Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Win a chance to meet the stars of 'Raavan'

COLORS TV launches one-in-a-lifetime competition to meet the leading stars of the highly anticipated ‘Raavan’, courtesy of Reliance BIG Pictures

COLORS TV has teamed up with Reliance BIG Pictures for an exclusive competition whereby one lucky couple will win a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet the leading stars Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bachchan of the highly anticipated ‘Raavan’, in London. 25 lucky runners-up will also receive an exclusive DVD hamper of 4 films.

For the chance to win, competition entrants must log onto the website: www.colorstv.in and correctly answer the following question:

Which Celebrity couple stars in the much awaited ‘Raavan’?

Abhishek and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan
Hrithik and Suzanne Roshan?
Ajay and Kajol Devgan?

The not-to-be-missed competition is now open and deadline to enter via the website is: 8.00am on 15th June 2010.

Releasing in cinemas worldwide on Friday 18th June 2010, ‘Raavan’ is an original film work presented by the cinematic tour de force that is director Mani Ratnam (‘Dil Se’, ‘Bombay’), Academy Award Winner and music maestro A.R Rahman (Slumdog Millionaire), and Indian cinema royalty and off-screen couple Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bachchan who reunite following the critically acclaimed ‘Guru’.

For the lucky chance to win, competition entrants must log onto the website: www.colorstv.in and correctly answer the competition question by Tuesday 15th June 2010.

COLORS, India’s popular entertainment channel, is available on Sky’s Digital Satellite platform on Channel No. 829 on the VIEWASIA package. To subscribe, please call 08448 55 22 22.

Tuesday, 8 June 2010

tete a tete with Kabir Bedi

A man of many incarnations...
Having enthralled the world by reinventing himself repeatedly, Kabir Bedi prepares for his newest role

Kabir Bedi has a measured, unhurried gait as he strolls through London’s Hyde Park; his languidness shaped, perhaps, by a lifetime of extraordinary experiences, travels and fame. His little troupe then happen upon Speaker’s Corner and he stops, contemplating for a moment before getting up on to a platform and making an impassioned plea. His magnificent baritone voice carries across the park, people gather, rapt as Bedi decries the atrocities taking place in Tibet and Burma while the world attends to wildlife in the Gulf of Mexico. The crowd mill around, drawn to this magnetic personality, who seems utterly at ease; no surprise given he’s entertained millions around the world for the past four decades. A fact lost on many in the crowd.

A few days later we meet at the stark, modernist Cumberland Hotel for an extended chat, a few days before the premier of his new movie ‘Kites’. The sparse surrounds inside the Cumberland seem at odds with the old world charm and grace that Bedi exudes. The first thing that’s apparent is his stature; he is built like the famed Murcielago yet has an air about him that is so light it seems to lift you up with its effusiveness. And then the measured baritone comes through, “Don’t worry”, he tells the waiter, “I’ll take care of the bill”. And the ladies swoon and the men begin grinding their teeth to dust. Unlike countless mega stars surrounded by entourages and stropping at everything from a napkin out of place to the weather, Bedi is exceedingly polite, warm and eager to chat.

It’s been a busy month for a man long recognized as perhaps the busiest South Asian actor in the world. He has just visited Scotland, accompanying the Dalai Lama to a conference and is back in London – a city he calls the most perfect in the world “Emotionally Delhi is my city. Bombay is where I have to be for work. Rome is one of those great cities of the world because it gave me so much and opened so many doors for me. But London is the best in the world in terms of architecture and culture and cuisine and variety and people and there’s a feeling about London which is spread out; it’s not confined to one particular part of the city.”

In London he is promoting ‘Kites’, in which Bedi puts in a devilish turn as a rich casino owner trying to scupper a burgeoning romance between the improbable character played by Hrithik Roshan and his lover played by Barbara Mori. Kabir Bedi is the one of the few highlights of yet another ambitious yet average film – in spite of the $30m production budget and big names – and reaffirms Bedi’s status as perhaps the most underappreciated but most prolific Indian actor of the past several decades.

