Aimless Archer

Still Waters

2010-08-26T06:34:00.000-07:00

In the constant state of flux that life is in, there is always a fear of losing out if we stop, if we don’t make that one call on our list, if we don’t work, if we sit around and do nothing. I, for one, can’t deal with not working for more than two days. It just freaks me out. I can’t sit still, I constantly complain about losing the precious time of my life and can’t help dwelling on the fact that I am not growing any younger. If I am not working, I have to write something atleast or see, like six films a day or do read a book or just keep at something until it is done. I even prefer completing my camera report books to relaxing. I guess I am a certified workaholic lunatic.

Last week, the Monday was no different than one of these restless break days. My hard working self was troubled as usual and the Monday blues weren’t helping either. Imagine having Monday blues even when you don’t have a 9-to-5 job or a five day week… Anyways I was at the window of my bedroom looking out at the non intimidating vastness of the sky against the meritless insolence of the high rises. Just then a crow caught my eye as it flew down from the 14^th floor of a high rise to its 5^th floor. It fluttered around a bit, pecked at a few potted plants and then flew down to the 3 ft swimming pool in the center of our housing complex that had recently filled up with muddy water. I kept watching as this crow touched the tip of the water and flew away…I didn’t follow it any more…instead I began to stare at the blue color of the swimming pool that permeated through the brown mud in the water. So strong was the blue that the brown couldn’t keep it down. Memories of the water camp that I visited almost five years back came flooding in to drown me.

There in the midst of the summer, on the outskirts of Bangalore we frolicked in the waters by the beachside all throughout the day. This remote, idyllic place loitered just outside of a wilderness that we had trekked through on the previous day. It was so much fun that I refused to come out of it even when it was time to go back to the camp before the darkness fell. But one of my friends lured me out with the promise of showing me something spectacular that happened only at the moment of sunset. There was no time to lose he said; he looked so excited that I couldn’t refuse him. I reluctantly dragged my feet up a small hill after him. He was a good trekker; he kept leading on while I tried hard to keep my balance amidst the flailing stones and pebbles. At one point I seriously considered going back to my merry, effortless frolicking but he kept edging me on.

I was almost uninspired for this hike until nature decided to set me up for competition. Suddenly the sun began to set rapidly as if the other side of the world was exorcising the night and the overall ambient light dropped like it were on a high impedance dimmer. I took the cue; I was racing against time. In my imaginary movie - like rendition of my life, I began rushing dramatically to catch up with my friend; background score (ref: Carmina Burana) running in my head, fierce expression on my face, ‘against all odds’ suddenly becoming the catch phrase of my life et all. Soon I caught up with my friend and then we raced together to the top of the hill. As we neared it, the sun had almost set. A minute later, we were standing on the flat top plain of the hill but the light had been just whip lashed from the sky. Almost. I turned to look at my friend, both of us still trying to catch our breath. He looked at me for a moment, smiled and then looked back at the horizon. In a split second, the light on his face brightened up. I turned to look towards the sea as the sun spilled out in its one last minute of eternal golden glory. In that moment, the sea became a resplendent green blue like a seamless sheet of floating diamonds and the sun ever so gently touched the diamonds but not the sea and made them sparkle; the sky became a canvas of all the beautiful magentas, oranges and pinks master stroked into each other lovingly, the air became heavy with the silence of the unspeakable beauty, the birds stopped chirping as if to gaze in wonder and my heart altogether forgot to breathe. I felt a lasting sense of peace, I smelled inspiration, tasted belief; things I couldn’t describe but only know inside. And then just like that, in the next moment the sun set. And everything went back to the time before that moment.

I turned back towards my friend. He was staring at the ground, still trying to catch his breath. He then looked up at me and said, “I am sorry, we missed it I guess.” I couldn’t understand, what did we miss? Then we walked back to our camp base without a single word, as if nothing had happened.

But till date that one moment exists in me like no other. And the deep blue of our swimming pool brought back the memories of that still life etched in time dwelling inside of me; a token of a miracle, an impossibility, an improbability; one of nature’s spectacles meant for the exclusive audience of me, my own personal brand of elixir. Was that the first night of the many dreams of celluloid I have had ever since? Maybe it was. Maybe not. I don’t know why but I feel that those still waters run deeper inside me than I can ever comprehend because I felt at peace thinking about them. I stayed relaxed all through that Monday and for the first time not working seemed much more productive than working itself. Just being still made sense and at the end of that day, I wrote much better than before….

In the impossible jurisdiction of words

2010-08-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

Have the words forgotten their way from my mind to my mouth? It certainly seems like that. They are lost somewhere deep inside the innermost recesses of my mind; their screams for help slowly smothered away. They used to define me; my thoughts, my perceptions, and my persona, skewered as it might be. And now they are just gone. Sometimes I think I have found a word or two to define, without any circumlocution, my transient thoughts at their moment of prime but those turn out to be just shadows, just hollow, pronunciation-less echoes in place of the words that used to exist in that mindscape. If I don’t crystallize what I feel, if I don’t understand what I think, I risk the chance of not changing into someone I could become. These words, these little indestructible chips of a language used to help me crystallize, solidify, assume and over a period of time, become.

This month, I finally found some time for myself, a time for introspection of what I have become. And at this very crucial time, my words have deserted me. I am unable to describe what has happened to me; it is a tragedy so unique and personal that it has no remedy or relief and quite ironically no description. Stranded amidst my nameless predicament, I scream but no sound emerges for the vocal chords have no phonetics to carve. Cause there are no words.

Sometimes I get the feeling that I am in a spotlight standing in a disgruntled, dingy place vaguely smelling of rotten wood. I am unaware of myself in a partial amnesiac way. And there are these non-entities staring down at me from all the sides. Breathing, moving non-entities whose shapes can’t be described. They don’t speak; just stare…as if incriminating me, admonishing me for some unspeakable crime. Daring me to confess, to admit that I had wronged them, repressed them someway….are these my words? Am I in their court?

Closer to home..

2009-12-03T06:09:00.000-08:00

I recently got hooked onto to the TV series 'House'. Bought five seasons of the interesting medical drama from a pirated DVD shop and began a marathon viewing of the shows back to back; surprised to find all of life's varicolored dilemmas - emotional, psychological and physiological being played out boldly in most of the episodes. And to top as the icing on this cakelicious experience was the fact that I could absolutely relate to the central character of Dr. Gregory House - cold, bitter, misanthropic, calculating, a terrifyingly insightful eccentric genius, an intellectual with a sarcastic, witty and caustic sense of humor, a narcotic - addict who likes to push the limits till it all borders dangerously on murder or suicide and inspite of all of this still remains endearing, respectable and above all humane.

And it shocks me...that I can find House relatable. Its like saying 'I am a nun and the Texas chainsaw massacre villain feels like a soulmate'. The metaphor is a tad over-exaggerated but the feeling isn't. What really gets to me about the character is that even though it is written in a way that is too smart for it to be a real person, the flaws and the progression of the character's psychology and emotional maturity are unflinching and hard cored. And this growth is somehow fulfilling. House is generally Mr. Smartest Pants for most of his screen time, the "I-know-what-goes-on-in-your-mind-at-all-times" person. And more often than not, he's right.

He's right about people, about diseases, about diagnosis and almost everything under the Sun. But then there's always someone, a colleague or a patient or a relative, who cuts through House's defensive wisdom and reveals his vulnerable, tortured inner self. The smugness, the cocksure, rude, maverick, arrogant, defiant exterior of the character vanishes the moment he confronts his personal demons and in place of that we see an unsure, self-loathing, troubled individual who has difficulties accepting himself and his life, who questions his own judgment and fights against his own survival instincts to end it, once and for all.

And it is in these well-timed moments that the show's brilliance shines through and so does Hugh Laurie, who embodies Dr. House with his amazing emotional range and impeccable American accent. He's the reason for the 'all the way up" in the 'two thumbs all the way up' review that I'd give to most of the episodes in a true Roger Ebert style.

Also the way he talks is really sexy...like for example he has these dialogue Wimbledon matches with his best friend Dr.Wilson (who, by the way is modelled on Dr. Watson from the Sherlock Holmes. Ah, by the way did I mention Dr. House is based on Sherlock Holmes? Holmes - House, see the connection?)

Wilson: "That smugness of yours really is an attractive quality."
House: "Thank you. It was either that or get my hair highlighted. Smugness is easier to maintain.

Wilson: "She's hot, so she's a hooker? What kind of pathetic logic is that?"

House: "The envious, jealous, I-never-got-any-in-high-school kind of logic, hello! "

And then ofcourse there are those nitrous oxide suffused philosophies:

House: " take risks; sometimes patients die. But not taking risks causes more patients to die, so I guess my biggest problem is I've been cursed with the ability to do the math."

House: "There's an evolutionary imperative why we give a crap about our family and friends. And there's an evolutionary imperative why we don't give a crap about anybody else. If we loved all people indiscriminately, we couldn't function."

Apart from Dr. Wilson, there's hospital administrator, Dr. Cuddy, a feisty female match to House's witticisms. Also there's his team of fellow diagnosticians, who act as perfect foils to his character and somehow are unrealistically but needfully effective at witty dialogue delivery.

For most part of the series, House convinces you that he hardly cares about curing the patients, he only wants to cure the disease. He only wants to be proved right, wants to establish that he is somehow the wisest of the lot. He talks about his unconventionality as a doctor, refuses to wear a lab coat and sneers upon all the typical patient-doctor emotional bonds. And he does that very well. But then he also is unafraid to take a beating, go to jail, give up his medical licence just for a glimmer of hope based his wild diagnosis, which eventually may or may not cure the person. These contradictions to his character make it more mysterious and unpredictable, yet you never tend to dismiss it as fickle. And that is what makes the writing of this show truly impressive.

If you could overlook the fact that there is a barrage of really complicated medical jargon bombarded at you for most of the time at the speed rivaling that of light, I think everyone will find House really entertaining. More often than not, I find he says the kind of things that make you question the fallacy of your steadfast beliefs. I find to my amazement that he sometimes voices arguments and passes comments that I dare not speak out for the fear of hurting someone or being rude. The nasty tone, the hilarious gestures, the outright insults camouflaged as witty twits, the absolute disregard for authority and the non-existence of moral, respectful or even dignified behavior just makes for such compelling, vicarious entertainment that I am completely hooked on for hours... Plus there is a regular dosage of strong debates over issues of belief, faith, God, afterlife; its intriguing because both the sides of the argument are so strong that sometimes you root for the side opposite to your current ideology...and ofcourse there are those outrageous sexual and sexist innuendos...but never offensive, always 'guffaw'cious...And its fun for most parts..

Will soon be getting over with the five seasons I got...But this will go down as one of the best TV series I have seen in a really long time...Go Team House!!

Hitting the big 1ohhhhhhhhhhh!!

2009-10-18T06:41:00.000-07:00

One senseless...another egomaniacal...third prude and upright...fourth brain-damaging...and the list just keeps growing as I come down to my 100th blog.

More than 3 years later, I have finally arrived at the big 1-00. Actually had I made blogging a regular event in my life, I would have made it to this point earlier but never mind. I generally take my own sweet time with all the things up, close and personal to me and this blog is just one of those things.

For better or worse, I blogged about movies, books, poetry, prose, writers, directors, artists - all the things that caught my fancy. I made a conscious attempt to keep my real life experiences from becoming too detailed and have never put down much about the people, new and old whom I encountered in the last three years. I admit that it would have made the blogs more interesting and more intimate but it might have ended up hurting people because not everyone likes to see themselves in the light of others' perspective of them. I wrote about my life (or something like it) with a tone of self - deprecating humor cause I will always view it that way. Taking it seriously just doesn't go down well with me; plus that's the only way I have any fun with it.

