As Never, Meghan

The Duchess of Sussex tries hard to be the hostess with the mostess; but fails spectacularly

 

My first thought when I caught the first season of With Love, Meghan on Netflix was, “How on earth did this bilge make it to the airwaves?” And my last thought as I gritted my teeth to make my way to the end of the second season was – yes, you guessed it! – “how did this drivel merit a second season?”

 

Well, there’s an easy explanation for that. Apparently, all the episodes were shot in one go and then divvied up into two lots so that Meghan Markle and Netflix could announce that “Yay, the show has been commissioned for a second season!” But honestly, if you ask me (and the many, many reviewers across the world who have panned the show), Netflix would have been better off making a program on watching paint dry. It would have been more compelling viewing than watching Meghan flail around in a rented mansion, entertaining ‘friends’ (some of whom she had never met before), which, in her book, translates into making them do arts and crafts to earn their supper. 

 

Yes, seriously, that’s how Markle does entertainment. A ‘friend’ arrives at ‘her’ house, and instead of being served a drink and offered a snack, he or she is quickly put to work. One of them learns how to bind a book (so that we can literally watch glue dry); another is taught how to make home-made soap; and then there are those poor souls who are put to work arranging flowers in a ‘vessel’ that ‘speaks’ to them. Going by the trapped look in the eyes of most of them, I can guarantee that they will not be coming back for seconds.

 

But just in case Netflix is toying with the idea of inflicting a third season of With Love, Meghan on us, here are just some ideas that Markle can try instead of this earnest arts and crafting routine that even ten-year-olds would turn their nose up at.

 

·       A game of charades: This has the added advantage of being something that the royal family has done for decades on end at their various family holidays. So, she can easily shoehorn references to her royal pedigree (one of her favourite things to do) with some light entertainment that draws on her acting chops (such as they are). And who knows, maybe she can even make the audience laugh with her rather than at her.

·       Dancing lessons: Given how many shots we had in the Harry and Meghan Netflix documentary of Markle dancing goofily around, clearly she loves cutting a rug whenever she gets a chance. So, why not rope her guests into learning how to foxtrot or tango or just do a cha cha cha? That could well be parlayed into a starring role in Strictly Come Dancing, for when Netflix (as in inevitable) loses patience and moves on.

·       Karaoke: If she really wants to generate some laughs and show what a good sport she is, then a karaoke session or two is just what the executive producer should order. Meghan has always prided herself on having a good singing voice, but a couple of guest croakers would be just the ticket to keep us right royally entertained. Which is way more than what Markle is doing right now!

The media is the message

And a new TV series brings it home with style

 

I don’t know if you will have seen the new Netflix show, Scoop, by the time you read this (and just in case you haven’t I will post no spoilers – though the story it is based on made the headlines decades ago). Having binged on it over the last few days I must confess that rarely have I seen a TV show in which India’s print media is portrayed in a more realistic and balanced manner.

 

So much so that it made me nostalgic for the days when I worked in the newsrooms of yore, where everyone would muck in on getting the magazine or newspaper together, tussle over which stories should be pitched to the editor, what would work best on the front page, edit page or the back of the book, and bicker about everything from new age cinema to who would get to cover the next election rally.

 

It is possible that I am needlessly romanticizing that period of my life but in my recollection it is marked by a sense of common purpose, a camaraderie shot through with competition and a feeling – perhaps misguided – that we were serving some higher purpose as we put together stories on such varied topics as the Rajiv Gandhi assassination, the Harshad Mehta scandal or the IC 814 hijacking.

 

It is that atmosphere that director Hansal Mehta has recreated so beautifully in Scoop. The newsrooms in this series have a certain authenticity to them. There is banter (both good-natured and not), there is staff rivalry along with a sense of collegial noblesse oblige. But every character comes in shades of grey. And the vast spectrum that comprises the Indian media scene is depicted in a nuanced way, all the way from the shouty TV news channels to tabloid newspapers to respected and respectable broadsheets.

 

But for me, the revelation in Scoop was the portrayal of Jagruti Pathak (Karishma Tanna), a character based on real-life reporter, Jigna Vora (the series is based on her book Behind Bars in Byculla). Finally, we have a female journalist who is depicted as a fully-formed human being, a single mother with a young son, and a loving extended family that helps her look after him. Mehta doesn’t feel the need to make Jagruti seem ‘liberated’ by making her spout Hindi gaalis in every second sentence – the default setting of most series on streaming services these days. 

 

The scenes that resonate the most are set in prison, where Jagruti spends eight months as an undertrial, coming up against a system that tries its best to break her, both in body and in spirit. But it’s not just the prison system that is the problem here; the legal system and the police system are just as much to blame. Chargesheets are filed on the basis of no real evidence, court dates keep getting pushed back, legal expenses pile up. In other words, just like in real life, the process is the punishment.

