The Sesquicentennial Year

Monday, 9th May 2011 was Kobiguru's 150th birth anniversary. The spirit of the Bard of Bengal is well and truly alive and as each day goes by, it is obvious that Tagore isn't going anywhere. The man, his words, his works, his art, his vision have all become intrinsically linked to the collective consciousness of the Bengali psyche. It is almost as if he has been encoded into our DNA. This past one year has been a celebration to his life and work and the year ahead promises to be the same...not that that's surprising really, considering that Tagore's masterpieces are performed every year regardless. But so much creativity has been flowing in recent times and all sparked off by Tagorean thought, values and oeuvres. He and his works have been performed, celebrated, reinvented, recreated, reexamined, dissected, discussed, dissed even, under a microscope and from every angle possible. Many have been trying to portray his works in a new light, look for a new spark, present another viewpoint, 'contemporarise' him too -- the last one being quite redundant really, as his vision was far ahead of his times and he is still very relevant today.

The YO's school had a special homage to Tagore for their annual day concert, the theme of which was 'The World of Books" and my little boy, (apart from being one of the dwarves of the Snow White skit) was also part of the tableau that offered their respects to India's first Nobel Laureate. And on Monday, some of the students of EO's school were chosen to present a few items that they had been rehearsing for ever since school re-opened. Not just that, but the piece that the EO was a part of, had to perform again that evening for a special programme being organised and presented by the school alumni.

I am but one of millions of his devotees (I don't use the word lightly) and it heartens me to know that the future of Rabindrasangeet and Rabindra sahitya is bright and beautiful.

He Kobiguru, tomaare jaanai, koti koti pronaam.

All For the Flag

This morning, I witnessed something beautiful. It was a moment from last night's Brazil vs. Korea FIFA 2010 match. The MIM told me about it and I immediately youtubed it.

I watched dewy-eyed as Korean striker, Jong Tae-se fought and failed to hold back his tears at the start of the match when the band played the Korean national anthem. I don't think anyone who saw that could possibly remain unmoved.

His emotional downpour during the anthem immediately became one of my favourite moments of FIFA 2010. I don't know if anything will be able to top that...

Yes, yes...I am woman, hear me roar, see me weep...

But all said and done, it was a heart-touching moment on so many levels. To see such raw emotion on display, and from someone who is 'supposed to be' all alpha-male, is always a powerful yet humbling experience. Not to mention over-whelming. This man must have dreamt about this moment ever since he was in school playing in the dusty fields with his friends. He must have skinned his knees a gazillion times, maybe even broken his nose and a few bones some countless times. Dirty shirts and socks that made his mom scream in frustration; inter-school and local club tournaments where he may have sometimes soared and triumphed or tripped and crashed; kicking that ball an inch closer to his dream with every match.

And then, on June 15th, 2010, there he was. Right in the middle of his dream. Except, it was all true. It was a reality. We were in the midst of that dream coming true for him and to see him embrace it in the way he did, was almost to be a part of it; on the fringes in a voyeuristic way perhaps, but part of it we were, helplessly entwined.

The other thing that always gets me choked up is seeing such an overt display of national pride. It's no secret that I love my India, even though on paper I do not belong to Her. But I am a part of Her. And She is a huge part of me.

That's why, when anyone shows Her or Her symbols, raiment and accessories the slightest bit of disrespect, my blood begins to boil.

Like to the National Anthem, for example.

I have to say, right at the beginning, that I don't approve of the national anthem being played in theatres. It's a beautiful song and the piece that is played is inspired. But the theatre is not the place for it. I must say I appreciate the thought that went behind it, but I still feel that the cinema hall is an inappropriate place to stir up nationalistic pride. You have people trying to shush crying babies and excited kids, juggling trays of ice-laden cold drinks, hot coffee and tubs overflowing with popcorn. You can forgive them for being distracted, but the anthem is the anthem. And to be honest, once the first bars of the anthem start, these tired and stressed out parents will grab their kids, stand where they are, clutch onto dangerously wobbly and over-loaded trays and desperately wish for the next few minutes to speed on by. But they show respect. What is going on in their minds is a different conversation altogether.