I am a much different person than I used to me; my perceptions and ideas about the world and the people living in it have undergone a meteroic shift but at the core of it all, I still believe; I still have my faith. And I am still a kid at heart; ever trusting to the point of being suicidal. I guess I have a natural aversion to growing up and acting all high and mighty. I have to be the female Peter Pan, happily gliding about in my imaginary Neverland without a goddamn concern about my advancing age (its always at the back of my mind though) and no idea on how to get down to the business of earning a fabulous living and sorting out my priorities in the real world. I can't still bring myself to tell the nerve-wreckers to 'fuck - off' to their faces and absolutely hate being rude and uptight even when the situation demands it. But then that's me...though I have to say I have become stronger, I can handle more stress - both emotional and physical and the experiences have made my instincts sharper. So not all that bad, huh..I guess not.

In my head, I think by now I should have been at a certain place, with certain privileges and a body of shining achievements but I am not there. I am not where I began but in a limbo somewhere between these two places. Time somehow takes its own sweet course with me while I am racing along its side and yet it still wins. Its not fair but then with time you can't always win. So many of my friends are married now and have gone away to their own separate lives with their new priorities. Time has beaten me there too; I couldn't be with most of them on their special days and now a huge chasm of lost moments stands desolately and unforgivably between me and them. I can't seem to bridge it, making fumbling attempts to throw ropes across but in vain.

Between shoots, when I come back to my family I often hear of births and deaths in the families of relatives, all of whom are just wisps of blurred images as if from another lifetime. I often lose track of days, dates, festivals, wedding anniversaries, birthdays when I am shooting and when I am not, I really don't know what to do if I remember them at all. Life has become disjointed in ways; exists between certain periods and at other times, it seems to have smoked away. Amidst all the hustle and bustle of the shoots and the disquiet of the non-shoot days, I wonder if I am going down the right way...And ironically, only my dear friend and worst foe - Time can tell for sure.

This whole self-introspection trip is not the stuff that should ideally make up the 100th blog. It should be more of a celebration, a kind of achievement or something but I think of it more like the way I think of a birthday. More than a day of fun, its a day of thinking of life at that point. And that's what I did with my blog today...

What did you guys think of my blogs so far? Let me know...Promise to come back with something really funny. :)

Since the last blog..

2009-10-16T07:48:00.000-07:00

which was really a long time back, I have realized that it is not a good thing to take a long hiatus with an uncharacteristic blog like my last post. 'A vampire boyfriend is fine by me' is probably my worst-conceived blog idea which I managed to put down quite well and immediately regretted posting. The fact that I wrote it so passionately added to my woes because all the people who read it couldn't believe that my ideas about men had undergone a paradigm change from intellectually stimulating to physiologically divine, a perception that couldn't be further from the truth. I guess it was just a fit of hormonal overdrive that made me react to Edward Cullen in such a mindless fashion and I remember that the minute I finished my last blog, I snapped out of it and began to question my basic sensibility about writing it. Still, I went ahead and posted the blog and never bothered to delete it inspite of being ashamed of it just to serve me as a reminder of the really bad choices I am capable of making even in my sanest moments. But I shouldn't have waited so long to post another blog. It is like having a bad aftertaste in your mouth, having a Listerine nearby and not bothering to gargle with it....Anyways moving on...

Since reading the crap called 'Twilight', I have thankfully moved onto better books. Starting off with the incredible 'The Manchurian Candidate' by Richard Condon which boasts of being a controversial and nightmare-inducing thriller given its premise of brain washing (absolutely original at the time of its first release in 1959), it more than stood up to its fanfare and high expectations. This is not the stuff that Booker winners are made of, but it is certainly high entertainment, devilishly narrated by a man whose sweat stinks of the waters of Hollywood. I read it feverishly, sinfully delighted by its melodramatic plot that meanders expertly through themes of war, terror, spies, brainwashing, cold war, incest, megalomaniacal motherhood and then of course, quite unexpectedly a little fervent love. The characters are well-etched and the mother's character is probably one of the most demonic ever written. Definitely a must-read. Needless to say, it spawned a movie and then another....Hoping to catch the original one with Frank Sinatra and Angela Lansbury soon.

On a friend's recommendation, I got hooked onto J. M. Coetzee's 'Disgrace' and have been grateful to him ever since. Its an eloquent narration of an aging Professor's life as it spirals into web of disgrace and compromises when his torrid affair with a young student is exposed. The language is exquisite without being flowery or overwhelming and the conflicts are very real and humane. There is no extraordinary message of "triumph over all odds" that the author is trying to relay; he's just telling a story as if it has happened and his unpretentious, unassuming writing makes this Booker winner poignant. A recommended read for people who enjoy pure, unadulterated literature.

Right now, I am onto Orhan Pamuk's 'My name is Red' and from the first few pages, its hitting all the right notes with me...I can't quite describe the joy of reading a truly wonderful book; even if I decide to exhaust all the superlatives known to me, I don't think I can ever come close to documenting the ecstasy and its after-effects that accompanies a real good read. Maybe someday when I have accumulated enough literary wisdom and have the power of effective vocabulary at my finger tips, I might begin to put together a blog dedicated to the immense, varicolored joys of a good reading...

Maybe someday....

A vampire boyfriend is FINE by me...

2009-08-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

Till the night before I read the book, "Twilight" I was absolutely flabbergasted by the amount of fervor this series has caused worldwide...The movies, the characters, the actors playing them, the memoribilia, the dialogue, the author, the production house, the release dates, what happened on the sets? Who's romancing who? Who should romance who? Who should wear what? Are RobPatz (male lead) and KrisStew (female lead) dating? Why aren't they? Why should they? Why shouldn't they? If not them, then who? What are they wearing to the premiere? What should they really wear? Why the hairstyle like that? On which airport was RobPatz mobbed again?...each and every thing associated with 'Twilight' series is chewed, ruminated, spit out, then chewed again, debated about, comprehended, re-evaluated, re-examined, cross verified, questioned, scruntinised, glorified, idolised and it then starts all over again.

It all seemed so frenzied, crazy, unjustified - what is all this? And what for? A teenage romance between a human and a vampire...I mean what's new here? Haven't all the vampire stories been inspired by the singular thought that humans, in general have this irresistible, fatal attraction towards vampires and the struggle lies in the ultimate choice between tempestous desire and life preserving logic? The last time I recall, such a literary furore was caused by the Harry Potter series and the atleast the basic idea of a boy wizard and his adventures was original. (The rest however was heavily inspired by JRR Tolkien, Terry Pratchet's original imaginative tombs about alternate worlds) I loved the Harry Potter books till I reached the No.4 - HP and Goblet of Fire and then I realised that the creative Rowling is merely writing endlessly, minus any real plot or conflict to add to the pages (to justify the big price label it came with) and catering to the whims, fancies and sky-high, ridiculously unreal and conflicting zillion expectations of a million fans. No wonder the story meanders, the plot thins out and the characters are sublimely lost in their own oxymoronizations. No.5, 6, 7 are not much salvaged either. But that's another blog story.

So the moral of the story is that the premise of Twilight isn't even as original as HP to begin with, then how come it caught the fancy of so many people? I set myself to the task...and opened the first page of Twilight. For the rest of the night, with the exceptions of the uncontrollable gasps and embarassingly audible "Oh!" and "Oh my God!"I didn't spend a second on anything else but the page and finished the novel by morning. To call it a literary achievement by any standard is plain ignorance talking but I must say it was a hell lot of entertainment and the 'picture-perfect' vampire boyfriend that she resurrects to life is wolf whistle - worthy. ABSOLUTELY!!

He's the embodiment of all Godsent boyfriend virtues: he's drop dead gorgeous, old world charming, intelligent with witty banter, well etiquetted, mysterious, funny, sarcastic but not hurtful, loves you to death (can't resist a chuckle here for the pun unintended - vampires loving humans to death, hehe), has a good handwriting, great dancer, blessed with a terrific family that will stand by him and his choices, fabulously rich, zooms around in expensive, shiny cars at Schumacher speeds, doesn't mind being an extremely punctual pick-up and drop guy, carries you around in his arms or on his back whether you are hurt or not, sneaks stealthily into the house at night just to watch you sleep and doesn't wake you up by moronically dropping something, helps pack bags, grows jealous of other men's unsavory attention, stands in the path of your fatal troubles and most importantly - LISTENS TO YOU AND ANSWERS YOUR QUESTIONS TRUTHFULLY!!

And then ofcourse since he's a vampire, he runs faster than the wind, is ageless, agile and superhuman in strength, well versed with most of the subjects, his skin sparkles in the sunlight with the light of a thousand diamonds, has a special talent to listen to people's thoughts (this is not always welcome but whatever!), lives in a magnificient, era-appropriate mansion, is seductive to the point of leaving you breathless and make your heartbeat sound like a nanosecond ticker....ufff the list is endless. To top it all, he does not even have his characteristic, unvoguish fangs. So no accidental/scary/embarassing social revelations and reduced chances of injuries during ballistic tonsil hockey. And all that goes against him is that he's a vampire, irregularly moody, has temper issues when others hurt his loved ones...a few things here and there. Again, his vampirism is only animal-oriented, no humans preyed so that's like almost being a non-vegetarian. There you go, that's the character...now which girl wouldn't want a guy like this? So what if she has to deal with a few age and race problems? I mean you are getting to be with God for the price of a few minutes spent penancing. That's it!!

And he is all this to a girl, who's hilariously accident prone, suffers from low esteem, is decently smart but not exceptionally intelligent, doesn't have looks to kill for, is admittedly shabby at dressing, non-ambitious, not prodigious but with a surprising ability to accept shocking truths with a poker face. Their romance begins conventionally; damsel-in-distress meets the knight in shining armor, he rescues her and they fall in love. And then come the series of the top 100 most romantic moments (some original, some inspired, many cliched, less refined) which the DESPERATELY-in-LOVE couple share and we begin to be overwhelmed by the absoluteamazingfantabulouslovability of the hero Edward Cullen. Some of the dialogues are witty like "My car is like a grandfather to your car, so show some respect" but most of them are repetitive and nerve-tiring like the ever-boring 'I love you so much', 'I love you too', 'I just want you to be safe', 'I want to be with you forever' 'I really care about you' 'Me too...'etc. etc. If you remove these lines from the book except for once maybe, I guess the 260-page love tomb will be reduced to a 170-page supercrush dossier, maybe even lesser. But anyways gotta make it look BIG, I guess! So what if the plot doesn't spread out beyond 70 pages, somehow it should be stretched mighty to fool the reader into believing that they are witnessing romance of epic proportions...

But none of the above criticism can deny the fact that I was positively hooked onto the book and loved reading it so much that I finished it in one go. And the reason was ofcourse Edward 'Heartthrob' Cullen. There's such a temptation to him; a danger, a desire, all the while walking a thin line between thoughtless adulation and moronic idolization. It was one of the few times that I didn't want to intellectualize a character, find any reality or logic or even suspended believability to him. I just felt like I needed to let go for once and let my heart feel the abandon that comes with uninhibited reaction of the senses. I didn't want my mind to analyse any of those reactions and then carefully separate out the few dignified, justified and mature ones. For once, I let myself be childlike and unsmart. And it worked...I felt such bliss acknowledging this literary (??) supercrush after an enormous hiatus following my infactuations with Rhett Butler and Mark Darcy once upon a time. This is not to say that he's even a fraction as well-written as Rhett or Mark was, but just that he is the kind of ravishing boyfriend that every teenage girl wishes for and I caught myself foolishly drooling over his well-cultivated, manipulative awesomeness to realize that there's still a 15-year old kiddo inside of me who would scan the skies every night to chance upon a falling star.

