How do you solve a problem like Shohbaa De? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you hold a moon-beam in your hand? Before further waxing lyrical, I must cease and desist. All those pilfered words from the Sound of Music – although, rest assured, Shobhaa De is no Maria, nun-turned mother of seven, more of a model turned mother of six/author.
By P. Ramakrishnan.
Other images: Gautam Rajadhyaksha.
A devilish Goddess. All those columns, the 17 books… you know she’s hiding more arms under sheaths of sari like the multi-armed Durga.
Trying to capture Shobhaa De, 63, is near-impossible and gets harder with each passing year. A Vogue-cover girl (last season) turned grandmother (this year) and possibly the most prolific writer on the planet (four national daily columns, TV and screen writer and she’s pregnant with her 18th book!) who was also voted as one of the most influential women in one-billion peopled India.
A shoot at Hong Kong's best kept secret, Jaa Bar, followed by a chat. But it takes a greater man than I to re-capture De for Kee, so why not let the dear woman speak for herself? Politics, fashion, society, Bollywood, media, corruption, there isn’t a topic she isn’t well versed in. Ergo:
In her own words…Shobhaa De;
To the Goddess in every woman!
There is a picture online that means a lot to me. It was shot by my son-in-law Pramod, in Pune, a few months ago. My very own Goddesses, my daughters Anandita, Avantikka and Arundhati and me standing together, looking really, really happy - but their mum looks the happiest!
I have to tell you, I was in top form this morning. It definitely felt good to be featured as one of the 50 Most Influential Women in India by the national newspaper, but it was my husband who made my day when he said, "When I married you.... you were already 'The Woman of Tomorrow' .... not just 'The Woman of Today'."
I take that as a supreme compliment and want to tell him, by marrying me, he also established his own credentials as 'The Man of Tomorrow - not Today!"
How times have changed. Or have they?
Aji, my mother’s mother, was a tough, taciturn woman who had pretty much led a joyless existence. Widowed fairly early and left with four children (three daughters and a solitary son) to raise on her own, she was clearly not enchanted by members of her own gender.
Females to her, meant trouble. And expense. Yes, during that era daughters could indeed be described as ‘liabilities’. My mother raised three daughters and a son herself. But my mother’s life was qualitatively different from my grandmother’s. And I like to believe her daughters brought her a great deal of joy.
I have raised four daughters and two sons myself. As we move ahead into the fourth generation, my thoughts keep going back to Aji and her barely disguised hostility towards her own gender. How would she have reacted to the birth of her great grand daughter?
What would she have made of this generation of young, urban mothers in India who actively pray for a girl-child? Not because these moms wish to be politically correct and project their progressive views. Not because they want to ‘fix’ the mother-in-law by producing a baby girl when the family is craving for a grand son, but because they genuinely like their own gender, are happy being female and actually appreciate other women.
It’s about having a positive self-image. Apart from any of these reasons, the fact of the matter is, their husbands too feel good about raising daughters. This dramatic change in attitude is not based on sentimentality alone. Today’s forward thinking parents have recognized the value of daughters in real terms. Women no longer spell trouble (well…they do! But those reasons are different).
Investing in a daughter often turns out to be a sounder, smarter investment than backing a son. Daughters offer better long term returns. Daughters deliver!
This is true not just of urban India where women in the workforce are contributing equally if not more to the family kitty (first, to their maternal homes and later, their in-laws’) but pretty much across the board. Rural India will take another decade to wake up to this new financial asset. But even there, the scenario is rapidly changing.
Take a look at your domestic help. Most families prefer to employ women these days, especially as live–in staff. Afraid of being robbed or murdered by male domestics, urban families willingly pay the top buck for trained maids. These young girls send back a handsome portion of their salaries to their parents in the village, while systematically saving what they can for their own future.
In a city like Mumbai with its vast population of working women who commute , good house help is a life saver. A semi-literate girl can earn up to Rs 8,000 [roughly HK$1,400] a month (salaries go up substantially if she can also read, write, take phone messages and keep accounts). Her folks back in the village understand the value of her contribution only too well. And that automatically leads to a better ‘positioning’ for her, within the family, as well as the community at large. With a financial backbone to support her, today’s young female careerist is better valued and in a far better position to leverage her skills to negotiate and engage with the outside world. Sure.
The statistics aren’t exactly encouraging – only 23% of India’s workforce constitutes women and we rank 112th in the global gender gap index, with less than 3% holding managerial posts. Despite these daunting figures, one can sense enormous optimism as women negotiate for better options, more opportunities. Not for nothing are women identified as natural born survivors. Inventive, resourceful and tough – is there a choice??