A vast array of influences…

Born on 16th January 1946 in pre-Partition Lahore, Bedi grew up in an invigorating environment with a colourful array of influences. His father Baba Pyare Lal Bedi – a direct descendent of the Sikh spiritual leader Guru Nanak – was an Oxford graduate, author and passionate Marxist who was forced, as a student, to flee Germany as Hitler swept to power. Kabir’s mother Freda was from a quintessentially British family from Derbyshire and who had met Lal Bedi at Oxford. After marriage, Pyare Lal and Freda moved to India in the 1930’s, when Freda became a follower of Mahatma Gandhi and was arrested several times along with her children for agitating against the British. Later in life she converted to Buddhism, dedicating herself to social welfare activities. In the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, Freda was entrusted by Prime Minister Nehru with ensuring the welfare of Tibetan refugees fleeing to Dharamsala following the Dalai Lama. His parent’s pursuits meant the Kabir household was forever frequented by activists, artists, writers, poets, thinkers, revolutionaries and spiritualists of every hue.

After attending the Christian Sherwood College in Nainital, Kabir Bedi travelled to Delhi to study History at St Stephen’s College, a satellite of the University of Delhi. ``Delhi is my emotional home as I was introduced to theatre in Delhi. I love the stage and the process of acting in theatre. Unfortunately however I realized early on that theatre doesn’t pay the bills.”

Determined nonetheless to make his way as an actor, Bedi travelled to Bombay to learn film-making, spending 5 years producing and directing commercials for Lintas and Ogilvy and Mather among others. He also found work performing in the city’s teeming thriving theatre industry. In 1971, at the age of 25, he made his first impact with the play ‘Tughlaq’, playing a madcap, visionary pre-Mughal king. The drama was a huge hit in Bombay and led to producers falling over themselves to cast the young star in their productions. That same year also saw Bedi play a minor role in ‘Hulchul’ before embarking on a 5-year period in which he made no less than 12 movies whilst also performing on stage.

The Malayan Tiger

But while the offers came thick and fast, the budding actor was unable to define himself. Then in 1976 came his big break, when an Italian production company came to Bombay looking for an actor to cast in Sandokan, a TV series charting the life of a fictional 19th century pirate. “I was very young and probably impressionable and when I look back now I can appreciate that I signed up a lot of bad films during that initial phase in Bollywood. Another problem was while I could speak Punjabi, my Hindi was terrible. So when Sandokan came along I jumped at the opportunity. It seemed like an interesting story and an epic love story. It was definitely one of those fortunate accidents of history.”

While the series only spanned 6 episodes, Bedi’s turn as the strapping, smouldering Malayan brigand fighting Dutch and British rule in the Far East won him acclaim and a following that was at times fanatical and continues religiously to this day. Whilst the show was not widely shown in the English speaking world, primarily due the fact Sandokan spent his days kicking British colonial posteriors, in continental Europe, Africa, South America and the Far East, the series became a phenomenon. Repeats are shown to this day and in Italy, Bedi’s fame endures, with the actor regularly featuring in chat shows hosted invariably by women with endlessly long legs.

Paving the Way…

Sandokan opened numerous doors in the West for the tall and handsome actor with the green eyes, turning him into one of the world’s first itinerant performers. There followed roles in such notable productions as The Thief of Baghdad and the villain Gobinda in the Roger Moore bond romp “Octupussy”. Bedi also found work with unprecedented regularity – unprecedented at least for an Indian actor – during a period in the 1980’s and 1990’s when he amassed an unmatched body of work, appearing in General Hospital, Dynasty, Highlander, Magnum P.I., and The Bold and the Beautiful among others. In between he also returned to Bollywood working in everything from the twisted Khoon Bhari Maang to the soppy The Maharaja’s Daughter. Perhaps most significantly, Bedi opened the door for Indian actors to enter the Hollywood conscience, paving the way for the likes of Naveen Andrews, Kal Penn and Sendhil Ramamurthy. “I think Anil Kapoor’s recent role in 24 was significant”, Bedi says. “Things have changed over the past decades for Indian actors. There are more possibilities today. It sure took a lot of lobbying from the time I was there; to tell producers that you cannot write roles for Indians and then give them to lily-white Americans. They wouldn’t dare do that to black actors. That’s what I fought against for years. In spite of the regular work, I was left constantly asking, ‘why is it when I audition for a role the room is filled with white actors and brown actors. But the minute you audition for a black role there are only black actors in the room?’”