But it gets distressing and upsetting to pick out a verbal duel with the set of nonchalant 'cool' dudes who sit there smirking away, munching their popcorn while others stand around them and sing.

I've always tried to remain true to my beliefs. Hypocrisy turns me off. So I've taught the EO all about respecting the national anthem; not just his own, but any and every, single one in this world. It's about respect. It's about peace and brotherhood. It's about what's right.

Before going to Singapore for our holiday, I took the boys to see "Shrek 4." There were four people sitting down when the anthem started playing, a scruffy, unwashed, hippie, blond, back-packing couple and a pair whose facial features led me to believe that they belonged to the North East.

My six-year-old son, having learnt to respect the National Anthem and Flag without question; having picked up the Sense-of-Outrage gene from me; and even before I could deliver my looks to kill and swoop down on the unworthies, started to head towards the sitters saying "Excuse me!"

I grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt collar and he turned to look at me, bewilderment and confusion writ large in his eyes, "But Mamma, they're sitting for the nashnul anthum!" I reassured him that I was going to tell them, he was just a little boy after all and they probably would not appreciate it.

I first turned to the foreigners. "Excuse me", I said coldly, "but would you mind standing please? This is our national anthem playing." They looked at me, took two seconds to decide whether to stand or not, and finally did.

I next turned my attention to the pair from the Seven Sisters (I dislike the term 'chinks'). I looked at them and said, puzzled, "Excuse me?" And they looked back at me. I said, "It's the national anthem." The look they gave me was a challenging one that said, "So?" And I said, exasperatedly, "So please stand." They had these wry smiles on their faces that were hard to define. I almost thought that maybe they weren't going to stand after all, but a few seconds, they did.

I went back to join my sons and my mother. I sang along loudly but my mind was swirling with uneasy thoughts. The blond guy looked back at me a couple of times and I was rather perplexed with their attitude. I would totally stand for their country's anthem, why couldn't they stand for ours? And didn't they get a clue that a country's national anthem was playing when the notice flashed in huge letters across the screen and everyone around them stood up?

And as for my North-East sisters, maybe they were making a political statement. Did I goad them into doing something that they did not believe in?

That day I was really confused by my actions.

But in my son's eyes, I had done the right thing. I walked the talk.

And I had also preserved the honour and integrity of my country's anthem.

Or had I?

I had tears in my eyes that day as I stood up singing our country's anthem in a darkened theatre hall.

But they were not of the same weight and value as Jong Tae-se's.

My Vision of India

Ten years down the line, India will be a country boasting 1, 533 states, with the demand for 453 more on the table. Yes, just a mere one decade later.

To the supporters of the Telengana movement...congratulations. You should be ashamed of yourselves!

Are You Frikkin' Kidding Me?!?!?!?!?!

WARNING: The following post is about something I read in the papers today that left me sick and shaking with rage for almost the whole day. It may do the same to you. So why am I writing about it? Because we all have children whom we love and would do anything to protect. Because I think that we have a responsibility to each other and we need to let each other know what kind of sick crap there is out there, ready to corrupt our angels, our innocents.

I read with absolute HORROR, in fact 'horror' doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling, about this video game created in Japan called RapeLay...a 3D 'rape simulator' video game where one gets to pretend to be a sexual predator and test out his 'raping skills' on a mom and her two teenage daughters!!!!!!


It has been banned in Japan...thankfully! It has, unfortunately, found its way into India.


One more reason why I will NOT be apologetic about monitoring all my sons' activities as they grow up. And I don't need any bull-crap statements about violating my children's privacy and if I have faith in the way I've brought them up, then I shouldn't worry about them getting into bad company or doing bad things.


The thing is, I do have faith in the way the MIM and I are bringing up our boys. I do believe in, strongly, the morals and values that we are trying to impart to them with every constant moment of living. But what freaks the shittin' daylights out of me is that the world is full of bad people, freaks, paedophiles and wackos who think it's okay to create a video game where you can rape a woman and her daughters repeatedly until you break them to the point where they are willing to become your sex slaves.