 

I did say in the beginning that I would post no spoilers. But it seems relevant here to point out that while Jagruti’s legal problems are resolved in the series, in real life Jigna Vora could not (or perhaps did not want to) make it back in journalism. Today, she is an astrologer, a tarot card reader and a healer. Which, I guess, is a happy ending of its own kind. 

 

Match not found

Sima Aunty’s failure rate on Indian Matchmaking remains as high as ever

I don’t know about you but I sometimes feel that Indian Matchmaking should be retitled Indian MatchNotMaking. Given the near-total failure rate of Sima Aunty (or Sima from Mumbai as she invariably - and cringemakingly - introduces herself) in actually arranging matches for her clients, that would be a more accurate descriptor. 

If you ask me, Sima Taparia is lucky that she is self-employed. If she had been working for a professional organisation her lack-of-success rate would have led to her being fired two seasons ago. 

It’s not just that Sima Aunty fails to deliver for most of her clients. It’s that it appears as if she is not actually listening to them when they tell her what they are looking for in a prospective spouse. It’s either that or she purposefully (almost spitefully) refuses to give them even the bare minimum of what they ask for — and I genuinely don’t know which one is worse. Instead she asks them (in increasingly imperious tones) to ‘adjust’ - to lower their expectations, to compromise on their wish lists no matter how modest, to settle because nobody can get ‘100 percent, only 60, 70 is possible’.

So when a divorcee called Priya says that hair is very important for her and that she likes a man bun, Sima Aunty produces a - wait for this - bald man for her delectation. Though it is hard to feel sorry for Priya because when the requisite man bun is conjured up for her she goes off him because he is a bit too quick to say that he likes her. 

Frankly, just as Sima Aunty doesn’t seem that keen on finding the ideal matches from her pile of bio-datas, her clients don’t seem to be that invested in finding their perfect match either. There is ER doctor Vikash who turns down one girl because she can’t speak Hindi; and then rejects the next one because while she does speak Hindi, she also has an Indian accent. In that moment it is easy to understand why this man on the cusp of 40 is still single. 

It is telling that in this season, the one match that looks like it might end in marriage is one that Sima Aunty has not arranged. Arti, who starts off by wanting to marry a Sindhi (like her late father wanted), confesses to a lack of attraction to the candidate Sima Aunty has unearthed and decides to venture on to a dating app to explore her options instead. And a few months later, there she is, getting engaged to a Pakistani Muslim guy (so much for marrying ‘within the community’!) who seems head over heels in love with her. And all Sima Aunty can do is grit her teeth and wish them well over Zoom. 

So, what am I missing here? Given that Sima Aunty hasn’t managed to get a single couple married over 3 seasons, why do singles keep signing up for this show? Are they so desperate that they are willing to try anything? Is this a triumph of hope over experience? Or are these savvy young people just clout chasing with appearances on a Netflix show?

The jury may be out on that one. But I know which way I would vote if I were on it. 

The Harry and Meghan Show

It’s the royal soap opera; and none of us can turn away…

 

The key thing about understanding the dynamic between Harry and Meghan, still styled as the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, despite flouncing out of the royal family many years ago, is that they are coming at the fame game from opposite ends of the spectrum. Prince Harry, the second son of Princess Diana, has spent his entire adult life trying to lower his profile, dodging the media, and hiding from the paparazzi. Meghan Markle, C-list actress from a cable show (which is as far from Hollywood as you can get), on the other hand, has spent her entire life trying to raise her profile by getting the media interested in her. And by marrying Prince Harry, she has certainly got more than she bargained for. 

 

But as you watch Harry and Meghan, the Netflix show on the pair’s life, you realize that instead of Harry elevating Meghan to the A-list, she has succeeded in dragging him down to the C-list. Consider this for a moment. Can you imagine any other A-list couple – think the Obamas or the Clooneys, on whom the Markles clearly model themselves – agreeing to let TV cameras into their lives to this extent? Can you see them revealing the early text messages they exchanged, intimate photos of their dating days, pictures and videos of their children? Do you really think any A-lister would offer up their life for public delectation as Harry and Meghan have? I think not. The Duke and Duchess of Netflix, on the other hand, have no problem whatsoever in invading their own privacy in spades – all the while complaining about the media intrusion into their lives. 

 

As the series unravels you can tell that Meghan is in her element; she is finally playing the lead in a show, rather than a supporting part as she had done throughout her career. And it is the role of a lifetime – more so because it is her lifetime that is being examined, burnished and then presented to what she hopes is an adoring public. It is Harry who has been reduced to playing the supporting role, nodding along to her more outrageous claims, and looking angry and helpless in equal measure as she dissolves into tears. But whatever the truth of all their claims of ill-treatment by the royal family, one thing is without doubt: this is Meghan’s world; Harry just merely lives (and whines) in it.

