Matlab, being himself. Some folks never “sudharo” even after they’ve got all that they’ve fought for. Relax, man. Chill. Know that everybody hates you. Everybody basically hates realtors and upstarts!
I called my travel agent this morning to discuss our annual summer vacation. “Somewhere exotic and glamourous”, I said airily. “I want it to be special and fun… great food, gorgeous people, celebrity-spotting… that kind of vibe’’. “Hmmm… let me figure,” the lady replied thoughtfully. Minutes later, she called back… much excitement in her voice. “How about the Riviera?” she asked.
Genius! Why didn’t I think of it? I promptly shot back: “Wow! I love the plan. Italian or French?” Pause. “Neither”, she replied patiently. “Oh… I get it… you are recommending the new Riviera -- Baku, right? Thanks, but no thanks. Half of Delhi will be there – the lot that’s not creating havoc in Goa. Besides… Azerbaijan sounds a bit dodgy, if you know what I’m getting at.” She didn’t. I carried on cheerfully: “Georgia has been done to death by lechy desis attracted to the gorgeous bodies tanning on golden beaches. But we aren’t oglers... In any case, right now, that whole region is on some sort of a high alert… level one on the travel advisory? We want to go somewhere really, really safe, where we can put up our feet, enjoy mimosas by the sea, nibble on grilled calamari…” Bigger pause. Deep sighs. Oh dear! What had I just said that had upset the lady? Finally, I heard her voice. “Ma’am, those old destinations are no longer being marketed by us. We are selling the newest Riviera…’’ I was so impressed. “That’s so cool. Done. Let’s go with what’s hot and happening. Is the newest Riviera the latest stomping ground of international celebrities?” “Oh yes!” squealed the travel agent.
“You may bump into Donald Trump and his missus getting some shade under transplanted date palms.” This was sounding seriously amazing.
“Yeayyyy!” I exclaimed. “Send me the itinerary… we are on! By the way… where is the newest Riviera?” Biggest pause. “Gaza”, she hoarsely whispered.
Hey Devaaa!!! Yeh Trump, bhi na?
POTUS is at it again. Being preposterous, abominable and obnoxious.
Matlab, being himself. Some folks never “sudharo” even after they’ve got all that they’ve fought for. Relax, man. Chill. Know that everybody hates you. Everybody basically hates realtors and upstarts!
But there is a limit to being repulsive. We are talking about the future of two million Palestinians. Gaza is their home. Seizing control of Gaza and scattering its people is the single most offensive suggestion of your brand-new presidency. “I don’t think people should be going back to Gaza. Gaza has been very unlucky for them. They’ve lived like hell,” he casually said at a White House press conference with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. This nonchalantly dropped bombshell sent shockwaves through the world. Trump was at it again -- eyeing prime property to develop and flog as “The Riviera of the Middle East”. The man is on a manic buying spree -- he wants to bag Greenland, annex Canada, reclaim the Panama Canal and rename the Gulf of Mexico. These are mere hors d’oeuvres on the Trump menu card.
The world is waiting to see the main course.
Given his size and appetite, Trump may devour a few more countries before he’s done. Let’s wait for the belch!
Even with us, his loyal “dosts”, Trumpji is showing his teeth. When the US military C-17 Globemaster aircraft with 104 Indians landed in Amritsar this week, New Delhi could do or say nothing. This was an unprecedented and highly provocative move by Donald Trump, cleverly designed to assert himself and show who’s the boss. The Union government helplessly bleated: “All repatriated citizens would be accepted back.” Arrey! What’s the other option? Throw these desperate people into the Yamuna? They are our people! Ask instead WHY so many Indian citizens risk their lives, sell whatever they have, borrow money, travel hazardously just to illegally sneak across the border and hopefully disappear into America. The great American dream ended tragically for these unfortunate people (104, including 13 minors), who were roughly picked up and sent packing -- back to their devastated families. Reading the heart-breaking stories of all the severe hardships suffered by the parents who had begged, borrowed and sold all that they possessed to fulfil the delusional ambitions of their children, is a lesson worth learning for those who stake everything so that their kids can have a better life. Better? These are horror stories of dreams that collapsed before they even took off.
Poor, desolate parents! Some expressed suicidal thoughts at the prospect of spending the rest of their lives in debt and penury, because of a child’s misplaced ambition. “Go East, Go West, Home is Best” -- our elders used to say, thwarting any plans that involved settling overseas. How right they were!
FOR every hard luck story, there is another that brings a smile back to my face. Chandrika Tandon, at 71, defeated all the odds when she won a Grammy for her Chanting Album, which she describes as a “coming together of multiple ideas... That’s why we called it Triveni”, she told the press about her creative collaboration with South African flautist Wouter Kellerman and Los Angeles-based cellist Eru Matsumoto.
The objective, she said, was simple: They wanted to make music “that heals’’. For someone who studied business at IIM Ahmedabad and became the first Indian-American woman to be selected as a partner at McKinsey & Co, at 24, Chandrika’s remarkable switch to music is a book in itself. “I became a musical beggar,” she said, as she searched for music teachers in New York. Triveni was adjudged the “Best New Age Album” at the 67th Grammy Awards. Chandrika, who says she sang before she spoke, was dressed in an eye-catching, embroidered Manish Malhotra orange jacket. This must have been a huge relief for the under-pressure Grammy organisers, after rapper Kanye West’s latest wife and romantic partner in crime, Australian architect/model/designer Bianca’s (uncensored) Censori hijacked the Grammys with her red-carpet appearance clad in nothing more elaborate than her birthday suit. Now that’s a fashion non-statement the world is unlikely to forget for decades to come.
To improvise on Rajesh Khanna’s memorable dialogue (“Pushpa, I hate tears...”), let me add my tribute to the Grammy’s stellar fashion moment 2025: “Bianca, I hate modesty.”