The world is full of predators of various kinds who are ready to kill our children's innocence, corrupt them any chance they get. It is our responsibility, duty and right to protect our children any way we deem fit.

What a shitty world.

God. I am so scared.

Goodbye to an Era of Grace and Beauty...

In a terribly short span of two days, India lost two of her most beautiful jewels, Leela Naidu and Rajmata Gayatri Devi.

I have never loved the stick-insect concept of beauty. Sour grapes? I think not. To me beauty was all about charm, elegance and a sense of timelessness. Both of these ladies epitomised my ideal concept of beauty to more than its fullest.

They were both featured in Vogue's Top Ten Beauties of the World list, putting India very much on the beauty map. Remember, this was decades before Vogue came to India, so in a way, it was the world celebrating our style icons, our visions of grace, poise and DDG looks. It was a toast to what India's modern-day treasures and an affirmation that we were not just about the exotic, like nautch girls, temple dancers and Khajuraho muses.

Rajmata Gayatri Devi is my own, personal hero. Leaving her beauty aside, I was always in awe of her grace and dignity. I wanted to be 'her' when I grew up.

I still do.

What a fascinating life she had! And I'm not just talking about living the charmed life full of royal parties and education in the best schools abroad. She was grace and graciousness personified. Her politics were gentle yet passionate. The dignity with which she conducted herself during her incarceration during Indira Gandhi's infamous State of Emergency, could only have come from a latent strength and self-belief housed within.

Rest in peace, Leela Naidu.
Rest in peace, Rajmata.

An era of grace and beauty has come to an end with your passing.

Moonwalking on the Moon

I woke up this morning to the shattering news that MJ is no more.

He was a huge part of many a happy memory revolving around radio, MTV and school parties. His death has cast a dark, grey shadow over a part of my childhood memories.

A musical icon, and yes Wacko Jacko too, but first and foremost a 'Thriller' beyond compare.

Shake it MJ, in the clouds, on the moon, wherever you are, just shake it. And we'll keep your music alive.

Thriller
Beat It
Heal the World
Black or White
Billie Jean
You Are Not Alone

...for all this and more, thank you for the music.

ROTFLMAO!!!!

Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!! In screechy Janice-in-labour type nasal tones at that!!

I've just acquainted myself with the 16 men vying to be Mr. Rakhi Sawant and I must confess my funny-bone hasn't had a laugh like this in years!

These said worthies have hippy-hippy-shaked themselves from all over; from Jammu & Kashmir and even all the way from Canada. The age range is an incredible just-weaned-off-my-mummy's-breast 21 years-old to mature-enough-to-not-need-mummy's-permission 33 years-old.

And you won't believe what some of them have had to say!!!!

Ashwin Chaudhuri admits his mom isn't actually dancing with joy at the prospect of having a DIL who dances in skimpy clothes. So our dear little Ashwin says, "I wouldn't allow Rakhi to do item numbers in future, as this would affect the reputation of my family." Erm, Rakhi, did you screen these? Or is his promise to keep you forever happy good enough for you to overlook that exceedingly MCP statement?

And then we have dear little Raman Handa, a Vaastu consultant and astrologer. He believes that "she is only one who can bring about a revolution in this world." Sorry! I think I just snorted my dinner out through my nose!! I wonder if this is what Mr. Handa's stars have revealed to him?!? If so, then he must come from a galaxy far, far away!!

Don't judge me you guys, but if this is anything to go by, I think I'm going to give this show a try!

Pretty in Pink...Undies!

Pink chaddis. They can be very feminine. In a totally sex kitten kind of a way. Or in an innocent, baby-doll kind of a way. They can tell us what kind of a mood you're in too...sexy, naughty, raunchy, caught up with domesticity, blah, experimental, trendy...and rebellious.

Today, thanks to the initiative of some very cool, creative and outraged women, the pink chaddi has taken on new meaning. It has come to symbolise women asserting their individual right to freedom as citizens of this country. It is a symbol of our rage, our disgust. It is our voice, dressed up in a pretty colour and stitched into an intimate garment that expresses us in a unique and sit-up-and-take-note-you-bastards! kind of manner.

