Malvika’s Ramblings

HEre is a caricature I made of a guy called Phillipe. Good fun doing it Rubbadubba

             “Lets go to a shady bar. Slimy sorts” I suggested to my friends. We entered a place that was promisingly bathed in red light. Unfortunately it turned out to be family dining restaurant where people were going through chowmein, kofta-naan and pizzas in gangster red light for some reason.

             We hastened to the pub across the road. Ice CUbe in Noida. This one was all blue and UV light. My white men’s shirt shone as if I was being beamed up into a UFO. This was more like it. We settled into a Los Angelesy red couch.
            The dance floor, right in front of us was on fire. During the rest of the evening, where we slumped worse and worser and worserer on the couch, we witnessed lots of dance floor violence. All happy smiling violence. Not the type where a bouncer kills the fun by chucking a fellow out. This was a gender based drama and one where no feminist could complain. In 3 instances it was plain writ on the guy’s face that he just wanted to climb on the girl he was dancing with. And all the girls took the shit with a flick of the hair and a determined smile “No we are not spoilsports! Its ok! Tee hee!”
              The girl : A girl with a good face. My friend declared she had potential. She was dressed in corporate wear. Out to party after work. Dancing in spurts. Promising herself she wouldnt do it again. Smiling. The guy: Wore his jeans to his chest. Wondering how the hell to get fresh with the girl until he fell on her and hugged her with roaming hands with the elegance of a grizzly. The girl pretended it hampered her dance moves,which she was very keen on, and pushed him away to continue her cheerful jig. The guy having achieved something after all walked off oblivious to the object of his affections, and sat down to wipe off all that sweat on his brow. You have to give him full points for chivalry as he offered her the handkerchief once his wipe was over.
             
            Then the DJ announced stag entry was not allowed to a pub which was 80% full of men.

When you intern at an ad agency you begin by being an awful mixture of juniority and confidence. You dont want to step on any toes, you want to grab lots of work and be a star so that they exclain “Lord, how were we doing without you in the first place!”

Things are different and one learns that the earlier part of an being an intern is more about twiddling your pen, thumbs and ears. Once you fit in a little more and still have no work, except to take any hypothetical product and make up an imaginary brand and think of ads for awards, the internship becomes an expensive lunch. Rs 50 auto fare to work. Rs 50 lunch. Rs 50 back home. The learning experience: priceless!

Week 1: This must be the beginner’s lull. Soon I’ll be yelling out something about deadlines across cubicles, finishing off work in a jiffy, saying that I simply must drag my famished self to lunch now, shelving designs - each a masterpiece!

Week 2: Making a comic strip about an intern’s experience (or the lack of it).
Week 3: I was given two thorough briefs on Monday and one arbitrary project which required whim and madness and tangential thought on Tuesday. The latter brief seems custom made for me as i have spent 3 college years and frustrated adolescent years before that, bemoaning the fact that nobody understands the crazy me and i that i keep having to put my fantastic thoughts through the dummy filter so that they may fit in and be understood by Junta. So in week 3, lots of work. no ideas.

Week 4: No ideas. Done a little bit of copy checking. Lots of coffee. Socializing in the office.

Week 5: Lots of ideas. The design engine chugs inside me. Just like that! Life’s Rolling just about (checks wrist watch) NOW!

MORE to come as my internship is going on. The fifth week is where I am at now.

Week 6: Last week of internship. Officially

‘The intern’ comic strip coming up soon.

As i try to crack a brief by a newspaper client, I am missing flipping through Vogue,
getting ready for a fashion shoot,
analysing-scrutinising the ensembles on models as they sashay down the ramp,
the Egyptian malachite green on the eye,
gothic smoky eyes,
the look of American wives and girlfriends egging on the Freds and Harvys in Vietnam,
the seductress Mrs Robinson,
Geisha designs in India Fashion Week 2006,
layering, bubble silhouettes,
artificiality to a scream,
the bottle green- moss - tan- sienna - deep purple palette that has a smell and texture…

I miss it all.

“Are you a movie buff ?” I was asked.

I cant name 4 Tom Hanks’ movies without thinking. (Forrest Gump, Saving Private Ryan, You’ve Got Mail and…? ) I dont rush to watch first day first shows and I did not ejoy LOTR. So, I say No. I am not a move buff. But come OSIAN and it is to me what Octoberfest is to the Germans.
OSIAN Cinefan is a movie festival that is held annually at Siri Fort, New Delhi and it showcases some of the finest and the odd lousy movie of Arab and Asian origins. Watch 3 movies and it suddenly hits you that 70% of the world is not American.

I buy tickets in advance for a week of movies and watch at least two in a day. The delight of mixing and making an assortment is all mine as I choose whether to make it a mix of a Japanese thriller and an Afghan romance (eerr..okay, thats rare) or a long film with two short ones to follow as dessert.

I pocket tickets at a nominal cost of Rs 15 each and I am all set to watch movies with
1 No interval. No popcorn.
2 Latecomers stepping on toes and even settling down on the steps for the screening
3 Nudity > nudity and more nudity. All ART mind you! lol
4 A friend whose face tells of totally different reactions, from mine, to the film as the lights finally switch on.
Disgust (his face) vs Delight (my face)
Quivering lower lip (his face) Comatose zzz.. (me)

This festival is like visiting an exotic locale with no camera. You can enjoy the film but it is next to impossible to acquire any print even through P2P sites like limewire.

22nd to 27th July 2007 - its the OSIAN time of the year again. Back to myself, darkness and great cinema!

My thoughts are not coming together because I am trying HARD to write and I have nothing to say. So maybe I am really better off doing copywriting for a company that makes machines that in turn make the packaging for ketchup, detergents, shampoo, oil. You know, the pouches and fill and seal boxes, the works. They wanted to appear international and globally There.

So we stated that they were the
1 Leaders in packaging (in India)
2 (hopefully) moving to the front of the pack
3 we wooed prospective employees by asking them to extend their horizons by standing on the shoulders of a giant

The words in brackets were conveniently omitted from the sentences. Point No. 3 sounded like we were acting to big for our boots, even to our conciences. I guess the inner voice had not been altogether assasinated by the demons called Capitalism and Consumerism… yet.

Holding onto my soul…. MJ

p.s - Replace all the ‘we’ with I