Jawani Deewani on Times Square
>> We may not have made the effort to see it while in Mumbai but nothing would have stopped us from watching KJo’s Yeh Jawani hai Deewani on Sunday afternoon at Times Square! That too in a hall full of NRI babes, babes from unknown Far East Asian nations and babes of Caucasian descent!
Here every epic hip thrust and masterful pelvic grind of young Ranbir is not just a Bollywood mating ritual but a matter of national pride. Our own flag flying bravely in the centre of the universe. A transcontinental tribute to the rising power of a Mother India. A sensex indicator if ever there was one. (If this were a social networking site, we’d end that sentence with a JK! and a wink) And each time he makes moony eyes at his long limbed heroine, we swear the sweet Korean girls in the row behind us have an epiphany! Er, the movie is fun too, though a tad long.
New York Style
>> Sunday night we attended an elegant dinner at the gracious and hospitable Bissell outpost on the Upper West Side. Each year, Bim Bissell, Delhi’s most celebrated and well-connected grande dame, moves to NYC where she demonstrates to New Yorkers what it means to live and entertain in real style and sophistication.
One of her guests happens to be Christine Wisner, former wife of Frank, the erstwhile US ambassador to India in the ’90s. Christine also happens to be the stepmom to former French president Nicolas Sarkozy (and therefore mom-in-law to the luscious Carla Bruni!) Over daal, basmati rice, salad and spicy chicken, Christine brings us up to speed on her life since she left India and settled in NYC. Dinner over, this elegant husky voiced French lady (a dead ringer for a European Jackie Kennedy), once wife of an ambassador and stepmother to a former president takes the elevator down with us and walks over to the nearest bus top to take a bus home! Ah, New York how we love your style!
We read, therefore we are
>> It took a week in NYC to rediscover the profound pleasure of reading! Ensconced in a friend’s book lined apartment in NYC, we are in hardback heaven. Every great and good book that a person would require to understand the modern world — from fiction to fact from Maureen Dowd to Alan Greenspan and from Truman Capote to David Remnik is here.
So, call us perverse, but here, in what’s supposed to be the most happening city in the world, we want to do nothing but curl up with a book and give ourselves over to the one activity that defined our childhood and who we once were. So, here’s my theory about the lost art of reading: for those of us who worried that we didn’t enjoy it any more — it’s all about the environment outside and within. When the clamour of our lives settles into stillness, our love for reading returns. It’s like riding a bicycle. And if our New York state of mind means curling up with a good book so be it: after all who says we’re not perverse?
>> We have never underestimated the substantial significance of serendipity. So, when we received a message on Facebook from Maura Moynihan, the glam author, Tibetan activist and former flower child daughter of the late Senator Patrick Moynihan, we are not surprised that we happen to be halfway through her highly entertaining book Covergirl, a kind of babe version of Wolfe’s seminal Bonfire of the Vanities.
Moynihan who grew up in capitals all over the world and harbored rockstar dreams around the same time Madonna did (they found themselves knocking at the same recording studio doors) and married the legendary Richard Avedon’s son, takes her reader through the upper echelons of wasp-y, trust fund, Upper West Side New York’s best salons with a brutally honest hard eyed vision. “May I take you out for a drink?” writes Maura. Yes, we look forward to that very much we think, even as we flip through to her next chapter.