Join the Pink Chaddi Campaign. Today.

We are not airing our dirty underwear in public. We are hurtling our strong, worthy statements at those who are trying to carry out the equivalent of castration on the 'weaker' sex!

Take that, you neanderthal! And that, and that....

Fellow sisters in thongs, granny-pants and and other assortments of lingerie...
Bohemian Rhapsody
The Mad Momma
Anindita Sengupta
Within/Without
Indian Home Maker

Another Shit Stain on the Government's Cap

Looks like the government is going all out to disappoint us in one way or another this new year. Not just the government at the helm of affairs in Delhi, but all the various state governments as well. I'm not going to draw up a list now, it will go on endlessly, but you all know what the major goof-ups have been so far.

Another one has been brought to my attention by Pseudo Intellectual. This brilliantly written post of hers had me shaking my head in shame, shaking with anger and sputtering in outrage. But am I really surprised anymore?

The link is my post for the day, because I think more people should know. Head on over. Read. And be ashamed.

And Mary Kom. I am so, SO sorry. You deserved much, MUCH, so very much more.

(Sigh. At this rate I'll never get started on those Andaman posts!!)

Someone Please Shut the Dutt Up Already!

No. This is not about Mr. and Mrs. Sanjay Dutt. That their views are disgusting, has been established for all the world to see, read and hear. If they want to keep making statements that are appropriate for the caveman era, they are welcome to. We will not buy into it. Goofy Mumma is doing a superb job to spread the word.

The Dutt in question here happens to be a very 'respected' journalist. Someone young girls looked up to as a role model. Someone whom I admired very greatly.

But not anymore.

It's so sad when an idol/icon/role model turns out to have feet of muck and heart of stinky poop. You feel a deep sense of betrayal and of being let down. Et tu, Barkha?

I'm not going to dwell on this too long, because so many bloggers have already done it and so much better than me. Read this post of the Mad Momma's where she has already done all the linking up of other bloggers who have shared their very worthy and intelligent points of view.

This is what I have to say to her...
(as you read the following, you will come across:-
* --> this term I picked up from a link on Bohemian Rhapsody's blog,
** --> and this term was first used by the Mad Momma in her post)

Ms. Dutt,

Shame on you. There is no doubt in my mind that that little reproach of mine will have zero effect on you. I do not expect you to blush, bite your lower lip and hang your head like a chastised child. For I now know that you are incapable of feeling anything that requires you to possess a modicum of decency, a smidgen of a conscience, a smattering of integrity.

This kind of behaviour that you have shown, in shutting up a man's voice and right to express his opinion has left us all horror struck and speechless! But that's what you want, isn't it? To rob us of our speech?

This blatant (mis)use of power of position and status we have come to expect of many of our politicians, for they have let us down time and again. But you? The champion of the down-trodden? The voice of the voiceless? The one who puts a face to all the untold misery and suffering happening in places beyond our reach and serves it to us for tea with a slice of sponge cake and chocolate chip cookies. You?

You have resorted to big, mean bully tactics and quashed a man's RIGHT TO FREEDOM OF SPEECH? His freedom of expression?!? The very right which is the basis of YOUR profession!! A right which you live by; swear by; earn your bread, butter and pate from -- you decide to take THAT very right away from a man who was just expressing his opinions?

The bitter irony of it all is just so gut-wrenchingly hilarious that it is beyond all shade of sarcasm. It is painful and it is pathetic.

That you do not have a high regard for bloggers is a fact that you have never bothered to hide. You do not consider us relevant or legitimate. To you, our writings are random jottings of bored, idle minds with no literary value, political depth of heavy weight. I am not going to trouble myself in defending this wonderful community of free thinking, intelligent and intellectual spirits, but I can't help but wonder what kind of blogs you've been hopping through. If we are so insignificant to you, so 'random',* then why come down on just one 'random bloke' * who was expressing a not-at-all unique opinion? There are many, and I do mean huge numbers of many, who thought that your coverage of the Bombay blasts and the subsequent rescue operations was less than bad.

