Jiah Khan

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Sunday, 31 March 2013

Easter Mubarak!

Posted on 08:40 by Unknown
It has been an overwhelming Easter weekend at our farm house in Alibag. These pics say it all.... or... wait a minute.... do they? Getting my half-a-dozen children together under the same roof was challenge number one. But it happened! Making sure my grand daughter made the most of the pool and beach was a cake walk! She is a natural water baby.
 The sea was rough and choppy. But the moon, Orion and Great Bear in the clear night sky made me forget the rough ride.... it goes without saying, the champagne helped! I hope all my Blogdosts had a good weekend, too!
                                                                           ************
This appeared in Sunday Times today.....


                                     If I were Zaibunissa Kazi…
 Question:What is the one thing Zaibunissa Kazi seems to have done right in her 70-plus years? Answer: She has produced one hell of a smart daughter! Listening to Shagufta Kazi arguing her mother’s case across countless television channels,it  became abundantly clear that here was a young woman who knew how the media game is played. Tutored or not, her presentation was faultless. She stuck to her script and refused to budge from her “My mother is not guilty,” position. Shagufta’s timing was impeccable as well. And her emotional pitch must have touched countless soft hearts – including Markandey Katju’s. Suddenly, the focus shifted from Sanjay Dutt and his Bollywood buddies, to an ailing old lady’s tragic condition. She was sick… she was dying… she had suffered for a crime she had not confessed to…twenty years later, she was being sent back to jail… prison life would definitely kill her… besides, she was innocent! It was a brilliant strategy – and it worked! Sorry for the cynicism. But the way this entire saga is going right now ( one sob story after another), makes one wonder whether we need a Supreme Court in India at all! If verdicts are there to be questioned and challenged by any and everybody, why bother with the long drawn out judicial process in the first place? What we are witnessing today, is nothing but staged high drama involving high profile public figures, playing on the country’s emotions. Certainly, asking for pardon is the prerogative of  every citizen.And one must hand it Sanjay Dutt ( it’s really pretty obscene to keep referring to a 54- year- old man as ‘Sanju Baba’ ) for making his position clear on the issue (“No thank you,” he says). But this particular case is not an ordinary one. The horrific terror attacks on Mumbai, left 257 dead, and 713 injured, making this one of the best planned and most devastating terror attacks in the world. Those implicated have had 20 years to think about their involvement… and express remorse. One hasn’t come across an apology so far. It seems incredible that the accused expected fellow citizens to forgive and forget what took place in 1993, considering it was fellow citizens who were under attack in the first place
Markandey Katju is an enigma. Or maybe, he is just another retired Judge seeking political office like several others before him. He insists he has examined the case thoroughly before offering support and intervention. Most citizens would have problems with the learned former Judge’s stand. It is hard to find ‘sympathy’ for those who were willing to endorse the killing of innocents in cold blood. It is harder still to accept the argument that a man in his thirties at the time ( Sanjay Dutt), thought it fit to keep an AK-56 for  “self-protection”! One assumes he would have used the deadly weapon against fellow Indians, had such a need arisen? Dutt has an entire army of supporters working for him right now – and good luck to the actor. It is hard not to like this affable  man mountain . But hello! A verdict is a verdict, no matter how adorable the accused and regardless of  how much money is riding on him. Dutt has taken it on the chin and is being a man about it. That leaves Zaibunissa and her smart daughter. If I were in Zaibunissa’s place, I would leave it to Shagufta to fight my battle. Shagufta is far more savvy than a battery of  lawyers. She can also teach the cleverest P.R. professionals a thing or two about pitching a story that tugs  at millions of heart strings. All that remains for this duo to do is to hire a high profile celebrity – and fire the rest of their advisers ( assuming they exist). Celebrities these days rent by the hour and can be easily convinced to come on board, when the case is this media-driven. Zaibunissa’s projection as a seriously ill, tormented victim with a failed kidney condition, has already worked in her favour. And Shagufta has shrewdly taken the ‘Trial by public opinion’ route.As for  the bleeding heart Judge Katju, one can see where he’s coming from, and more importantly, where he is going.
That leaves the families of the dead and injured. Aaah – them! Well… ummm… yes. Poor things. Something must be done for them soon.But before that – how about pardoning Sanjay Dutt and Zaibunissa Kazi?
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Thursday, 28 March 2013

