Tag Archives: where’s a burkha when you need it?


Just a note to remind you all that Masala Zindabad is now up and running. We take no prisoners in this week’s podcast about Current Actresses – what’s wrong with them and how do we fix it?

Keep the red sweater but teach them some table manners, probably.

If there are topics you’d like to see covered, drop us a note. We probably won’t use them but it’ll be nice to know how far off base we are. šŸ˜›


Posted by on November 29, 2010 in Celebrity, Entertainment, Movies, News, Personal, Video


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Masala Zindabad

Yup, it’s up and running.

We kick things off with a podcast featuring MemsaabStory – part one of a wide ranging discussion about the largely forgotten/ unknown/ nameless character actors of Hindi cinema. The feed is in the sidebar.

I swear we aren’t on meth. That’s just my poor editing skills at play. We did our best to follow the advice of all you lovely people who wrote in; I hope it worked.

Thanks for listening!



Posted by on November 23, 2010 in Entertainment, Movies, Personal


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Sorry for the Interruption

“As The Rama annihilled The Ravan; as The Krishna annihilled The Kansa, so we are sure, The Chavan will annihil The Chou.”

— The late owner of one of India’s most famous English dailies (the first one that popped into your head is probably the right one) in 1962, at a banquet honoring YB Chavan, the new Defence Minister.

Suresh Kalmadi isn’t even tops at screwing up his speeches. The only good thing about a massively disappointing week was this little anecdote offered as a piece of dinner conversation. Normal blogging to resume.


Posted by on October 11, 2010 in Newsmakers, Personal, Politics


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TMI Nation

Dear People-Who-Will-Never-Read-This,

here is a helpful list of things to avoid discussing with me when next you run into me at a supermarket checkout/ bar/ restroom/ wedding/ public transport/ other public venues. Since you don’t know who I am and will never see me again, try not to bring up the following topics with anybody at all… just to be on the safe side.

Please do not tell me about –

  • the consistency of your diarrhea
  • the consistency of your kid’s diarrhea
  • the exact details, including taste and color, of your vomit
  • the boil on your bum and your deranged fantasies of what will happen if it bursts
  • the blood you discovered on your used toilet paper after examining it closely
  • your exciting holiday
  • your opinion of my clothes
  • your analysis of my hair, weight, complexion and height, and how they will fare in the marriage market
  • your thoughts on kids today
  • your terrible mother-in-law (who is standing right next to me)
  • your super cute love story
  • your hope and aspirations and why none of them have ever come true
  • how Jesus can save me from my heathen ways
  • how God will punish me for not going to the temple enough
  • what your neighbor said to you
  • what you said to your neighbor
  • what your son’s boss said about him
  • what your son said about his boss
  • what is wrong with Muslims
  • what is wrong with Christians
  • what is wrong with white people
  • what is wrong with black people
  • what is wrong with people who are not you, and perhaps, me
  • Commonwealth Games (this goes for people who know me too. I just… can’t anymore.)


I swear some days I feel like I’m turning into a crotchety old lady. The kind that mumbles to herself and she threateningly waves her cane at passerby. One step from homeless and warning of Armageddon on my soapbox, that’s me. You know why does that? And you know who drives me there most days? The loyal citizenry of the global TMI nation who have slowly colonized the world.


Posted by on September 27, 2010 in Life, Personal


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Yup, They’re Married

What do Bollywood stars do when they go abroad?
Duh. They shop.

What do married Bollywood stars do when they go abroad?
Double duh! They shop together, of course!

Ta-da! Meet Aishwarya Rai, currently beloved of robots, and her husband Abhishek Bachchan, fortuitously the patron saint of robots in films. As soon as I saw these pics, I wondered how come I hadn’t seen or heard anything about their little Roman holiday until now – and then I realized that this is no longer 2007 and nobody cares. Oh well. Let us pretend!

The Glamorous Life of India’s First Couple (with-a-Portmanteau-Name)

ABHI: I don’t understand. What are these short, fat, ugly things? Are they edible?
ASH: Ha-ha, of course not! They’re people – common, little people. Eating them would mess up our organic diet.

