The Buck Stops Here

The sad state of affairs with the IPL was something that was expected to happen sooner or later. Any person would ponder to look on to the other side of entertainment and realize the huge amounts of bucks flying around when our own governments are going nuts on how to shelf down the food prices. Not only has there been a betrayal of public trust but also how corruption was written all over and no one recognized those signs.

Enough has been said on the IPL issue but take a step back and look onto some of its positive side, something which I happen to read lately. Last year’s IPL in South Africa gave in a huge boost to its economy during the bad times along with the good work of promoting the country’s tourism and infrastructure. Schools in each of the host cities where given scholarships and other opportunities which uplifted and brought back lost hopes to the students. The games then were a fine example of entertainment through cricket and community recognition as a social cause.

Unsurprisingly when IPL came to India, none of this even happened. Because everything here has to be tagged in with glamour, Bollywood, parties, ego clashes, cheer girls and Page3. Oh! And yes the big bucks on the roll. Cricket is no more a game. It’s another one of those emerging businesses where you embroil to make ‘easy money’.

Source: The Hindu

Bachao!

Yes, that is what I would scream out when a movie turns out so sour that I end up strangling myself for watching it. This is usually what I would do in general but if it’s an exclusive ‘treat’ from bollywood, then it gets uglier. I’ve been watching bollywood grow (or degrade) through the years since the day I have learnt to understand the language. In the late 80’s and early 90’s, the movies were so caught up in unraveling the twists and turns in the very popular and monotonous theme of ROMANCE, either woven out by a cheesy writer or partially or completely borrowed from the other film fraternities.

Every movie had an incredibly audacious hero by the names Raj/Rohit/Aman/Rahul/Vijay (sometimes with a sidekick called Mitto or Bittu or Chintu) who had fallen in love with the gracious Pooja/Tina/Priya/Sapna, with one of them from a super rich clan and the other clamped in poverty. The plot usually works out on how the couple fights on tirelessly till the end against the tyrants with wild names like Rocky/Tiger/Vicky/Robert and with the inclusion of the infamous dialogue from the lead female “Mujhe Bacha Lo!” every time the villains eye her. Oh and how could I go past without a mention on the sizzling songs where the lovebirds run around (yet managing to get the music notes a 10 on 10) with a 100 or something dancers out of nowhere amidst the rain, snow and the ‘holy smoke’.    

Ok, I quit with the mockery but I simply cannot help it. Today bollywood in its utmost glorified version has a mass appeal all over and I wonder what has happened to the world.  Movies that kill me are the ones with huge numbers rolling by their side and the ones that I get impressed with turn out to be among the lowest of the lowest in the box office. Inspite of being a part of today’s Gen-X, I find appeal in watching the wonders of Nasseruddin Shah and Om Puri and off late Paresh Rawal. Why are filmmakers so hesitant to portray the messages that are important in the real world? And why do actors go on signing such blunt movies that makes you want to throw a brick at them? Movies like Parzania, A Wednesday, Road to Sangam make it to the limelight once in a blue moon and yet are over shadowed by the supercilious and glamour-obsessed film industry and its audiences.

Bride at 9, divorcee at 10

That is the title that caught my attention from an edition of The Times of India. Out of curiosity, I checked out the article. What I read after that was shocking and sick to the core. The story of Nujood Ali strangely resembles the Khaled Hosseini fiction: A Thousand Splendid Suns. I couldn’t help but write something about the ordeal that left the 12 year old Yemeni rot for over a year.

Nujood Ali, a regular school going girl from Yemen, who loved math and Quran classes, was forced into marriage at the age of 9 to a man old enough to be her father. She was raped on the first night of her wedding and regularly abused by her in-laws and so called husband, until she ran away two months after the wedding. With the help of a relative, she filed for divorce and was granted freedom later in the year becoming the youngest bride to legally end her marriage. With that she made headlines all over the world and was declared ‘Women of the Year’ in 2008 alongside Hillary Clinton and Nicole Kidman by Glamour magazine.      

Today her story is being told through her memoir "I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced " composed by a French journalist and is appearing in about 19 languages world over. She and her sister are attending a private school at her hometown with the funds she received from her book. She says with a smile, "All I want now is to finish my education. I want to be a lawyer."

I simply couldn’t stop imagining her plight and how disgusting and insane people can get. It’s great to know how successfully she fought her way out through the agony but it’s heartbreaking to realize the pain in her at the time when she should have played with her dolls.

We all have been truly blessed with a roof above our heads and satisfied with our never ending desires to carve out our lives better than the others. One thought of what girls like Nujood go through, is enough to make our stomachs turn over.       

http://www.glamour.com/women-of-the-year/2008/nujood-ali-and-shada-nasser