Posts Tagged ‘Vikas Bahl’

Like in the last few years, Rajeev Masand has done a series of roundtable discussions this year too. And the one which has the best panel and which interests us the most is the directors roundtable. This one had Vishal Bhardwaj (Haider), Rajat Kapoor (Ankhon Dekhi), Vikas Bahl (Queen), Imtiaz Ali (Highway), RajKumar Hirani (PK) and Abhishek Varman (2 States).

As we have done in the past, this year too we are trying to source the scripts of some of the best films of the year. As most of you know, the scripts of Hollywood films are easily available online, even the unreleased ones. But we don’t have any such database for Hindi or Indian films. So that has been the primary reason for this initiative. And it has been possible because some of the filmmakers have been very supportive about it. It’s only for educational purpose and much like the spirit of the blog, is a complete non-profitable exercise. (ps – we copy-paste this para in every script post 😉

Vikas Bahl’s Queen was one of those rare films which was both critical as well as commercial success. So thanks to good folks at Phantom Films (especially Ranjan Singh) and Vikas Bahl, we are sharing the script of Queen. There are two drafts of it – an older version and a shooting draft. Please do remember that lot of things were improvised on the sets, so it’s a good exercise to see the difference from early draft to shooting draft to the final film.

Do click on the “Scripts” tab on the top right corner of the blog page to access all the other scripts (The Lunchbox, Shahid, Kai Po Che, D Day, Lootera, Kahaani, Ek Main Aur Ek Tu, Agent Vinod, Dev D etc) that we have posted here so far.

Film : Queen

Director : Vikas Bahl

Story & Screenplay : Parveez Shaikh, Chaitally Parmar & Vikas Bahl

Dialogue : Anvita Dutt & Kangana Ranaut


HumaraMovie’s short-film anthology Shuruaat Ka Interval is now playing in select cinemas in Mumbai, Delhi, Pune, Bangalore and Ahmedabad (see showtimes above). What’s more- there is also an Audience Choice Award for the favorite film of the viewers.

The winner of the Shuruaat Ka Interval festival 2014 will be chosen directly by the audience. After watching the films, you can either vote in the cinemas (you will be handed ballots for the same) or vote right here. The winner will be given a cash prize of 1 Lakh and this will be announced after the films complete their run at the cinemas. So do watch and vote for your favorites below:



Shuruaat Ka Interval

PVR Director’s Rare & HumaraMovie are presenting the short film festival/anthology Shuruaat Ka Interval, which includes 8 shorts from various filmmakers, chosen and mentored by filmmakers Imtiaz Ali, Vikramaditya Motwane, Anand Gandhi & Vikas Bahl. Shortlisted candidates had access to script consultants- Bijesh Jayarajan (Yudh), Ritesh Shah (Kahaani, D Day, City Lights), Rajashree ‘urf’ Raju and Kshiti Nijhawan Agrawal. They also had access to Mukesh Chhabra and his team for casting.

All the films are based on one theme: ‘Interval’, which has been interpreted in a different, unique way by each filmmaker. Watch the trailer and read the synopsis of each short film below:

SYNOPSES of the Short Films:

1. August by Shishir Jha: Good and Evil, Yin and Yang… The continuous dichotomy of life. The path is not always a choice. A subtle interpretation of this paradox. Does the butcher only kill?

2. The Last Audition by Krishan Hooda: Anand Kumar is a struggling actor consumed by the struggle. The attempt to land a role, and the effects of the audition take over his life. He live, breathes, sleeps this process. In this obsessed role, does Anand land himself the ticket to stardom? Or does this obsession lead to his ruin? A dark tale of one’s life when you cannot differentiate life and camera!

3. No Exit by Ankit Tripathi: Is life a burden? Is memory the only thing which binds us together? Is that the reason for our misery? Cycle of life and death- is there an exit option?