 

That said, it is easy to feel sorry for the artist formally known as Prince. In some ways, he is still the 12-year-old trapped in the trauma of losing his mother in a tragic accident and then being made to walk behind her coffin in front of weeping crowds. So, it is entirely understandable that he constantly compares Meghan to his mother and insists that they are essentially the same person. You don’t need to be a psychiatrist to understand why he wants to turn his wife into his mother – this way, he can finally save her. (Certainly, Harry himself is Diana incarnate in this ‘docu-series’: hurt; seeking revenge; throwing grenades into the heart of the royal family; attacking his brother; accusing his father of untruths; and the royal family of racism, or what he kindly refers to as ‘unconscious bias’.)

 

Sadly, for Harry, there are some ways in which Meghan is exactly like his mother. No, not like the Sainted Diana of Fond Memory, who has now taken over the public imagination, but the media-savvy, manipulative, vindictive Diana who has been conveniently airbrushed from history after her death. This was the Diana who was not speaking to her mother, Francis Shand-Kydd, when she died, having frozen her out and returned her letters unopened (Thomas Markle, anyone?). This was the Diana who would leak stories to favoured news outlets and sneak in her favourite journalists into Kensington Palace by hiding them in the trunk of her car. 

 

It was not privacy that either Diana or Meghan aspired to. It was control of the narrative. And that is something that Meghan and her husband have certainly achieved in his six-part series. The Duke once compared life in the royal family to being ‘a cross between the Truman show and a zoo’. Well, he’s now gone and made his own Truman show, starring in it along with his entire family.

 

I hope the money was worth it.

Count your blessings

Lockdown couldn’t have come at a better time – and we have technology to thank for it

 

I remember India’s victory in the 1983 World Cup like it was yesterday. I didn’t actually watch the final in real time, hearing it unfold on the radio instead. But I still remember every over, every fall of wicket, and of course, Kapil Dev’s magnificence, so many decades down the line.

 

You can imagine my excitement then, when the movie based on those events, 83, was ready for release in the theatres. But before I could make any plans to see it, Omicron began spreading its tentacles all over the country. And, with great reluctance, I had to cancel my plans to see the movie that had captured one of the seminal events of my teenage years. 

 

I was gutted, of course. But I cheered up considerably when I discovered that I wasn’t going to miss out on it for too long. Eight weeks after its theatrical run, 83 would be released on a streaming service. And given that I had waited for nearly four decades to see it, what was another eight weeks?

 

But this entire episode got me thinking. I know that being stuck at home in lockdown-like circumstances is far from ideal. But who can deny that this is the best time in the history of mankind to be isolating within the four walls of your house?

 

And we have technology to thank for that. We can work from home, interact with our colleagues on Zoom, and network via various social media apps. If we want to cook, we can get ingredients delivered to our doorsteps in a matter of minutes. If we don’t feel like cooking, we can order in our favourite foods through various delivery apps. 

 

All that we need is available to us at the click of a button, and we can enjoy the best that the world has to offer from the comfort of our living room couches, as we binge-watch our way through everything the sundry streaming services have to offer. What more could a locked-down person possibly ask for?

 

Don’t believe me. Well, let’s conduct a little experiment. Imagine that Covid had struck not in 2019 but in 2000. How would we have coped with the pandemic in that decade?

 

Working from home would have been a complete impossibility because nobody had high-speed wifi (or any kind of wifi) at home. So, we would have a choice of either shutting down all businesses or keeping them open but risking infection to all workers – not much of a choice, you will agree. 

 

Cooking would have been a challenge because only the basic groceries would have been delivered by your kinara shop. And certainly, you could not have ordered in any cuisine of your choice and had it re-heating in your kitchen in less than an hour. 

 

And what would we have done during those long evenings spent at home? Yes, we had a few DVDs stashed away that could have kept us entertained for a couple of weeks. And we could have watched TV for an hour or so. But there would have been nothing like Netflix, Amazon Prime, or other such streaming services, offering us zillions of shows to feast on. 

 

Looking back on the last two years, I have to admit that lockdown has not been so bad to me. The lack of distractions meant that I could finish my book, Madam Prime Minister, well within deadline. And though its release has come in the midst of Omicron, I have still managed to promote it, conducting TV interviews via Zoom, answering questionnaires via email, and so on.

 

And when I wasn’t writing, I managed to read all the latest books, thank to my Kindle app that stood in for all those shuttered bookshops. I cooked everything my heart (and my husband) desired, getting everything from sausages to sauces delivered to my door. I ordered in from my favourite restaurants, and even though the experience wasn’t quite the same, the food certainly was. And I spent my evenings watching the best TV shows and movies made over the past few decades.

