What the Sky Said...

I am blue…a sad periwinkle…I deal with my sense of being blue, as a muezzin calls out from somewhere in the distance…the squirrels peek into the house from the branch of the pear tree…that girl down there, lying in her bed, is afraid to budge an inch, lest she experiences the cold bed on either side of her warm body. There is a nip in the air, and the girl has carefully tucked herself under a cream bedspread that covers her completely.
I am blue…and it’s five or so in the evening…the road in this quiet neighborhood lies like a dormant cobra…jet black from spurts of rain that it has had since early morning. And now the evening sun plays a game of ducks and drakes all across it…the leaves of the trees aiding the game and forming a tough myrtle canopy.
The girl blinks…and then squints…the sunlight’s got into her eyes…good…she’s finally moving out of her comfort zone. Now she stares at me. ‘Feeling lonely eh?'
‘Yeah I am…as if you care. The muezzin woke me up anyway…it’s not the sun…and by the way, I hate people asking me if I am lonely. It is a downright repulsive question’.
The girl shuts the window on my face, after this tiny interlude. She is going to tie her hair in a tight knot, light incense, make dinner, and wait for the man in the house to come back, tired after a hard day’s work. I know she is lonely, although she hated me asking her that. I watch her humming around the house in her sari…a dull salmon pink…she sings a folk song…much like the reaper.
My periwinkle gives way to black as the clock ticks on…I so completely hate this color. What’s with this black? So very cheerless!!!
- ‘What are you staring at? Yeah, I am lonely, and I am sad. I am aware of this daily ritual…me making coffee, and then dinner…drawing the curtains, switching on the lights, and waiting for him to come home…but I’m not sure if you have noticed…he never comes’.
- ‘Yes I have…I have noticed’.
- ‘Really? That’s a first. So…what do you suggest’?
- ‘Get a life. He is not reality. He’s never going to turn up’.
- ‘Life? Like what? Become something like you and rudely stare at young girls in their beds’?
We laugh. For the first time, I see her smiling. Suddenly, my own blackness stops bothering me anymore.

Pink About the Panther

Before I begin this one, a strong recommendation to all readers–please watch Pink Panther and Pink Panther 2 (the Steve Martin versions) if you haven’t already. I haven’t watched the 1963 Peter Sellers starrer…so I cannot compare the two actors who play the protagonist–the incorrigible cretin, Inspector Jacques Clouseau. All I can tell you is Steve Martin turned my weekends into a laugh riot. So if it’s some wholesome fun you’re wanting, in between the cricket, the Madras heat, the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the power-cuts, go for it.
The first film marks the reappearance of the precious diamond—the invaluable Pink Panther—amidst much football hungama. A famous football coach is murdered in broad daylight, and the diamond is stolen from his finger. As Henry Mancini’s orchestral jazz plays on, Jacques Clouseau, the gaumless French policeman indulges in delirium. Is he like Mr. Bean? Well, definitely not. Bean indulges in idiocy, and somewhere in his journey, experiences remorse. Clouseau is too full of the archetypal French self-pride to feel regretful.
This man is a sad case of personified self-conceit, much like some of Congreve’s and Shakespeare’s characters. Be it banging neatly against cars in the parking lot, or sitting on the Pope's peaked mitre, be it ogling at a blonde with bursting shirt buttons, or setting a whole restaurant on fire by merely spilling wine, Clouseau is nonpareil.
And that amazing French accent…Steve Martin deserves an honorary French citizenship, if you ask me.
There is this session with an American accent trainer who coaches Clouseau before he is on his way to New York. He just has to say ‘I want a hamburger’. The way Martin makes a complete mess of it is novel. Old timers say Sellers did a better job out of portraying the idiocy. Having seen and loved Martin in My Blue Heaven, Father of the Bride (both parts), Bowfinger, Cheaper by the Dozen, Novocaine, Jiminy Glick in Lalawood and so on, I have my loyalties defined.
Trust me; there are big names in both of Martin’s Pink Panthers. Kevin Kline, Jean Reno, Beyonce´ Knowles, Andy Garcia, Alfred Molina and some of the others. But Martin leaves an indelible impression, and at the end of it all, you’re pink with those bouts of delirious laughter.
And now a line or two about our desi beauty, Aishwariya Rai. She plays a crucial role in the second movie, yes. And to keep the secrecy of the plot intact, I’m not going to disclose what it is. But the truth remains that Rai is a complete non-actor and a coquettish waste. Of course, this is a personal view, and I do not expect hate mails after this.
All said and done, please go ahead and watch Steve Martin shine in his imbecilic armor. You’ll not regret it.