Who moved James Bond's gadgets?

Producers and film makers involved with the 007 projects over the past 50 years have come out in the open against the current James Bond Daniel Craig. He is charged with alleged manhandling of sophisticated Bond gadgets and causing them to break down right before the actual shooting starts. Ever since Quantum of Solace the popular gadgetry has been on the wane on the English sets of style studded James Bond movies. For a long time viewers were made to believe that this was arranged on purpose, but we now know the truth behind this anomaly. The innovative and future looking contraptions that the crew spends long hours and sweat working on often crack up at Craig’s hands while he’s trying them before the cameras even begin to roll. Not only has this clumsy attitude cost the production houses a lot of money, there has also been an unintentional personality shift in the character of James Bond himself.

Following the little accidents, Craig is generally embarrassed. Lately even the technicians have begun to take liberty of yelling at him in front of the entire crew. This leaves him in an obviously bad mood, hence we hardly ever see him smiling on screen. The open can has led quite a few worms to escape out in the open, one of which told us that the glitch free multi-touch size-of-a-table-screen in Quantum of Solace was actually the size of a wall that hung upside down. But Craig, who has a distance diploma in MS Office convinced the team that he could handle the gadget and would gladly show them how to play touch Mario on such a big screen. The screen had be to be chopped into a quarter of its original size after Mr. Bond lost it and began to hit the shell of the tortoise a little too hard causing the panel to crack at several places.

Martin Campbell, the director of Casino Royale calls himself lucky for having directed the first movie with Craig playing Bond. “He was shy back then. It was difficult for us to get him to touch any guns or cell phones even on screen. I kept my distance and managed to let the ice stay for the entire shooting span. But Marc (dir, Quantum of Solace) broke the ice and Daniel got a little too friendly on the sets, playing with gadgets, asking for advance payments, even sitting on his director’s chair when Marc would go to the men’s room. I saw this coming, but he just won’t listen,” recalls Campbell.

Having to send James Bond to his ancestral Scottish deserted property in Skyfall seems less puzzling and more out of necessity now; no matter what breaks, it’s all junk anyway. Director Sam Mendes was unavailable for a comment but we spoke to his neighbour Shyam Patel who took full responsibility for these words on Sam’s behalf, “Mendes was upset. He was upset about a lot of things. His original scriptwriter Peter Morgan left the project in the middle after he was asked to do minor changes every time Craig broke something. The laser beam stick had to be replaced by a rusted sword, and all. Finally they hired John Logan and a few more to write a rustic script that could make do with the most basic things. As a joke they didn’t even give Bond an automatic weapon in the final scenes, where he chops a double barrel off into a shotgun.”

It is hard to tell what future awaits Bond, but definite changes have seeped in. He smiles less, spends way less time with women, and takes forever to get his pursed lips apart for the want of any dialogues. He is more muscular than ever in order to thrash villains with his bare hands, as to gadgets he has proved to be not very friendly. It is also rumoured that M was not originally meant to die in Skyfall but was forcefully made to die on a persistent request by Judi Dench after she had a word with the producers about continuing with Daniel Craig in upcoming films.

[Don't judge me. I love the new James Bond.] 

All that Glitters...

The other morning while on my way to work I saw a beautiful Audi A4 Sedan pacing in my direction in an amazing speed; breathtakingly smooth with a reflection of green fields on its silver sides. As is the third world norm I tried to focus my eyes hard, allowing my pupils to dilate and contract to perfection, in order to gawk at the driver operating the beauty. He must have been in his mid twenties; both hands resting on the variable North axis of the steering wheel, one of which flaunted a black strapped sports watch, and eyes covered under a pair of tainted shades. I was about to enter the second stage of virtual hobnobbing by categorizing him as a young brat feeding on his father’s deluge of money when I noticed something tender and familiar at the back seat slightly tilting out at the window.

At the first wink of the eye I could make out rich blonde fur. It could have been a golden retriever or a golden lab or maybe even a beagle, but as the car came closer I saw strands of fair hair flowing in the air so I guessed maybe a cocker spaniel or a long haired dachshund; an Afghan hound was a remote possibility but you can never guess what these Audi owners narrow down their fancies to. Being a hard core dog lover I forgot all about the car and the driver and the middle class consciousness, and waited stiffly for the car to pass by me so that I could have a closer look. I was surprised to a stupor to discover what I saw and it took me some time to take it in. At the back of the seat the tender object was not a cute dog but a young lady with painted hair. Talking of deceptive appearances! But this was not the only turn off. She held a blue-white wrapper of an Oreo in her hand and let it flutter in the wind as they passed, subjecting the horns blazon environment to a funny plastic noise. I knew what was going to happen next yet I craned my neck backwards at the pacing vehicle to see her hand launch that mighty wrapper into the air, and close that open window with a manoeuvre of a finger.