All these thoughts were flying around inside my head, when I spent hours outside a busy maternity ward last week. Several rooms had cheerful streamers and posters stuck on the door declaring, “It’s a GIRL!” I watched proud dads taking extensive videos of their newborns – baby girls included!
And I recalled the pall of gloom that once greeted the arrival of ‘yet another daughter’ in most traditional families. Absurd as it sounds, when I gave birth to my daughter Arundhati, a grand- aunt ‘consoled’ me by saying, “Never mind… don’t feel bad…. try for a son next time.”
Imagine then, my unbridled pride when Arundhati herself became an aunt this week and shed tears of joy when she held the newest female addition to our family.
I shudder to think how my Aji would have reacted. Perhaps no differently than she did when I was born. Yes, I was told my grand mother had cried copious tears as well. But her tears were different - they reflected her deep disappointment and sorrow ( “Hey Devaa…. another grand daughter…. why? For what? God is punishing us…”).
Fortunately, my parents had felt differently… and I was saved!
We have indeed come a long way. And may our triumphant march continue…
Kick up your heels…
Fashion is a strange and compelling creature. At a time when the world was reeling from those horrific images of the devastating tsunami/earthquake coming in from Japan and wondering whether TV channels were actually showing clips from a forthcoming disaster blockbuster from Hollywood, here in Mumbai, young Japanese designers were bravely going ahead with their scheduled shows at the ongoing fashion week.
Their gravity- defying shoes (minus heels!) must have knocked the socks off the fashionistas in the front row. Wow! Japan has always favoured futuristic fashion and the young designers representing Tokyo eye certainly carried this tradition forward. But it was really amusing to note that the biggest celeb around on Day 2, was not a Bollywood hottie, nor an international rockstar, but a middle-aged, portly West Indian ex-cricketer!
Viv Richards effortlessly stole the limelight and made front page news when he attended his daughter Masaba’s show, with his former wife, Indian actress Neena Gupta. Not only did the publicity generated by the ageing legend establish the power of cricket, but it also revealed our own sentimentality - we felt genuinely happy for Masaba, who looked over the moon herself!
For a young girl growing up without her famous dad must have been pretty traumatic, especially since both parents were high profile individuals. The initial buzz generated by Masaba at her fashion debut a couple of years ago, had a lot do with people’s curiousity about her persona. Had the girl not been talented, her foray into this tough and competitive business would have ended right there. The reason Masaba succeeded is because she has what it takes to hack it in this field.
She also has the one thing most newcomers lack – a signature style that differentiates her from the pack. One can tell a Masaba from a mile …that says something about her confidence and individuality.
As for the rest – yaaaaawwwwnnn! The one fashion trend that needs to be instantly discarded is the floor length anarkali which makes the wearer resemble a moving tepee. Short women looking still shorter, the rest look like fancy, over decorated tents.
The other unflattering addition to a pretty long list of ‘ugh’ looks being thrust on unsuspecting women is the Granny-blouse with fitted three quarter length sleeves and a wide neckline. Come on, chaps… only mother-figures in Bollywood movies was entitled to wear that as she wept her eyes out inside a temple.
As for the attempt to impose sexless androgyny on clients – why would a beautiful, curvaceous woman wish to look like an anorexic, adolescent boy? Why?
Or the other way round, for that matter? Great, for shock value. But for fashion to endure, to be appreciated, worn and enjoyed, it has to go beyond gimmicks…. and starlets as show stoppers. But hey – who knows??
Last week, I fell off my chair when I saw full page coverage of a Delhi wedding with the hosts clad in gaudy, heavily embroidered anarkalis, complete with zari bordered chiffon dupattas (fabrics). And we are talking about two heavy weight (literally!) political players, here! The canny designer must have laughed all the way to the bank after pulling off this garish con job on those Money Bags.
In the words of Pusscat Dolls and Oscar-winner AR Rehman, Jai Ho!
Own up…. and be damned!
Since India is in Confession Mode – starting with the Prime Minister Manmohan Singh - let’s all start ‘owning up’. Ummmm…. let me think…. I once stole a mango from someone’s garden. Oh yes, a guava, too. And I threw ink bombs on my French teacher. I also bunked classes constantly. Crashed other people’s cars. Pinched menu cards from fancy restaurants. Rang the fire alarm at school. Rode bikes without my parents’ knowledge. Wore lipstick and kohl at age twelve. Rang doorbells, harassed neighbours, made prank calls to a couple of Italian blokes…. all this before I turned fourteen.
Broke a few hearts, too. Had my mine broken. What else? What else?