4. Ayan by Amrit Raj Gupta: In the best traditions of farce- what happens when your main character disappears during the interval of a play. Do you rework the play? Can you rework the play? How do the other characters react? A laugh fest when the characters of Ramayan become real backstage.

5. Interval 3D by Palash Vaswani: What happens when a character from a Ramsay Brothers-style B Grade horror flick meets the audience? Shock, awe, funny- a ridiculous scenario from which you can only laugh your way out!

6. Bubbles and Stars by Rukhshana Tabassum: If the characters of a play were to indulge in their reverie, would their interactions be meaningful? Shot completely in black & white, a beautiful tale which reminds you of films of the silent era and what actually makes us love films

7. Final Interval by Aarti Bagdi: This is the story of a housewife, a mother, a mother-in-law, a grandmother, a superwoman. She binds the extended family together. And she needs a break!

8. Gatekeeper by Atanu Mukherjee: Gatekeeper revolves around the life of a man who guards a railway crossing. His only source of excitement in life is watching the trains passing by. Is there something which intrudes in this monotony? Or can this monotony be enjoyable?

Shuruaat Ka Interval releases in select cinemas in Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore and Pune on 15 August, 2014.

The “Queen” In Me

Posted: March 19, 2014 by moifightclub in bollywood, cinema, Movie Recco
Tags: , ,

There’s something about Queen. Not only in its box office numbers in second weekend/week where it has gone ahead of the new releases, but the way it has connected personally. That’s a rarity. No wonder the love letters are still pouring in. Because writing is liberating.

The latest one is by Shazia Iqbal. Read on.

I have never written about my personal experiences before. Why put a piece of your life on display for the world to witness. I don’t blog or write publicly either, except for few sporadic/instinctive rants on Twitter. It is Vikas Bahl’s Queen that compelled me to write. I think cinema moves us the most when the character rings a chord with something in our lives, some moments or words, what we do, how we react; basically a validation that we are all capable of being heroes in a story, at least in our own. Queen did that to me. It’s not just the story or the moments or the people or the girl herself, but it’s the soul of the film that touched me. It was like I was seeing a chapter of my life played out on screen.

Rani is a middle class Rajouri girl, who is fundamentally a part of a society where being married to a good ‘London return’ guy is a matter of great pride for most girls and their families. I have grown up in far-­‐flung suburbs of Bombay where I too have felt a similar mentality floating around me. And though my family would love to have a ‘Yashraj’ type wedding ceremony, for me, marriage has never been a priority over my career.

Queen and I are different in many ways and yet we are the same person. We are different in the way we speak, the way we dress, the way we react to attention, to decisions, to people (and I definitely know what Joint massagers are) yet we are the same person in the way we love, the way we trust, the way we hurt and the way we evolved after a traumatic heartbreak to be the person we are. It is our vulnerability that connects us.

I too have always been a quintessential ‘good girl’. Have always listened to everybody, mostly did what my parents asked of me and have taken decisions that I feel were morally correct. Though I have grown up as a ‘Bombay girl’, I am not from the strata of society that inculcates the habits or lives a lifestyle that would make me a ‘chic’. I was the so-­‐called ‘behenji’ type with no vices. A non-­‐ smoking, non-­‐drinking, non-­‐clubbing, vegetarian girl from an ideal middle class Muslim family with conservative ideas about love, sex and everything in between. Aur haan, kabhi school exams mein cheating bhi nahi ki! So, like Rani, I too thought I was Guptaji…

At the point of heartbreak, Rani’s, mine and a lot of other people’s (not just girls’) stories go in the same direction. We are all badly broken, with a low self esteem, no confidence, feeling awkward and humiliated. We question our decisions, our lives and ask ourselves the most obvious question -­‐ ‘Why was I not worthy of the love?’ And, of course, there are enough people who make you feel like that, feel more sorry for you than you yourself do. And you don’t want to be around people who you know, so running away makes the most sense. I feel Rani went for her honeymoon alone because of all this and more.