Limone! Italian Alps

Posted on 23:45 by Unknown
Blogdosts.... that's Arundhati and moi pretending to ski! What a glorious day it was at Wonderfall in Limone! Unfogettable in every which way...
Have a relaxing Easter Weekend, guys. We are off on a heavy duty family retreat at our home in Alibag.
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Tuesday, 26 March 2013

Historic Hermitage Hotel, Monte Carlo

Posted on 11:16 by Unknown
Blogdosts, remember.... you did say  "Öui"' when I asked!
So... here are a few early, first day/night images shot by moi on my faithful Leica ( Thank you, Gitaaaah - it remains one of my most cherished birthday gifts!).
 From the top: Roses (white - in case you thought they were red, ha ha ha), Champagne (Pommery) in the chiller, chocolates ( Hediard - the best, after the Japanese brand Royce). Now - that's what one calls a royal welcome! Nobody does it better than the Hermitage.
And the ceiling view of the chandelier is of our lovely, blue themed suite.
That's the magnifique Belle Epoque breakfast room which opens out to a terrace. Followed by a lobby view. And an incredible early evening vista of the yachts- jammed harbour as seen from our balcony. F Finally, the farewell bow and last curtain call at the Opera "Ámica'' ( written in 1905, and just revived).
There's more where those came from. All you have to do is give me a thumbs up!
                                                                     *************
Happy Holi. May the good times roll. And may Holika do her job tonight by destroying evil forces, as the Holi fires burn across India and hungry flames lick the sky.
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Monday, 25 March 2013

No time for funerals...

Posted on 10:36 by Unknown

This picture sort of says it all??? More to come...
                                                                               **************
This appeared in Mumbai Mirror...
                           No time for funerals and condolences…
To the best of my knowledge, my mother had never gone anywhere close to a crematorium – electric or otherwise. It simply was not done in those days for women to be present at funerals. It was a strictly male thing. A masculine ‘duty’. Women were meant to be protected from having to deal with the nitty gritties of death. They involved themselves with other social obligations at such times. Like my grandmother  would say after hearing about a death of a relative or family friend, “ Let us pay a visit and meet the grieving ladies of the house.” Women mourned privately. They said their final goodbyes from a distance as the body was taken away, wiping their tears  discreetly and  hugging the lady closest to them for comfort. I had asked aie and aji why women were not allowed to join male mourners and they had replied evasively. The ‘smashaan’ was no place for ladies, they’d said.  Traditionally,women had no role to play during the last rites. I had found this custom strange and unfair . But had kept mum.Since when did grief get divided along gender lines? I was fed some mumbo jumbo about menstruation, pregnancy and defilement.Absurd!  I made a personal pact with God and convinced myself  it was okay to break rules and say ‘goodbye’ properly to someone I loved deeply without worrying about divine repercussions. By the time it was my turn to see off loved ones, the social environment had changed sufficiently to ‘allow’ women into the crematorium…. and even light the funeral pyre.
Today, women don’t have the time to attend funerals or even offer personal condolences. I am ashamed to say it happened to me last fortnight. I was travelling when I heard the tragic news about Viren Shah’s death in Jordan. I had known Virenbhai for close to forty years . I remembered the twinkle in his eyes and the many happy evenings my husband and I had spent gobbling sev puri and other Gujarati snacks at his home in Mumbai, and later, in the Raj Bhavan in Kolkata when he was the Governor of West Bengal. I recalled listening to Virenbhai regaling his rapt audience with hilarious stories of his many political adventures. I couldn’t quite believe he had passed away in a distant country. While my husband made it to his funeral, I couldn’t. I said a prayer for Virenbhai in my heart, thought fondly about his lovely wife Anjuben,mentally reached out to my good friend, his son Rajesh…and that was that. Till… I could bear it no more. This was truly pathetic… disgraceful! I sent a heartfelt text message to Rajesh, and felt better. But only a little. I should have asked for time from Rajesh and his wife Bansri, gone and met them and done what is the appropriate thing under the circumstances. But I was travelling again (lousy excuse!) . This was just so unfortunate. Now, it will be weeks again before we can connect in a meaningful way.
And that’s how the cookie crumbles. But it really shouldn’t. Surely, we can all make time in our frenzied and hectic lives to honour the memory of those we have shared wonderful moments with? I was away when another stalwart - Kekoo Gandhi, died. And more recently, Kali Modi. All three were exceptional men – and true bon vivants – loved and adored by countless admirers. I knew them. I loved them. But I wasn’t there. This is going to be one of the tragedies of our times. Births and deaths will happen. Some of us will pause and note both. Some will make it a point to visit the family and express joy / sorrow. Some will say ‘Later.” And that ‘later’ will never come. I am feeling guilty. I am feeling ashamed. No, I am feeling truly terrible.
What should guilt ridden women do under such circumstances? I’d say try and make up the best way they can. It’s never the same thing. But it sure beats self-flagellation or going into denial. It’s a tough one. The next  generation of career women is going to get busier still.Work harder.Travel more. Soon, we may forget what it means to pay a condolence visit.There will be no one  left to pass on the protocol.Teach others how to behave at besanas , uthamanas , shraddhs and wakes . That will be as big a tragedy as the death of the loved one itself .
And then… who will mourn us when we go???
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Sunday, 24 March 2013

