But scary things have happened and I AM SCARED. I hope things go well this time and I actually get to hold him/her in my arms. According to the online Chinese gender predictor, it’s a she but who knows. Someone said to me a few days ago, “Can you believe it is March already! and I was thinking, Oh my God, it’s only March. Could the time move any slower? Maybe it is the bed rest or just pregnancy blues but I am ACTUALLY aware of each and every passing moment. I am thankful for these moments too (nothing scary happened in the last 5 minutes) but just impatient all the same.Wishing for July to come extra quickly this year.

In the meanwhile, like all pregnant women, my life has been made hell by some know-it-all people. I have made a list of things that people have said to me these past 5 months and which I absolutely HATE. I am vowing today that I’ll NEVER say these to any one, no matter what situation in life they are in.

1) Don’t get your hopes too high. (well, sometimes hope is the ONLY thing).

2) You HAVEN’T felt the baby move yet?

3) Why are you so emotional?

4) I think your baby is weak.

5) You’ll not feel better till the end of the 6th month.

6) Don’t look at baby stuff until you know the pregnancy is viable.

I mean what kind of mean people are they. Oh I know they have convinced themselves that they are saying these things to be supportive and knowledgeable. But you know what, I think I am ok without their wisdom.

These aunties make it the mission of their lives to discuss you, your family, your dead aunt’s son-in- law and anyone under the sun remotely related to you. These aunties have a few out standing characteristics such as; most of the them are F.A or B.A pass,  the kind who read the “Khawateen Digest” or “Roohani Digest”. Most of them belong to the middle class with nothing to their name but one or two sons of marriageable age. To them, the most eligible bachelors in the world. For these sons they want the most beautiful, most educated (a doctor would be perfect), and especially belonging to the richest family that would deign to give their daughter to them.

If you are none of these things but by a sheer twist of fate are married to one of the sons, like I am, you would see the “concern”come out in a few months time after you get married. If you happen to be childless and fat, as I am, increase the level of evil two thousand percent. Nothing, absolutely nothing is spared. No discussion, however intimate or personal is off-limits. There is a new trend in the bahu-bashing career: the chief mom-in-law would never question the culprit in person (yours truly) herself. No, no, no that simply won’t do. She will have her cronies (read: dragons) waiting to do the job for her. This technique has been acquired from  the Indian soaps that they watch and discuss religiously.

After questioning everything that you do from sun up to sun down (what did you eat, meet, cook, clean etc), and generally blaming you for all the things that are going wrong in their precious son’s life, they will start crying and sit on the prayer mat. They will pretend to give you duas and say that they only want what’s best for their family. If it has already been four or five years since you got married then possibly the list of bahu number 2 is already compiled in their minds.

Then comes the “pir” phase. One of the over weight cronies usually has a pir, an Allah wala or wali or a pious “baji” just waiting to bestow their dua on you and make you miraculously fertile. I mean who cares about medical science, hormone therapy or IVF, “baji” hain na! Please take my advice and if they ask you to go to a pir, say yes. If you say no, or dare to tell her and her cronies that these people are crooks (as I did), you will be considered a kafir immediately. Do you really want to add problems to your already miserable existence? Chances are you don’t. So please say yes and go. If you get pregnant (because it was the time for you) then the miraculous pirs substantial powers will be affirmed. If you don’t get pregnant, well, you are kafir, can kafirs expect miracles?

Meanwhile, just to spite you (or it would seem like that to you), the jethanis, devranis, nands and all the girls in the “caloony” will keep on pushing one brat after the other into the world. Their precious darlings would be paraded in front of you, their pregnancies discussed and carefully examined. All of this would be done solely for your benefit. But please beware, you are not supposed to be happy for other people, you are supposed to start crying and bawling and blaming yourself for your barrenness. The aunties and their bahus and daughters will secretly agree with you, but say a few nice words anyways and that should shut you up.

Your infertility will be discussed with the driver, the office peon, the bank clerk, the masi, and the milk wala and of course all kinds of advice will be made available. I have been told to chew bitter kalonji seeds, put herbs inside my body and yes, eat pigeon shit. I have been told to make the pilgrimage to Mecca to ask forgiveness for my sins. What sins you ask? Don’t start on those as the list is never-ending and it starts with the fact that you got married to the most eligible bachelor.

So what can you do? Well do what I am doing, sitting in my OB/ GYN’s office on this cloudy, grey morning, waiting for another scan and perhaps a miracle.

