Contd from http://thewordjockey.blogspot.com/2009/11/mrs-india-is-not-wife-of-mr-india.html

So while the endless wait didn’t seem to end, a few of the women had tempers flying  since we were made to sit since 10 am and it was almost night and still there were hours of work to go. They were furious at the mismanagement, the way we were kept waiting for hours for no reason, or for some unknown reason – they had families, they had to return home. Maybe showbiz works just like this – all show no fizz.
So there was a ruckus then. And the TV guys didn’t let that go either. They captured the girls blasting the organiser – so expect some of that if you watch the program. Except that it is not scripted – it actually happened.

When Maureen Wadia realised what happened,she was upset of course. She called us all in and sort of exercised her right to anger. And exited the 2 women and whoever else volunteered.But post that, it was a disappointing affair. All of us who had been waiting for our turn to be interviewed, were called in quickly. She literally took our attendance and let us leave.

Immediately after, the numbers who had made it were asked to stay back. And the rest of us had to leave. Me being one of them. A sore farewell. So for this moment we waited all day. If this had to happen, it could have happened in the morning. Why make everyone wait? And the girls were not wrong when they were frustrated with the organisation. It had been slightly unfair – but probably because we belonged to a different a more professional and sane world. Maybe in their profession this was a norm. For us, who deal with finance, brands etc a whole day could mean a business of a lot of money.

Anyways, so again those scrappy TV guys planted themselves strategically as the rest of us bade goodbye to that academy – which felt least like our Alma Mater. So that was an end to a really eventful day. A lot happened that day- But most of all what I really took back was at least 4 good friends for life…in fact one of us got selected for finals, but somehow in the end she wasnt called in – strange. It seemed to be pre-determined she said. So Then Heaven and Mrs Wadia know their real parameters of selection – because there were quite a few women who were deserving than the deserving ones. Hmm – grapes our sour, you might say, But at least we got the grapes. I might not have won the crown, but I took back a lot more what is priceless.

Technorati Tags: GLADRAGS MRS INDIA

Previous Links:

Part 1: http://thewordjockey.blogspot.com/2009/10/glad-but-no-rags-1.html

Part 2: http://thewordjockey.blogspot.com/2009/11/mrs-india-is-not-wife-of-mr-india.html

(THIS POST IS COPYRIGHT MATERIAL OF THE WORDJOCKEY’S BLOG. NO OTHER MEDIA HAS PERMISSION TO USE ANY CONTENT – WHETHER AS  WHOLE OR IN PARTS OR EXCERPTS – FROM THIS POST)

contd from http://thewordjockey.blogspot.com/2009/10/glad-but-no-rags-1.html

So while we settled in there, watching the bevy of beauties we realised that Gladrags Mrs India was suddenly now a Reality TV Show. And we had these TV guys  spanning us from a surprise angle, evesdropping or catching us unawares while he chitchat. This little spunky lady from the channel requested a few of us to step aside, and got us to stand in a semi circle. We were asked to pose while the camera guy spanned us from top to toe. Didn’t someone tell these guys that we are not models? So while our sunglasses and my nailart was being captured, this clod asked us some questions about sindoor and mangalsutra. How stereotypical. How about our jobs and achievements for a change? So after all that drama, we were briefed about what’s going to happen. Of the 200plus contestants, about 90 would make it to the next round that day. And from those 90 about a dozen or so would be the final contestants. And the interesting bit – those 12 contestants would be decorated in a house  a la Big Boss for 30 days and their training covered over that time.

We loaded some glasses of juice which a brand had placed dispensers of. The afternoon sun made it uncomfortable, as we waited endlessly for something to happen, out in the lawns. But the tree shaded us, and thank God for the food we had carried, we chatted the afternoon away.

Finally we were called in badges to settle in the comforts of air conditioning and made to wait more. The Gladrags Magazine was tucked on the chairs and we were tucked on the chairs. The organiser told us to maintain pin drop silence. That reminded me of my school days. My Maths teacher was quite strict herself and came rushing in to quiet the class so many times. I felt nostalgic. Hmmm. And then some of us were called by numbers to finally meet the Missus Wadia .

Contd….

28 Oct 09: It was the second round of Gladrags Mrs India today. During the first round, we had made friends with each other. Discovering new people, new personalities, new women. And it was amazing to see the variety of married women that exist and have the spunk to participate in a sort of a pageant at the age of 45 and 50! Women who looked like girls, with svelte bodies, pretty faces and an astonishing dressing style. Not all were from the glam industry mind you.

I liked what Mrs Maureen Wadia had mentioned in the first screening ‘ We don’t want models, we make models’ she had emphasized. And most were relieved, because most were simple, normal women coming from a usual background.And we had all got a hug from her as well.

Today we were called in at about 10am. Just a few days en avance we got that letter, which is going in my scrap book by the way :), asking us to be present at the venue – Gladrags Modelling Academy in mumbai. I picked up my Gladrags friend, Rupa ( Rupa Gladrags is how I have saved her name) and we made way to the venue. Rupa is a tall, a very tall girl. I say ‘girl’ though she has a 14 year old son and a very young daughter. He husband looks middle age, but she could get married again if she didn’t tell anyone her age.

Thankfully we reached the venue sooner than expected. Khushboo (Khushboo Gladrags) met us there, and we exchanged warm hugs. I told her i would change her name to Lara. That’s because she looks so much like Lara Dutta. A shorter version.

We registered at the registration counter –hell no my name was missing from the list! and they were frenzied. They took some ten minutes to figure it out and i finally got my contestant number – 241.