Monaco was magical!

Posted on 15:29 by Unknown
Here I am at the Dubai International airport, waiting for my flight to Mumbai. I have still to recover from the magnificence of the charity ball organised by the Grimaldi family in Monte Carlo. Ever since Princes Grace started this tradition, The Rose Ball, as it is popularly called, attracts the top international names across the board and is one event that  strongly marks the  crowded Monaco social calendar (over 600 events in 365 days!) and heralds Spring. Well... we all know what happened to Spring in Europe this year! But I was lucky to enjoy two very sunny and glorious days at a destination that defines glamour. The Ball itself ,was designed by a legend - Karl Lagerfeld. And was his tribute to the Belle Epoque. Naturally, it was opulent and creative, extravagant and magical. I tried hard to meet Monsieur Lagerfeld, but the security cordon around him was impoaaible to crack. I also tried to grab a few shots of the exqisitely stunning Princess Charlene - same story! Toh kya hua? The India table was well represented. We wore our beautiful sarees with pride. Our Ambassador looked pleased. Princess Diya Kumari of Jaipur looked splendid in red.And we also had a  wow-wow Bond Girl ( Casino Royale) at our table, all thanks to Patrick Medecin, Monaco's Ambassador to India.  I have a feeling, India and Indians will be the new darlings of this jewel of a Principality soon. As of now, I spotted several Chinese billionaires. And of course, the Russian Oligarchs clad head to toe  in Sable. Mink. Silver Fox. Chinchilla.
Great pics coming up. Raise your hands and say, "Oui!"
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Sunday, 17 March 2013

Jump! And save yourself!