And to top it all he's played by Robert Pattinson...God have mercy!!

The Lars Loneliness

2009-08-02T01:27:00.000-07:00

Just saw the movie, "Lars and the real girl" and identified with it immensely. It tells the quirky tale of a sweet, innocent guy called Lars who begins to treat a doll as his girlfriend and lives the entire life cycle of a relationship with her, imagining her side of the conversations, her choices, her life story, her preferences giving her such emotional depth that in the end when she 'dies', people in his church congregation shed a silent tear for her. It is such an amazing, unbelievable plot made so freakingly acceptable that you are compelled to empathise with the characters inspite of their seemingly lunatic behavior that borders on the extremes of ridiculousness.

Even though the premise of the story is crackling, the real beauty lies in the fact that inspite of Lars' mooniness, people around him try and adjust to his new reality, patiently accepting Bianca (his doll girlfriend) as a real person, even getting her jobs as a model (cute!!), a school story book reader (with a tape recorder) and giving her makeovers. Ofcourse there is the initial discomfort and disquiet that a few of the them experience but eventually they go along with the pretense of it and somewhere I think, most of them feel a sort of companionship with the mute doll and a comfort in her inoffensive, unassuming presence.

There are also some hilarious mini-anecdotes about grown-up co-workers and their possessiveness over little action figures and teddy bears. I guess all of us have such affections for non-living things and I think that is the writer's way of saying that Lars is a normal person, just very lonely and socially inept, probably due to supposed-problems with his upbringing by a single parent, having had lost his mother at birth and that his attachment to the doll is just a magnified, blown up version of our own quirky, little, emotional ties with our lifeless possessions. I guess all of us are lonely; if not always, atleast at some point of time in our lives and not everyone is lucky enough to find a real person to share their troubles with, so we (as in we, the absolute irrational, illogical beings that we become sometimes) seek solace in the non-judgmental company of our little toys. And that's real...

Do watch the film...it is a little slow at times, but amusing and thought-provoking for most of it.

My newest love..

2009-07-28T09:33:00.001-07:00

The day I purchased the iPod, I realized that I probably made the second best investment of my life (the first being my laptop). It is absolutely fantastic!! Though I am the queen of over exaggeration, I swear there’s none of it here. To me, my iPod is a gorgeous piece of equipment that sucks me out instantly from the occasionally dull routine of everyday life and transports (or rather in the Harry Potter universe ‘disapparates’ me) to another world where music and lyrics lay out a fascinating conundrum of ideas, imaginative possibilities, meshed up with my memories and spruced up by a dash of inspiration.

It is like my wired chair from the colorless, drab Zion to the deceptively seductive Matrix of infinite, superficial pleasures –the passion, the madness that only love can summon, the high that only drugs can give, the abandon that comes with irresponsibility, the intolerable pain that heartbreak brings, the adrenaline rush of a bungee fall; sometimes all at one go…One minute I am this zombie, sleepwalking through life with the maddening city bustling around me and the next minute as the iPod plugs in, I become this high-octane, supercharged megatron zooming past people, places experiencing everything on a different level of rhythm- induced fauxmoreality that seems more pulsating as I see things happen over the background track playing in my ears.

For eg: Like if I am at the railway station trying to break through the ranks of people, in an attempt to catch the elusive fast train and say the track ‘Adiemus’ (from the incomparable ‘Lord of the Rings’) is playing on the iPod, I begin to imagine myself as a hapless warrior trying to break through the enemy ranks, vanquishing hostile beings with every swish of my sword, inspite of my numerous, failing wounds, all in a desperate attempt to somehow make it to my fatally-wounded beloved’s side before death claims him forever. And trust me; this helps to enjoy the otherwise tragically unpleasant and tiring task of having to run for the train, day after day. It is so filmy, I know….but it is better than real life.

Then at other times, when I watch a couple walk by on the road, chatting, talking, laughing; generally enjoying each other’s company, I associate it with the love song playing in my ears. Suddenly the lyrics come alive, the tune becomes more melodious, it is like I am watching a mini movie unfold before me. And I remain astounded at how close these artistes, these musicians come to capture the essence of emotions in their words, their tunes…and how close I am getting to experiencing it thanks to the iPod.

And it is not just the music…Since I have the classic iPod, I have trailers…Lovely trailers of movies that seem eminently watchable and will most certainly never be released in India…How I love my country!! But still, it’s a joy to watch them. And then there are podcasts; about films, scriptwriting et all - masterfully narrated or intellectually discussed in interviews that are just like icing on the cake to the already piled-up fantabulousness of the iPod…

The only glitch though is that I have to exercise a very high level of self-control and try not to break into an impromptu sing-and-dance routine when I am listening to my favorite dance numbers….and that happens almost every day atleast a hundred times, so it’s a real test for me…but otherwise I am doing great with my iPod. Thank you, Steve Jobs!! You are a genius.

Right now the theme song of my life: ‘Jump’ by Madonna.

That's me!!

2009-07-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

I am the kind of person who'd die, go to heaven, be welcomed by the angels, have a seat all decorated for me, be escorted by beautiful demi-gods who'd take me to it, have a symphony played as I walk down to it, then as I sit on it and the ceremony reaches a crescendo, I realize that it is the sacramental seat for those to be sent as an envoy to hell - forever!!! And for what??? To try and reform the evil there....

That's all there is to my life!! No real heaven...only detour trips through it to hell....

Raindrops keep falling on...

2009-07-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

Hey check out this pics that i clicked the other day at home; nothing new about them but was fun...

No photoshopping here; they are cropped a little though for effects....

Like a century has passed me by...

2009-07-06T07:14:00.000-07:00

It does feel like that these days...I mean from the time that I left college, then joined Wipro, then left Wipro, then joined Mindscreen, studied, learnt, experienced there, then passed out, did films as an assistant, each one unique, met different people; people of all levels - moral, social, intellectual, spiritual, professional....got more than a peek at the stars - their lives, their ways, their mannerisms, their dedication to the job, their success, their pain, the way people perceive them, the way they truly are....seems like an eternity since that last day at college...I was 21 then, in a matter of 5 years, I feel like I have lived through 5 decades of life...and yet there are lapses of time in between where I remember being all by myself, devoid of any human contact for days together. Still I have so many million moments of having discovered people, one little idiosyncrasy at a time. And so many of them. And I remember them as if I have had them yesterday.

Sometimes I feel like I lived my life well....but then again maybe not. I spent time poring over books when other girls were discovering nailpolishes, scrap books and romances. I was visiting encyclopedic websites when others went club hopping; I was locked up in my room doing self-assigned projects when people were opening up to idea of beach vacations and rain dances. I was struggling to find my vocation when most were climbing up the professional ladder with the gusto of a trained tiger out to make a kill. Most of my friends are married by now, some might even be expecting a kid while I am still to even begin a decent relationship(an almost impossible concept to me) . I don't know if I am a loser or just one of those people who take too long...but then again how much is too long?

I'd like to think I am a little different....maybe not always in a good way but almost never in a bad way. I have taken time with things but then I have learnt my lessons well. I have never had a romance but I can bet my a** I can write a great love story. And even if I spend very less time with others in general, my mind makes every moment count. And to top it all, I have learnt to live centuries within a span of years...So even if die tomorrow, it hasn't been a sad life. Well a little sad but definitely not uninteresting.

I always thought I would wake up one day when I am 35, completely unable to recognise my husband lying next to me, dripping with sweat after having had a terrifying nightmare, unable to recall most of my boring life except the one moment when I should have made a decision to switch to what I really wanted to do and didn't find the courage to go ahead with it...This was my greatest fear till the day I changed the course of my life. Today I am not who I want to be but atleast I am somewhere on that path....not on the top but definitely trying to figure the best way up there...I guess it ain't too bad...somehow...

I believe..

2009-07-06T07:03:00.000-07:00

That emptiness is the beginning of a new Universe

A whiff is the strain of a new scent

A lonely thread spurns a yarn

And a drifting heartbeat eventually makes a song

And that the Universe with these million scents woven into a thousand yarns floating amidst the beseeching melodies is worth the chaos of the Big Bang!!

All by myself

2009-04-12T08:42:00.000-07:00

Living alone is not so bad as people might think. There is a unique solace in it; a silence that envelops you and keeps you calm, giving you a sense of detachment that makes you a part of this world yet away from it as if you were a star far away in a nameless galaxy watching the earthlings as they busy themselves with their lives.

You can hear your own thoughts a little louder, you can break into a song at will and not have to explain, you can talk to yourself and not be taken for a lunatic, you can dance at will, sprawl your clothes all over the floor and not have to tidy up every freaking day. You can eat as you like, sleep as you want, talk all night on phone without disturbing anyone else’s sleep, watch all the movies you’d like at the volume you prefer, return home late at night without having to tiptoe. It’s a world without rules…and only you are welcome to it…

So all by myself...just wanna live....all by myself

The real drama kings and queens...

2009-03-01T22:25:00.000-08:00

Last month, there was a huge uproar over the title 'Billu Barber'...all the hair technicians seemed to have gone to the court seeking a stay over the movie cause it 'downgraded' them as 'barbers':(Answers.com definition - One whose business is to cut hair and to shave or trim beards) and this had obviously not gone down too well with these refined stylists. Anyways many people perceived it as yet another publicity gimmick....

Now I haven't seen the film but seriously if anyone had any real objection at all, I wonder why....I believe the story was about a barber called Billu and so the title; the movie wasn't about the profession, it was about the man and I also don't understand how and who from the stylists community saw the film 3 weeks before its release, maybe more than 2 weeks before its first screening for the cast and crew (as per the norms) and wanted a stay on it. Somehow the media never questions like these and then they proclaim that they 'research' and 'analyse' and 'search for the truth'...search, oh really?? And then on top of it, so much coverage is given to an issue like this that's completely irrelevant and hopelessly illogical. Is only the title enough to provoke and inflame a riot of indignation and protests from the supposedly-literate and sophisticated upper class stylists? Assuming this protest was real, shouldn't they all have wanted to watch the film first and see if there's anything abusive for their profession; any real reason for them to drop their choc-o-block diary of superstar appointments and participate in this?

At the end of it, I don't think it was anything more than some more junk fodder to fill up those extra pages of the newspaper (advocating the misconception that more pages for less money is somehow a sign of a value-for-money, in-demand publication) and feed the news-hungry TV channels, mushrooming all over the place like a bad case of plague, where the so-called reporters blare into the mikes with inconsistent information and redundant data over and over again, talking about something as mundane as a man's pocket being picked with the urgency and fervor of reporting the Iraq war from amidst the crossfire. They infuse it with so much unnecessary drama, hackneyed lines and forcefully invented twists-and-turns : all they typical trappings of a C-grade potboiler. that its unbelievable. Especially channels like India TV should be banned for their overimagined, moronic stories about aliens and UFOs, replete with laughable graphics that even a 3rd std kid could top and the distorted crime stories, so cheap and loud that they scream out their own incredulity. It would be terribly ridiculous if it wasn't so funny...

Anyways getting back to negative publicity for movies, I hope that 'Watchmen' - the movie doesn't get stomped over by our Watchmen - Security Guard union who might mistake it to be a offensive portrayal of their profession because of its name or throw a fit over the very well - fitting costumes of the ladies and the men (all superheroes..) by crying foul over the 'over-glamorisation' of their humble uniforms. It is a real possibility these days since nothing these days is a waste of time and everything is news worthy....

The newest high...