But dismiss us as much as you'd like, Ms. Dutt, you can not shut us up. We, the bloggers,** will not fade into the dark recesses of internet oblivion. We will not go down without a fight. We will not shut down our comps and stop these fingers from typing. So take that in your mike and shove it!

Are you thinking of joining politics now? Cause I think you'll fit in quite nicely. And if this country needs another Emergency, well then, yo've already had some practice by now, haven't you?!

Shame on you. Shame, shame, SHAME! You give journalists a bad, BAD name.

Signed,

An outraged blogger,
Mamma Mia! Me a Mamma?!?

(This fabulous logo has been designed by the immensely talented MayG.)

There's a Kind of Hush...

Barack H. Obama has just been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States of America.

And what a speech he gave. Granted, I had a bit of a problem with one or two things he said, but to my own self I say this right now, "Poof! Piddle-paddle and droplets of dew in the tropical rain forests of the world!"

On the whole, I am feeling a weird and euphoric sense of hope swelling within me, threatening to burst. I wonder where this mighty sense of hope springs from?

From the fact that he is the first man of colour to be sworn into one of the most coveted posts of the world?
From the fact that I am now old enough and wise enough (hopefully) to understand the significance of his this historic change?
From the fact that in the desolate sea the world is swimming in, I need to believe and fervently hold onto the fact that now that we have hit rock-bottom, the only way we can go, is up?
From the fact that while we make a mockery of our democracy, abusing the powers that we as a people have been entrusted with, there are countries in this world that cherish the ideals of that very same principle?

Whatever be the reason, I do know that I am very hopeful. And I pray that these hopes are not buried in the graveyard of broken dreams and false promises.

Someone Stop the Man, Already!

Sanjay Dutt wants to be a minister? He wants people to vote for him?

The same Sanjay Dutt who abandoned his first wife as she battled and lost her life to cancer? The same Sanjay Dutt who left his daughter behind to watch her mother succumb to the dreaded disease? The same Sanjay Dutt who couldn't practise or even believe in the concept of monogamy...from a jail cell??!!?? The same Sanjay Dutt who was convicted of a crime AGAINST the nation? The same Sanjay Dutt who's turned his back now on two very loving sisters who were in it through thick and thin with him?

That Sanjay Dutt? A minister?

Hell no!! HEEELLLLL NOOOOOO!!

I am sputtering and stuttering with outrage. Read the coherent and well-written thoughts of this Goofy Mumma's post to drop your jaw at the sheer ludicrousness of it all.

The more these things happen, the more I feel that democracy is a joke in our country.

Shame.

SHAME!

Au Revoir, Paul Newman

Paul Newman passed away last night. He was battling cancer. Cancer won, but he put up one heckuva fight.

Mr. Newman was probably the only man I would have willingly gone grey for. If anybody came to me with an ageing potion and said "Swig this and snatch any man of your choice from your grandma's generation" I would have happily and quickly done so. For him. For ol' blue eyes. For the most loyal Hollywood husband. For the nicest, most charitable and philanthrophic man in America...nay, the world! For Paul Newman.

Goodbye Mr. Newman. Thank you for the movies. And for being the exception to most Hollywood rules. Thank you for being you.

And now, excuse me as I start my search for "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" as my heart sings a sad song and sighs a tear or two or hundred.

Of Boot Polishing, Maska Maroing and Ass Licking

Pakistani President, Asif Ali Zardari told Republican VP nominee Sarah Palin that she is gorgeous and if the photographers insisted, he wouldn't mind hugging her. That was supposed to be a 'witty' comment.

Umm, someone refresh my memory, but didn't the guy just lose his wife to a bullet a little less than a year ago? A once-upon-a-time Prime Minister of our neighbouring country? Yeah, I thought so.

Elsewhere, not too far away, our venerable PM, Dr. Manmohan Singh, decided to do a little shoe-shining of his own. He sincerely assured the President of the USA, a Mr. George Bush, that we all 'deeply love' him! Really? I don't recall declaring my undying love for the President of Bloopers and Howlers Inc. Did any of you guys send him a Hallmark card, by any chance?