A couple of years ago I left for Paris feeling something similar. I was left broken by a man who was supposedly ‘above my status’, just like Vijay, he was basking in the glory of the success of his first film and me, an unknown Art director with a couple of films to my name, wasn’t his type to even start with. This was the same guy who chased me persistently until I fell for his charms. To be fair I have done well in my world where my work has put me on a certain platform, but this guy was in a place where he would rather be with an actress or a model than be with an unknown entity. After being dumped, I felt small, insignificant. I was no more important enough to be invited for his birthday that had some known industry people as guests. That night I decided to leave the city, run away to a place where I could get lost in the crowd. I looked for summer courses around Europe that I could afford in my limited means.

I applied for an acting course in Paris and a direction course in London. No, I have never had a hidden acting keeda, it was just an escape route. Why Paris? No idea. I had been to London earlier, for work, and that left Paris as the next city that fascinated me. I wasn’t much of a traveler and travelling on my own was never even an option. So I wonder if what made Rani travel alone for her honeymoon is also what pushed me to travel on my own-­‐ impulsion mixed with bouts of courage. I think some people have the tendency to gather immense courage and strength from life-­‐altering moments like heartbreaks. You are engulfed in a certain madness that wants to constantly punch every fear right in the face. Also, maybe it’s the feeling that you have already lost everything, so what the fuck. You might have a loving family and caring friends but the constant humiliation pushes you out of the cocoon and makes you do something that surprises you along with most others.

As for Rani and for me, the escape lay in travelling alone. If there is ever a way of finding yourself and of finding answers about the bigger questions in life, it can be discovered by being in an unknown place all by yourself. But it’s not easy. You have to conquer a lot of unknown fears to finally find the freedom; the freedom that always was yours and resided within you, only that you didn’t know it and hadn’t found it. Queen made me realize how I too slowly let all my fears out one by one.

The first 2 days in Paris were a nightmare. Right at the arrival, I got cheated by the cab guy for 60 euros, got lost at the metros and couldn’t find my college. I didn’t even know what part of Paris I was lost in and I was scared of talking to people as the language sounded to me like a bunch of babies slurping and licking my ears. When I ordered a veg. salad in a restaurant, I got an ensemble of different meats on my plate, the ‘vegetarian-and-hungry‐for-­a-day’ me was about to break down when I got a message on my phone from the network of a bill of Rs. 32,000/-­‐ for a day. It was only 3 months ago that I’d got a smart phone and I didn’t know I had to switch off my 3G!

So in full view of a lot of people, I broke down in a restaurant. Before the waitress could figure out, I left money on the table and ran out crying. And I kept running and crying till I stopped near a bunch of students hanging out in a corner around Sacre coeur. This guy came towards me and in his broken English asked if I was okay. They took my map and directed me to my college. They smiled at me like I was a stupid girl from a third world country who didn’t know how to read a map. Well it was in French, Duh!

I was scared, of everything. Just like Rani, I felt somebody was out there to get me. I was scared of losing my bag and held it as tightly as Rani did, everywhere I went, even while using the loo in the flight. I was scared of crossing the road, almost killed myself, till I figured out the ‘wait’ button. I felt constantly uneasy by couples lost in PDA. I would look around for at least one person who was single, but somebody would turn up and hold them or kiss them. I was miserable in the first few days in Paris and was roaming around moping about lost love.

The first time I visited Eiffel, it made me feel Lonely. I didn’t climb up ‘cause unlike others I didn’t have a hand to hold. I ran away from it and decided to not come back to it. I got a local number next day and called my ‘ex’ to show that I was doing just fine without him. He said ‘Oh! Yea you are in Paris? Right. How is the weather? I am sure this will do you good. I will save your number’. I’d read somewhere, ‘The smartest thing is to know when you are being stupid. That’s when you stop being stupid’. That was a wakeup call for me.