2009-03-01T09:02:00.000-08:00

Today, I feel more alive than I have felt in a really long time..
the last time I felt like this was the one and only time I went bungee jumping...
As I plummeted to the depths I rose to a level unknown
This was the high I never thought I could feel
I was giddy; my legs dangling loosely, my senses were ripped apart
For moments later I could look at things around, but not really see them
The experience kept flipping back and forth in my mind
And every second I wished to myself that I'd live the previous hour once again

For never has a roller coaster lasted this long nor felt this great..
I felt my soul rise again from the dead coffins of monotony
And once again my heart bubbled with a desire to create
I saw my life running back to me, feel the blood racing in my veins
I can still hear my own gasps, immerse again in the heat of the moment
Feel the butterflies in my stomach, relive the tingle down my spine

Still trying to recover from the heady breathlessness
The bewitching awesomeness of it all..

As I close my eyes now, I still see

THE DARK KNIGHT on IMAX screen...

The 'original' dilemma

2009-02-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

I often wonder how you can ever be sure if an idea is completely original… I mean in times like these when several thousand full-length features, a hundred thousand short films, another million of ads, a ten million equivalent of novels and books and a zillion of blogs and articles are being produced every year, how can you claim to have an idea that’s cent percent unique, that’s never been done, said, written or executed before?

I don’t think these days I ever get an idea that’s original…feel like all of it or atleast a part of it has been done before…I have an unusually large database of references, thanks to an addiction to all sorts of media communication, so no matter what idea comes to me, I subconsciously begin to make links to previously viewed or read content and inadvertently end up acknowledging that my latest brainwave ain’t entirely my own...in decent words, it is ‘inspired’…

Does everyone else feel like this too? or am i the only over-analysing, self deprecating, being-hard-on-oneself lunatic?

Droning through the day...

2009-02-23T22:53:00.000-08:00

Happy new year my blogspot...
Must be the most delayed, belated happy new year that anyone has ever said to the other..I mean come on, its 24th Feb...post-Oscar time and the world is still reeling under the spell of Rehmania and Slumdog's miraculous juggernaut and Sean Penn and his gays rights activism and the beautiful Kate Winslet with her spontaneous '..dad, just whistle out so I'd know where you are..'So cute!! But then that's me...I believe in making up for my delays and mistakes even after they cease to make a difference any more...so there!!!

Anyways, I was at home the other day and was just wondering what to do with my time...I told myself "I must make it productive" and wrote it down on 10 post-its and pasted it in different parts of my room so that it would stare in my face even if I tried to make an escape and catch an unnecessary, fat-inducing nap; which I am almost-always-tempted to take even in the most unbedlike spots on the planet. So I reluctantly switched on my computer (hoping that it wouldn't boot and then I would have a legitimate excuse to slog off and later complain about how the Universe conspires against my 'efforts' to fulfil my ultimate 'destiny'.. Ahem!!) and of all the times, that day it booted really fast; even the snail-paced Microsoft Word opened up in a jiffy and I had to sit and type in something that could be passed off as an attempt at writing.

But I was amazed for not even a single word could come out...I just tried to type in any random word but somehow even that seemed hopelessly impossible. My fingers just wouldn't type anything not even an alphabet. They just sat there on the keyboard; frozen as if on the last word that I typed for what it seemed centuries ago. My mind was blank and for the first time in my life, I had nothing to write about.

I recoiled back from the computer, unable to reconcile with this new reality of my life. I couldn't write anymore. But I wasn't going to give up so easy..so I sat back and thought about what I needed to write...something fictional? Not really...I hadn't thought of a plot for a long time now.. Maybe something of a review...but there are just so many online, so no need to add to the already existing garbage...maybe something of a personal experience, an observation, contemplation, a book that I like, poetry, something about photography (that I don''t practice, just preach about..) cinematography, people (gets too personal), places, anything....nothing...at one point of time, I was so into writing I could write an entire day about the word 'no' or 'all' or 'whatever' but now I just couldn't...

The horror of my new 'current status' lasted for two days...in those two days, I slept (predictably, assuring myself that the rest might do the trick...hah, as if) , ran some errands, did mindless couch surfing (but then how else do you watch TV?) and kept buzzing around the house like a lost bee; staring for hours at uninteresting flower vases for inspiration, trying to cut fruits to see if an idea pops out, drawing random circles and retracing them in an effort to sketch out a plan to write but nothing worked...I picked up a Satyajit Ray short story book in an effort to voodify some of the master's creativity into me. I scanned through newspaper meticulously; even reading the bland stock columns to stimulate something inside the jammed clogs of my brain, I cleaned out my closets, washed my clothes, read through some of my old stuff but nothing seemed to even bore me into writing.

And then I did the most unthinkable - I actually stepped into the kitchen and seriously thought about 'cooking'. That was it - I had reached the heights of desperation...it was not just worth it anymore. I began to prepare myself for a life without the painful but gratifying adventure of writing. It would be dull, I thought, terribly unfulfilling, for sure but I will live it through. I said it out loud enough for all the deaf cabinets to hear and finally I let my natural lazy self take over my damned spirited imagineer. At night, I logged onto Youtube and saw clips from 'The Dark Knight' with the menancing Heath 'Joker' Ledger in it. I sat in awed silence and played the clips over and over again...each line he said, the terrifying way in which he said it...I just couldn't get enough...

The next day morning (today), I sat and wrote this piece of fiction...

A week of great films…

2008-10-13T01:32:00.000-07:00

It has been a terrific week!!! I have watched five great films that have dazzled me; everything or atleast more than two things are superlative about each of them. And all of them have unfortunately left me doubtful of my own abilities as an aspiring filmmaker… Anyways, there’s a lifetime to find out if these doubts are justified or not…for the time being, I will talk about the movies;

The week started with ‘Adaptation’; It was a late Monday night and I was so goddamn sleepy but also hell-bent on watching this flick so with reluctant eyes but more than an eager heart I set out to see it and from the opening monologue itself, I was completely hooked on…The first dialogue of the film was something like this

Do I have an original thought in my head, my bald head?
Maybe if I were happier my hair won’t be falling off
Life is short; I need to make the most of it
Today is the first day of the rest of my life
Huh, I am a walking cliché
I really need to go to the doctor and have my leg checked; there’s something wrong with the bone
The dentist called again, I am way overdue
If I stop putting things off I’d be happier
All I do is sit on my fat ass
If my ass wouldn’t be fat, I would be happier
Then I wouldn’t have to wear shirts with the tails on them all the time…like that’s fooling anyone…fat ass…
I should start jogging again…5 miles a day…really do it this time…
Maybe rock climbing….I need to turn my life around
What do I need to do? I need to fall in love..

When I was hearing this, I couldn’t stop laughing because I could so easily identify with the chaos that the scriptwriter character, Charlie Kauffman was going through…I mean this is what I think about most of the times; things like ‘how I lack an original thought’ and ‘how I need to do this or that to improve my life’…it was all so hilarious, I replayed it thrice before seeing the rest of the movie.

The rest of it was also so great; it is a story of the scriptwriter, Charlie and his twin brother, also aspiring to be a scriptwriter and who is more interested in writing the ‘psychological thriller of split personality serial murderer who’s also the cop’ kinds. Charlie meanwhile is a loner struggling with mid-age crises, low self-esteem, intimacy issues and above all, a restless urge to write a completely original script. For this, he decides to adapt a novel about orchids and then his story, the novel writer’s personal story, the story in the book and the process of his writing the script all become a part of this film’s story.

It talks about so many things and yet manages to remain coherent and emotionally satisfying…the film debates about what makes a good script, the volatility of relationships, orchids, how passion directs or misdirects people, taking control of your life and so much more. There’s comedy, romance, adventure, suspense, drama, some unexpected action, tragedy, hell even some scientific ‘gyaan’ on evolution and orchids and all of this is neatly done without any spill-off or loss of track. It is one crazy brilliant script, accompanied by some great performances especially by Nicholas Cage in the dual roles of the scriptwriter twins and that of Chris Cooper as the enigmatic ‘orchid thief’ John Larouche. Coming from the man who wrote the path breaking ‘Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind’, this is a rare movie for all to watch and enjoy…I thoroughly loved it and has become one of the few movies that I don’t mind watching more than once…

Next I saw Stanley Kubrick’s ‘Lolita’…again the setting was midnight on a tiring Tuesday but more about this and others in the next blog…I am off to sleep now…haven’t slept properly for most of the nights this week…but its been fun…

A thousand little things to ask…

2008-10-05T12:00:00.000-07:00

Normal people are supposed to have 60,000 thoughts every day…In case of my hyperactive (and often clumsily immature) mind that doesn’t rest even for ten – millionth of a second, its safe to presume that atleast a billion of thoughts must be clashing into each other every single day. And out of these many, many, many, many thoughts, quite a few are open ended silly questions for which I almost never have answers…

Like at the top of my head now; I wonder where Superman hides his enormous cloak when he is dressed as Clark Kent, with the neat suit and the normal pants?

Why am I always hated by my ‘likeable’ roommates? Do I have something called as ‘Roommatophobia’ which turns on some subcutaneous glands that emit some foul, repulsive secretion that excites the ‘hate’ hormones in them….I mean, come on…what’s the deal with me almost never having a great roomie? It is like I am cursed for this sort of scarred life….

Next on my list…why did I (instead of all the rich and all the mega rich people around me) have to lose my N95 (which incidentally was also a gift)?? And that too on the third day after getting it…

People like Van Gogh, Mozart, Nietzsche, Baron, Poe were fascinatingly original and brilliant in their work and truly unfortunate in their lives….Is blinding talent and unfailing misfortune a part of God’s package deal for every other genius? Or is terrible suffering the only one true inspirer?

Was 2/3 rd of the Spiderman 3 movie directed by an alien masquerading as Sam Raimi? Or did Sam Raimi think that SFX was more important to the movie and sat all along in the Sony VFX lab asking his juniormost AD to direct the film? I mean what went wrong there?

Why don’t I ever have my camera on me when there is actually a great ‘Kodak’ moment?

Is morality ever linked to spirituality? Can you be immoral and spiritual at the same time?

Why does a pimple make a preposterous appearance on my face exactly two days before I really need to look good for an event? And why does it always have to get bigger the day before?

Why is it that on days that I don’t apply the sunscreen, the sun just wistfully decides to turn a full-intensity glare on me? Whereas on days when I am actually fortified and dare the sun to come out, it is just pleasantly cloudy or rainy…

Is having short stature and big feet the next step in evolution?

How stupid and ignorant we must seem to the Powers watching over us as we fight for the terrain that isn’t ours, for the resources that are meant for all of us using the fragile excuses of religion and race, indicating a weak (though scientifically evolved) mind that is unable to conjure up a better reason for war….Is global warming and all its side-effects such as hurricanes, pole reversal, melting glaciers and rising sea levels an indication of the judgment day approaching?

Which kind of movie wins at the Cannes? The esoteric, unpredictable, innovative abstract kind or the emotional, predictable, slow but life affirming kind?

If ‘the secret’ [as indicated in the book ‘The Secret’] to having anything in life is just based on imagining that we already have it and believing strongly in it then why don’t I have the Oscar already? I give my acceptance speech almost every day… L

Is love the greatest myth of all times?

Another Superman one….If we have Superman, why do we need all the other superheroes on the Justice League? I mean, how many people could you possibly need just to keep the stone of Krypton away from Superman? Nine???

With just this little trailer of my erratic-thought-superhighway mess, one can imagine what a mad house it must be inside my head most of the times. With this valueless insight, I come to the end of the silliest blog I have ever written….but you must understand that I gotta put down my load of stupid inclinations somewhere…now that it is offloaded here, I will get back to my serious (read: boring) musings and introspections about everything and nothing…and hopefully next time will have something less brain-damaging than the above…

High on music…..

2008-10-04T04:18:00.000-07:00

My life is full of passions and obsessions; quite a few that border on the edge of insanity. One of those passions is music; not that I say that I am deep into chords, strings or that I can recognize an A - major from a D - Minor at the first beat itself but it is just that I respond to music better than anything else.