So these two representives of the Indian subcontinent had me appalled and disappointed at the same time.

I am still shaking my head in disbelief!

Attn: Brain Shutdown in 3...2...1

The Times of India, Kolkata
Monday, September 8, 2008
Pg 15 : TIMES TRENDS

Thinking Too Much Can Make You Fat
“Intellectual work causes fluctuations in glucose levels, making the body crave food to restore brain’s fuel : glucose. Brain cells need twice as much energy as other cells in the body.”

Really? I mean, REALLY?

As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already (quite literally, I assure you!), they now want me to worry about how much I think?!? No wait, that would be tantamount to thinking right? After all, worrying is a kind of pensive thinking.

So now, when I sit down to write my blog or perfect a poem or just plain old try and choose between Maggie, Sunfeast Pasta or cucumber sandwich for the EO’s tiffin, I am in essence, putting on weight?

This is too much for my poor brain to process right now. Oh geez! I guess I shouldn’t even be trying to!

Maybe that’s what ‘They’ want. The nameless, faceless, working-in-secret-laboratories-and-dungeons-thinking-up-ways-to-destroy-the-world ‘They’ and not the-Ones-who-reside-in-the-heavens-and-Laugh-at-humanity’s-idiosyncrasies ‘They’. So, maybe They want us to believe this new piece of scientific research and have our brains process it, think about it, mull over it thus growing fat and lazy and unproductive in the bargain, and ultimately dropping off the face of the Earth as gravity gives way to brain-fat. Wow! There’s a conspiracy theory for you! Ok, maybe the gravity vs. the brain-fat bit is a bit much, but we could die of other weight-related complications and diseases. Think about it! Oops! No, no! I don’t want to fatten you up for the kill!

Whew! I’m going to have to watch what I think and consequently say now!

Maybe we didn’t record what Descartes said properly all those many years ago. Maybe the now oh-so-famous and oft-quoted, oft-rehashed and oft-reworked line, “I think, therefore I am” really isn’t that at all. Maybe it’s actually “I think, therefore I’m fat!”

Hey wait. This might actually be a good thing. I'm serious! This latest bit of scientific info certainly does explain a lot and I'm also pretty sure that we could put it to good use. After all, now that it's out there, we might as well benefit from it! 'Let (us) count the ways...'

~ This could be the new watchword for Weight-Watcher’s Anonymous, “I’m not fat, I’m smart!”

~ I can now eat chocolates guilt-free. Because that’s not what I have to stress over anymore.

~ In fact, if I pack on the pounds, I can actually blame my brain and not my insatiable love for chocolates, hot buttered popcorn and nachos with garlic-mayo dip.

~ If somebody makes a snarky remark about my weight I can get all superior and say, “That’s because I am so much smarter than you!”

~ If you ask me for my opinion on the Singur matter and I just don’t feel like giving it to you, I can truthfully say, “Sorry I don’t feel like thinking about it. I’m watching my weight.”

~ Given a choice, I guess I would so much rather watch what I think than what I eat!

~ This gives new insight regarding the vacant expressions on catwalk models.

~ A little knowledge is no longer a dangerous thing. In fact, quite the contrary! Too much education could kill you!

Yes! This piece of information could actually be a good thing after all.

I don’t know anymore really. I’m watching what I think!

What do you think? ;p

Oh Johnny! I Love You More Than Ever!

An obscure little column in the paper caught my eye today. I looked it up on imdb.com later to confirm it and yes, it was true. It said that actors Johnny Depp, Colin Farrel and Jude Law completed Heath Ledger's last movie, "The Imaginarium od Doctor Parnassus", and all three of them have decided to give their share of the money to Ledger's two-year old daughter, Matilda. The three DDFG (drop-dead f*****g gorgeous!) actors were concerned when they learnt that Ledger has passed away leaving behind an old will which hadn't been modified to secure the interests of his baby girl.
http://www.imdb.com/news/ni0552040/

Now, first and foremost, let me get this out of the way, because it has to be said. Johnny Depp is my guy. He's my yum-yum. My ooh-la-la! Whenever I watch his movie or see a picture of him I get all goose-bumpy. He's the saliva on my doggy-like-tongue-hanging-out-on-a-hot-summer-day. He's the secret smile on my goofy, adoring face. He's the twinkle in my worshipful still-teenage-old-eye. He's the dhak-dhak of my unstoppably, rapidly beating heart.

