The day before she sat helplessly as her husband massacred sundry Indian names—from saints to batsmen, no one was spared. That the ethereal Taj, flushed in the gloaming, can repair spirits was proven on February 25, when Melania Trump visited a Delhi government school during a ‘happiness class’. Soaking in the late winter sun, she folded a schoolgirl in an enchanting embrace.
It’s one thing to get into the frenetic top league of modern dance; it’s another for a group of 29 (yup, you read it right) to synchronise moves that produce electricity, yet defy physics. At America’s Got Talent: The Champions, they had little choice, but to hand them gold. Simon Cowell gaped goggle eyed; and as for Heidi Klum.... Put on your dancing shoes, that smile is worth pirouetting for.
That he’s a looker there’s little doubt, though emoting/acting—involving changes of expression artificially before a camera—will be a challenge at first we presume. All this talk is because our Yuvraj is set to star in a web series, along with brother Zoravar Singh and wife, actress Hazel Keech. Yuvi needn’t worry; with his record of hitting challenges to the bleachers, don’t be surprised if he ends up as one of the best actors on the circuit.
This is a potent mix, when rightful buoyancy and birthday cheer is joined by a narcissistic inanity tempered with innocence. Add to it the fact that the subject is extremely easy on the eye, making this extra effort for us here. Well, all Urvashi Rautela did on her 26th birthday was don this bathrobe, playfully term herself “the most amazing person” and, still playfully, demanded a holiday. Actually, it was kind of sweet.
Pre-Code Hollywood (1929-34) freely portrayed social degradation as well as the lure of desire over respectability through such willing instruments as Barbara Stanwyck, Miriam Hopkins, Claudette Colbert and Norma Shearer. But among all sirens who canoodled in risque outfits, Jean Harlow (1911-37) made the deepest impact. Even in her short career, she created a lasting type—the platinum bombshell exuding a bold, witty sex appeal. She was signed as the racy lead in Howard Hughes’s Hell’s Angels (1930) by accident, and arrived overnight as an object of desire. In hits like The Iron Man (‘31) and The Public Enemy (‘31, opp. James Cagney), she played the frothy, seductive female to the hilt, aided by the creation of a persona by studio publicity—a sexually insatiable being irresistibly glamorous in her plucked eyebrows and daringly tight gowns that accentuated her full figure. Those wildly exaggerated claims would cling to her beyond her tragically short life. Smash hits like Platinum Blonde (‘31), Red Dust (‘32), Bombshell (‘33) and Dinner at Eight (‘33) started a Harlow craze across the world—she played dim-witted bimbettes, but brilliantly used that characterisation, like Marilyn 20 years later, to create a comic effect. Later hits like China Seas (‘35) and Libelled Lady (‘36) firmed up her reputation as a riotously sexy, and riotiously funny, elemental force. She died suddenly, of uremic poisoning, and was buried in the garish Forest Lawn cemetery, so cruelly caricatured by Evelyn Waugh in The Loved One. Life treated Jean Harlow cruelly too.