The extraordinarily diverse body of work is also testament to Bedi’s creative appetite and versatility as an actor – whether it is switching from Hindi to English to Italian (which he speaks fluently), or whether he’s playing a Moroccan prince in the Bold and the Beautiful or an Eastern bloc spy in Magnum PI. That versatility also made him into a successful travelling actor. “In spite of finding regular work, I could never find a role that would define me because so little was written for Indian actors. I realized that there’ll be work for as long as you stay here but there won’t be any truly significant roles written for you. That’s why I left Hollywood and made my way back to Europe.”

His success as Sandokan stood Bedi in good stead however, with Italian producers casting him in such hit TV shows as “Vivere” and “Un medico in Famiglia”. In London Bedi also returned to his first love as an actor, appearing in London’s West End in the epic production of “The Far Pavilions”. The jump to Bombay was also made easier with Bedi cast in such major productions as “Main Hoo Naa” and “Bewafaa”.

Incredible Experiences...

His prolific acting career apart, Bedi – unsurprisingly perhaps – is also well known for his personal life, one replete with drama, hedonism, unbridled love and tragedy. His first wife Protima was a model, dancer and fearless feminist who regularly rustled feathers in ostensibly conservative Bombay society. She was renowned for her insatiable love for life and famously streaking along Bombay’s Juhu beach for the launch of a celebrity magazine. Bedi and Protima eloped in 1969 much to the chagrin of her family, enjoying a famously open marriage which bore two children – Pooja, who went on to forge a successful career in Bollywood, and Siddarth. In the 1970’s, as the marriage began failing, Kabir began seeing Parveen Babi, another sultry actress and sex symbol. Bedi and Parveen however never married. It was an extraordinarily bohemian and artistic time for a successful and internationally renowned actor blessed with the sort of classically handsome good looks that could turn rocks into molten lava.

After the short lived affair with Babi, Kabir married British fashion designer Susan Humphreys in 1979, bearing a son – Adam Bedi – a ravenously striking product of east and west who became a successful, international model. After his second marriage ended in divorce, Bedi married Nikki Bedi, the fresh-faced Anglo Indian TV and radio presenter. That marriage too ended in divorce in 2002, although the amicability (and Bedi’s certain charm) resulted in Nikki holding on to the Bedi surname.

Contended...

Whilst he has had his fair share of utterly desirable females and mind-expanding hedonism, Bedi’s also had his share of tragedy; his son Siddarth committed suicide in 1997 after being diagnosed with Schizophrenia. “He had made attempts on his life and we had alerted the suicide squads in LA. He was suffering. He was such a handsome boy but had lost a lot of weight. I think he was very

brave, he chose to go because he couldn't handle the pain and agony of living life in a fog. When Siddharth's friends came to his funeral, I felt it could have been any one of them. God chose my son. Really, there's no explanation for schizophrenia.”

Outwardly at least, the sanguinity on display at the Cumberland Hotel in London suggests that he finally feels a deep contentment with his life and his achievements. Bedi confesses that it is partly due to the new love of his life; Praveen Dusanj, a vivacious, London-based Social Researcher who seems to combine an irresistible nonchalance with a steadiness that seems to have disarmed and grounded Kabir Bedi. Whilst the two have been together for several years, there’s no rush – particularly on Praveen’s part – to rush. “I think we have a very wonderful relationship”, Bedi says with a glint. “I hope it lasts forever; what form it will take we will have to wait and see”, he adds laughing. “I’ve asked her to marry me but she’s asked me to make absolutely sure because I’ve made the decision before.” He says with a smile.

The other aspect is his twin loves of Burma and Tibet and his passionate drive to shed light on the atrocities taking place in both countries. His passion however is misleading. “For many decades of my life I never took up any causes because I looked at my family who had given so much to various causes but had nothing to show for it in the end, whether in monetary terms or anything else. I found that a bit futile. I think I needed to set my life in order first! It’s only in the last 10 years or so that I have taken up causes. Apart from Tibet and Burma I also have the grassroots foundation which my daughter has set up empowering village women to become economically self-sufficient.”

Nonetheless, the two causes – Burma in particular – has deep meaning for Bedi. “I spent a lot of time in Burma as a child, because of my mother’s Buddhist connections. I was actually ordained as a young monk in Burma so I know Burma very well; when it was a democratic country, a happy country. A time when us monks would go out at 5 in the morning and people would come out of their homes to offer us food. There is a certain beauty and serenity that I recall about Burma, a beauty that has disappeared since the military took over and the country became one large repressed society.”