And no, for all you people reading this and going 'Tut! Tut! A thought slut" or "Shame! Shame! Whore-y dame" (couldn't resist the rhymes, hehehe), I am not unfaithful to the Man I Married even in my thought processes. I don't have sexual fantasies about JD involving thongs, candles, juicy pieces of fruit, silk handkerchiefs and body chocolate. Where I am his Playboy bunny and he my Love Doctor. Nah. Nope. None of those. Mine involve the two of us sitting in a cosy room, with a view of rain clouds and lush greenery, where we read out books of poetry and passages of great prose to each other long into the starlit night. Sssssssiiiiiiiiiiigggggggghhhhhh! Imagine that! One entire evening of staring into those eyes with his undivided attention! Mmmmm hmmmm hmmmm! I just think he's incredibly amazing to look at and listen to. I mean, I would seriously be happy with a thinking, talking bust of his on my coffee table...something to ogle as well as share an interesting conversations with!

So, you can imagine how many times my heart must have flipped over in different directions when I read this bit of news. Three drool-worthy guys who are objects of female adoration and fantasy, and I know not all the women out there have daydreams as lame and tame as mine. And two of these gorgeous men have more than their fair share of bad press thanks to their temper tantrums, anger management issues and wild sexcapades. Right! So, they all have a lavish lifestyle...the kind that we mere mortals only dream about. These Hollywood and Bollywood types earn more money than they know what to do with and are often portrayed as being selfish pigs, with no heart, too much lust, hedonistic lifesyles and zero sensitivity. Unfortuntely, it's part and parcel of their profession. We all know the obscene amonts of money these guys make and we hardly hear anything about good causes, charity and the like. I'm not painting them all with the same brush, because occasionally we get to read about the AIDS awareness campaigns, the 'save the children' crusades, the 'going to Africa' missions, the 'raise money for cancer survivor' concerts, and what have you. But, come on, we get to hear more about who slept with whom, where and when and how many times and in which positions. We know about fights and brawls in the pubs. We read about the actor/actress who 'turned up late for a shoot, dead drunk and mean', yet they still got paid in the tune of millions. Then you get detailed reports about the 5th divorce and the ugly custody battle; you hear about the paparazzi whose face was used as a punching bag; the big car which mowed down innocents sleeping on a pavement; the tax evasions; the illegal hunting and shooting of animals...and we can't help but think, "What a filthy rich, disgustinly spoilt lot! B*****ds!"

And then you read about something like this. OMG, what a wonderfully kind, generous and loving act was this? No one asked them too, they just felt that it was the right thing to do for a little girl, growing up without a father and not protected by his will, due to his premature death.

What would have happened to little Matilda if these three hunks hadn't been around with her best interests at heart? Maybe nothing. Maybe things are fine (financially that is, the emotional loss of course is tremendous!) Maybe Matilda's mother, Michelle Williams, didn't have to move courts and run around trying to get her daughter a fair share of what should be her rightful inheritance. Maybe Ledger's beneficiaries will give, or have already given Matilda, a not unfair amount of money to ensure that she needn't worry about anything. I'd like to think that way.

But unfortunately we read and know about far too many instances of greed and property fights. Tales of brother-against-brother. Widowed daughters-in-law thrown out of the house without a cent. Aged mothers and fathers languishing in broken-down old-age homes. The girl child being denied any right to her father's property. We know about this. All of this. And it all serves to harden the heart of this cynic even further.

And then you read something wonderful like this. About three movie heroes, one of them the object of my affections, living up to the very word. And the core of that hardened heart, where hope and optimism still dwell, begins to beat faster.