So in we went, with our bags stacked with some food, water, extra clothes et al. A lot of participants were already settled in the lawn where the brown plastic tables and chairs were spread in round table seating. We too settled at a table, and looked around. There was quite some branding around – a newspaper daily, some fmcg- surprising no beauty brands – et al. There was a lot of hustle bustle, beautiful women dressed in the most stylish outfits, were seated in groups engrossed in excited chatter. Hep hairstyles, Hep accessories embellished the suave bodies. From Mumbai to Assam to Bangalore – a lot of married aspiring Mrs India had gathered in there.

So we started our banter. And then we realised what’s happening………..

contd in next post….http://thewordjockey.blogspot.com/2009/11/mrs-india-is-not-wife-of-mr-india.html

One of the better, based-on-true-story and based-on-novel films today. Truly an adorable watch.

THE PLOT INGREDIENTS:

1947 France: Julia Child, an erstwhile Govt employee has been transferred to Paris with her husband who works for the White House. 40 plus, childless and jobless she In a quandary what to do with her life. Her husband then suggests she take to learning cooking as she is so fond of food. And so she joins a French cooking class and masters the Art of cooking. She meets a few writers who invite her to team up with her and write a cookbook. Though the publishers like her work, it gets rejected on common ground, and she rewrites the book positioning it as the book for servantless American Women. A French Cookbook written in English. Finally she finds a publisher and her book is out after years of painstaking effort.

2002, New York: Julie Powell, a 30 year old happily married woman needs a vent for  the emotional atyachaar on her job. Her husband suggests that she write since she loves writing. But she doesn’t know what to write about. So he suggests she blog about cooking as she is fond of it. And she is excited. She chances upon the masterpiece book written by Julia Child. And she sets that as her mission for the next 1 year – a deadline for herself – 365 days, 524 recipes in her tiny kitchen. She sets out trying a new recipe everyday from the book, precisely following the instructions, cooking beautifully and in the process bloating up. The following mornings, she blogs about it. Initially she gets a lukewarm response, but gradually the readership picks up ( I am jealous :) ) and her blog climbs upto being the 3rd most popular blog. halfway into the year she has transformed into a Master Chef herself, and in her quest to idolize Julie Child, she finds herself trying to be more and more like her. As the blog gains popularity, and she achieves her 365 day target, newspapers want to talk about her and want her to write books. And she achieves her dream- that of being a Writer. But not without her share of downs.

THE RECIPE

So those were the plotpoints, which like chocolate and milk were blended beautifully for a delicious story. Each story runs parallel, carefully outlining both the characters of Julie and Julia distinct yet blurring sometimes – both have lovable husbands, both are food aficionados, both needed something to do to make life interesting. Peppered with specks of humour and several interesting incidents, the film has been prepared like a French dish – very calculated and not to miss. Meryl Streep, as usual, is phenomenal as this bubbly happy go lucky Julia Child – with her deep throated accent and childlike antics, she is adorable as ever. Julie’s character itself is so associative – and real.  The beauty of the film is the screenplay, the way the 2 stories have been intertwined without confusing the viewer. A simple, linear yet gripping narrative, some commendable acting and moreover a lighthearted tone to the entire film makes it a definite one-time watch. 4 on 5 for Julie/Julia. And more so, you could view Julie’s Celebrated Blog on http://blogs.salon.com/0001399/2002/08/25.html. And more on the film : http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/julieandjulia/site/#/Photos

Bon Appetit!!

Technorati Tags: Julie & Julia,Amy Andy,Meryl Streep,French cooking,Book,Writer,Film Reviews,Nora Ephron,French Cookbook,Blogger,Cooking Blog,Movie Review

Last night I was watching an ‘exclusive’ interview of some Hindi National New Channel with the Goon of Mumbai. And I was appalled to notice how much anger and hatred this man is possessed by. He says he is angry because people are settling in Mumbai and not ‘adopting’ the culture here.. If you, sir, represent the culture of Mumbai, we had rather die than adopt it.  In his fight to force people to adopt the local culture, he has forgotten his own culture. Or rather is bereft of any culture at all. Marathis were valiant fighters for justice. Not coward goondas fighting for selfish cause. Who is going to define the culture of this city? What is the culture of Mumbai? It is not a Maharashtrian city, it is a Gujarati, Parsi, Marathi, Punjabi, South Indian, Sindhi city. People of all states make Mumbai – not just Maharashtrians. If you think we are outsiders, please remember that the economy of this city and country is running on all four wheels, not a steamless railway engine.

So, while the Journalist spoke in Rashtrabhasha, our culture courier boy responded in Maharashtrabhasha. He is born and raised in Hindustan – I question his patriotism and love for his culture. His anger blinds him, the tongue leaks of hatred. Hate only attracts hatred and negative karma. And he will soon see the after-effects of the bad he has created.

People come in this city to earn a living.  They don’t have the time to make two ends meet and this man sulks like an effeminate Hitler that they can’t speak Marathi. Maybe he can spare the funds and open schools for us. Culture schools. People who don’t have time to sometimes see their own children, to rest and sleep, even eat – he expects them to speak, sing and dance in Marathi.

Sitting in his garrisoned ivory towers and talking pat in your  favourite language is as easy as eating cake. Step out for a walk sometime. Lay a hand on a beggar or someone who has lost a loved one. Shelter the homeless and feed the hungry. THAT’s what our culture teaches us Sir, and your doesn’t.