Just received a txt from my sister who is in India at the moment- I miss it so much.

You read the thrill of it all in 'Shantaram', the heartaches in 'God of Small Things', the wit in 'White Tiger'... all of which are essential backpacking reading materials. Any pale skinned foreigner on a sleeper class train, whether to Ahmedebad on the Gujurat Express or all the way south to Kochin, would be engrossed in one of these Booker Prize winning novels. Afterall, it is about India. But all of this wonderful literature doesn't half prepare you for the gratuitous businessman, greed-ridden half cousin, the nurturing mother, the smiling babas, the bad-mouth rickshaw drivers, the dirt covered slum dwellers and the middle-class children in their pretty frocks that live in the vast country of India.

It's a delisciously potent cocktail of chaos and order, a living, breathing monster with the biggest of hearts. No matter how much of the wallahs and vendors are about business, they never fails to be human- to totally excite, disappoint, amuse, frustrate and ultimately welcome you with open arms in every sense. The stench, you get used to; the filth, you'll wash off but the heart beats in time with the pace of your walk, the wonder in your eyes and the chai-wallahs rhythmic chant. The people make the country and the country holds all its secrets and intrigues, and these make up its history.

Small Pleasures

Having MY side of the bed.

Seeing a vintage Shelby drive past.

Losing an argument to a worthy opponent.

Writing, scribbling, doodling.

Letting the wind dry my hair.

Falling in love in an instance.

Laughing so hard that I snort.

Washing up.

Amalgamating 2 juxtaposing words and making up my very own vocab, 'troublem', 'belecgonise' and 'houdinius'.

Finding my emergency cigarette, proving that I have good cigarette karma.

Walking on crumbly russly fallen leaves.

The sound of raindrops hitting my umbrella.

Waking up at 4 in the morning, sometimes the silence is wasted.

Having the window wide open so I curl up into a ball under my duvet.

Turning round to the phantom smell of loved and lost ones.

Slumdog Millionaire

I went to see the film (as with the rest of the world) as soon as it came out in cinemas, partly because I wanted to see what the fuss was about, but mostly because I was hoping to extend my own Bombay Dreams having just returned from India when 'Slumdog' hit the UK screens. Yes yes ok, it's won the oscars. Personally I thought it was a very good film but perhaps not Best Picture material, more derserving winner would have been Wall-E or Dark Knight which weren't even nominated.

Reason why I am talking about slumdog now, post-oscar, is actually a follow on from a conversation I had with my friend Pontus. Now I'd like to point out that this mate of mine is not shy to voice his opinion (bravo to that) and we locked in a discussion over monetary merits for an actors work, namely whether royalty should be paid out for the reusing of an artists' image after the work's been done. Put this in context with massive piracy downloads and shifting use of media, Pontus felt that he didn't need to give them anymore when it is much more beneficial for the artitst to been seen then to be paid. Granted I understand that if this was actually controlled or monitored in anyway by the film industry big cheese, their own profit-margin would shrink. I have a slight tic with piracy (partly because I don't like the cultural association with pirate DVDs) but more often it is about my work earning me a living. I was recently involved in a feature film, my image was never used but I got paid for the shoot anyway, but if my image was used royalties would have been part of my earnings... and if Pontus decided not watch that particular film in cinema but downloaded off piratebay, I may have lost out on a cut of my earnings. (And let me tell you, they don't call us starving artistes for nothing). Various analogies were made to gigging bands but over a few glasses of wine we came to an agreement that it is the 'business model' that needs changing, i.e. the Buyout of my image should be a lot higher and he will still pay to come and see me in a play.

The 'Slumdog' debate I'd like to encourage is the one about the young 'Salim' and young 'Latika' in the film were paid a certain amount of money for the 30 days shoot of their scenes. These two young actors absolutely shone in that film. They continue to live in the slums... now do you think that their work has been paid for even though people across the globe have seen their brilliant performances? If they are reaping the rewards AFTER the work's been done...

Pontus over to you.

Hotpot Politics

A few years ago, Edmond Leung and Miriam Yeung did a mini Pop-opera called 'Leave'. Another version of it has surfaced. I believe Jan Lamb and Miriam Yeung did this version @ a concert but not entirely which inspired which.

That aside I am now sharing a very socially apt satire about the 'Hotpot Politics', just as there would be 'Dim Sum Politics'. If you are Chinese, you will understand the set of rules and manouvers that happens at meal times, there is definitely a hierachy. Apologies to anyone who don't speak the language, don't know who the fore-mentioned personalities are or the original song, and if I were to explain to you the rules of 'Hotpot' I'd have to do it with a real time demonstration. But this is a brilliant piece of social commentary:



From an artistic point of view, the characteristaions of the pandas were so detailed, it is something I admire in any performance.

An old blogger resurfaces

A few years back I used to blog. It was quite a personal and emotional blog that I now reflect on it as my 'Heat' Magazine period where I flaunted every bit of me rather uneditedly to the whole of the cyber world. All my hurt and my pains poured out quite adolescently.... a bit too Tracy Emin.

This one will take on a much more mature tone but with the same passion.