Hollywood and Bollywood


Every other day we read about the wild and unpredictable ways of Britney Spears. We are informed about the number of run-ins Paris Hilton has had with the US police. Lindsay Lohan has gone on record saying that she is seeking help for alcoholism and drug addiction. Mathew Perry (Chandler of F.R.I.E.N.D.S) is known to have overcome his dependence on pain-killers. Hollywood actors keep checking in and out of rehabs with alarming periodicity. Heath Ledger succumbed to his addiction. Owen Wilson narrowly escaped. Mel Gibson and Robert Downey Jr’s alcoholism is well known.

Pop psychoanalysts explain this erratic and the self-destructive behaviour by citing it as the outcome of quick and early fame, hounding by paparazzi, the partying culture of Hollywood, a lack of cohesive family support system and troubled childhood.

So how is it that our Bollywood actors and actresses, our TV personalities, our entertainers have escaped this seductive trap of booze and drugs? The journey to fame and fortune is as arduous here. Media scrutiny is equally harsh. Our marquee idols party with similar vigour.

We know that Bollywood has its own code of conduct. We have accepted bed-hopping, infidelity, second and 3rd marriages and even love children. Then why is media quiet about the addictions that surely must exist. It is a hazard of the entertainment industry, “booze, sex and drugs”. A stray case of a now reformed Sanjay Dutt or repentant Fardeen Khan might spring up in the newspaper. And we all know about Salman Khan and his escapades.

But on the whole, it seems that our entertainers are a blessed lot of well-adjusted, balanced lot who go to work, go home, and spend time with the kids and go to sleep. Many are quoted in interviews, “I don’t drink.” Some will make a concession and say, “I enjoy an occasional glass of wine.” Now I know that no one is going to come right out and say that they love binge drinking or that they go to bed every night drunk as a skunk. No one will admit that they cope with rejections, disappointments and back-stabbing by doing a line on the mirror with a rolled up Rs 100 note. Or that they try and forget the pressures of phenomenal success and frightening expectations by snorting substances in their nasal passages followed by a double on ice. But it stands to reason that dependence on alcohol, drugs and substance abuse must exist in our entertainment world. Also don’t we believe that creative juices flow better, with more vivid hues when one is under the influence?

The media goes into every salacious, tantalizing detail of the love lives of the screen gods and goddesses. So how is it they don’t throw light on the sordid goings-on and dependence on addictives? We don’t hear of a single star undergoing treatment for dependence. No drying out clinics, no cleaning up centers. No Betty Ford center Beau Monde programmes.

Is it that we, as the purveyor of Kama Sutra can digest the “sex” part of the entertainment world but will throw up once told of “booze and drugs”?

INDIA CALLING

I have decided to add one more season to the many seasons of Mumbai. I am naming it the NRI season. It comes twice a year.

My husband and I have kept in touch with our college “gang” over the years even though it is at least 25 years since we graduated. Modern tools of communication such as SMS, email, Skype and MSN have also contributed to this happy situation. Over the years our friends have taken wings and gone to far-off shores like UK, USA, Canada and Singapore to seek their fortunes. What with the world being a global village, our small community of friends is now trans-Pacific and trans-Atlantic.

More often than not these friends visit India once a year. The time could vary – either June-July, when the kids abroad generally have holidays or during the “holiday” being the Christmas to New Year week and a few days beyond.

When my NRI friends land into Mumbai en route to Indore or Jaipur or Bangalore, we open our home and hearth to them for a few days. Dealing with NRI friends requires special skills.

Earlier I would try and show-off my culinary skills and make a nice pasta in pesto sauce or a great lasagna but now I have realized the error of my ways. A good Tandoori Chicken and Mutton Kheema ordered from the neighbourhood Irani joint along with Gulab Jamun and Rasmallai or Natural’s Seetaphal ice-cream takes these people straight to gourmet heaven. Dosa, idli, bhel and pani puri (made from Bisleri water) and samosa are had with such relish. Nostalgically accompanied by King Fisher beer or Old Monk rum or Jaljeera. Fruits have to be mangoes followed by cheekoo or guava or lichees. (I didn’t know you don’t get chikoo or guava in most other countries.)