In the coming four weeks of my acting school, I met some amazing people and was surprised by the cultural differences in our lives. They didn’t talk to their Parents 5 times in a day like I did, and yet shared a better friendship with their families. They were open about their relationships, sex, drinking and were living life just like Vijay Lakshmi did, and though like Rani I couldn’t relate to most of it, I let in bits of it in my life and even that was liberating.

I told my sorry story to two of my classmates on the graduation day and they didn’t sympathize with me. I didn’t want any. They took me to their room to get dressed for the evening. While they were adjusting their Bras and pantyhose I shyly looked away. But I was tired of being awkward and turning away from this new world. That night I had 5 tequila shots at the graduation party. It was the first time I had alcohol. I wore a dress with a ‘deep neck’ and stood up on a table and danced like a freak. I realized I am standing in a corner looking at myself, wasted, dancing on a table holding a ceiling lamp and telling an Italian classmate I wanted to run away to Italy with him, even though I didn’t like him much. I was somebody else that night. I looked so happy, I felt like I was born again and starting afresh. Somewhere in the middle of the night, my ex called and after tense moments of silence said he missed me. I was walking with my friends so I told him I’ll talk to him once I am back in Bombay. He sounded low but somehow at that point it didn’t matter to me. That was my time and I was not going to let him ruin it. I feel that’s the reason Rani leaves Vijay and heads for the rock show. It’s when you realize that you have to be your own priority no matter where life puts you.

For a month in Paris, before that night, I had been meeting several other ‘me’s, which were earlier hidden or suppressed inside, that were coming out in bits, mostly while acting. I was trying to find myself in the quiet long walks in rains, in silences on hill tops, by observing people in the market, in the silent by-­‐lanes but I never let myself out of the prison that I had created around me. That night I fought all of myself and killed the mopy melancholic me.

Paris is like Bombay at night. Another city. That’s when you fall in love with it in a way that the romance never ends. I don’t even regret saying some weird things to strangers that night. Of course I wished it didn’t end up with me sleeping in the same room as two friends who made out for most of the night. I woke up early morning and walked out hung-­‐over, again not knowing what part of the city I was lost in. But by now it wasn’t so scary and my ‘Merci beaucoup’ and ’ S’il vous plait’s were helping me maneuver my way around. As I walked the deserted streets early on the Sunday morning, the previous night had changed something within. And I was beaming ear to ear with a smile stuck on face. And just like Rani, I went back to the Eiffel with a friend and fell in love with it. These friends are the bonuses I took back from the trip.

Next two weeks I went backpacking by myself around Barcelona, Rome, Amsterdam and parts of Paris that I hadn’t yet seen before heading to London, completely broke. But those two weeks were the best ever. As far as men are concerned, there were many moments, special memories, more like 15-­‐minute short stories that felt like eternity. For most European men I was a Spanish or Italian dame, even German or American till they went ‘Oh you are a pretty Indian girl’. When you grow up in a society where being ogled, touched, groped are not alien concepts but part of routine, you are somewhere physically repressed and most people are aggressive predators unless proven otherwise. That’s why I kept my distance from the opposite sex initially. I tried to disconnect by ‘I have a boyfriend back home’, or by receiving fake calls ‘I miss you too baby’ to unbelievably stupid ‘My guy is just on the way to pick me up’. I know how Rani must’ve felt being alone in the room with a guy ‘cause every guy is interested in physically conquering you even if he seems undistracted by your presence. But no, most European men are not interested in nailing every foreigner they meet, that’s the psychotic male version of men. I found men in Europe very courteous, couth and importantly not chauvinistic (all except the Italian policemen). Well, they reminded me of Delhi Police.