Music changes the air around me; filling it with the vitality that its rhythm dictates and this very change affects me; affects me so much that I lose track of the time and space around me. Cliché, but true. I have to make a deliberate attempt to stop myself from dancing to or emoting the way the song requires me to. Sometimes when I am in a mood to chill out, I let myself go even if I am in the midst of friends often ending up facing them red cheeked when I come back from my musical trip. They find it amusing; I find it an embarrassing but difficult to control phenomenon.

Many a times when I am not listening to a record being played on a player, I am atleast running one inside my head, if not singing it out loud. I am not a great singer but I try and put my feeling in it. When a song plays, several images run through my head; sometimes they are those that I have seen on the video, sometimes they are my own but there is almost no time when there’s none. Music stimulates imagery in me; some known some out-worldly….like revealing a part of me to myself that I didn’t know before. I feel things I never knew existed or some others that I thought I was incapable of comprehending in just a beat. Sometimes when I hear a beautiful song and the singer’s soul touches mine; it almost feels like love at first sight, fleeting and arresting; breathtaking and grounding; knockout and uplifting all at the time. With few of my favorite songs, the ‘love at first sight’ keeps repeating over and over again…

Music thrills me; entices me, fills up the bottomless void inside of me atleast for a while. It inspires hope, nudges my dreams, stirs up dormant desires, makes me wanna fly…Most of all it makes me feel alive...It is about the only thing that helps me shed my inhibitions completely and it is the only high I will ever need – rest of the stimulants being pathetically incomparable (Not that I have tried any but then never felt the need for them). Music is my addiction; not that I’d die without it but I sure feel like I stop living when it isn’t around…

Putting my pen down

2008-09-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

For a long time now, I haven’t wrote….Not because I haven’t found anything worth writing about, also not because its not my ‘thing’ anymore but for the simple reason that I didn’t feel like it…

I wonder why? Why don’t I feel like I want to write anymore? Is it the fear of exposing to myself what I have metamorphosed into over a period of time that hasn’t been entirely uneventful? Or maybe is it is the fact that life has thrown so many experiences at me that I haven’t been able to reflect on any single one before I have to juggle another? Could it be that I am just not bold and honest enough as before to acknowledge the chaos inside and try and find a solution by confronting my demons by writing about them? Or is it just plain laziness?

I should stop asking myself so many questions and breathe enough to let my mind come up with some plausible answers. Phew!! Ok, maybe it is some rare planetary alignment of all of the above problems that’s causing this weird ‘block’ in my mind and almost paralyzing all my perceptions. My thoughts are just fluttering around like migrating birds caught up in bad weather, unable to find their way home. Flung between torpedoes of changing moralities and conflicting interests, they try to make sense of the real and the surreal. Someday may be they will flock together; maybe they will find the right direction but till then my pen will keep scribbling around hoping to find its flight of imagination….

Reaching out in the dark

2008-03-02T08:32:00.000-08:00

Its amazing how everything in life can be picture perfect but yet incomplete...how something so obviously fantastic to others can be so damning for you.
We keep striving all our lives to achieve these impossible goals hoping that when (if ever) we get there, we could allow ourselves to relax, to smile, to be happy and to chill out for a while. But sometimes, I think we get so used to this strife that life without it doesn't really seem like a life at all. It seems like a waste of time and so we further our ambition and set another Herculean goal for ourselves so that we can (masochistically) strive to achieve that too...again promising our tired soul of salvation once it is done. But of all the promises you make, the ones you least honour are the ones you make to yourself. And thus the vicious circle continues....ambition, strife, achievement, dissatisfaction, new ambition and so on...
I wonder if we ever shall find the elusive happiness that is actually (and unpompously) the reason why we enter the vicious circle in the first place. I don't know if I ever will; because I know that I can tick off objectively all that my ambitions from the to-achieve list once I am satisfied but I am yet to find a singular thing that can fulfil me.

At the Asiatic

2008-01-19T09:39:00.003-08:00

Following are some of the pictures that I took at the Asiatic Town Hall, Mumbai

God is dead

2008-01-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

This startling philosophy (and to a God-fearing person like me, this is almost blasphemous) is one of the pillar stones of the ground breaking and surprisingly insightful work by German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. Since having watched the movie ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ where the brother character is heavily influenced by Nietzsche, I was interested in finding out about him and when I did I couldn’t help but be quite impressed by it.

Take a look at some of his ideas:

The basic one ‘God is dead’

Since Nietzsche’s work is open to multiple interpretations, none of which can claim to be a thoroughly accurate version of what he intended to say, this particular line could be interpreted in many ways. One is the obvious – Nietzsche with his love for ‘aphorisms’ and his ‘Anti-Christ’ polemics could have meant that God is literally dead. But scholars believe that it could mean that the universal view-point is lost. No one views an issue with the ‘big-picture’ mentality any more; every one has their own selfish, narrow-minded outlook towards issues and its resolution is done only for the benefit of oneself; not for the universal good of the society or the world as a whole. No wonder we have so many wars, genocides and hate-crimes. None of us really think of what we are doing to the world; all we are bothered about are our own short-term, thoughtless and self-centric goals. So true!

The will to power

In Nietzsche’s opinion, this will to power is the prime motivation for all our actions and ambitions; contrary to the belief that ‘will to live’ or ‘will to unite with good/God’ or even ‘will to be happy’ could be the motivating factors and I totally agree with him. Nothing motivates like will to dominate; the will to have power, honor & glory. Else why would we be risking our lives, our reputation and many a times the savings of a lifetime for that one elusive prize? Power is all that we seek. And that’s what keeps most of us going, consciously or sub-consciously. So if you think you are not one of those in the rat race for power and authority, think again….you just might realize the painful truth about yourself.

Eternal Recurrences

This one actually takes the whole Hindu philosophy of ‘reincarnation’ to a whole new level. Nietzsche’s idea of ‘eternal recurrences’ is interpreted as the possibility of all of us having to live this same life eternally, time after time and all the reason why we should live it in the most vital way we can.

Now I am not completely convinced that we have the same life over and over again but I do believe that we must live it in the best way we can. And not because we will need to repeat the same again in the next life but because I don’t think we will get the same chances again ever. So actually while agreeing somewhat with Nietzsche on this, I have to partially disagree too. But all said and done, what I am most awed by are Nietzsche’s originality and courage in taking a firm, anti-Christian stand against the reigning beliefs and the philosophies of acknowledged heavy – weights like Plato, Socrates, Kant and Schopenhauer. Man, what guts!!

The irony of his whole life was that it seems that the cause of his death was supposedly ‘his disillusionment and mental maladjustment with his own philosophies’…

Fly me to the moon

2008-01-19T06:34:00.000-08:00

Fly me to the moon
Let me play among with stars
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby kiss me

Fill my heart with song
Let me sing for ever more
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore
In other words please be true
In other words I love you

Could the art of speaking your heart out get any cuter and charmingly disarming than this? That’s the magic of Frank Sinatra and his eternally imitation-worthy poetry of love and life. But just the words aren’t enough. You have to listen to the voice behind this; classic, sexy, gentlemanly and so…so alluring….it is almost magical..

Frank Sinatra, the ‘greatest entertainer of the 20th century’; what a voice, what a talent! His songs 'The way you look tonight', 'Night & Day' etc. are a crash course in how to cast a spell on women.

I, for one, am already on my flight to the moon...

A little less conversation…

2008-01-09T11:46:00.000-08:00

‘….A little more action please’, Elvis Presley’s immortal lines from one of the most popular songs of all the times. Remixed as JXL feat Elvis Presley, this chart-topping hit is one of the greatest dance numbers and personally a huge favorite. Is also heard as the background score for the smart, witty and clever ‘Ocean’s Eleven’. But more than its racy beats, its foot-tapping rhythm, it is the sound of Elvis Presley’s voice that’s hypnotic, especially when he says, “Come on baby, I am tired of talking…Grab your coat, let’s start walking”. Elvis Presley: the rebel, the enigma, the charisma, the controversy, the magnetic stage personality, the style that provoked a trillion impersonations and a smoldering sensation that ignited a million musical ambitions.

Elvis’ life and times are the stuff that makes legendary folklore. Through personal setbacks and destructive exploitations of his musical genius, he continued making music that still rocks the charts and keeps him at the No. 1 spot of the highest earning deceased celebrities. It is no wonder that Elvis pulls off this astonishing stunt posthumously year after year because he has spent a lifetime inventing the shocking and achieving the extraordinary; his on stage-antics (a.k.a “anit-Christian, sexually provoking” dance moves) had the conservative Church authorities condemning and banning him, his introduction of the so-called Black music into the mainstream line was disturbingly original, he was the first real popstar with his electrifying movements, the trademark white costume, white shoes, fashionably large glasses mesmerizing overbooked concert stadiums and flooring young and old alike, he defied convention to put rock-and-roll and blues together, he entertained audiences with a fervor and vigor that was considered vulgar and almost superhuman, his love life was hyped and discussed and contemplated about yet in his own confession it was singularly non-existent, he was the subject of the greatest ridicule, criticism and polemics ever written and also the object of everyone’s overwhelming love, undying admiration and blind devotion. Elvis was in short, one for all, all for one.

While listening to his music, I found that his voice had an unusual quality of sounding tender, strong, booming, low-key, playful, sad, loving, condemning each at different times; sometimes sounding all of these at one go. Listen to the shivering “Fever” sung with a minimal musical accompaniment that makes you wanna feel love as ‘a lovely way to burn’ and the classic, drenched-in-honey love anthem “Can’t help falling in love with you”, sung with such deep, surreal passion that it melts the strongest defenses of your heart. From the rebellious, fun-filled “Jailhouse Rock” to the lifting gospel “Amazing grace”, from the heartfelt, genuinely warm “Sweet home Alabama” to the emotionally engaging, heart rendering and defiant “I did it my way”; Elvis’ unmistakable voice reigns supreme. In today’s world of synthesized sounds and oft- indistinguishable voices and strains, an Elvis oldie will stand out as strikingly different and instantly recognizable due to its sheer style and vocal quality.

His gradual decline into drugs and uncontrollable obesity (the videos of some of his last concerts show him as being sick and unable to perform but still holding on somehow..it is heart breaking to watch them) became a media spectacle for ridicule and speculation and his untimely death was an inconceivable shock (some fanatics believe he is still alive and the person who was buried was his twin brother…there are many such theories) but what live on are the legacy of his timeless music and his indelible charming impressions as one of the greatest entertainers of the 20th century.

Elvis, to me you are the original rockstar, everyone else is just a derivative. For the world of music, you might have checked-out of the building but you can never truly leave. ‘The wonder of you’ will always stay alive…I love you dude, you rock!!

Some new pics..

2007-12-24T01:14:00.000-08:00

Hey all,

Just posted some more pictures...do check them all out at the link given and please leave a comment.

Thanks. Watch this space for more...soon.

Mumbai

The UItimate Wisdom - The Godfather

2007-12-23T23:33:00.001-08:00

There is nothing like reading a book like “The Godfather”. The movie is just second to ‘Citizen Kane’ in the top 10 movies of all the times (bless Francis Ford Coppola, the genius, especially for the climax baptizing scene); but the book is second to none. It is the ultimate storehouse of all the philosophies that you will need to survive in this ‘big, bad, bad world’.

When I saw the movie, I was knocked out of my senses and couldn’t believe that such a masterpiece of cinema was ever made (of course before that, the same had happened for ‘Citizen Kane’; it was unbelievably brilliant too) but after I read that book, I think my senses were not just knocked out, but when they woke up, they had a higher sense of realization and understanding of how to deal with this world, than ever before. Mario Puzo, you are a real .90 caliber pezzonovante, a real ‘Sicilian’!!