Bedi had a similar experience with Tibet, although this time it was with the starving and emotionally and physically broken refugees streaming into India in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. The young Bedi followed his mother around Dharamsala as she set up schools and taught English to Lamas who would then go on to travel to the West to advocate against Chinese rule in Tibet. “Today we are so conditioned by Television that if TV cameras are not in a particular place, a particular situation would not enter the conscience of people. Because TV crews are not there in Tibet and Burma we tend to forget the enormous injustices that happen in those countries. In the case of Tibet a whole culture is being annihilated. When you don’t allow people to exercise their freedom of religion, their freedom of speech, then you destroy their culture. It becomes cultural genocide.”

But while the failure of the almost oligarchic Western media to highlight the plight of the Burmese and Tibetan people certainly irks, he accedes that the failure of the Indian media to shed light on what is happening on its doorstep is even more tragic. “In the first instance, I think the media in India are performing an extraordinary job in that in the absence of a quick moving judiciary the media are the only point of accountability. However they have failed when it comes to dealing with issues that affect us intimately in our neighbourhood. The coverage of these countries, even Pakistan, is highly limited. We get more news on what happens on Obama’s travels than China even. The average Indian wouldn’t know what the name of the Chinese president is. They wouldn’t know the name of the rulers of Sri Lanka or the injustices taking place in these countries.”

It seems a new phase has begun; a new incarnation of a man renowned for reinventing himself again and again. We wait with bated breath.

Poonam Joshi and Viji Alles

Thursday, 8 May 2008

Going Home…

(This is a small editorial I wrote for UKLanka Times (January 2008) and it's caused a bit of a ruckus among several rotund people...await my very angry reaction...)