Patricia Clarkson’s charcter comes across as strangley lazy even though I am sure the writer and director didn’t want that. The romance of the east is in full swing. The heat, humidity, dirt, beauty and cat calls from men really amuse her. She enjoys the company of her husband’s colleague but that’s about it. The whole time I was waiting for something to happen. Anything would have been welcome: a terrorist attack, a one night stand with the handsome Egyptian, a rail accident, an abduction or two but nothing happened. I heard someone use the term “supressed romance” for this movie. I think supressed romance was “Bridges of Madison County” not this movie.

So go if you want to waste $ 12 or you have nothing better to do. Let yourself be charmed by the magic of (middle) east!

Tracking the life of a young, impoverished Indian boy through the perils of childhood lived dangerously, Slumdog offers the rest of the world a rare look into the reality of the life in the Indian sub-continent.Some people may find the reality too harsh to bear but for people like me who come from that part of the world, there is no surprise.

A.R. Rehman music is catchy and fits the bill perfectly. The actors have done their job superbly. I think this movie will win the Oscar for Best Film.

Just when I think that I have read all the books there are on immigrant settlement, I hear about something new. Brick Lane was written in 2003 and was short listed for the Man Booker prize but such was the state of ignorance of yours truly that I never heard anything about it until a few weeks ago. Apparently there is a movie on it as well but that’s fodder for the movie review section. Let’s talk about the book first.

The book starts rather slowly and predictably. Scenes of rural Bangladesh and the story of the survival of a new born without medical aid. Her mother rejects medical care for the baby even though she almost dies at birth and refuses to drink milk. ‘Fate’, her mother says, “we must not stand in the way of Fate. Whatever happens, I accept it. And my child must not waste any energy fighting against Fate. That way, she will be stronger.” Nazneen, the little baby girl, survives and her mother’s logic becomes her own. She grows up quiet and complacent, never questions her father’s decision to marry her off to a much older man living in London who looks like a “frog”.

The next chapter shows her living in London in the Brick Lane area (a tenement, mostly populated by poor Bengali immigrants). Her husband, by far the most interesting character of the novel, thinks of himself as an intellectual but wanted a ‘simple’ wife for himself so that she could benefit fully from his superior knowledge and one who would never question the various inadequacies of his own. He has a typical love/ hate relationship with the country that he has chosen to immigrate to.  As the novel progresses, the bragging changes to chagrin and finally to claims of racism and the white man against the black man. His various projects that lay incomplete all over Nazneen’s apartment are a representation of his cluttered ideas which can never take a proper shape.

Nazneen never feels at home in Chandu’s house. Her mind is with her sister and her heart is with her lover.

In the back drop of rising Islamic fundamentalism, the feeling of complete social isolation and loneliness of the immigrant experience, the novel is a must-read.

To give credit to the director and producer, they couldn’t have found a more beautiful place to shoot the movie. Miami and its lush surroundings, beautiful apartments with swimming pools and state of the art decor, you could see that budget was not a problem. The problem my friends, was the story. Two wannabes (Abhishek Bachan and John Abraham) and one sultry babe ( Priyanka Chopra) battling out the tough little problems in their small little world. First of all, Indian movie makers should stop feeding the minds of our subcontinental men with the feeling that once they some how get away from their parents and the motherland, manage to get a Visa and build some body, gori memsahibs are just dying to sleep with them. Read my lips brothers: “THAT AIN’T HAPPENING”. Second of all, no one, ABSOLUTELY no one is so crazy about an apartment that they are willing to call themselves gay if they are not (and the other way round). Thirdly, I am sure gay people have their own standards when they want to hook up with someone, instead of the crazy, over the top, sex starved gay men shown in the movie (immigration officer and Priyanka’s Boss).

I am always amazed at how Bobby Deol manages to look so silly no matter what he does. Blessed neither with his dad’s killer looks nor his brother’s charisma, he comes across as a time filler and nothing else. As if the director wanted to stretch the movie and couldn’t think of anything else.By the way, the songs were put in for the same purpose.

So watch the movie if:

1) you wanna drool over John Abraham and Abhishek Bacahan (before they open their mouth to speak any dialogues).

2)You wanna watch Priyanka Chopra because, well, there is no other choice.

3) If you are checking out real estate in Miami.

All in all, done in bad taste.