ABHI: Astonishing! They’re everywhere. Walking upright.
ASH: Stop staring at them, you moron. They‘re supposed to stare at us!

ABHI: You know, it’s not cool for you to talk to me like that!
ASH: Yeah? Who’s gonna stop me? You and your baby pink shirt, flaming orange watch and that murse you clutch like a blankie? I don’t think so.

ABHI: When you talk like that you sound exactly like your ‘roid rage-y ex.
ASH: Yes, well, this scene was a lot more fun and interesting when Sanjay Leela Bhansali was directing and Ajay Devgan was in it.
ABHI: Huh?
ASH: Just wanted to throw that out there. Hey, do you have a white suit? I just remembered some fanfic we might want to try out.



Posted by on September 21, 2010 in Celebrity, Fiction, News


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Minus the Stripper Heels…

Okay, now she’s just fucking with us.


Posted by on July 23, 2010 in Celebrity, Entertainment


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Gah! The Pretty!

I can’t remember what I had scheduled for today because ever since a kind reader sent me these pics, they’re all I’ve been staring at.

You know, if I were even a fraction as beautiful as this woman, I would never pose for photographs and insist on candids like these. It’s not just that she has no bad angles – it’s the sheer vibrancy of her. Look at her! This is a woman who’d make you look up just by walking into a room even if she’d never made a movie in her life.

And, I’m sorry, I have a great deal of love for Mads Dixit but all that comparing business is nonsense and these pictures should tell you why. La Dixit is a fine, fine woman, but Madhubala isn’t just in a class by herself, she travels private jet.

Sigh. I have absolutely no thoughtful comment to make other than “OMG! GORGEOUS!” but wanted to share. Thanks, Reader! You know who you are! And you’re awesome!

Update: Since many of you asked for the full set, here it is. I have no idea who took these or where but it appears to be somebody’s apartment, most probably hers given her comfortable vibe, and she’s walking up the stairs to the terrace where she blows the camera a kiss. Enjoy!


Posted by on July 6, 2010 in Celebrity


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Coz One Bout of Public Humiliation Wasn’t Enuff

Have you ever found yourself in a crowd of people thoroughly annoyed by one single rotten apple who does her oblivious best to ruin the day for everybody around her… and realized that said wormfood was you?

Sigh. I swear I didn’t mean it.

So there I am, watching I Hate Luv Storys in a packed house and my body up and decides that this is an excellent time to get rid of the five tons of phlegm it has apparently been hoarding for days. Does it leak out of my nose like all well-mannered mucus ought to? NO!

My mucus believes in a dramatic entrance. It chooses to erupt from my body in a series of violent sneezes that went on – I kid you not! – for a solid half hour at three minute intervals. At first, I thought I could employ the discreet and possibly medically-frowned-upon tactic of all people struck by inconvenient sneezes: pinch my nose and whuffle it.

[Yes, I said “whuffle”. The next time you work up a sneeze, pinch your nose and force it to die inside your body instead of whistling out your nasal cavity. That sound you hear of capillaries bursting is called a whuffle. And if you want to prove me wrong, you come up with a term for it, smartass.]

I whuffled the first one and it hurt. My nose does not approve of whuffling. It believes in freedom of expression. I whuffled the second time with greater care and ended up with nosey on my fingers. Yech. I fished out a paper towel, which is what I use in lieu of handkerchiefs like all intelligent people who prefer to throw away any bits of material smeared with their bodily emissions rather than tucking it carefully back in their pocket to be laundered lovingly at home. When the next sneeze came hurtling out my nose, I caught it in the quilted, quadruple-strength confines of my paper towel.

HONK! said my nose. HONK! HONK!

Now, it’s true that I turn into a kindergartner when confronted by mucus but I was never the kind of kid who attempted an on-the-spot PhD on her goobers or ate them or anything bleurgh like that. But I too am a human being and there is nothing quite like clearing your blocked nasal passages of phlegm. Clear your throat, blow your nose, pick it clean – it’s like it massages some special nerve center in your brain and whispers, “There, there. It’s going to be all right now.” You breathe in, your lungs expand, nothing gargles inside your skull, you’re not swallowing gobs of matter with your spit – and whaddya know? It really is all right now! I perked up.

