessential  NYPD cop, is at a loss to make his daughter Lucy (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), a thou-may-kiss-but-thou-shall-not-fondle-my-assets kind of lass, appreciate his fatherly concerns over dating strangers. After one such confrontation with his daughter, McLane gets a call from the FBI to apprehend and escort a hacker Matt Farrell (Justin Long) into FBI custody. As McLane is introduced to Farrell, the latter is attacked by a crack team of mercenaries sent by the baddie Thomas Gabriel (Timothy Olyphant) who literally slice up his apartment within minutes. McLane somehow manages to rummage through the hell fire to save his terrified charge from being roasted live. Gabriel, driven insane by hatred towards the State, meanwhile initiates ‘Fire Sale’, a sequence of hacking programs aimed at maiming the nation’s infrastructure and economy, and it is upon McLane and Farrell to rescue the Motherland (and Lucy , whom Gabriel abducts), after liquidating Gabriel’s henchmen including his martial arts trained girlfriend Mai Lihn (Maggie Q). In the process, McLane and Farrell dodge countless bullets, and though their asses get toasted sweetly, the duo manage to cling to dear life in the midst of crumbling services like transportation, telephone network and power.  After a lavish helping of absolutely stunning, adrenaline laced, out of the world action sequences, which includes McLane ramming a police car into a hovering helicopter and somehow managing to steer a rig even as he is literally shredded to smithereens by an F 35 fighter jet, they manage to trace Gabriel’s whereabouts and proceed to confront him in a deadly climax…..

Performances

Bruce Willis – He redefines action with Die Hard 4. The 52 year old veteran literally blows you away, effortlessly jumping in and out of speeding cars, hanging precariously in mid air, beating the living daylights out of the rogues with his phenomenal 10 pound punch and mouthing the choicest of profanities, maintaining his good humour all the while.

Timothy Olyphant – Ever since the portrayal of Le Chiffre by Mads Mikkelson in Casino Royale, the trend it seems is to project baddies as suave, smooth talking and outwardly calm personalities who only throw things off their tables in fits of anger. Olyphant’s characterisation of Gabriel, an IT geek himself, is apt – smart computer professionals are not supposed to wear ringlets in ears and sport outrageous tattoes over their biceps.

Justin Long – Fits the bill perfectly as Farrell, a young hacker who unwittingly gets sucked into the drama, just because he unknowingly wrote a hacking sequence of the Fire Sale. The lad seems pretty obfuscated at first, getting to act beside the legendary Willis, but as the movie gets along, makes an impression of his own.

Maggie Q – Mai Lihn. Boy, she is hot. Particularly when she kicks Willis all over the place, you can’t take your eyes off her razor sculpted figure. This is without any skin show, mind you, for the total surface area of her exposed parts would be less than what is usually hidden by Mallika and Udita!

Mary Elizabeth Winstead – As Lucy Mclane, has nothing much to do except hiss occasionally at Gabriel and remind herself every now and again that though Bruce as a father is intolerable, it is he and only he who would finally extricate her from the clutches of her captor.

It was funny to watch

The whole of US of A plunged into darkness in an age where they are talking of setting up malls on Mars. Guess why no one sells APC inverters there???

An F35 jet having a tough time targeting a mammoth rig. It’s missiles hit everything except the rig. Wonder how such nincompoops dominated in Iraq and Serbia???

How swiftly the hackers typed out complex sequences in no time. It that really how nerds usually work? Typing speed – 3,86,000 cps, no typo errors. Remarkable.

Officials from the White House kickbutted by the FBI. Is it a regular phenomenon?

Value adds – Trailer of Sivaji – the Boss. Aah…how I long to see Rajnikanth in Die Hard 5.

Verdict – Looking at what you are supposed to expect from a Die Hard movie, this has all the essentials. John McLane pummels a bunch of armed-to-the-teeth baddies. Able sidekick who adds comic relief and keeps you absorbed.  An insane rogue who pushes McLane to his limits.  Bruce Willis battered, bruised and soaked in blood by the end. Eye popping action sequences with a nail biting finish. If you’re a fan of Bruce and DH, this movie will just blow you away.