 

Technology may be a mixed blessing. But at this time of global crisis, we have technology to thank for keeping us sane.

 

Facts about fiction

Many may try, but only some writers can actually bring a world alive in their books

 

What can I say? I am a sucker for a good, old-fashioned Regency Romance, all tightly-laced corsets, heaving bosoms, swooning/sassy heroines, and a swashbuckling rakish hero who is eventually reformed by his love of a good woman. So far, so clichéd. But what brings these somewhat hackneyed plots alive is the skill of a great writer, who can create an entire universe in which you are only too willing to suspend your disbelief, let alone your cynicism.

 

You can imagine my excitement then, when I heard that a new series called Bridgerton was being released on Netflix. Set in Regency London and populated with a multicultural cast, this was based on a series of novels by Julia Quinn, recreating what will always be – to me, at least – the world of Georgette Heyer. 

 

So, I cleared my evening and settled down for some binge-watching. But half-way through the first episode I began to experience the first stirrings of dissatisfaction. And that only grew as I ploughed through the rest of the episodes. This was nothing like the Regency romps I had loved for most of my life.

 

Never mind, I told myself. This incarnation of Bridgerton owed more to Shonda Rhimes than it did to Julia Quinn. Maybe I should go to the original and get my fix of Regency-era drama. So, I downloaded The Duke and I, the novel on which the show is based, and settled down to read it in one greedy gulp.

 

At least, that was the intention. But to be honest with you, I found it heavy going. The plot was predictable, the dialogue was clunky, and the characters lacked a certain three-dimensional depth. It had all the tropes of Heyer’s Regency Romances but none of the sparkle and wit that makes Georgette’s books both effervescent and evergreen in their appeal. 

 

Just to confirm my initial impression, I went back to re-read my well-thumbed copies of Heyer’s best work. I started off with The Devil’s Cub, and within minutes I was entranced once again by the exploits of the Marquis of Vidal and his reluctant love interest, Mary Challoner, whose courtship has the most unpropitious of beginnings (she shoots him in the arm with his own pistol!).

 

Once I had started, there was no stopping me! I seamlessly went on to re-read The Grand Sophy and Venetia. I couldn’t find my copy of Regency Buck so I downloaded it on my Kindle and read it again, chuckling anew at the exploits of Judith Taverner and the Earl of Worth. And I am now immersed in The Infamous Army, a book that Heyer set around the battle of Waterloo, and which features Lord and Lady Worth, now a staid married couple, witnessing the star-crossed romance of their brother, Charles Audley with the audacious society beauty, Lady Barbara Childe. 

 

As I slipped effortlessly back into the universe of Georgette Heyer, it occurred to me that when it comes to genres of fiction, the world is divided into Masters of Their Game and The Rest of the Field. And no matter how hard The Rest may try, they can never measure up against The Masters. 

 

In spy fiction, for instance, there is the original Master, John le Carre, who made the Cold War his own, spinning fabulous tales revolving around the twin characters of George Smiley and the sinister Soviet spy, Karla. Since then, there have been many writers who have tried to recreate that universe, but no matter how good the books, they just don’t have the same appeal as Le Carre’s oeuvre. 

 

When it comes to murder mysteries, there is no bettering P.D. James. There is no better exemplar of British humour that P.G. Wodehouse. Nobody examines and elucidates the inner life of women better than Elena Ferrante. And nobody can write a cheery bonkbuster better than Jilly Cooper.

 

Part of their mastery lies in the fact that they make it all look so easy. It’s only when you see lesser writers trying to recreate their magic that you realize just how difficult it actually is. And that makes you appreciate their genius even more.

To binge or not to binge

That is the question, as streaming services make it all too easy to devour entire series in the course of an evening

I must admit that I am a little bleary-eyed as I sit down to write this column. And that’s because the second season of Sacred Games dropped on Netflix at midnight and I stayed up late – as you do – to binge-watch. All I managed were three episodes, though, before sleep got the better of me. But I am pretty sure that if the season had been released in the afternoon, I would have swallowed all of it down in one greedy gulp.

But as I resolutely turned the TV off and sloped off to bed, I couldn’t help but wonder if this kind of binge-watching was the best way to see a show. Would it be better, I pondered, if TV series like these dropped one episode at a time and allowed us all a little time to absorb events and plot twists. Watching it in one go, I was a bit overwhelmed by all the turns in the story, and felt, on occasion, that the narrative was getting away from me.

One reason why these thoughts popped up in my head last night was because I had just caught the first episode of the second season of Succession, and had enjoyed it thoroughly. It left me craving for more, given that only one episode drops every week. But that interval also gave me enough breathing space to think about the story so far, to speculate about what could or would come next, and to discuss the episode threadbare with my friends and family.

