In the altar of idol worshipÂ
This is the story of a miss of a lifetime — missing the First Day First Show of the costliest Indian movie ever starring India’s biggest star. Sorry, it ain’t Big B we are talking about, but a certain Shivaji Rao Gaekwad, alias Rajni.
This is also the story of hitting Day 2 of Sivaji — The Boss, at Aurora in Matunga on Day 2. And the hype witnessed during the first day of Rajni’s last movie Chandramukhi. This is a story of adulation.
Hopefully, that roar, that joyous chaos, that festoons adorning the altar of hero worship will come back to life. Last time that magic happened in Tiruchy, a landlocked district on the banks of Cauvery — the flow of Tamil Nadu.
Chandramukhi was a “second-rate adaptation of a third party originalâ€. That is a Tamil movie inspired from a Kannada movie, Aapta Mitra, which, in turn, was remake of a gem of a Malayalam entertainer Manichitratazhu. But the original and its immediate off-shoot lacked a unique selling proposition, though both did fare well at the box-office.
So here we were, after a night-long drunken revelry that bursts into the day of reckoning — First Day First Show. Such celebrations are only associated with few festivals, leave alone film releases. Except in Tamil Nadu. And that too only when this ageless wonder named Sivaji Rao Gaekwad assumes the pseudonym Rajnikanth.
Welcome to the real box-office magic. Here we have a wand that converts euphoria to astronomical collection figures.
Cut to 2007, and Shivaji Rao’s real name and reel name converge in over 600 prints and in roughly 100-odd prints abroad — UK, US, Japan and this time, in Hong Kong too. No official figures dude, the veil of secrecy is dropped only on Day 1. Everything else is hearsay.
That’s why when leaked tapes of Sivaji did the rounds on the Net, AR Rahman was asked to tweak it — again a hearsay. Now, that secrecy is one aspect of the stylish aura that weaves magic on screen.
So, the faceless figurehead who mans the counter at Aurora in Matunga be pardoned for having a bland ticket. It would have been unpardonable if that were to happen in Albert or Satyam in Chennai. Or for that matter, anywhere in the vast tracts of land breathing the rustic fragrance of Tamil.
Nothing less than a glossy texture with the icon himself on it would do — It’s a celebration and not a slip of paper which assures an entry to a cinema. Don’t you dare fiddle with it!
Many crores later and after many intriguing plots and one liners were given a decent burial, The Boss assumed his stylish screen persona to assured applauses on Friday — that was the aforementioned missing USP.
But for this star-struck soul, it doesn’t matter if the rendezvous is only on Day 2. Awaiting the moment frozen in time, when the punch dialogue unleashes a riot of claps, itself is a celebration.
Mint is refreshing. A clarity of thought pervades the pages and the text, which media professionals dare to call “storiesâ€.
It hasn’t gone overboard on Day One, though it had a slew of reasons provided by Tatas, Corus and the apex bank. That’s a welcome relief from all the ‘exclusive’, painting-the-town-red sort of ‘interviews’ of Ratan Tata that almost all business dailies ran. Ratan Tata could have told them only one thing other than what he did at the media briefing – That he didn’t wink. Or, may be, it was easier to get sandwiches in the Taj than in Bombay House.
Mint stayed cool. Others went overboard. Fair enough.
But there is a cowboy economy out there when it comes to pink pals. Mint is not pink in its physical form, but it has space only in that smug of a rat race.
And the cowboy economy dictates that you flourish by killing the competitor, rather than leaping ahead.
That necessarily means something akin to buying all the copies and burying it under heaps of garbage. To be on the safer side, it could be burnt before burying, lest someone digs it out.
It is in jumping this hurdle that mint would find the competition tough, rather than in coming out with a smart product.
And one thing that it needs to do is to make available its copies to at least those who want it.
A flurry of SMSssssssssssss, an e-mail and a personal chat with the vendor did not bring it to the doorstep. It took an unscheduled long walk. Now, that is not how you sell your newspaper, whether you call it Berliner or Assamese or compact or Chinese. Or mint. Â
DNA. Jan 3.Â
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MUMBAI: From the trolley-clogged serpentine queues that led to purposeless check-in counters, New Delhi unfurled the New Year to its stranded guests.
