Bharat desh main na hum logon ko dance karne ke liye koi reason nahin chahiye hota. Bus music chahiye hota hai, and we can begin our “chest-chest hip-hip” routine anywhere, anytime.

Jaise jaise IPL paas aa raha hai, vaise-vaise mere ko ajeeb-ajeeb si marital vibes feel ho rahi hain. Hai, soch-soch ke tension ho rahi hai that mera TV band hone walla hai.

Sita Maiyya ke zamase se Draupadi ke heydays tak, har yug main ladies log are put through difficult-difficult tests at every stage of their lives — to check for good sanskar, for the ability to do tyaag and tapasya, to endure, to keep quiet.

Hai hai, ghor kalyug! Ek zamana tha when we all used to hide boyfriends and girlfriends in cupboards and under the bed from our parents, and would maro padhai-shadai ka bahana to go on long romantic dates. But all that is now officially over. Aaj kal ke parents toh itne advance ho gaye hain that they first test-drive all varieties of prospective dates themselves and then give happy-happy approval to their betajis and betis to go ahead and romance.

First, a brief backgrounder: In Indian folktales, there once lived Mister Tees-Maar Khan who'd gas about being a strong and brave fellow, but squishing 30 mosquitoes was all he ever did. Thence, Tees-Maar Khan. In our folktales there also lived Mister Koop-Mandook. If you paid attention in your Sanskrit class, you’ll recall that this little dad-du was born and brought up in a well (koop). His worldview began at the round stone wall, frolicked about in the water with other happy little koop-mandooks, and ended at the small, round piece of blue sky.

Hello ji, Namaste. It’s that happy-happy time of the year jab awards are given to all and the sundries. Hum ne bhi bahut soch-vichaar ke baad apne Telly Awards 2010 announce kar rahe hain. Take a look:

Most history books in India are self-important and dreary. Either they are long lectures on the glories of Left or Right leaders and ideologies, or others, on the first, last and in between Mughals, are aggressively-marketed bores. So when historian-writer-thinker Ramachandra Guha decided to write a book on the men and women who made modern India, he was setting himself an intimidating task.

If you attach two thundering thighs to a pathetic Hindi accent, will you get Sridevi? No, na? Similarly, if you attach middle-aged, pot-bellied stars to gyrating gori-gori extras you don’t always get a movie. Movies have to be written, directed, acted. A gaggle of imbeciles propped up by talking, farting hairy gorilla, or the above-mentioned bimbettes, without a story, reason or logic, can at best be called an accident.

WITH A line up of over 70 films, a smattering of Bollywood mini-celebrities and several regional and foreign film crews, the first two days at the International Film Festival of India (Iffi) have been

Guzaarish is an affected film with a contrived plot and a severe Jesus complex. It is obsessed with how it looks, walks and poses. But in this self-conscious world lives and breathes a class act — Hrithik Roshan. He creates an emotional core so powerful and compelling that the film’s flaws pale in his brilliance.