It’s a monumental moment. The sort that is preceded by long years of roaming the world as an expatriate and two days spent in a stinking cesspit of an airport somewhere in the nether regions of South India. It is what will hopefully be a triumphant return. I’m coming home. After 8 long years of travelling from North America to the Gulf to Southern Africa and Europe, I’m returning to Sri Lanka for my first meaningful holiday. Meaningful because I’ve been back several times over the past 8 years but only for fleeting visits to change a visa, attend the wedding of an ex-girlfriend or to pay a visit to the home of a relative who has either passed on or is about to pass on. But this time it’s special. It’s just me, my worldly possessions in a solitary backpack and an entire country to roam.
People are going on and on about how India’s is the second fastest growing economy in the world. I had been extremely excited to visit this burgeoning land. The Indira Ghandi International Airport in New Delhi however, had completely burst my expectant bubble. Sure it’s undergoing some sort of renovation program but it looks like a dump from the 1960’s with luggage trollies covered in a thick layer of dust, probably from that decade. You would think that the solitary international airport in the biggest city in the second fastest growing economy in the world would be one of the first things that would have been fixed with the billions that are streaming into India. In any case, having trawled through North India’s appalling roads, squatting toilets, broken heating systems and being utterly enchanted by the thrilling vibrancy of India, I prepared for my return to mother Lanka. My first concern had been the heat. I had packed a single set of jeans before leaving London because I knew North India would be cold but had failed to pack in any shorts for Sri Lanka. Heavy jeans are anathema to walking through Sri Lanka and I was reluctant to jaunt around in my beautiful Barefoot sarong. Thankfully, my flight got into Colombo early morning; serendipitous given that my body could slowly adjust to the searing heat that was expected in the morning.
The air is warm and heavy even at 1 o’clock in the morning as I step out of the aircraft at BIA, my subconscious mind forcing me to glance around worriedly, half expecting a rocket attack or something. That’s what being away does to you. You start absorbing all the bad news that comes out of the country and you lose the detachment from the violence that you had when you were living in the country. All’s well though and we are transported to the terminal building and lo and behold!! Indira Ghandi International eat your heart out is all I could think of. The clammy dump that was BIA several years ago has been replaced with shiny surfaces, glitzy stores and escalators. Escalators for goodness sake! Bless.
The escalator though throws up a surprise. No, it was working fine. Rather, as you ascend towards the immigration desks, a massive white figure appears to the left. Startled, seconds later, you come face to face with the biggest and whitest Buddha statue this side of Bamiyan. Now, I grew up in a staunchly Sinhala Buddhist family but even I’m not entirely certain as to the message that this gives out; “You are now entering a conservative Sinhala Buddhist country where the government professes to adhere to the compassionate values of Buddhism but is flexible in implementing those compassionate values on the people. And we mean VERY flexible.” It is the first thing that strikes you having alighted from the airplane and as you are making your way towards the country’s first port of entry. A Canadian tourist whom I had met in the plane asks, ‘Is Sri Lanka a religious state?’ I said of course not.
One of the things that I was determined to do on this trip was to once again experience the very essence of Sri Lanka. To that end I only carried a single back pack and a scarf (to soak in the sweat that was pouring off my head). Instead of taking a 2400-rupee taxi ride into Colombo I hopped on a bus, paid 60/= and got to the Pettah bus stand. Determined to stay awake at 3.30 in the morning I snuck into a dirty looking tea shop/kottu roti joint for a cup of coffee. I thought New Delhi and India in general was rather dirty. Dusty, open sewage, that sort of thing. The Pettah bus stand though takes dirtiness to an entirely new level. A quarter of the way through my coffee, I’m startled by a sudden series of thuds to my left. Right underneath the platform where the Kottu roti is made, a family of rats slightly smaller than the bus that I had travelled in were happily rummaging through the main ingredients for the next day’s Kottu, completely and utterly oblivious to my presence or my foot thumping. I kept the cup down and asked the yawning owner of the shop if he was aware of what was happening literally under his nose but he just shrugged. I scooted and took another bus down to Galle Face Green (or Galle Face Brown, depending on how hot it is) wanting to take in the ocean breeze and the colonial beauty of Colombo once again before checking into my accommodation in Mount Lavinia in the morning.
It seems hard to digest that Colombo has developed so much over the last 8 years. A bloody civil war anywhere else would mean slow deterioration of economic conditions but it has had the exact opposite effect here. In spite of the daily escalation of the war and the vast cost associated with it, in spite of the eternal presence of bleary eyed, 12-year-old soldiers armed to the teeth, Colombo is fast gaining on other concrete jungles such as Dubai. The rate of development is astounding. And it’s not like there’s a lucrative oil industry that counter balances the vast sums of money being spent on the war effort. So where’s the money coming from for these glistening concrete behemoths? People on Galle Face Green (or brown) at that time of the morning, revellers leaving night clubs, taxi drivers, soldiers and others say that expatriate Tamils are pouring money into Colombo snapping up apartments and real estate like there was no tomorrow; all in a supposedly sinister effort to eventually take control of the economy. I can’t, however, vouch for the spending habits of my Tamil expat friends in London who are instead putting money (rather stupidly) into the Balkans. As morning approaches the city, after about half an hour of sleep, jumps back into life; busy, polluted, noisy and thrilling. The perfect antidote to a man tired of the dreary, wet, blandness of London.