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But first things first. The polite cabbie had decided to grab decision-making powers, foreseeing what the low-cost carrier had an hour past midnight of the new dawn smsed its hapless passenger: Nothing would take off in New Delhi, on Day One of 2007.
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Fog spread its tentacles to thwart road, rail and air travel, as if to allow midnight revellers time to shed holy hangovers. For revellers it is ok, for travelers it’s awkward.
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So why don’t you try and catch the next flight of the friendly neighbourhood budget-carrier to Amchi Mumbai?
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The faceless voice from some god-forsaken call centre informs you that the rest of the day’s flights are full, if at all they would dare to take-off from the clutches of fog.
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So the next early morning flight is the option thrust upon the frozen soul by the winter of disarray.
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But then there is no guarantee that the creepy F-word would claw back to its Himalayan habitats. Wisdom reigns. Â
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No thanks dude, another early morning flight is a strict no-no for another decade, at least in winter, all the more in Delhi.
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The brighter option is the next carrier, with or without frills – you name it and we have it.
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The ticket is surprisingly up for grabs, albeit a bit costlier, for the next hopefully sunny morning. Hoping against hope is a stellar trait of the Indian psyche.
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After the rude chaos of Delhi’s rugged nature and many serpentine confusing trolley-shaped queues later, we are a step nearer to redemption. At 9, the flight is on time and there is a semblance of visibility for the layman. Â
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Half an hour later, when the passengers are scheduled to board the aircraft, no sign of salvation but an announcement that the 9.30 Mumbai flight of another airline has been re-scheduled to 10.
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Even before there’s time to trade a guess about the obvious comes the prompt announcement: Sorry for another 45 minutes, but keep yourself happy with some quick bites from the counter. Thanks, but no thanks.
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The world here is divided into two, those who have checked in their baggage and have their boarding pass and those who have not. There the cacophony of loud voices threaten to gobble up the fragile but chaotic queues of the less fortunate. Airport and airline staff get a mouthful of abuse for free.
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Many diversions and cancellations later, when passengers clapped following an announcement which was hardly audible, it needed little wisdom to figure out that your aircraft is ready to carry you to promised land.
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Only that no one still thought they would have the eerie luxury of waiting in a motionless A320 for another two hours. The fog had eased, but there is a pile up of 15 more aircraft carrying people like you.
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Did someone say you will be charged for congestion in our crumbling airports? Would you mind reading about orders placed by our fledgling airlines to Airbus or Boeing.
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The better idea is to pay some hard-earned cash to buy peanuts and doze-off after fastening the seatbelts of our low-frilled flights. And may be dream about better facilities at airports during future bitter experiences lined up for you, as India flaunts its glittering aircraft appetite to hide its crumbling airport infrastructure and sorry state of airport management.
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There’s an irrational feeling that Brazilian steelmaker Companhia Siderurgica Nacional will triumph against Tatas in the bidding war for Corus.
That feeling stems not from logic or rationale or after studying the valuations, synergies etc. Nor are we talking about the funding pattern and the finances or stretched valuations for Corus.
Then why would Tatas fail to get Corus?
Simple, the Tatas have only steel in the name, while  CSN has both Iron and Steel. Siderurgica means iron and steel. Then it’s a company as Companhia indicates, where as there no such indication in the name plate of the reluctant Indian suitor, apart from the ‘Ltd’ tag. And above all there’s national pride etched in Nacional.
So for the Tatas, it is as good as taking their name literally—Tata bye bye is the corus being heard loudly in Bombay House. Any bets?Â
NB: Tatas trumped CSN. No one bet.
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No one is waiting, but this is to inform the stray visitor, the faceless blogger or the unknown netizen that this space is to witness some activity in the days to come. Welcome to those who have nothing worthwhile to do, no horizons to conquer, no goals to work for and no energy worth boasting. Back to basics
No one is waiting, but this is to inform the stray visitor, the faceless blogger or the unknown netizen that this space is to witness some activity in the days to come. Welcome to those who have nothing worthwhile to do, no horizons to conquer, no goals to work for and no energy worth boasting.