Oh…. a lot more. But , on looking back, I realise I was pretty stupid. Not only did I get caught every single time, I also received punishment (often, far harsher than the crime committed). Worse, when I behaved still more stupidly and owned up, I got thrashed. I knew what every child knows – owning up is a pretty dumb thing to do, if you imagine there will be zero consequences. The rash act of owning up comes with an important assumption – it automatically means you are ready to face the music and take what follows on the chin. That could involve standing outside the classroom for hours on end. Writing a thousand lines, getting rusticated, not wincing when the cane makes contact with bare skin. You know, the usual torture that follows school confessions.
But obviously, our ministers have rewritten the old rules. The latest fad is to play martyr and ‘own up’. But after this brave and reckless gesture – what?
Apparently, nothing! It is as if having uttered those impressive words (“I am willing to own up,” said our pious P.M. earlier this week), the matter automatically ends right there. Game over. Boys and girls, go home and play…. or pray. The mighty leader has admitted his lapses. We should applaud and be grateful.
What rubbish!
Come on… this is nothing but theatrics. That too, on a pretty amateurish level. Is it enough to say sorry and not follow up the apology with action (please note: I did not say ‘resignation’). If someone in a position of great power has indeed had the guts and gumption to admit a mistake was made, the next logical thing to do is to rectify it. Or at least pretend! But no.
In India it begins and ends with the person uttering those meaningless ‘magic’ words – I confess. Since the P.M . is responsible for this trend, we are waiting for the real culprits to follow suit. Will they? Not a chance.
No wonder fraudster Hassan Ali Khan (alleged money-launderer based in India and worth over US$9 billion) or is not just smirking in court and muttering ‘stupid people’ under his breath as some of those bumbling officers of the Enforcement Directorate get ticked off by Justice Tahilyani like they were errant school kids (“Do your homework” said the learned judge).
Meanwhile, India is left grappling with the numbers being tossed around – who can understand Income Tax arrears – ARREARS – of Rs.72,000 million ( larger than the nation’s Health Budget)? The ‘common man’ (yup , the very same chap our P.M. wants to impress) is unable to comprehend a thing. All he or she is interested in knowing is this – will the bounder be punished? Will he sing? Name names?
Or…. errrr… own up?? Since it’s so cool to do so these days, why not?
The trouble with confessionals is that after a point, they lose their emotional power to generate sympathy. And unless these public confessions are followed through, they remain hollow and pointless. A massive book on contemporary confessions would be fascinating to read, because such outpourings are engineered to elicit specific responses. When powerful people admit weaknesses, their words make us feel a little better about our own miserable lives ….our petty concerns.
George Bush Jr., quite possibly one of the most detested Presidents of America has surprised the public by admitting to quite a few gaffes. It may well have been his intention to influence American opinion and present a more human side to his crazy Presidency.
Obama is definitely not in the mood to soften his position. While Gaddafi and Mubarak continue to rave and rant even as the world unites against their tyrannical regimes.
The ugly truth behind most of the recent confessions is that those going in for them are doing so with their backs against the wall. It’s that route – or else. But it certainly does not make them honourable men, nor does it exonerate them. It should be seen for what it actually is – a ploy to buy time and fix things.
Society
I have been feeling really, really sorry for all the fashionistas on Page 3 – from sexy starlets to swish socialites. Going by the barbs of reporters on the fashion beat, the worst crime any celeb can commit these days is to repeat a handbag, climb into the same pair of shoes (or, more aptly, Choos), and horror of horrors, wear the same outfit twice!
Since I am far too lazy to switch bags, and I tend to get inordinately attached to the same pair of comfortable sling backs, worse, I am also perfectly happy to keep wearing old favourites from my wardrobe, I worry about those ladies who agonise over their appearance each time they step out ( hell hath no fury like the fashion police).
I asked a prominent socialite who’d recently posed for a glossy, inside her walk- in closet ( the size of an airport), what she did with her once-worn designer gear. Without batting an eyelid, she said, “ I give my clothes to poor people.” So, the next time you see a flower-seller at a traffic signal clad in a discarded Versace near Mumbai airport, you’ll know where that hot number come from! God bless the socialite’s kind heart.
The Godzilla called Bollywood
It’s official : Bollywood rules. Bollywood to the right of you. Bollywood to the left of you. Bollywood, Bollywood everywhere! Bollywood has grown into a monster that has devoured every conceivable space in sight – from fashion , sports, media, society, lifestyle, politics… you name it and it’s right there. In your face? You bet! Nothing else matters. And nobody comes anywhere close to competing with our super glam stars – not even our super-super glam socialites who once held sway as undisputed empresses of all they surveyed – which was mainly, men with money.
These fading Divas stood for all that was aspirational, desirable, sexy. Today, it’s Bollywood or bust…. and to hell with Mrs. Money Bags and those stylish parties that used to be the hottest ticket in town. Today, these same ladies are the ones chasing Bollywood royalty.