Much the same thing had been true of Big Little Lies. That show, too, was not available to binge-watch unless you waited for a month and a half for all the episodes to be released. And in retrospect, I think the series benefitted from this kind of drip-drip-drip release. For one thing, most of us saw the episodes at much the same time, so we could have a kind of cooler-talk conversation about it for days on end on social media. We could marvel at the sinister edge Meryl Streep brought to her role as a bereaved mother. We could discuss whether Laura Dern’s unhinged portrayal cut too close to the bone or was just madly over the top. And we could all admire the steely presence of Nicole Kidman who was the perfect counterfoil to Streep.

The week’s gap gave us enough time to think about the show as we waited impatiently for the next episode to drop. That sense of delayed gratification meant that we enjoyed the next installment even more than we would have if we’d been speeding through the episodes late into the night. And the show itself benefitted by having its shelf life increased to the six to eight weeks that people spent watching it – unlike binge-watched shows that can only hold the public imagination for a week or so at best.

I know what you’re thinking. There is no law that says that you have to binge-watch a show just because it is released in its entirety on streaming services. Nobody is holding a gun to your head and insisting that you watch every episode of Made in Heaven the very same evening it appears on your TV screen.

But honestly, how can you possibly resist? Especially when a show is as compelling as Made in Heaven, with the narrative propelling you forward from one episode to another almost as if you had no free will in the matter? I certainly didn’t. I kept promising myself that this would be the absolute last episode I watched that night. But when the cliffhanger presented itself and a little box on my screen started uploading the next episode, I found myself powerless to power off the TV. I ended up going at bed at 4 am, but if you ask me, it was totally worth it.

Perhaps this is the time to confess that I have form in this matter. Even before streaming services made zombies out of all of us, I was a greedy devourer of box-sets. It was 24 that started me off, with its conceit of all the action taking place in real time. As Jack Bauer tried to save the world (okay, America) one torture-session at a time, I watched in horrified fascination until the sun came up in the morning. More recently, the crazy antics of Carrie Mathison in Homeland kept me up all night as well. And it isn’t just action series or spy thrillers – that are geared to keep us on the edge of our seats – that have this effect on me. I was similarly transfixed by the two seasons of The Marvellous Mrs Maisel.

But while shows like Fleabag (both seasons of which I binge-watched shamelessly) are perfect for being consumed in one giant bite, given their linear form, clear narrative arc and economical style of story-telling, others with a more sprawling structure benefit from deferred viewing. And after last night, I think the second season of Sacred Games could fall into that category. This is a show that needs space to breathe, and when we watch it, so do we.

So, from now on, it’s only one episode a night for me. But you go right ahead and binge if you want to. I will see you on the other side.

Table for one

Eating out alone has its pleasures – but it’s not the only activity you can enjoy on your own

I’ve lost count of the number of people who look at my pityingly when I say that I often head out to lunch – and sometimes even dinner (shock! horror!) alone. Don’t you have any friends, you sad little loser, their eyes seem to say. Does your husband not love you enough to have a meal with you? Why can’t you manage to rustle up even one lunch companion from among the dozens of people you know? 

Of course, they don’t say any of this aloud. Instead their ‘concern’ is expressed in any one of the following ways. Don’t I feel embarrassed and exposed eating a meal on my own? How can it be any fun going out to eat without having someone to share the experience with you? Don’t you miss having someone to talk to you while you are eating? And so on and on and on.

Well, the truth is while I enjoy eating out with my husband (and do so all the time) and have great fun doing my ‘ladies who lunch’ thing with my girlfriends, I also really, really enjoy taking myself out for a meal ever so often. Sometimes, I take along a book that I am currently immersed in, and bury my nose in it as I make my way through starter, main course and coffee. Sometimes I spend my time surfing on the Internet. And then, there are times when I don’t put any barriers between me and the world and simply indulge in one of my favourite pastimes: people-watching.

In fact, I love people-watching while eating so much that I even have my own phrase for it. I call it ‘catching the cabaret’, and as a speculative exercise there is no beating it. Is the teenage couple seated to the left of me breaking up or is it just another regular fight in a volatile relationship? That middle-aged couple seated next to the window? Are they eating in companionable silence because they have been married so long that they have nothing left to say to one another? That group of loud young men having a largely liquid lunch? How many of them will leave the table sober? And why is it that the decibel level of a kitty party group is always higher than that of any other?

But while eating out on my own is a fun thing to do, so too are a whole host of other activities.