Here’s what I learnt from it and my take on it:

1. The world is so hard to live in that you need two fathers; one, your father and the other, Godfather. [My take: Even if you don’t have a godfather, read ‘The Godfather’, it will get you going quite well.]

2. Everyone needs to ‘make their bones’ [My take: ‘make your bones’ (i.e. prove your worth) as soon as possible and take off before they break your bones]

3. Make an offer they can’t refuse. [My take: If you can’t make an offer like that…read the next point]

4. Reason with them. It is all business, nothing personal. [Wow!!]

5. Obey the law of omerta. [This is the terrifying, mafia way of saying ‘Silence is golden’ and ‘Speech can get you killed!!’]

6. Get all the horses in the big deal. [Read the book to understand this…a real phrase to know!]

7. Never take sides with the outsiders against the Family [How uncanny…In India, we have this thought too…it is translated as ‘if you want a love marriage then go to hell’] :)

Just kidding. Anyways the thing to remember is, be careful about who your ‘consigliori’ (counselor) is and try and make the right choice of ‘capo régimes’ (captains/commanders), presuming you have something under your command that needs to be taken control of. And last but not least,

One or the other day, everyone has to ‘go to the mattresses’.

(that means ‘Go to war’. War/ Battle/ Gang war /Ambush/ Street fight/ Sibling tussle / Cat fight/ Pillow fight / Cushion fight?? / Verbal (unheroic) fights, any and every form of combat imaginable)

So be ready at all the times, never let down your guard else your belongings will be found wrapped around ‘dead fish’. (Yes, even for the cushion fights; people usually fall off the bed in an unaware moment, so don’t take it that easy. Haha)

And that’s the gist of Godfather’s wisdom for you. Work for the best, be ready for the worst.

Jokes aside, it is a fantastic must-read and the movie is an absolute gem; the characters literally leap out of the book to be onscreen. I can’t believe I am reading this so late into my ‘literature appreciation’ years; but any time is good time for ‘The Godfather’ and it one of those stories that will stay with you forever.

P.S. I didn't see why there was so much emphasis on characters of Johnny Fontane, Nino Valenti and Lucy Mancini....but otherwise it was just great!!!

Mumbai Maze

2007-10-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

Here are 2 of the pictures that are now a part of my amateur photo collection of people and places in Mumbai...do check out the entire collection at

http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/webUpload?uname=archana.borhade&aid=5118196379095883761

or just click below

Mumbai

The voice of soul speaks…

2007-10-06T05:45:00.000-07:00

I see through your eyes
Touch with your skin
The world without, the world within
Broken from you yet an inseparable part akin

I experience all you feel
All you reason, all you think
But by a rude word, an unthinkable gesture, a mysterious wink
You take me by surprise with such uncharacteristic kink

When you wander from the right and dwell into the wrong
Give in to temptations that you resisted before
I can’t help but wonder, feel hollow at the core
Reason behind your unpredictability unknown, doubts galore

You fill me with unknown apprehensions
I feel like the life within you, but not the soul
You seem to swirl out of my control
Brimming with contradictions, meandering without a goal

I am supposed to be you; every little bit of you
An impression, a vision, a manifestation,
The clearest reflection, your finest imitation
Yet at every turn you catch me unaware in meditation

I feel like an afterthought sometimes,
Of random origin and unknown creed
Modeled by the erratic ness of your impulsive deed
Rather than the inspiration behind it; like an infertile seed

Once in a while, I identify the ‘I’ within the you
And a wave of relief runs through me
Like an ephemeral rainbow sight to see
To justify my purpose; strengthen my bond with thee

This moment of recognition bridges our divide anew
To my misfortune these moments are but a few
I struggle frequently to find myself, these days
In reactions and carcasses of your harried ways

Don’t let me be the lover who never knew you
Having reached the deepest intimacy, still who could never touch you
Let me instead be your soulmate, constantly by your side
Guiding your heart, teaching your mind

Let me write your story with my integrity ink
And serve my purpose of building your link
To the world beyond; from where I come and to where I will go
Carrying with me a precious gist called you, just the way I know

Not guilty…

2007-09-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

When school and studies were a priority in my life, I used to feel guilty whenever I stole time from my study schedule to watch a movie, catch a TV serial or just plainly do some mindless couch surfing. And since I had always set the schedule such that there was no time for any sort of recreation other than reading a library story book; the blame and guilt game began and ended with me.

A little voice used to keep nagging inside my head, telling me that every minute I spent in front of the TV translated to one mark that my competitors in school/ college would score ahead of me and then I would regret this minute that I wasted on fruitless audio-visual gimmickry (sounds so ludicrous now…but was a scary proposition then). I would fight against it arguing that I deserved a break from back breaking, marathon study regime and needed to relax just once in a while. I even went to the extent of justifying really hopeless serials and advertisements as being informative and educational with ridiculous arguments, just to silence that voice in my head. In fact I began to look for needle-length good in the heap of garbage that we are generally subjected to on TV, so as to support my arguments conclusively.

These defense appeals used to silence the little voice but just for five minutes. Then the nagging was resumed with full vigor. So you see I used to have these miniscule 5-min hiatus between ‘Conscience Court’ trails in which I grabbed as many visuals as possible and tried to remember them, lest I didn’t get an opportunity to see them again for a long time. The more I remembered, the more fascinated I became with each visual. I began to break it down to every miniscule detail that I could recollect about it and kept seeing it in my mindscreen over and over again. I guess this is how the whole obsession with the visual media began. And this obsession quietly grew so much that I had to give up my ‘stable, secure’ job and let it take me where it thought I belonged.

Now things are so very different. I don’t have to give excuses or make up silly arguments to watch movies or catch some crap on TV. The little voice in my head is quite silent these days. Since cinematography (and ultimately direction) is a career choice for me now, I need as much exposure to visual grammar as is possible. If it is a bad visual, I learn that I should not do that and if it is good, then I know that I can’t do that since it has already been done. Anyways the point of the tale is that my self-imposed trials for alleged misuse of my own time are over now. And I don’t have to plead “not guilty” anymore. I can’t even begin to describe what a relief it is…

My Digi is in!!

2007-09-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

Great news!! I have finally managed to get a great camera at a cool price....I recently purchased a Nikon D80, 10.2 MP, 18-135 mm lens-accompanied wonder and since then I have been clicking away to (hopefully) glory!!

My first digicam after months of speculation and contemplation and deliberation.... I am glad that it is Nikon D80....I know it is too soon to be overjoyed about it but the images are beginning to come in and they look decent. For a non-photography background like mine that is equivalent to good.

Will be posting the pics soon. They will also be uploaded on my Orkut id. Do check them out and help me improvise.

Clicking away...

P.S I have lot of things to be posted...but just not finding the right combo...will explain later.

The hiatus is over...

2007-08-10T00:42:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long time. Been caught up in the daze called life. At times, I lose track of what day or time it is; the moments just seem to float about like liquid bubbles around a cryogenically frozen body.

It is both amazing and strange that this should happen because I don't feel that dead anymore. After completing the cinematography course, I am out to seek creative job options, having quit the software industry quite long before (some might like to call it 'career suicide') Life has become more interesting, not to mention, more of a struggle than before. Then why this inexplicable 'dazed' feeling?

Maybe it is because of the fact that I haven't written in a long time. I have realised that things seem more real and alive when I write about them. They seem to grow out of their passive, surrealist nature and begin to have their impact upon me when I take the time out to reflect on them, not just by thought but by action - and that action is the act of writing. When I write, the events around me begin to fall into perspective and it finally makes sense. More sense than introspection could make, much more than what mere contemplation could create.

Ofcourse I can't write about anything and everything; that's just impossible. And I ain't a great writer either; I am the kind who takes enough and more time to write about something really simple too. But even writing about a little thing each day will do for me, I guess. I realise that I need to write, not just to inform or entertain or earn but to realize, taste and feel. More than that, I need it to discover myself, hear my own thoughts loud enough to remember forever, tie up all the loose ends of my experiences and make my life seem more complete.

Funny that I should take so long to discover this...and funny that writing about it should help me discover that I really crave to write...

White Sands

2007-06-07T04:49:00.000-07:00

Here are some of the photos I took on our outdoor shoot, while the others were busy taking their shots through the Arri 3 camera.

The beautiful backdrop seen here is that of the salt pans on the ECR road.

The Flicker.....

2007-06-06T01:15:00.000-07:00

These are some pictures from my first outdoor shoot, where all of us (me and my classmates) went on a long trip across the fabulous ECR highway and exposed real film foootage for our shots. I can't describe the excitement that I felt when I saw the film actually flicker across the viewfinder during the shot, going at 24 frames per second. I don't remember anything that even comes close to the high I got (except maybe the bungee jumping that I did once) when I took the shot. And luckily, I got three such chances and consequently three completely different highs in one single day.

I took my first shot, right atop the water tank in Adyar. I won't ever forget that morning sun. It was more beautiful and gorgeous than I have ever known it to be. My shot was to track along a vehicle as it passed over the bridge, from one end to other. Typically it is called a 'Pan' shot and I had to do it with a 'Zoom Out' simultaneously. It was great. The negatives have been given for processing and then I have to supervise the grading and the look, before its actual acreening. But before that, here are some of the working stills from our first location.

On the bridge, we had one of the last shots of the day. I took one of them.

I had the best time when I took a handheld shot, that too with the 6.5 kg Arri 3 camera. That was the ultimate moment!! Anyways there's more to come after this, but I can hardly wait.....I am addicted to the flicker now.... the flicker of the motion picture....the flicker of the reflection of life....

Koyaanisquatsi

2007-05-22T04:36:00.000-07:00

This word is so hard to pronounce...one might wonder if it is the name of an impossibly complex, difficult to understand scientific phenomenon; or maybe something about measuring current disintegration rate of a decadent star from the Andromeda galaxy which was first hit about 210 million years ago.

But the truth is that it is a word that describes the most abundantly found but largely ignored social phenomenon. Koyaanisquatsi means 'Life out of balance" in Hopi language.

I was introduced to the brilliant imagery that this word could realise when I saw a movie by the same name last week. For about an hour and a half, the spellbinding usage of stop motion photography, undercranking and over cranking of film combines to produce a graphic vision of the chaotic struggle between man and nature. The movie images are choreographed to a beautiful score orchestrated by Peter Glass and took Geoffrey Reggio about 7 years to make. But the end result is so worth it. Absolutely no words, no characters. Total documentary concept with a personality of a movie. Breathtaking in its scope and stunning in its realisation, this is one movie that has to be watched to understand the true language of cinema - that of powerful and symbolic imagery; and also to realise how we are moving towards a hopeless, completely off-balance, unharminous future both within our society and with the nature as we encroach upon the beautiful wilderness with our concrete jungles.

Next on the list are the other 2 from the Qatsi trilogy:
1. Powaqqatsi (Life in Transformation)
2. Naqoyquatsi (Life as war)

Cinema is truly uplifting and awakening at times....

The Constant Critics

2007-04-09T00:46:00.000-07:00

Critics are real ‘smart’ people….they think they know what you should have done and how you should have done it….what you should be like and how it is that you should behave….how you should talk, walk, laugh, dress up and how you should not be doing this that way or that this way etc…etc….it is their job to poke their runny noses in your work and be by your side constantly like a cursed shadow that eclipses the happiness of your living. It is hard enough having to live to critics that are external to your existence but imagine the pains in the butt that they can be when they live right inside of you. Imagine your own self torn in several pieces – one part is the creator, and several other parts are acting as critics each with a different point of view of how you should have done a particular thing. It is a nasty business, trust me.