When did this surreptitious palace coup take place? Why? How? By whom? And what will happen to our society swans if nobody bothers with them anymore?
Okay, let’s get a quick fix first – Delhi was always hopelessly Bollywood-struck, even back in those days when national calamities saw film stars getting roped in to raise funds (to the film industry’s credit, all those invited to contribute time, effort and money, did so generously and won the hearts of their audience forever).
But what one witnesses in Delhi today is unadulterated hysteria – a demented level of obsession - over any and every Bollywood name (zero quality control in the Capital) with brazen groupies from government and corporate backgrounds getting orgasmic at the thought of hanging out and most importantly, being clicked with minor filmi types.
The only topic of conversation that gets Delhi people going is Bollywood gossip, especially if it involves ‘The Bitches of Bandra’ (that’s what this high profile gal gang of spoilt filmi wives calls itself with unadulterated pride) and ‘The Gay Club’ featuring top directors and their toy boys.
The questions rarely go beyond, “Is it true that so-and-so is doing that slut?” And yes, ‘slut’ is now a unisex putdown….or a term of endearment - take your pick!
The Bollywood onslaught started with stars taking over the modeling world and ad agencies opting for Bollywood biggies over top models. If in the old days, only a Vinod Khanna would be seen bathing with Parmeshwar Godrej’s Cinthol soap, today there is hardly any product category left that does not hire movie stars to peddle its wares.
Ditto for show stoppers at fashion shows. Clients insist the returns are there for all to see – brands which sign on top stars , see sales figures going through the roof within months. Designers with zero talent establish their credentials as soon as a nubile starlet struts down the cat walk in one of their hideous creations.
From chewing tobacco to snazzy cars, from booze to balms – Bollywood is the flavour of the decade. Which is why it comes as no surprise that event managers, party organizers and those dodgy ‘charity queens ( whose favourite charity is themselves!)’ from both cities fervently court Bollywood, knowing that without the stars , they won’t make it to Page 3 or even Page 30.
It’s turned out to be a win-win situation for everybody. Not a single medium has been spared the ultra- aggressive Bollywood attack – not even Bollywood’s arch rival - television!
The top ranking shows feature most of the Khans, plus Amitabh Bachchan. Less prestigious reality shows thrive on the presence of B-grade upstarts to C-grade imports from Pakistan. All the mighty movie stars who’d once sniffed derisively at the idea of appearing on the small screen are lining up in droves, attracted by the mega bucks being thrown their way by canny channel heads.
That leaves politics – India’s alternative entertainment show. Somehow Bollywood has still to crack the big time in national politics.
The few who dared to venture into this murky terrain came away wounded (Amitabh Bachchan being the best example). Others who flirted with politics, realized soon enough that histrionics and politics are not the best combo.
Perhaps we should consider ourselves lucky that at least one key territory (politics) remains Bollywood -free so far.
For soon the business of sports will be entirely swamped by Bollywood as well… and before long , so will real estate (most successful builders are happy to act as fronts for movie stars).
Ironical that the very film industry that was once looked down upon and shunned by true blue snobs, is being actively courted by the same lot and their party loving folks who are best buddies with the ‘cool set’ in Bollywood. That leaves just our snooty private clubs and gyms, most of which refuse to entertain stars as either members or guests.
Plus, a few building societies which just about stop short of putting up signs reading: ‘Stars and dogs not allowed’. Pity. Imagine living cheek-by-jowl with someone as hot and adventurous as our Miss World turned actress Priyanka Chopra.
What else do you need in life?
Errrrrr…. a reality check, perhaps?
-- Shobhaa De.
For daily updates, visit http://shobhaade.blogspot.com/
NOTES:
When Shobhs landed in Hong Kong, was thrilled to get her call. Took her to Jaa, had high-tea at 4 seasons, dinner at Tsui Wah, cocktails at Sevva. The Des, Dilip and Shobhaa, saw House of Dancing Water in Macau, attended an auction, a dinner in their honour, did some serious shopping. All within four days. Whirlwind.
In between got a feature in SCMP, a quickie shoot at Jaa bar, a feature in Kee magazine.
Because she's such a prolific and excessively hard-working writer, it sort of eclipses all others. Makes you want to wipe the dust off and get crackin'. For those who are dismissive of De, and there are those foolish few, I promise you, she can leave you in a tizzy for there isn't a topic she isn't well versed in. When this feature was assigned, it was exhausting just trying to pull it all together into one cohesive feature. Hence, quote, unquote De.
Did I take the easy way out? Sure. But there was a deadline to be met - and if there's one thing I've learned from her, its the significance/priority of a deadline. She's idiot intolerant, doesn't suffer fools and excuses make her sick. So I met this deadline. Not that I'm always able to meet them on other occasions but... I try harder post-De.
