Look at this carefully crafted portrait of Priyanka Chopra for her “tell-all” memoir, Unfinished. Move aside for a moment the fact that she hasn’t much significant to divulge. This shows her in a unique stage—the brief, ripe state of actresshood where, while inhabiting glamour, they don’t seem to strive for it. The book will plough through her childhood in India, NY and Boston—some good folks in the last two places, we hear, had racially jeered at teenage Priyanka. “I am a product of traditional India and its wisdom,” she declares. Oh lordy! You think she’s taking it easy now? Nah. Coming up: Matrix 4 opposite Keanu Reeves, Sangeet, a series coproduced with husband Nick Jonas, and a turn as Anand Sheela, Guru Rajneesh’s confidante and heir. That’s just a sprinkling. Calls for volume two.
A man wearing an oversized shirt is strangely diminished, even if he’s cast in a heroic mould. A large (men’s) shirt can only be sensualised by a woman—from Brigitte Bardot and Marilyn to Madonna, it’s a proven fact. The latest to try the unbuttoned, tightly loose, crumpled charm upon us is Alicia Vikander, the Swede who inherited the badass, arrow-slugging, gun-toting mantle of Lara Croft from Angelina Jolie in the Tomb Raider movies. The next instalment, thank heavens, is postponed. Yeah, cut out the common, rough stuff. If you want a piece of her, get transported with the demure, seductively rebellious Alicia to 17th century Amsterdam in Tulip Fever. Or wait for The Glorias, a biopic of feminist author and journalist Gloria Steinem.
The sage Agastya, say the Puranas and the epics, was a particularly irascible old man—woe betide you if you didn’t do his exact bidding and, quickest on the draw, he might bring down a curse on you and turn you into, say, a deer (if you’re lucky). Our subject here, all of two months old, is hard at work on the beady, unsatisfied look. But then, a confident, insolent stare daring all to cross him must be Agastya Pandya’s patrimony. What, we wonder, would he inherit from his mum, the gentle Natasa Stankovic—that sharp, black crop top and pencil skirt not detracting from the self-effacing tenderness. We think she’ll keep Agastya grounded.
Look closely—a faint glimmer of modernism hangs over this vision, as hang boughs and tendrils floating in lush green. Encased thus, Amyra Dastur is caught mid-movement in a self-indulgent twirl. A tight halterneck wrap and a loose-flowing skirt that seems to have generously borrowed its swirling colours from Matisse, Miro and Chagall lend this brief interlude from the studios a dash of carefree solemnity. A ‘bohemian’ look? It was, about a century back. Can you believe she’ll doff all this for Bagheera, opposite Prabhu Deva? What a fall!