Like for instance, there are 3 identifiable (there might be many more who surface once in a while and then disappear for a long time only to reappear most unexpectedly) critical personalities that I can name, who reside right inside my head. First is: Darth ‘Hannibal’ Vader – He is always the first to comment on how I am perfectly incompetent to handle the given assignment and tries his best to discourage me from going ahead elaborating on the number of ways that I could ruin it accompanied by similar examples of less-than-perfect executions in the past. His constant readiness for war of arguments is only equaled by his repulsive desire to constantly chew my brains when I am not in a mood to retaliate. Having him around is a continuous reminder of what a wonderful personification I am, of God’s amazing sense of humor and how Shakespeare would gladly coronate me as the full-blown human representation of the phrase “comedy of errors”.

Even if I manage to evade the Vader somehow, there’s no escape from Cruella Sugarpie. She is sweetly cruel in the way she manipulates me into thinking that every possible road that I could take to accomplish my task is laden with boulders of problems and that my tender self is incapable of fighting those enormous difficulties (again with enough citations from my past though from a deceptively empathetic point of view). With sugar coated criticism of my abilities, she begins her demolition work right from the assessment of my personality and qualities down to my traits and idiosyncrasies. And she supports it finely with her poisoned honey of concerns about the consequences that my failure would inflict on my precariously placed self-confidence. Curtly put, she is a critic in the garb of a guardian angel….

And then there is Agent Smith. Extremely articulate both in his words and deeds, mostly known to swing in action after I complete something that I could dare to be happy about. He is cold and menacing and attacks my work in clones of varidirectional criticism and since I am no ‘Neo’, I can’t even conveniently turn into superman/woman and fly away. I try my own lousy version of the ‘flo-mo’ escapism (for the uninitiated, it is the act of dodging bullets) from his criticism or the ‘freeze frame’ (the one that Trinity does superbly) counter argument kick. But Smith is relentless and I think that until I revolutionize my entire matrix of work to the ultimate perfection (which is frankly never going to be) it will be impossible to destroy him forever.

There are so many others too though not as distinct and vividly characterized as the above mentioned three, who I must say make me believe in the concept of hell. Even while writing this blog post, you should have seen the ruckus they created inside my head about the quality, the flow, the usage of words in general and the unflattering assessment of their personalities, in particular. ‘Rotten’, ‘Unimaginative’, ‘Definitely plagiarized’, ‘unoriginal’, ‘childish, immature’, ‘misrepresentation of reality’, ‘blasphemous lie’ were some of the adjectives I got for this post….just a brief glimpse of what it is like to be constantly judged…that too by the very ‘you’…..Welcome to my world!!

P.S. Darth, Cruella and Smith wish to add one must “Keep friends close and keep critics closer” and since they are with me every single moment of my life, I should consider myself extremely lucky and be grateful instead of bad-mouthing them in this supposedly-funny way. Amen.

A Little about me

2007-03-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

This time I have decided to write about something silly since I have realized that in the attempt to make my blog spot introspective and interesting in terms of the issues I raise and the dilemmas that I talk of, I have made my blog uptight and serious and let’s face it – we all need to loosen up a bit sometimes and so will I in the following lines…

Do you know, the only book I haven’t finished in my life is the critically acclaimed ‘Fountainhead’? This is funny because I am the kind of person who sits through books as horrible as Danielle Steel’s ‘Mirror Image’ with the patience of a saint and the dignity of a queen. But then I managed to put aside something as powerful and radical as "Fountainhead’ without so much so as a whimper….I am still trying to figure out how and why….The longest time that I have talked on the phone has been 7.5 hours, on a single call and yet at the end of that I was ready to go on for another 10 and this comes from a person who found it difficult to open her mouth to speak a single word for the whole of a week when she was a child.

The funniest and the nastiest prank that I have ever played was on my poor, unsuspecting family members when I was five. I hid under the table in my home, concealed myself really well (which wasn’t that tough considering I was very small) and stayed right there for about ¾ th of the day. My parents searched the entire locality and were on the verge of reporting to the police when they found me sleeping cozily in my hiding spot. My back and butt still shudder at the memory of the thrashing that I received thereafter.

In the game of hide and seek, I was mostly the last one to be found. Once the rest of the gang got really pissed about this and decided to teach me a lesson. The game began as usual. Shouts of people being discovered were regularly spaced with intermittent silences as the hunt for those still hidden went on. And then there was a long silence. I began to get a little restless but decided not to give up till they actually found me, secretly enjoying the thought of how smart I was for having chosen such a good hiding spot…ahh, little did I know at that moment that mine was the pride of the ignorant moron!! When it started getting really late, I decided to peep out and see what was going on…To my amazement the spot where I had imagined everyone would have gathered by now, was creepily deserted. I couldn’t understand at first but then the truth hit a home run. I realized that when the second last person was found, they decided to quietly go home without declaring the game close; thus leaving me stranded in my hiding spot.

Deserters! Cheap skates! I swore I would have revenge, I would teach them a good lesson…but the next day, I changed my mind. I judged that it would be much better to just choose a more accessible spot rather than get into a physical/verbal fight. And I must inform you all that this was definitely not because of the physically intimidating girls in my group. It is just that I have never liked/encouraged violence much, I swear….

More about the 'little' me later.

Being 'Cached' - the introspection

2007-03-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

While in the first part, I talked more about what the movie 'Cache' portrayed, in this part I will be talking about how it disturbed me and made me think about the way I live my own life. As already specified, the movie deals with guilt conscience and the paranoia that develops once the guilt resurfaces as the forced amnesia that outlived itself, dies. In these conditions, a man left on his own, will either run away and try to hide from himself or face the conscience and seek redemption. In the movie, the protagonist chooses the former option which is ofcourse the easy thing to do but for how long? Eventually I guess you would be tired out and crouch into the temporary solace provided by drugs: prescription or otherwise thereby enslaving yourself to their command...there is another thing that could happen too...you could silence your conscience or learn to ignore it effectively but then how will you distinguish between the wrong and the right anymore? I don't know....the guilt complex according to psychiatrists is far more powerful than we think and is subconsciously capable of inflicting both physical and mental afflictions....but let's not dwell in that psychosomatic intrigue because I am not an intellectual on that subject but what I am thoroughly analytic of, is the thought process that was stimulated in me after watching that film and how disturbed I stayed for almost 2 days after that....

First I started recollecting my life and found that many a times I have been unusually insensitive, rude and uncaring and might have unintentionally hurt so many people...I might have not even realised how I affected them or made them feel about themselves or done much harm just by an unkind thought, word or gesture. Especially I thought of the days when I was in school. I topped the class always and was the teacher's pet...and most obviously wasn't much of a class favorite because of it...in fact I hardly talked to anyone much. I had only a few friends and very few aquaintances; the former category diminished with each passing year and the later well were just there for my notes...so all in all I was really alone but defiant. I was too proud to admit that I needed company and continued being alone...lonely actually and this began to take a toll on my moods. I became sulky and before long, began to withdraw in the shell of my own solitude.

Life teaches you to live somehow with the minimum that you have got and soon I began to enjoy this sadistic self-imposed imprisonment so much that anyone who even bothered to relieve me from myself for a single moment got snubbed. I snapped at anyone who dared disturb this precarious mental equilibrium of mine and in the process might have caused many an injury to the sentiment, the ego, the person. Many of them I am sure might have seriously wanted to be friends with me or help me out but I wouldn't let them. There was a guy who tried that more than once and every single time I neglected him; almost made a public display of my displeasure at those attempts....I think I hurt him....and I am sorry...I was a little kid who was trying to protect herself from the possibility of a camaraderie and the pain that it causes once it is broken...that is why I chose to have no one at all.....and in the process hurt that person who genuinely wanted to be friends with me....

Today I don't know where he is or what he is....there might have been others too that I might have hurt unknowingly and if given a chance I would to like to apologize to...bring out the hidden into the open and set it free...so that my conscience will give me a break atleast for once...

Being ‘Cached’ - The intrigue

2007-03-26T04:17:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, I had the disturbing privilege of watching Michael Kaneke’s "Cache" (French, means ‘hidden’) and what a tremendous and soul-searching experience it has been!! An iconoclastic film of a unique sort, it examines the guilty conscience of the protagonist and the emotional turmoil of his family life when creepy tapes of his house being in constant surveillance arrive at his doorstep accompanied by sinister drawings presumably of a child; suggesting a microcosmic representation of the deliberate amnesia and the redemption less existence of the entire French bourgeois when it comes to the treatment of particular ethnic communities with reference to a certain historical atrocity committed against them. Superb performances, script-e-finesse and path breaking direction come together to form a complex and intriguing work of art that shocks, surprises, thrills, horrifies and also compels self-introspection through the unrelenting gaze of our own conscience.

Personally, I feel the movie is one of the finest of all I have seen in a long time. It is deep, multilayered, emotional, human and above all real. Yet there is this element of unbelievability to it in the form of the mysterious tape-maker who is omnipresent and invisible. But finding his identity is hardly the purpose of this fascinating masterpiece even if it is a fact that he is the introducer of the story and he is the one who carries it ahead through twists and turns, finally taking it to its ambiguous end. The whole point of the movie is the message that it sends to the people of the world in general and that of France in particular about the emotional repercussions and untoward consequences of racial discrimination and hatred. The allegorical fashion in which the director presents it without being judgmental or contriving is simply brilliant. A man who refuses to admit his guilt, a wife facing emotional alienation, a boy with problems and confusions of adolescence, another father-son duo wrongfully framed, an enigmatic camera guy who creepily details a part of their lives; all set in contemporary France still nursing its social and economic divisions, refusing to accept responsibility for what happened in the past and even encouraging similar discriminatory and intolerant tendencies in the present.

With a limited set of characters and their insightful interactions, Kaneke orchestrates a moving thesis of modern life, complete with the glossy paint of luxury hiding the deep crevices in the walls of fractured relationships and the shiny, successful exterior masking the fragile, cowardly, pill-popping interior that is adamant about its innocence and refuses to make amends for its sinful past.

The film works at so many levels that it is unnerving to imagine the tremendous genius of the person who made it. I’d rather just bow to his work and pray that I come up with something as tremendously worthwhile and revelatory as this ‘Cached’ experience has been…..

Meeting Danny Pope

2007-03-15T01:15:00.000-07:00

It all started with our professor casually mentioning that a certain Mr. Danny Pope was going to come see us; while he was here for a few days doing a Visacard shoot. We all got a little excited since we were told that he was a top ad cinematographer from Australia who commanded a neat 5-figure per day (by neat, I mean 75+ and counting); Wow he must be some hotshot, we all thought. He turned out to be just that but in a slightly different way than we had expected.
So on that day when he was to arrive; we got some extra chairs in our class to accommodate our seniors and were all up and attentive cause we were going to get it "from the horse’s mouth" as they put it. I grew a little intimidated of that ‘horse’ after getting a glimpse of his breathtakingly beautiful portfolio which was shown to us, right before he came in. There was this one thing that I had seen before and that was the famous ad with all the Rajasthanis hanging onto the bus, courtesy the "Fevicol" poster on its rear end. So he had shot it, huh? That was impressive…. and then there were these two GORGEOUS music videos, one called "1000 Kisses" with Will Smith and his wife Jaded Pinkett Smith and the other with Kelly Rowland (one from the Destiny’s Child trio). I loved the look of those videos and especially the lighting that made the ladies look like goddesses.