Shopping, for one. Most of my friends enjoy going out shopping in a group so that they can have the benefit of other people’s opinions on the things they try one. And they have a point: you can’t really ask a shop attendant, “does my bum look big in this,” and expect an honest answer. But frankly, if you feel impelled to ask that question, then take it from me, your bum does look big in it. As far as I am concerned, my eye is the only one that matters when I go shopping.

I am also one of those people who find browsing in shops and window-shopping a complete waste of time. My modus operandi when I go shopping is to make a list of what I want, make a beeline for it, make my choice, pay up and head home. Spending hours looking at merchandise I am never going to buy – which is what inevitably happens while shopping with a group – is my idea of hell. So, solo shopping trips are what work best for me.

The same goes with exercise, whether it is a yoga or Pilates session or a walk in the park. With both yoga and Pilates I prefer to set my own pace, rather than try to slow down or speed up to keep up with a group of people. And when I am out for a walk, I like the idea of spending some time in contemplative silence or just listening to my own thoughts rather than chattering away with a friend or two.

I also find solitude restorative when I am in the kitchen so cooking, for me, is always a solo activity. After spending the whole day with people, there is something therapeutic about finding yourself alone in front of the stove at the end of the day. There is a certain meditative quality to mindlessly chopping vegetables, stirring a curry or a risotto, or even getting ingredients together to bung into the oven. Turn on some music, pour yourself a glass of wine, and suddenly cooking seems like fun rather than just another chore to get through.

The one thing I haven’t tried my hand at yet is watching a movie alone, though those who do so swear by it. There is no distracting chat from those accompanying you, and nobody steals your popcorn after refusing to order their own. But somehow I don’t think this would work for me. For one thing, a cinema hall is always full of people, even if you have ventured out alone. And for another, these people are always doing annoying things like taking phone calls, or texting or even chatting to one another. So watching a movie in a hall can never truly be a solitary activity.

Which perhaps explains why I have become such a fan of streaming services like Netflix and Amazon Prime Video, which give you the movie experience in the privacy of your home and the comfort of your sofa, where you can binge away to your heart’s content. And where the popcorn is far, far cheaper.

  

Monsoon Survival Kit

Some handy tips to keep you frizz-free and stress-free this rainy season

Is it my imagination or do civic services seem to get worse every monsoon? The traffic snarls increase, the number of potholes proliferate, and the flooding – even when the volume of rain is not out of the ordinary – gets more apocalyptic with every passing year.

So, I wouldn’t blame you if you regard the onset of the rainy season with dread and trepidation, wondering what fresh hell will be unleashed this monsoon. I would, in fact, understand completely, and make sympathetic noises even as you moaned and groaned.

But what good would that do you? None at all!

Which is why I have decided to compile my own Monsoon Survival Kit to provide you practical tips and advice to get through this season with your feet dry, your hair frizz-free and your sanity intact.

·       Grant yourself rainy-day holidays: When the rain is coming down so hard that complete and utter traffic dislocation seems guaranteed, call in sick. If you think that won’t wash (pun alert!) then claim to be flooded in and ask if you can work from home. Then you can hunker down on your bed (or sofa) with a nice, steaming cup of tea, and work on your laptop with one eye on the amazing monsoon sky raging and raving outside your window. And when the rain finally comes down, you can take a little balcony break to feel the fresh spray of rainwater on your face. Bliss!

·        Better still, hold over some of your annual summer leave for the monsoon. Then when everyone else is dealing with traffic jams and car breakdowns, you could be walking the beach in Goa or Kerala, getting soaked to the bone as your feet squelch across the wet sand. And while swimming in the sea may be out of the question in this season, you can still enjoy its stormy beauty as you sit at a beachside shack, knocking back some fish fry with a beer or a vodka tonic. (If the beach seems too messy, then head for the mountains to feast your eyes on the mist, the fog, and yes, the rain, from your vantage point in the hills.)

·       If you do have to go to work, then work on making your commute fun. If you are driving, load some nice rain songs on your music system or pop in the earphones to listen to your latest audio book. If you are being driven, catch up on your reading, whether it is with an e-book reader, an actual book or the Kindle app on your phone. Phone a friend you haven’t spoken to in a long time. Check out your favourite feeds on Instagram. If you can fill this empty time by doing something you enjoy, something that makes you happy, even the interminable jams won’t seem intolerable.

·       There will be several days during this season that you will find yourself marooned at home. So make sure that you have everything you need to keep yourself entertained. Subscribe to Netflix, Amazon Prime or Hotstar, so that you can binge-watch the latest shows. Make sure the liquor cabinet is well-stocked. Keep lots of microwaveable popcorn handy, so that you can replicate the movie-watching experience at home. (Added bonus: at home, unlike at the cinema, you can pair this with a glass or two of wine!)

