Thursday, June 25, 2009

Pop goes the King of Pop

Okay, so I've laughed at Michael Jackson a fair number of times - not at his music, though. He was one of the best in the Pop genre -he frequently pushed the envelope with ease. It may not have been my thing, but whatever it was, he did it well. It was the hair and the face and skin jobs, his wacko behaviour and the thing he had (allegedly) for little boys. Feel a twinge of sadness now that he's at the pearly gates of heaven.
Here's a little piece I wrote inspired by him in the mid-eighties, when he was at the height of his career and I was just embarking on mine. Goodbye Wacko Jacko and thanks for all the fun!

Once upon a time there lived a black queen who had a mulatto step daughter called So White. He disliked her with a passion because she was far prettier than him, and all his gay friends became straight the instant they saw her. This made him feel like the odd man out, a terribly uncomfortable feeling if you really think about it.

After a great deal of sleepless nights alone, he hired a punk to lure her into the depths of Harlem, and to do away with her there. Once in Harlem, So White’s womanly intuition took over, and she escaped. The punk didn’t bother to pursue her, because, as the old Harlem maxim goes, 'Why chase girls when you can chase cocaine?’

So White clambered up a rusty drain pipe, pushed open a window, and tumbled into a room belonging to an acid group called ‘The Dwarfs’. The seven men – Junky, Dopey, Stony, Drunky, Hippy, Snorty and Cokey accepted her immediately as they desperately needed someone to play the tamborine because their woman, Moll, had taken off with a New York Philharmonic cellist. And So White took to them instantly because she saw in them the realisation of her favourite fantasy : Seven at one blow.

The Queen happened to see her playing at his favourite gay bar in the Bronx, and immediately made enquiries. Having extorted her address, he injected some more female hormones into his veins, singed his hair, wore white socks with black shoes, dark glasses, and, armed with a syringe containing an overdose of heroin, he rang her doorbell determined to mainstream her. The minute she opened the door, he shot the needle into her arm, and sang ‘Beat it’. On returning home that evening, the Dwarfs found her lying in a stupor. ‘Dipsomaniac broad’, snarled the disgusted Dwarfs (no doubt due to the influence of their strict mormon upbringing). They dragged her out into the porch, and set out in search of a tamborine replacement for that night’s gig at Brooklyn.

A few days later, America’s chart-buster Prince, happened to stumble over So White on one of his nostalgic walks down Harlem. He fell over and in love with this mulatto vision, and rushed her to hospital. Several hours later she opened her baby blue eyes to find him perched at her bed side. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered weakly, ‘Prince’ was his modest reply. ‘Oh you’re shamming’ she chuckled, ‘and cute’. Upon which he French kissed her, and she passed out again, but for a shorter period this time. After their marriage and subsequent divorce, they lived happily ever after.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Finally - finally, finally, checked out Savita Bhabi

Read so much in the papers abt Savita Bhabi, Bharat ka comic book porn star, but never felt inclined to check out the site. Porn is not a turn on. Till my only nice (niece) told me that her boyfriend wrote an article on SB and the response was astonishingly overwhelming. Gosh, popular culture demands a dekko. Imperiously ordered said nice to open the site -she obediently followed my instructions but I noticed (with pathetic tight-arsed auntly relief) that she averted her eyes from the screen- my big sis has brought her up well. Okay so she doesn’t play the sitar, but a guitar is good enough to mollify potential conservative in-laws, innit? You can always play Jumping Jack Flash in the deathly dull and boring Ananda Shankar style to keep them happy. No crazy, irrational joy in that version. Sorry, but that’s how I feel. Owned the record once, only because Stones was not available in Cal. Snowflakes (also on the album) is infinitely worse. Don’t even go there.
Gasped when I browsed through episode one - SB’s torrid encounter with a door-to-door bra salesman. Man, SB is amazingly purty and smoking hot! BUT the artist currently known as her creator is hotter still. Fantastic eye for detail, even the wall paper in SB’s house is laboriously detailed. Haven’t laughed so much in ages- the situations are ridiculously corny and cater to age-old adolescent fantasies. This is Nancy Friday, Indian ishtyle- why do ghissa-pitta doctor-nurse scenarios when the cricket-playing young lad next door has more resonance? Have to admit that I hastily skimmed through episode one- too yucky for my taste.
Must reluctantly concede, however, that it’s a good job. The apna haath zindabad lot now doesn’t have to rely on alien blonde, blue-eyed wenches to keep them happy!

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Who moved my monsoon?

It finally rained today for 10 full minutes. And then the sun (sodding spoilsport) came out, sob. Just when the ambience was perfect for Jet's Look what you've done (my current fav song). Listening to it anyway but it's sort of lost its magic. Need dark moody clouds, a steady stream of rain and billowing curtains to enjoy it to the max.
Aila and El Nino be damned - bring my monsoon back!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

The latest addition to my bookshelf

Ever since I decided to quit working full time and panhandle as a miserable freelancer instead, I've been at my sister's mercy when it comes to books. She buys them, I borrow them and we have a fantastic agreement: if I like a book much much much more than she does, I get to keep it forever. Yay!

My latest freebie is Tarquin Hall's The Case of the Missing Servant. Giggled appreciatively through the book, didn't feel remotely slighted by his satirical take on Indians and Indian-English - thought it was done very affectionately. Loved his hero Vish Puri, India's 'Most Private Investigator' almost as much as I adore Andrea Camilleri's grouchy, commitment-phobic Inspector Montalbano. And enjoyed Mummy too - she was quite a character! The story was okay - but the way it was written was very engaging. Hall's tongue-in-cheek style lifted it out of the ordinary.

Can't wait for his next book on Vish Puri - am willing to panhandle with a little more determination so I can buy it myself!

Friday, June 5, 2009

An update on my 'Songs to get over cretins' list

This selection features my top 5 'getting over it' songs from the chick brigade only:
1. Carly Simon's You're so vain still tops my list. Think it always will.
2. Pink's So What I'm Still A Rock Star deserves second place. Never been a Pink fan but this is such a fun getting over song. Enjoy the 'you're just a tool' part the most! Hats off to her - she got him back despite the song! Way to go!
3. Lily Allen's Smile. Love it!
4. Amy Winehouse's Back to Black. Super smokey voice, great lyrics, great music. It's 4th on my list only because I prefer 'sit on this, jerk' getting over it songs to dark intense emotional outpourings. That means you STILL haven't gotten over it, Ms. Whinehouse.
5. What's Up by 4 Non-blondes. Okay, so it isn't a getting over it song but still it's a great chick anthem!
And as for Gaynor's I will survive - well, it's so fuddy duddy in comparison, innit? Yawn.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Mumbai's doing a Limp Bizkit

Swelter. Swelter. Swelter. Mother Nature is a real sodding mother! I hate it when the sky pisses weakly for a few minutes. The damn sun comes out stronger and turns me into a miserable squelchy puddle. What we need is two days of pelting rain - or at least 5 hours non-stop to cool the city down. Have become frighteningly environmental-friendly and cannot bring self to run the AC all day.
Note to self: Install a gigantic bathtub, toss ice-cubes into it and jump in with a book - the way I used to deal with those interminable powercuts in Cal.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Nights won't be the same again

I find it difficult to imagine nights without Jay Leno on NBC's Tonight Show. Saw the finale last night, where his sucessor was introduced. Wasn't remotely excited about O'Brien taking over, but perhaps I'll get used to him. Perhaps. Wasn't terribly impressed with him last night, for certain. Now hoping and praying that Zee Cafe will air Leno's new show - starts in September. Hell, WHY do things have to change?