Chance is a word void of sense, and by that nonsensical prospect I happened to meet the same batch of bountiful Audi legatees in a party the same evening. When the host introduced us I was sinfully aware that the discussion had been on Starbucks coffee, and I didn't want the subject to be somehow changed to academia or anything that they thought would suit my taste, so I took an excited plunge into the coffee beans that had been floating in the air before me. The buoyant young lady convinced me to Thank God not because it was Friday but for Starbucks were here; that this was the best thing that had happened so far this year, and that it was now hard to imagine how pathetically we were struggling to live in India that did not serve Starbucks coffee. I was also updated on the downmarket status of Mc Donald’s before we careened off to movies.

My spirits, raised to a tremendous high, were further promoted on hearing about The Great Gatsby. This was one of the favourite books during college and the second movie adaptation of a Fitzgerald classic that I had loved. We would have elaborate debates on the commodification of society and relationships back then. Eyes were opened by the young couple with a new standpoint that Gatsby was a stud and threw amazing parties, and that they wished they could host something like that. I was having the time of my life on the expense of their coquetry and light-headedness when the conversation came to an abrupt termination with the music of Pitbull in one of their phones. Their car was being towed somewhere outside the parking lot and the guy had to rush out. I wished them adieu for the night and returned dazzled.

I come from and speak for the same generation as these two, but my pidgin differs slightly from their vastly popular dialect of a polished countenance of surficial brilliance. Questions of morality and their utilitarian position in the society are being addressed with invariable indifference. The credit rests not on singular shoulders but remains balanced upon those of all generations that co-exist today. General directives that once used to be, “You must never tell a lie”, “You must never throw garbage on the road”, “You must help others”, “It is more important to participate than to win” are rapidly falling into a ditch with one tagline “Screw rest. Just get on the on top. MATERIALISTICALLY!” and to be on top you don’t need to feel guilty about maybe pushing some people down.

What is the harm, after all, in telling a student eating a Mc Aloo Tikki burger that he is eating ghetto food, while sipping chic Starbucks coffee yourself! I have undergone a change of heart and now deeply respect all those things that glitter, for they contain our future. A lot of such incidences had happened around me before but there is always one special one that manages to push you to the other side; it provided me with the escape velocity that freed me from the gravity I had maintained so far. If there were more converts like me our country could soon step out of its Third World status and walk around in full freedom; freedom from dogmas, traditions and shackling values of bygone morals. I have all my fingers and toes crossed in hope.

SLAM Khurshid

Everybody saw Salman Khurshid’s desperate picture shaking hands with Wang Yi, the Chinese counterpart of the Indian external Affairs Minister. That look of ‘satisfaction’ that he boasted off a little too much in his briefing with the media, later is alarming for the rest of the country. We have in our midst extremely articulate gentlemen who are capable of toying endlessly with words and making them sound bombastic and disarmingly impressive, holding key positions in the government. But a foreign government is hardly affected by the choice of words or however they are presented to their translators. Only the domestic population seeks to bow their heads down half in conformity, and a quarter each in shame and disappointment. I, unfortunately am trapped in the latter two quarters.

What is the job profile of an External Affairs Minister? I am sure it is more than that of a hospitality manager and host, or a tourist eager to please. The Indian idiom chhota mu badi bat stands enforced while I observe that a foreign minister represents his government in the international community, and that representation involves taking care of all the edges and nooks that need attention. The Brazilian constitutional lingo translates this ministerial position as Minister of External Relations; pardon my pedagogical vindication, but this is a man who, therefore is conscientious about what ‘affairs’ of a country must go on the table for discussion in an international forum. But alas, the Indian political system stinks pungently of religious appeasement drills aftermath, and the legacy is hard to not adhere to anymore, be that at home or elsewhere.

The incursion in Ladakh by the People’s Liberation Army was an act of blasphemy in terms of international relations and maintenance of status quo after the bloody war of 1962. Similar circumstances after the ultimate precipitation in ’62 have taken threatening forms but fortunately have never formalized ever since, nevertheless there is no assurance that they will not anymore. It is ironical that most often such incidents of frontal encounters have taken place around the time when Chinese delegates or ministers were on Indian visits. The latest confrontation at hand where the yellow forces set up tents in Indian Territory could have been discussed and seriously frowned upon over before Yi, but the occasion was allowed to pass as coldly as does any logical imagination.

Khurshid, that impudent mongoose (forget the folkloric qualities, severe offence intended), brazenly committed that he did not seek any explanation over the infiltration, while his meeting with the Chinese Foreign Minister. Both sides having already reached a peaceful resolve for the situation, where Indian bunkers, on Indian soil, had to be destroyed in order to calm the Chinese down, Salman thought it improper to raise a question or at least show some aversion to such unacceptable arm twisting. He also said that it was inappropriate at this stage to apportion blame at anybody and this would disturb the status of tremendous relief and satisfaction that the problem could be resolved in such little time.

Of course, when you bend down before a monster and promise to co-operate all through, and refuse to see this as a problem, there will be tremendous satisfaction at the end of such metaphorical Asian sodomy. India is in very unsafe hands, where ministers are not only timid but also keen on always placating the enemy.