I am convinced that the Western world has no barbers, dentists, tailors or shoe shops. The first thing on the agenda is a haircut followed by dental fillings and root canals. Saree blouses are given for stitching and pure leather shoes are bought from good old Bata.

And of course shopping!! Thank God for the malls those have sprung up all over. Take them to In Orbit or Phoenix Mill compound and most of the shopping gets taken care of. Then one trip to Bhuleshwar or Santa Cruz market and we have finished the list of items like bindis, bangles, pakad, kadai, tawa and Sumeet Mixer with the heavy-duty chutney grinder. Some of them also want to go to Oberoi Shopping Center and others to Dharavi to get cheap leather jackets. I always hear at least five stories about how these Non-Returning-Indians were just going to buy that awesome skirt or cool shirt or a sharp leather jacket when they saw the tag and it said “Made in India.” So they retracted their hand and waited to go to Dharavi to buy the sharp leather jacket!!

I have not even touched on the entertainment activities that we indulge in. The latest pub/disco or eating joints have to be visited. So the evenings are spent at Salt Water Grill or Hawaiian Shack or Trishna or Rajdhani Thali. Thank God that my NRI friends remember that the dollar goes much further than the rupee and insist on paying all the bills.

I have variously heard, “India is so cheap”, or “India has become so expensive.” I have given up trying to figure this one out because all I see is north-ward bound prices.

Apart from personal shoppers and entertainers, we have now taken on he roll of financial advisors as well. “Hey man!! I want to buy property in India. Help me yaar. “I want to buy some shares. Do you know some good portfolio managers?”

And while these jet-lagged NRI friends sleep in the next morning my husband, kids and I rub our bleary eyes, tip-toe around and catch the school bus or doze off in the back of the car, head in hand, nursing a hangover.

We love our friends and look forward to their arrival every year. We have now become adept at finding solutions to problem like sleeping place, having kids prepare for tests in the chaos at home and juggling month-end meetings with late night boozing.

In my late twenties and early thirties, when these NRI friends used to visit us, I used to be a bit envious of the power of the Dollar, the stories of the cars and malls and supermarkets and highways and technological advances.

But, today, a comfortable 40, I am very happy that I didn’t leave India to make my fortunes. I have made my fortune in India. The corporate India is now paying world-class salaries. So I earn well, even in dollar terms. Thanks to the stock market and the boom in real estate prices, my share portfolio and my house on Pali Hill have multiplied many folds. And I have a Protima to cook, a Mala to wash and clean and a Ramesh to drive me around on the pot-holed roads and carry my bags. I order my groceries, my wine, my medicines and my movies on the phone. I can have teekha Bhel and Pani Puri or delicious Sushi and Sake as my fancy takes me.

And I don’t have to wait a full year and more to visit my mother who lives in Indore.

For a traveller from India, the US seems like a fairy land. Wide roads, lush greenery, huge shopping malls, bright lights, big cars and large open spaces are awe inspiring. It is a society engineered to satisfy every human craving and cater to every human need. The life style can be very seductive and mesemerising .

However what this translates to is naked, unbridled, unapologetic and hungry consumerism.

From a pet store to a bath and linen shop, clothing shop to a supermarket, a hardware store to a party outlet, a dollar store to a hobby lobby - the first thing that you notice is the vastness of the space these shops occupy. The stores are huge. Then you get sucked in by the unending aisles and caught in the web of the copious choices and options available. You feel like a kid in a candy store and run around from aisle to asile, filling your shopping cart with a glazed look in your eyes. You can't help becoming a shopoholic. It takes a long while to get inured to the draw of the shiny retail offerings.

And the unbridled consumerism takes a quantum leap because super-sized shopping is offered by warehouse stores like Costco, Price Club and Sam's club. Everything is available in bulk quantities. So now one fridge in the kitchen is not enough. You need a large freezer in the basement. The large supplies shelf under the sink is not large enough. A stocking cabinet in the garage is a must. Half the time one forgets what is underneath the packets and packets of frozen ice creams and frozen desserts and frozen meals. So you go out and buy some more.

American society seems to fine-tuned capitalism to an art form where everything is super-sized. There is a carnal desire to acquire. If Prozac doesn't work, try our retail therapy.