·       But while there is a lot to be said for chilling in the dry comfort of your home when the monsoon is raging outside, you will be missing out if you just stay indoors. So, when there is a break in the rain, head out for a walk in the neighborhood park. The rain will have had a cleansing effect on all the vegetation, the leaves will be sparkling, the flowers glistening, the grass greener than ever, and the world will seem like a happier, shinier place.

·       This is the season of bad-hair weeks (rather than days). The humidity will make you sweat gallons and you will feel like washing your hair every single day when you get back home. But don’t just stop at a shampoo, pamper your hair with a frizz-free conditioner. And to make sure your ends don’t curl up by the next morning, squeeze on some frizz-free mousse for good measure before you blow-dry it. (Alternatively, you could just embrace your curly-hair avatar. But while there is something to be said for philosophical acceptance, it still smacks of defeatism to me.)

·       Whether or not you have kids of your own, this is as good a time as any to relive your childhood. As a child, rains to me always meant heading straight for the terrace to get soaked to the skin. Then, it was time for a quick shower and settling down to some chai-pakora, served up by my long-suffering mother. Now that she is no longer around, I go through the ritual all on my own. But I can feel her presence even in her absence; and I feel like a six year old again. And I have the rains to thank for that.

Channel turfing

Why I have given up on Indian TV news channels 

There is now a gaping hole in my evenings. No, not because I have turned into an anti-social recluse – I have, in fact, always answered to that description. It’s because I have finally sworn off my addiction to TV news. 

There was a time when I would channel surf through the evening and late into the night, going from one news channel to the other. I watched the headlines as I ate my dinner, I tuned in for a news programme as I did my 30 minutes on the cross-trainer, hell, I even kept the news on mute as I worked on my book.

That is no longer the case. These days I have eschewed the pleasures (using the word very loosely indeed) of TV news, choosing to spend my evenings with Netflix or a good DVD box-set. And when I get tired of fiction and need a news fix, I steer clear of the Indian channels, and dip into CNN International, the BBC or Al Jazeera instead.

Why, you ask? 

Seriously? You really need to ask? Have you not been watching these channels yourselves? Well, okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and tell you why. So, here, in no particular order of importance, are some of the many reasons I hate prime time TV news:

• First off, there is the fact that it is rarely, if ever, news. You hardly ever hear about all the newsworthy things that happened in the course of the day across the country (as you would if you read the next day’s newspapers). Instead, our news channels (yes, yes, I know there are honorable exceptions, but you could count them on one finger) land on the most controversial story of the day – which is guaranteed to attract the largest number of eyeballs – put together a short video package, and then organize a ‘debate’ around the issue. There’s the evening sorted with minimal effort and maximum ease.

• The ‘debates’ themselves can best be summed up by paraphrasing William Shakespeare: they are all ‘sound and fury signifying high TRP ratings’, shedding next to no light on the subject being debated. All you hear is cross-talk, people shouting over one another, the anchor shouting even louder to shut them up, and more cross-talk. You can spend a good half-hour watching (assuming you are a glutton for punishment) and not learn a single thing about the issue in question.

• When it comes to inviting guests on their panels, news channels tend to  ‘round up the usual suspects’. So, on any given day, most channels will be discussing the same story with the same people, often at the same time (thanks to that miracle called ‘sim-sat’ – go on, Google it), with all of them saying the same things over and over again. If there is a better recipe for ennui, I haven’t yet gotten hold of it. 

• The anchor is rarely ever a neutral party, who elicits the views of his panelists without revealing his own biases. On the contrary, his introduction makes it all too clear which side he is on. Even that would be acceptable (you know all the stuff they say about ‘truthful not neutral’) if only he would let those who disagreed with him finish a sentence – never mind an actual argument – without interrupting to tell them how they are ‘wrong, wrong, wrong’ (and anti-national, for good measure). 

• Staying with news anchors, why is it that so few of them can ask pithy questions? Instead, most of them preface their queries with long, rambling statements that go on and on without really driving the discussion any further. What’s worse is that after taking minutes of airtime, they instruct their guests to give quick answers because “I have only 60 seconds left”. Well, in that case, you shouldn’t have taken 120 seconds to ask the damn question.

• Nobody who appears on news TV – not the anchors, not the reporters, not the guests – seems to be familiar with the workings of a microphone. Or perhaps they are unaware that there is one placed directly in front of them. Why else would they ignore its presence and bellow away, as if they need to shout out loud to be heard across the country?

• There is nothing that annoys me more than to see a phalanx of former Pakistani Generals and ISI hands sitting in on our TV shows, tearing into India on a satellite link. Why do we pay these old codgers to come on our news programmes so that they can insult our country, our soldiers, and our intelligence? And strangely enough, it is the ‘nationalistic’ channels that do this most often. I must say, this is a rather inventive way of showing their patriotism. (Or perhaps, more to the point, bumping up their ratings.)