Man, the most intelligent animal on this planet, has always been preoccupied with a furious desire to stoke the flames of passion in his (under)belly, so his frantic search for the ultimate aphrodisiac continues till this day. The most intelligent ‘animal’ also happens to be naïve enough to assume that whatever is commercially available in the name of ‘vigour’ and ‘vitality’ – is a sure-fire way to boost his pompous libido. Remarkably, the words vigour & vitality have come to be universally accepted as utilitarian substitutes for ‘sex’! So, we find a plethora of ‘performance’ boosters displayed prominently in drug stores, with no dearth of customers willing to ‘do’ them! Invariably, these products come packaged with suggestive photographs of Khajuraho statuettes, galloping horses, guns with their impossibly long barrels inserted in the letter ‘O’ or flimsily dressed couples clinging laboriously to each other in absolutely incredible poses. Their names also provide a unique and salacious insight into the treasure coves of libidinous nomenclature…… Vigora, 3-0-3, Love me (or love your neighbour…..who cares), Climax, Horsepower (yuck!), Spy, Japani Oil (which, after my careful investigations,  turned out to be neither Japani nor an oil), Turn-on (nice game this one…turn on…turn off…turn on….turn off…till the switch breaks off!), Only Me (how mean!) etc. etc. Now the names may differ from Mumbai to Moradabad and from Bengalooru to Bengal, but the cafeteria choice in over-the-counter aphrodisiacs remains practically the same.

“For women, the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.” – Isabel Allende (Chilean author)

With this rather ostentatious prologue, we come to the all important question – what ARE aphrodisiacs, and is there any scientific basis of their ‘miraculous’ properties? An aphrodisiac is something that inspires lust, induces arousal and exaggerates the pleasures associated with the sexual act. The term aphrodisiac comes from the myth of the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite, the epitome of sexual desire. Aphrodisiacs have been a part of every culture and most of our current ‘knowledge’ about aphrodisiacs is rooted in myths, folklore, and anecdotal evidence (evidence that is supported by tasty money testimony but not substantiated by clinical research). Why, for many, even the mere mention of the word ‘condom’ brings about an immediate agitation of the sexual senses (read here for a hilarious real life account).

Casanova is said to have consumed 5 dozen raw oysters a day in order to sustain his celebrated sexual prowess. That he laid pearls of wisdom the next morning is another matter altogether. The legendary Aztec ruler Montezuma is said to have drank 50 cups of hot chocolate a day in order to be able to survive with 600 wives. Huang Ti, the Chinese Emperor, who lived around 2600 BC used to drink a potion made from 22 herbal ingredients mixed with wine which apparently bestowed upon him an amazing stamina to enjoy the company of 1200 women. Closer home, a certain Maharaja was said to have been prescribed a potion prepared out of shredded carrots and crushed brains of a sparrow (the bird, not Jack Sparrow the pirate) to lift his sagging carnal desires (from Freedom at Midnight – by Collins & Lapierre). These tall (and chauvinistic) claims can never be verified, they only serve to inflate the false pride of the ‘believers’. Then of course there was the Babylonian practice of bride and groom drinking honey wine for a month after their wedding, purportedly to protect the structural characteristics of certain cryptic organs from wilting under durex duress. As the Babylonian calendar was lunar and the period of elopement coincided with the full moon, this ‘honey-month’ came to be known as the ‘honeymoon’!

“All a writer has to do to get a woman is to say he’s a writer. It’s an aphrodisiac.” – Saul Bellow (Canadian Novelist)

Today, aphrodisiacs are big business. Apart from chocolate, oysters, lobsters and alcohol, black pepper, honey, chili peppers, sugar, maize, figs, caviar, meat, frog legs, Spanish fly, tiger claws, rhino horns, deer antlers, dried black ants, dried lizards, snake tails, pine nuts, almonds, walnuts, apricots, bananas (if you want me to explain why this sweet, soft-fleshed fruit that’s generally between 7 and 9 inches long is an aphrodisiac, you really need a lot more than just amorous inspiration!), dates, grapes, mangoes, peaches, pomegranate, strawberries, asparagus, carrots, celery, ginger, garlic, onions, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, zucchini, cayenne, licorice, nutmeg, saffron, basil, cardamom, fennel (saunf), cinnamon, eggs, gingko, ginseng, snails, mussels, spirulina, rose, dog rose, green tea, green oats and lot many more mundane and exotic items have been, on some occasion or the other, associated with aphrodisiac properties. Unfortunately, tigers and rhinos have been nearly shot to extinction by poachers who are just the pawns in the aphrodisiac trade.

The human brain is more potent than the strongest drug and more powerful than any known aphrodisiac. The old saying, “you’ve got sex on the brain” is literally and scientifically accurate. The human body produces its own internal sexual stimulants in the form of chemicals, electrical responses, and glandular substances and there is nothing more powerful than what already exists in our own bodies. Yes, we can enhance the effects by increasing our fitness, eating healthy, nutritious food, avoiding smoking and alcohol (in Macbeth, Shakespeare observed that alcohol “provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance”, a verdict which even 400 years later is still regarded as definitive), reducing the levels of stress, doing regular exercise, improving hygiene, observing cleanliness, listening to soft music (not that rock, heavy metal or jazz which is bound to put you off), wearing appropriate clothes and perfumes etc. etc. Finally, let’s not forget what Henry Kissinger once famously observed – “…the greatest aphrodisiac is power.”

The pictures and the cartoons have been sourced from the internet.