And that’s when the sneezing fit began. One sneeze, two sneeze, three sneeze, four. A sneeze there, a sneeze here, a sneeze-sneeze everywhere! Skeevy sneeze, steezy sneeze, snotty sneeze, snooty sneeze. Snooze a sneeze! Wheeze!

Sorry. Anyway…

My brain, being all jostled about, decided that this spasm couldn’t possibly last and what’s a few sneezes in a theater resounding with Bollywood cheer? Especially when muffled by my trusty industrial strength paper towel? I’d cleaned entire counters with a single sheet of these bad boys, so what was a sneeze or one million? So I crunched my abdominal muscles, crossed my legs, closed my eyes and hunkered down for the violence to end. A staccato series of sneezes later, I opened my eyes.

There, in my hand, I clutched the pitifully wadded remains of my damp and steadily disintegrating paper towel. FALSE ADVERTISING! Boooo! (How quickly I turn.)

Gingerly, I felt my nose. I couldn’t be sure without a torch to shine up my nasal cavity and a mirror to better study it, but it felt like I was missing skin. I’d definitely lost a few hairs by the root in the late struggle. Ow. I briefly contemplated opening up the solid mass of paper and mucus that I held to further investigate but as I mentioned earlier – I’m really not that kind of kindergartner.

However. It was really kind of dark in that theater. Maybe I could discreetly insert the tip of one finger to check the state of affairs in my nose? I cast a furtive look around to see if it was light enough for anyone to make out what I was up to.

… and met the eyes of everybody three rows deep to the front and back of my seat. It was like one of those scenes from Children of the Corn where individual parents turn around from their everyday tasks to be confronted by the phalanx of creepy kids except in this case I was the creepy kid and everyone staring at me was desi, grown up, and most definitely not expressionless. Thankfully, another significant difference was that nobody attacked me with a sickle. My people are so polite.

I quietly offered up a mumbled “sorry” to the universe rather than the uncle in front whose neck I’d probably sprayed with a few billion of my germs and did what I ought to have done 30 minutes earlier: skedaddled to the restroom to wash my puffy face, my germy hands and my poor tender nose. Then I bought myself a hot cup of tea to nurse and sidled back inside.

Coz I’m thickskinned like that.


Posted by on July 3, 2010 in Life, Personal


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Oh Boy

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Clearly, I’ve been wasting my time all these years by looking over women’s couture collections. The real action very obviously lies in menswear.

First up at the recently concluded Milan Fashion Week, for example, is what Calvin Klein thinks the well-dressed man will wear next year. Don’t worry if you don’t have that kind of definition in the midriff area. You can air your paunch.

Then there’s the Emporio Armani collection. What can I say but woo-hoo? Their head designer obviously went to a lot of exciting parties this year. You gotta respect a man who dreams up a show based on Nazis in leggings and S&M.

Meanwhile Dolce and Gabbana just randomly threw in a few men in their skivvies. As did Bottega Veneta. I honestly had no idea they showcased speedos on runways. I mean – it’s a speedo! How far can you tweak it? Oh wait…

And then there were a bunch of other folks, including Versace with an androgynous-but-not-in-a-good-way lineup of models who all looked anorexic. Donatella should have called up Vivienne Westwood for tips.

In related news, I’m still a philistine but a happy one today!


Posted by on June 22, 2010 in Celebrity, Entertainment, News


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2007Ā Called

Just to say it loves you and misses you too. Honestly, get this chick another dress.

As you can see, it can be done – that’s actually a pretty dress although her absolute lack of confidence in wearing something where the twins aren’t having their day in the sun should be a lesson to all aspiring sexpots to spend at least a little time in front of the mirror with their clothes on. The snake is clearly over it and its handler looks worried Mallika might bite it:

Maybe it’s because her stylist has the most blah dressing sense known to bombshell-dom when it comes to other designs:

Of course, you need to be careful or else you might end up with this:

Is this some kind of top-secret red carpet meme being carried out by sniggering make-up artists?



Posted by on May 21, 2010 in Celebrity, Entertainment, Newsmakers


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