Speaking of London, there’s this constant debate in the English capital about the ever expanding gap between the rich and the poor. I’ve never really seen it in London. Sure there are the super rich, the kind of rich and the white trash but no one is really badly off are they? The council-flat dwellers that live on benefits are seemingly doing better than most middle class workers. The phrase “gap between rich and poor” is really put into context in Sri Lanka. You are either one of those who earn somewhere between Rs 10,000 to Rs 20,000 a month or you’re someone who earns a salary above Rs 140,000 a month with nothing of substance in between. Something remarkable I noticed every morning near the apartment I was staying in, was that the Rs 140,000-and-above crowd would visit a slightly posh looking pastry shop for breakfast, downing fish cutlets that cost 35 rupees washed down by iced coffee that retails at 50 rupees. The local bus drivers and government clerk types would visit an adjoining tea shop where half a loaf of bread and a small dish of delicious dhal (I know because I tried it and loved it) costs 40 rupees. The rich really are getting richer while the poor…well you know what I mean. It’s astonishing. It has come to a point where a majority of the population has to carefully consider having chicken for dinner because the decent stuff is so prohibitively expensive. A cup of tea for 30 rupees?? Our country makes the bloody tea for goodness sake!
If you were to ask me, “what’s the best thing about Sri Lanka?” I would not have any hesitation in saying, the beach son! I visited Mount Lavinia beach, a place I grew up, diligently whenever I was in Colombo. There’s something so nostalgic and melancholic about Mount Beach. And it’s not just a personal sentiment either. Forget the fancy place along the new “marine drive” in Wellawatte; rather begin at Mount Lavinia Hotel and walk towards Colombo. The cleansing effect you feel is incredible.
Sri Lanka may be the land of a thousand smiles but everywhere you look there’s a draconian feel to life on the Island. Out celebrating with a couple of old friends in Colombo one night and the waiter comes in at 10.30 pm and asks us to vacate the restaurant. When asked why the waiter shrugs and says “That’s the rule now sir. Mathata Thitha.” We scamper off down to the beach, and continue our drinking there. On another occasion, I’m walking towards the main Mount Lavinia bus stand and light up a cigarette. Four police officers, three males and a female, two of the officers carrying automatic rifles, are walking towards me. I take scant notice. They suddenly stop and stare at me. Now I wasn’t wearing fluorescent slippers or pink underwear. Our eyes meet and one of the officers asks, “What’s with the cigarette sir?” “What about the cigarette ralahaami?” I inquire. “You can’t smoke on the road now.” I’m flabbergasted. I tell him that I’ve just landed on the island and was completely unaware about any law of this kind but my protestations are to no avail and I’m slapped with a Rs. 2500 fine. Preposterous is a word that kept doing the rounds in my head. Nothing is predictable. Even as a smoker, I applaud efforts such as the British government’s to cut down on smoking indoors but this is taking the British example and bastardizing it isn’t it?
Two days before I leave the island a government minister storms into the national broadcaster’s office and proceeds to assault a news editor for cutting out a speech the minister gave at the opening of an obscure bridge somewhere in the south. What was most alarming was the fact that all the newspapers in Colombo ran the story on their front cover but no one bothered to openly criticize or comment on the rather blatantly arrogant behaviour. Even the taxi driver shrugs it off saying that this is “normal”. A month earlier, the same minister had walked into the Canadian Embassy (sovereign Canadian territory FYI) and brandished a gun at the terrified entry clearance officer asking him to provide the said minister’s son with a visitor’s visa. It’s madness.
Walking back one day from Galle Face towards the ridiculously priced Deli France at the Crescat to have an Iced Coffee and yet another police officer walks up to me and demands that I move into a nearby building as “they are clearing the road”. With that I’m bundled into a sweaty and dark corridor where another 20 people are crammed in while whatever is happening outside ceases to happen. At first I think that they may have discovered some sort of explosive device somewhere. I find out however that it’s in fact to clear the way for a very important dignitary to pass. The speed with which this clearance was achieved was impressive on one level. On another level, the inconvenience it caused was infuriating; being pushed inside a dimly lit corridor with 50 other people in a hot and humid space because crony in charge of putting on the president’s cuff links had to pass through…
And it’s not like people don’t criticize. Everywhere you go, from the three-wheeler driver to the tea shop owner to the radio-presenter friends, people are constantly chatting about the apparent daily deterioration of the living standard and the growth of an oppressive culture. But it’s just that; talk and more talk and lamenting. Nothing goes beyond that. Even the most powerful in the country dare not.
And yet amidst all of this…the joys of Sri Lanka remain. Sri Lanka has this amazing ability to infuriate you with its ludicrousness and overwhelm you with its sense of history and romance. There is something so relaxing, so familiar about Sri Lanka and I’m not just saying that because I was born and brought up there. It’s a sentiment shared with people who have visited once, fallen in love and never visited anywhere else. I used to wonder why expatriate Sri Lankans, some with absolutely no connections to Sri Lanka in terms of family members or property, insist on spending their hard earned annual holidays only and only in Sri Lanka and not in some other exotic location like the Galapagos. There’s a deep sense of home about Sri Lanka, no matter where you are from. It embraces you, sucks you in, frustrates you deeply, elates you no end and an eternal love affair begins. It is amazing how this beautiful, magical place can move me and overwhelm me while at the same time frustrate and infuriate me. It is amazing how affectionate warmth can coexist with blatant injustice, and comfortably at that. And nothing will ever change.

Necessity is the mother of invention? Frustration more like...

I feel terribly frustrated and what a wonderful this blogging thingamagic is for me to vent my frustrations...await juice!