Hmmm, anyway… May be I mostly met the good ones. Those 3 male friends of Rani reminded me of the Spanish guy at Hard Rock in Barcelona who sat next to me at the bar throughout the opening ceremony of the London Olympics, after a couple of guys had already done their bit to take me home. I don’t know his name, I didn’t ask. He didn’t ask for mine and just said I’ll be his ‘beautiful Olympics memory’. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. I don’t know if I’ll see the German Bartender who made me free Virgin Mohitos at a bar in Rembrandtplein in Amsterdam, or the young Spanish manager who gave me a discount on my ship tour around Amsterdam central or the animation student in Paris who knew more about Ladakh than me and told me I would make a great wife or this French guy who I went out with, who didn’t speak English. We spoke in monosyllabic, broken English and French with a lot of silences. Those awkward silences still make me smile. I didn’t share anything romantic with them, don’t know their names, am already forgetting their faces and in all probability will never meet them again. But we were all building memories that would make fascinating stories for a lifetime. And I think, somewhere, they too must be writing and telling these stories, the way I am.

After the backpacking trip, it’s not like I am not scared and vulnerable anymore but in those moments of not being perfect, I found myself beautiful and strong again. And most importantly it gave me the freedom I was seeking. A freedom from suppression, regression, and society’s norms of love, relationships and marriage. A freedom to be myself, amidst all the expectations of being the perfect girl that I no longer wanted to be. I just wanted to be me. I have had many friends (most of whom are married with kids) tell me that they wish they could have my life.

Like Rani, I also said ‘Thank you’ to the guy, who was the reason I left a comfortable job and everything behind and went to Europe for 5 months. Thank you for pushing me to travel alone. Thank you for Paris and the lone long walks in the night. Thank you for Barcelona and its mystical dark by lanes. Thank you for the ruins at Rome and the Italian food. Thank you for Amsterdam, the place I wish to live a chunk of my life. Thank you for super fun ‘Red light area and sex toys shop’ walk with the cute guide, Julian, for the 1 Euro 5 minute strip show at personal booth, for the French poetry I receive in my mail every month, for the Spanish roadside guitarist, for the train journey from Amsterdam to Paris, Thank you!!!! This trip evolved me and made me the free spirited person I am today. It made me restless and kicked me out of my comfort zone. It made me want to tell my own stories. As for him, he insisted that I meet him on his birthday last year and I refused. He is a nice guy who is probably confused and trying to find himself but I was done with that chapter of my life.

Heartbreaks are painful, but funny junctures in life. They make you feel as if it’s the end of the world every damn time it happens. The Vijays in our lives are catalysts for making us meet ourselves, helping us become a person we’d love to be. They deserve a hug and a genuine ‘thank you’. They let the ‘Rani’ in you become the Queen of your own story.

P.s. Thank You Vikas Bahl, Kangana and Team

(Shazia Iqbal is an Art Director, and has worked in films and advertising since last eight years. She designed Dum Maaro Dum and many other films. Her script was selected for NFDC’s Director’s Lab)

First, came this (on Highway). Then, we read this (on Nebraska). And now, this new post – another film, another personal connect, and another journey. This time it’s about Vikas Bahl’s Queen and why Svetlana Naudiyal could find a personal resonance with it. As the saying goes, Not all those who wander are lost. Read on.

I don’t remember being so happy after watching a Hindi film in a long time. It’s as though I am few beers down. I saw it yesterday, and the smile refuses to leave my face.

Her cardigan, her fading Mehndi, her awkward dance moves…the flashbacks…the dancing like crazy but carefully tucking the cardigan in her handbag…the gradual changes in body language…the Alice in Wonderland pullover…Golgappe, Salt and Pepper, Hostel, irrelevance of languages…the list can go on. The several little things, and the lovely whole.

