I saw “What’s Your Rashee?” last night, and save for the bazillion songs and very forgettable music, I really enjoyed it. The script was kind of funny and Gujrati theatre veteran Dilip Joshi is always a pleasure to watch. Priyanka Chopra was surprisingly competent in her 12 avtaars and the art direction was quiet stylish (I really liked the opening credits). Harman Baweja was unfortunately uninspired. I actually like the guy. He’s not ugly, can totally dance and is definitely not the worst actor in the industry *cough* Arjun Rampal *cough.* I’m guessing that his uncanny resemblance to Hrithik Roshan might have something to do with it. Literally every single time he came on screen Niharika turned up her nose in distaste and declared that he was copying Hrithik Roshan. Yes, I do agree that taking a picture of Hrithik Roshan to the plastic surgeon and saying “Uncle, I want to look like this” might not have been the best idea but you can’t hate someone for a bad plastic surgery decision when our Sanjay Dutts and Salman Khans have had enough work done to barely be recognizable as human beings anymore. What Baweja Jr. needs is some more acting training, and I think he might just have it I him.
Thank God I leave all my music decisions to Nick. My taste is kind of non existent and I don’t have the time or the inclination to spend time on lastfm.com to look for new stuff. I’ve never actively sought new music out. Till before I met Nick, I was still listening to Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer. I normally end up listening to the same song on loop for a month, and cannot stand the sound of it again. And somehow, at least for me, music becomes such an olfactory experience- just hearing the opening strains of a song instantly takes me back to the first time I heard it. Two summers ago, Nick’s family had invited me to spend the weekend at a beach front vacation house on Long Beach Island. The weather was a mix of nasty and fabulous, and Nick and I spent the entire weekend walking on the beach, going to rained out street fairs and visiting light houses. “You are invited” by The Dismemberment plan was the soundtrack to that wonderful weekend, in that wonderful place, with that wonderful person.
I got it in the mail one morning
There was no return address
Just my name in gold leaf on the front
There was no time or location
There was really no info at all
No date, no time, no place, no RSVP
And it said
You are invited, by anyone to do anything
You are invited if you really want to go
You are invited, for all time
My knowledge of music, just like my taste, is kind of non-existent. I wouldn’t know what genre it would fall into, but the lyrics definitely are in the ‘rock my socks’ category. It makes me realize how much of our limitations are a product of our own internal censor. That club is too cool for you, that girl is way out of your league, your ass is way too big for that dress, and you’re definitely not smart enough for that job. But then imagine the simple idea of the invitation, of being invited by the universe at large, to go to that club, to ask out that girl who seems out of your league, to get your ass back in shape (or just wear that dress irrespective of the shape of your ass, and own it!) and to give that job a shot without prejudging yourself. It feels empowering and liberating. I like being invited, by anyone to do anything, and be whoever the hell I want to be.
I will also confess to being a Beach Boys fan. “God only knows” gives me the warm fuzzies like a smoothie made out of teddy bears and sunshine, puppies and rainbows.
Back to listening to some more music me thinks.