• But most troubling of all is the propensity of TV news to give fringe voices the oxygen of prime-time publicity. It doesn’t matter how minor an Islamist cleric you are, or how much of a Hindutva nonentity. As long as you make an outrageous enough statement, you will be guaranteed your 15 minutes of fame on our news channels, as anchors hyperventilate about how you are completely beyond the pale (but, clearly, fit and proper to inhabit their TV studios), quite ignoring the fact that they are only helping to mainstream the fringe.

Given all this, are you really surprised I have given up on Indian TV news? Frankly, I am amazed that more of us haven’t.

The Young And The Restless

Who would be a teenager in today’s world? Not me, for sure!

When 13 Reasons Why premiered on Netflix, I scrolled right past it after reading the brief summary. A teenager commits suicide and leaves behind a set of tapes to all those who are complicit, explaining why she killed herself, and what role each one of them had to play in her decision. So far, so depressing, I thought, as I clicked on the latest season of Grace and Frankie and binge-watched it through the night.

Then, a week later, when I was at a loose end, I idly clicked on 13 Reasons Why (adapted from Jay Asher’s bestselling 2007 novel of the same name), thinking I would check out an episode or two to see if it was really as good as all the critics insisted. And before you could say Hannah Baker, I was hooked. Don’t worry, I am going to post any spoilers here. Suffice it to say that this is addictive viewing and I highly recommend that you do it over the weekend.

But as I watched the world of teenage angst unfold before me, with all its dramas and fights, its hormone-fuelled rages and passions, its friendships and enmities, I was reminded of just how tough those years between 16 and 20 can be. When you are finding out who you are, trying on different personas to see which one fits, falling in love for the first time, breaking your own heart or the hearts of others, falling out with friends, bullying or being bullied. It’s like being on a rollercoaster of emotions, and what’s worse is that you experience it with that heightened intensity that is a hallmark of teenagedom.

As I binge-watched (yes, again) in fascinated horror, I found myself feeling grateful that I had grown up in the era that I did. Because, hand on heart, I would not be a teenager in today’s world for all the money in the world.

Why, you ask. Well, because while technology (read Google) has made it easier to do homework or research a project, social media has actually made our kids’ lives much more distressing and complicated.

Consider this. In the days before the Internet, our only lifeline to our friends was the telephone. So, we would sit by it for hours, chatting incessantly, while our mothers impatiently gestured for us to get off. And on the days when it didn’t ring, our lives would be miserable. Did no one care about us? Why didn’t anybody call? If it was a boyfriend/girlfriend who had neglected to phone, our misery would be multiplied manifold.

Now, consider the many ways in which the teenagers of today can experience the same anguish of rejection. They could be blocked on Snapchat, have their Instagram images languish with just a dozen likes, see images of parties on Facebook to which they have not been invited, be bullied on Twitter, and slut-shamed on any one of these virtual platforms.

Break-ups are hard enough when you are a teenager but to have them play out publicly, as you unfollow each other on social media, or even see images of your ex with their new partner, can be even more traumatic. What’s worse is there is the ever-present temptation to turn into a virtual stalker, torturing yourself with how fast your ex has moved on while you are still in mourning for what you’ve lost.

Then, there is the constant pressure to look good because, you know, selfies! You must be constantly camera-ready, pout firmly in place, hair styled to perfection, and cleavage on display – and that’s just the guys. The girls need washboard abs and slimming apps (not to mention special filters) to look like those supermodels who have taken over Instagram in their itsy-bitsy bikinis.

If you don’t fit in with this new prescription of beauty and glamour, then prepare to be body-shamed and bullied. In fact, if you don’t conform in any way at all, be prepared to be targeted by bullies, both in real life and in cyberspace, where the cloak of anonymity facilitates the generation of greater bile and venom. And when you can’t see or identify your tormentors, the attacks leave you feeling even more helpless and disempowered.

And then, there is the new face of romantic relationships in an age where most teenagers have seen hardcore porn before they ever experience their first kiss. Where we would have sent an erotic love letter, the teenagers of today feel compelled to share sexy selfies. Instead of talking dirty on the phone, they indulge in sexting, exchanging naked pictures, which often become the stuff of revenge porn when relationships end (as they inevitably do, at that age).

In 13 Reasons Why, it is a unfortunate picture taken of Hannah Baker and circulated through the school that starts the chain of events that leads to her suicide. And the scary part is that, as I watching it, I could see just how easily it could happen to one of our own kids. Just one moment in time, just one little indiscretion, one instant of letting down your guard, trusting in that one wrong person, can have unspeakable consequences.

Honestly, who would be a teenager in today’s world? I certainly wouldn’t. And nor, I suspect, would most of our kids.