Life needn’t always be particularly traumatizing. You might not have a rich, cold, cruel family; you might never have a heartbreak that turns into Rockstar-dom. It’s easier to tell the black to white story of a somewhat melodramatically traumatized/damaged character, and difficult to go wrong there. But some films still do. It’s not that easy to tell the story of a very ordinary girl from your neighborhood, it’s not easy to catch the greys. There’s a doting happy family, a comfortable life, and you know for a fact that the heartbreak can soon be forgotten. Eventually a new proposal will step in, and the bygones will be bygones, like it happens in real life. Queen’s situation is barely a speck in the universe of the so called Emotional Crises of the International Concern. Internal conflicts of the unconscious mind, particularly those of an unremarkable, ordinary person, are the least appetizing of all stories.

For telling the story of the internal misgivings, and telling it so well – seemingly insignificant, seemingly simple, a king-sized hat tip to Queen!

I am nobody like her but there’s so much of me, and many others I know, in her story. What do we call it – The unsaid understanding of the lone travelers?

For the last few hours, I’ve been sifting through my own photos, scribbles, email drafts from the trips. If there’s any poetry or meaning in life, it’s traveling. That’s it.


Salinas Drive, Cebu, Philippines. I was inhabited by the chaos of that street. And I loved it. In that chaos, all my noisy selves came to the fore, talking, asserting their presence. Nothing under the sun could stop them anymore.

For very long, of the several people I was and I could be, I was just being this one person. I was clueless, lacked confidence, suffered from low self-esteem, sought approval from everyone but myself, and to top it up – I was confused (which is an alright state to be in otherwise but not in combination with the aforementioned symptoms). I was stuck in a Mangrove swamp and had no strength to realize and admit that I was. All this when all my life, prior to this particular phase, I had been a strong, independent person.

To put it simply – my brain was a mess. I was not even the protagonist of my own life. I didn’t like myself and instead of acknowledging it, I would go overboard with pretending to be fine, sorted and in complete control of what I was doing. I believe staying away from home teaches you that – ‘How to pretend that everything is alright or will be alright soon’. Folks call and you tell them everything is good. (It’s been a decade away from home and I must admit that at this kind of lying, I can quite often defy the mommy sensor!)

Friends could see the mess, but my pretense confused them as well and in turn no one raised an alarm or even a question for that matter.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Philippines happened, and saved me. Through some odd coincidences, I got a freelance assignment at a first time documentary festival in a city called Cebu, that required me to be there for 6 weeks.

I can confess this now, perhaps. And I hope my parents won’t be reading this. Until I reached Cebu, I had no clue what the job entailed. Broadly speaking, and this was the story I told everyone, including my parents – I was supposed to help set up the festival, programme and also take a short course on organizing/setting-up festivals with a batch of film-making students. I didn’t even know if I was appropriate for the job but for once in life, I gathered all my selfishness and jumped at the opportunity headlong.

The organizer person I was interacting with seemed shady, neurotic and hyper, which I later discovered wasn’t an exactly incorrect observation. Her ex-associate on the project – an Indian, was shadier – she had conceived and subsequently abandoned the project, was constantly unavailable or lying about her whereabouts, her work. The organizer inviting me was facing allegations of intellectual infringement on the event concept. Google told me all this and i didn’t even bother to crosscheck with the organizer. My travel, stay, food was on them, and I thought that was enough. I was also promised an alright remuneration too, which was never paid on arrival. And well, not even on departure.

Just a month before leaving, I landed myself a nice job which would eventually entail travel. So actually, there was no urgent need to go to a far flung third world country for a something-fishy assignment. Of course, I didn’t think twice, I was already too much into the plan. Well, actually, in a corner of my mind, I think I told myself – “when you can, for no substantial reason, have faith in some really assholish people, why not take the chance of having faith in humanity”

I don’t know if some friends would remember this. I called up people to say, “bye, I’m leaving for so and so thing in a few days..” I made it point to call everyone I could recall, people I was fond of or cared for. Because I honestly thought what if this job is really some shady thing, what if I do get into some kind of trouble and never return!

(Work there is another story, maybe for another time)

Being removed from your context is an inexplicable relief. Like some plants that find a sudden rush for life in unfamiliar soil. Some adorable new people, a few very discomforting ones. I was as much a stranger to all of them, as I was to me. We were even.