Posted on 23:56 by Unknown
 From the arid sands of the Dubai desert to the salubrious Cote DÁzur....am off for a few days.... zipping to colder climes. Monaco and the super glam Rose Ball beckon....more on my return next week, post -Holi. Till then, au revoir... mes amies.
                                                                         *************
This appeared in The Week...
                             Jump! And save yourself…
I had no idea that the Mumbai Police had started a  17 member Hostage & Crisis Negotiation Team last year, till I read about the timely intervention of Shalini Sharma, a team member, who talked a 17- year- old girl out of jumping from the seventh floor of her building in Bandra. In her interview with a local tabloid, Shalini recounted the two-and-a-half  hour ordeal, during which her training (  at  Scotland Yard, no less) was tested. She said the team specializes in decoding the body language of the ‘target’. In this case, she found the suicidal girl looking angry and confused. There was no time to waste. Shalini launched into what is termed ‘calculated bargaining.’  Over an hour of skillful negotiations later, Shalini came up with a brainwave and managed to hand over a cell phone to the panic stricken girl. After that, it was comparatively easy.
 The thing that struck me about this incident is how vulnerable our young are today. And how we have failed to recognize their fragility. As Shalini pointed out after the girl was rescued, “ All she wanted was someone to talk to…” Obviously, nobody had been listening to her cries for help for a long, long time… not her family, not even her friends. Loneliness is going to be the new killer in urban India. But we have yet to wake up to the seriousness of the condition. The bald and sad truth of the matter is that there are more and more terminally lonely people in our cities than ever before. And nobody has the time for them.We used to pride ourselves on providing support to those most in need of  it – our youth and the elderly. Today, both are in the same boat – marginalized, neglected and ignored. The young feel diminished and degraded. The elderly, unwanted and useless.  Clinical depression is on the rise, but we fail to identify it for what it is – an illness. We get impatient and angry if someone close to us withdraws and sinks into a deep, dark well of negative emotions. Especially if that person appears fine in all other respects – physically fit, energetic and educated. We accuse such people of faking their condition. Of  being lazy. Of  seeking attention. Of  behaving ‘badly’. The elderly have little choice but to put up with the taunts of those around them. But the young demonstrate rage and give vent to frustration. That is when suicides happen. Cornered and filled with despair, only one solution presents itself – instant death. How tragic!
We remain unsympathetic and callous even when faced with such a drastic situation. Rarely do parents of disturbed teens turn the spotlight on themselves to ask, “Where did I fail my child?” Sometimes, this introspection comes a bit too late in the day. In the case successfully handled by Shalini Sharma, I  continue to fear for the girl. She may have been saved this one time. But who’s to say she won’t attempt something similar in future? And if that happens,  Shalini Sharma may not be around to negotiate with the troubled  teen and persuade her to  get off that dangerous ledge. We don’t want to bother with the delicate state of such a person’s mind. We don’t know whether or not her family is happy to see her alive after the ordeal. What if she is told as much? Imagine the irony of it all. To start with, there was nobody to talk to. Leaping off  the ledge seemed  like the only way out. Then came a savior. But there was still nobody to talk to! What happens in such a grim scenario? I shudder to think.
For the young, unhappy children of our society, family still remains the primary source of love and comfort. Friends follow. But all that is rapidly changing. Friends have replaced family in a lot of metros.Friends seem to have more time and better understanding of problems. Working parents often need therapy themselves, unable as they frequently are to cope with their own problems. Grand parents no longer live with the family. The larger circle of aunts, uncles and cousins does not exist. Teachers of the old school who actually cared about the emotional state of their students , disappeared with the dinosaurs. An abiding sense of rejection (“ Nobody sends me Friend requests on FB” ) supersedes virtually everything else . The world appears hostile and dangerous. What does a young person do in such a nightmarish situation? Look for that welcoming ledge. And jump.