Looking back, I wish I was more disconnected from the world I belonged to. Some transformations would perhaps been faster. There are way too many connecting roads – Whatsapp, Viber, Twitter, Facebook, Skype.. I wish I had some clue, how switching off would/could help me. But again, back then, I hadn’t even acknowledged that I was messed up.

In the sifting, came across something I scribbled back then. Like it happens in movies, everything makes sense in flashback.

“I feel like a familiar stranger to me. There is this sudden feeling of being in love and I don’t even know with what….There’s very little money that I have and that’s depleting quite steadily. I am slightly clueless if this organization is going to pay me at all. And I am barely worried about being absolutely broke when I return. I keep claiming that I am worried but deep inside I’m not. I amble around religiously even though the streets aren’t particularly safe. I tell myself, I’m from India, it’s as bad there. There’s this very silly and surprising joy in being an outsider, a foreigner. I stare at the books, at web-pages, flip through films but it’s walking unfamiliar streets that feels like reading poems. I am engulfed by a comforting loneliness, wordlessness, even the occasional footsteps feel silent. There’s no sun in sight, yet there’s a lingering feeling that the haze will vanish…eventually… hopefully…”

Towards the end of my stay at Cebu, I took a dive safari trip. It was living with a group of strangers on a boat and scuba diving that brought out a little-bit of the person I once used to be – someone who wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable with herself. Overcame my fear of water bodies, forgot that I didn’t know how to swim and let a dive instructor be the master of my life. Picked a bikini and soaked up the sun. It didn’t even cross my mind that how flabby my tummy was, or that the love handles were on display. It was the long-forgotten-least-bothered me, back in form, again! Of course, I figured this out only in hindsight. I didn’t give a damn, nobody gave a damn. There’s a strange freedom from yourself, when you’re not a ‘body’ for people around. Thin, fit, flabby? Nobody cares.

The strength to reclaim my own life, didn’t come back that easily upon return. All I had was a vague blueprint of what I wanted to fix, with a little hopscotch here and there, and somehow managed to do it, eventually.

Friends heaved a collective sigh of relief. So did I.

Post that, it took two more trips and lone-time in different cities, where I went for work, that finally got my head (with self-esteem and sense) back in place. While limping around with a broken foot, in a fast paced first world city. In striking a friendship over ducks & parables, the old-fashioned way, where you meet people in real life first. In a long heart to heart chitchat with a German cabbie who could only speak, what he said was small-English, and I could only speak small-German.

With sharing this, I leave my story on the wall, at least one of the several circles has finally come full circle.


Almost a year after my return from Philippines, I got paid by the organizers. That too without asking for it. #Win!


p.s. I think, I can safely say that through primary, secondary and tertiary experiences, I have a PhD in the Vijay types, by now. Dear Women, for the love of yourself, recognize the ones in your lives, if any, (there are way too many in the world and they needn’t always appear as boyfriends)…take a lone trip to somewhere or not, but run run run, run far away from those.

p.p.s. Oh, and I love you Kangana! Hug!


Chillar Party is produced by UTV SpotBoy and directed by debutants Vikas Bahl and Nitesh Tiwari. Vikas used to head SpotBoy earlier. The film has a bunch of kids in the star cast and has music by Amit Trivedi.

And here’s the official synopsis …

Chillar Party is a fillam about a gang of innocent bachcha log who lead a carefree and fun filled life in Chandan Nagar Colony. Soon Fatka and Bheedu come into their lives and they become an inseparable part of Chillar Party.

The lives of these Bachcha log get difficult when Bheedu’s life is endangered, thanks to a mean politician.  Saath me they fight the big bad world of politics and show that even chhote bachche can move mountains.

In a world where reason outweighs emotions, Chillar Party teaches everyone to feel rather than think. They prove that what seems to be right is not always right.