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Posted on 04:56 by Unknown
My darling and highly creative friend Chanda Narang who runs Frazer & Haws, is always ahead of the curve when she inspires her team to come up with new concepts and designs in silver. I was in Delhi this week for Spring Fever and was delighted to have dinner with Chanda at Tres ( Delhi's latest, smartest and uber hip bistro). Her store at Khan Market happens to be cheek by jowl to Tres. I checked out Chanda's latest creations and fell in love with these two. What do you think of them? Beautiful or what????
And yes.... do contribute to a good cause....the campaign has just kicked off. Remember , even 500 rupees can change a little girl's life forever.
                                                              ***************
This appeared in Sunday Times today...
                                Viva Italia!
What is there not to love about Italy and the Italians? Errrr…. we’ll get to the Marines later.  Let’s start counting first : We  have flipped en masse for  Italian cuisine.Eating Italian has become a big, fat food trend across the country. And this generation of Indian bachchas would rather pack pasta  for their nashta than parathas. Every nukkad has a pizza parlour  these days. Gelatos may soon replace kulfi. We also love Italian wines and cheeses. Italian olive oil and tomatoes. Parmesan and Mozzarella have more takers here than the humble paneer and  chhana. We listen to Italian opera – aah Pavarotti! Oh Domingo. We love their movies and movie stars. Our film buffs have watched Fellini,Visconti.Antonioni and worshipped Mastroianni ( Marcello, to you) for decades. Generations of desi men have fallen in love with Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida and Monica Bellucci.While women have swooned over De Niro and Di Caprio. Will the wild female fantasy of the Great Latin Lover never end?How can we overlook Italian design? Italian shopping? The unmatchable leather boots and saddles? Handbags and shoes? All those impeccably crafted objects of desire, guaranteed to make shopaholics go weak in the knees season after season? Have we forgotten their silks and gowns? Fancy frocks and haute couture? No, no, no. How can we not recognize the obvious – ‘Made in Italy’ means ‘Made in Heaven’? No wonder planeloads of tourists from India land up in Rome, Pisa, Venice,Napoli, Capri, Milano in search of the perfect vacation. Well- heeled travellers book their favourite villas in Tuscany months in advance and talk knowledgeably about the joys of eating al fresco at their favourite neighbourhood bistro. Si,si si  –  it’s true -  Indians do go gaga over all things Italiano. But…all that may be a thing of the past now.
So, why has India’s love affair with  Italy suddenly ended, not with a bang but a tantrum? Well, there is that nasty little business involving two maddeningly attractive Italian Marines with maddeningly melodious names (Salvatore Girone and Massimillano Latorre). They have been really, really naughty. In our part of the world, we’d call them murderous. But in Italy, these things happen. Guns go off. Innocents die. Bad stuff  takes place And then finito! It’s all over. It happens like that in India as well. But what happens in India, stays in India. In Italy, things work a little differently. Promises are made. Assurances given. Lawyers and governments get involved.Two naughty Marines are locked up . And everybody waits for a fair trial. Then the Italians work on our soppy sentiments and play the X’Mas card. Awwww! We say. Poor guys. They want to spend X’Mas with their families. Let them go. They’ve promised to come back. And they will! Surprise, surprise! They do come back! And all of us heave a sigh of relief and say, “See! Those Marines kept their word.” We relax a little. The families of the murdered fishermen don’t. They know something we refuse to acknowledge. The Marines are not to be trusted. Nor is the Italian government . But, we allow the  accused men go back to Italy once again. This time to cast their votes. “They’ll be back. Just like the last time…” we say. Ooooopps! That doesn’t happen. They change their minds. They are not coming back in a hurry. In fact, they are not coming back at all! Deal with it! Our chaps look terribly foolish as they tch!tch! and take the Italian Ambassador Daniele Mancini, to task. He remains as cool as those gelatos we love and makes all the right diplomatic noises. Italy is our friend, we say, somewhat unconvincingly. But this is an act of hostility, someone pipes up. Contempt of our courts, roar those who don’t particularly like Italians…. especially one Italian lady who lives in Delhi. Blood is thicker than water, snipes a neta. Whose blood? What water? There is anger and confusion all around. Women who love their Italian bags, shoes, clothes and jewels, wonder whether it would appear unpatriotic to flaunt them in public now. “We must stand by our country,” they declare virtuously, and promise to boycott the Fashion Week in Milan this year. Roadside vendors of pizzas switch to selling dosas. It’s time for solidarity, we insist. Forget olive oil, it’s about time the Italians extended an olive branch, declare apoplectic politicos. La Dolce Vita does not look all that ‘dolce’ any more. And the Italian lady in Delhi is in no mood to get into this mess. Arrivederci! Ciao! It’s time to say goodbye to the absconding Marines. As for the dead fisherman and their grieving families… they will probably be taken care of the old fashioned way. For a few Euros more… of course. And they should remember to say ‘Grazie’ nicely when that happens!

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