He was a little late; and then he just literally flew in like a breath of fresh air. I must admit that it took me some time to take his presence in completely; first because he was dressed as if he was on his way to Goa or the Carribeans, with his short khakis and bubbly blue beach T-shirt, which was so cool and secondly because he was so lively that the air literally charged up right at the moment he entered and stayed that way for the next 3 hours while he waltzed through his ‘unplanned’ lecture for us. He did such an entertaining job of it that I didn’t know what more could have been done if it was planned….he was whistling at times, singing little tunes of merriment, joking and being informative and detailed about his shoots; all at the same time so spontaneously that we were mesmerized not to mention completely taken in by his charms.

He had the enthusiasm that a little child has about his first drawing or his little science project that had the bulb glowing at the crucial moment when the teacher came to inspect and frankly it was infectious. He was enjoying the whole thing himself too; with all the fond memories as well as the not-so-fond and his spirit and energy defied his age. I mean, many of the young guys I meet are so busy acting like they are so mature, grown-up and "Mr. Know-alls" and that they end up being boring and ridiculous. But this was one guy, who was obviously so experienced and brilliant at his job yet had this unassuming attitude and absolutely down-to-earth persona that put others to ease and an authority over his domain, that is compelling without being suffocating.

That was nice; it meant you could talk to this guy and learn without feeling like an absolute fool. So at the end of 3 hours talk (which included an elaborate discussion on testosterone-high ad of "Petronas" shot in the scenic Cambodia and another rather stylish mobile phone ad, with sets like in a futuristic fiction flick, complete with models wearing the Jennifer Garner "Alias" look), it felt like while we were just making a beginning, it was already time to go. I didn’t get to interact with him on a one-to-one basis but next time he is here will make it a point to do that…hope that Pope is back real soon….(looks like I will never get over the cheesy rhyming schemes of mine J)

The ‘Matrix’ Dilemma

2007-03-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

Neo
I know what you’re trying to do—

Morpheus
I’m trying to free your mind, Neo, but all I can do is to show you the door.

You’re the one that has to step through.
….Let it all go, Neo. Fear. Doubt. Disbelief. Free your mind

As we meander through the labyrinth of our life, trying to analyze the many mysteries of life and find solutions to its problems; with our perfectly minimalist line of thought that conforms to the boundaries dictated by our inadequate if not hopelessly rotten system of education that aims at destroying every single corpuscle of original thought running through our blood stream and savagely stab every little bud of imagination that might even dare to think of blooming in the wasteland of our minds, already ravaged by the cruel soldiers of traditional, anachronistic thinking ignorantly planted by our parents and the society; very few of us are given the chance and the training to free our minds like Neo. But even if we are given that opportunity just how many of us would be able to take that leap of faith and make it in one long sweep over that deep gap of our firmly rooted beliefs and patterns of thinking? Not many of us I guess.

With our structured (read also: old and smelly) way of thinking and visualizing the world as it should be and our religious adherence to the ‘template’ form of life, it should come as no surprise that most of us are rendered almost handicapped when it comes to ‘out-of-box’ thinking. Even the choices we make are so rigid, steadfast and boringly predictable in terms of the education that we seek, the jobs we hunt, the clothes we wear, the food that we eat and the people we want to be with; that we let them restrict us from enjoying life it in its complete randomness and wandering variety. We let ourselves be such home grown ascetics that even a minute’s indulgence in the mindset of a hippie is almost sacrilegious to us, not to mention scary and unacceptable.

To tell the truth bluntly, many of us (including me) don’t have the balls to step up and question why we have to believe/accept things as they are or should be and not even make an attempt to do something different or L’Extraordinaire, meekly accepting things and hiding our own cowardice behind the pretext of destiny….or maybe we are just too lazy to make that extra effort to make a difference, think of something new and have the daring to explore unchartered waters and face the monsters that come as a part of the package deal.

Say we didn’t have the talent to set ourselves free, but somebody else luckily did that for us….what then? For example while understanding cinematography, our profs told us that there are a thousand ways to film a single shot, million colors to choose from, billion lighting patterns that could be done and a zillion meanings that a look can convey? Wow!! Imagine this… All your life you thought that there are only a limited number of ways to do a particular shot/scene and suddenly these guys open you up to the reality of an impossibly large number of combinations and permutations to do it and then they tell you the choice is yours…Your mind is set free, you no longer have to think within the limits that your own ignorance and unimaginativeness had imposed on you…it like the ocean has suddenly opened up and your little ship is expected to navigate through to reach the main land that is invisible….So what will you choose, which is the best route to take? Will you try doing something new and risk being misinterpreted or try doing it the regular way (with the standard angles and lighting) and just be one in the crowd? Will you be one of those who aim high and stand a mighty chance of ending up at the bottom of the ocean or be the one who plays it safe all the time and stay floating?

When we come to such a dilemma, it seems such an anti-climax…it is like you wanted to be free, you fought all through to find someone who could help with it, and then when you finally chanced upon your Morpheus, you began to wonder if you will find the courage to be Neo….

I don’t know as of yet…do you? or rather would you?

Being in the Spotlight

2007-02-26T00:03:00.000-08:00

During the cinematography praticals, when we practice lighting arrangements and camera movements, we are required to perform different roles: that of lightman, the focus puller, the camera operator, the trolley pusher and that of the model too....ofcourse it is not that we act at all, just make the right movements so that the camera can follow us and the light can expose us.

Of all the jobs mentioned above, I find that being in the spotlight is the hardest. I cannot escape the self consciousness that engulfs me once the lights turn on and the camera is capturing every moment I make. It is weird really because these are the people with whom I interact everyday and it is not like I have to put up a performance or anything; but I cannot deny that what happens to me is a little unusual. I begin to pay attention to the way my eyes are moving, the way my skin partially reflects light, how I get up and sit down; things I never really bother about in real life. And then I wonder about the people who have to be under the scanner; the intrusive media spotlight; the unforgiving public eye for 24/7.....all of them, waiting with bated breath, just for the little slip, the big error and the egregious decision so that they can pounce on them and pull them down from the pedestal that they have put them on...

The lights literally flash out your eyesight; you can hardly see anyone....but everyone else can see you and it is this aspect of being glaringly visible but helplessly blind that constitutes the irony of the entire exercise. It is like being in the real glamour world; everyone gets to judge you but you don't know a zilch about them, their intentions, the reason for their judgements or simply why they get to tell you what you should/ should not be doing with your own life. Every little move the stars make is under the minutest scrutiny and is subject to the harshest of judgments; because somehow since they are popular, they are supposed to have an increased sense of self censor and are responsible to not just their own lives but also of those faceless, identity less people that look up to them and might be influenced to imitate the mistakes done by their idols, having supposedly lost all common sense and judgment of their own.
Life is full of paradoxes I guess....or maybe that's just the price you have to pay for being in spotlight.

Cinema(tography) Paradiso

2007-01-27T02:00:00.000-08:00

As a student of cinematography, I shall be learning about lenses & optics, cameras & camcorders, lighting and fixtures, film development and post production, image and editing softwares, video formats, compression techniques and much more on the technical aspect and subjects like script writing, production design, visual sense, film appreciation and direction on the creative side...whew, seems like a whole lot of things, doesn't it?

Each day dawns with the realisation of how much is to be learnt and understood and sets wearily with the dissatisfaction of how much less could be done in a day. I mean there are movies to be watched, dissected and chewed and ruminated; principles of light and lenses to be thoroughly grasped and digested;so many books that have be tasted and assimiliated; the websites sampled for their unique flavors and lots more....it is almost overwhelming at times when I think about the quality of work that has to be presented at the end of this couse...with the kind of training we are receiving it will be no wonder that we will be expected to present something smashing and I am not really sure if I will be able to stand to those expectations...only time will tell.

But the intimidating nature of the course is just one aspect of my life here. I have begun to learn the local language too. I have got a new cycle too; helps me to get around in the neighbourhood especially on the weekends. But more importantly I must say that these days, I have a strange sense of bliss within me...it is like I am finally beginning to make sense of things, my own dreams and the events that have led up to here....feels a little like heaven....it is like the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place....

I cannot completely explain what it is now but one day I will have the complete picture and know how the elements of the Universe conspired in getting me where I wanted to go....

The Chaos of my grave

2007-01-21T06:56:00.000-08:00

What is this muffled scream I hear
Why do I shiver when there is nothing to fear
For the sound that comes belongs to my spirit
Dead and gone; yet frighteningly around

Careless are the whispers of the wind
Lazy is the dawn that comes to grind
The last moments of my broken dreams
Shattered and lost; yet fumbling around

The dull rumble of the day marches by
As my mind struggles to discern the how and the why
While the senses litter the soul of its reason
Dulled and pained; yet feeling around

As the shadows scamper out of their hiding
Sending the last hopes of a rebound, gliding
The soul tries to salvage the flicker of a life
Tattered and broken; yet living around.

Chennai Chronicles: Only time

2007-01-14T10:17:00.000-08:00

The one thing that I won’t have to worry in Chennai is how I am gonna save time from the everyday vagaries such as bathing, having food etc. Providence has already made the necessary arrangements. Let me list them for you…

1.Bath
The first ritual of the day which has to be completed in kind consideration of other people’s senses; primarily the nose and the eyes. Since the room that I live in does not come with the luxury of hot bath, I have to suffice (read: suffer & shiver) with cold water every morning. So it is no surprise that I won’t be spending too much in the bathroom from now on, previously one of my top hotspots for wasting time.

2.Lunch/Dinner
Mostly it comprises of rice. And being from North India (this I have derived from the Southside definition of the division of India as North and South, very much in contrast to the Geography textbook partition of India into four zones: East, West, North and South) where rice is an option and not the regular main course, let’s just say I ain’t really into ‘leisurely eating’ these days, which some of the patrons of this blog might remember was a passion that I took time with. These days I just wanna get over with it, burdened by the thoughts of the many kilos that I will have to sweat out later thanks to the calorie rich food (read: rice and curd and banana) that I have to stuff myself with.

3.TV
Only South Indian channels are watched here by the demand of the majority and since this is still a democratic country, and my knowledge of those languages is far (read: equivalent to the distance between one end of the Universe to another) from perfect, I guess I won’t be watching too much TV.

4.Bedtime
I have to sleep on rubberized coir mattresses, which I have realized are a pain to my spinal cord after sleeping on them for just one night. I’d rather be awake than sleep on that bed….

So goodbye to lazing on the bed and daydreaming….

5.Staying/Strolling in the room
Previously I was a world record holder (it still ain’t official) in dwindling hours before the mirror in my room and strolling around till I got tired enough to drop on my bed and go to sleep. Now my room is only as big as to let me walk three paces exactly before I bump into some piece of furniture. Standing before the mirror for long isn’t a great idea for my feet get restless after a while (max 3 min) if I have to stand on the only tile (6*6inches) available between the mirror and bed. Hopping to the bathroom is literally a matter of one hop. It is just a distance of 100 cm from my bed. So you get the picture I guess!!

So every chance to get out of this place is going to be taken by me and this way I will stop spending myself in the room and go out to get some work done.

Moral of the story: Inconvenience is a great benefactor.

Living in the future

2007-01-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

From the moment that the day begins
I look forward to its end
For the time to collapse right in my bed
To elope with my dreams and pretend
That I am someone else with more purpose
With a cause, a challenge, a mission to contend

And before I come to that time
When things shall finally happen in reality
I shall keep continuing to make my escape
From this world into the alternate eternity
Denying myself the livingness of the present moment
Choosing to die here for tomorrow’s mortality

I feel guilty about killing my present
For the future that I haven’t seen
As I snuff the life out of my spirit everyday
Walking about like a zombie, unthinking and mean
I wonder who I am being unjust to
Just me, or the folks around, or to sensibilities demeaned

Why can’t I live with what I have?
Be content with the things that make my life
Why do I have the urge to destroy, to annihilate?
The glorious today, complete with its boredom and strife
Why live like this, hoping for a better future
When everything that matters is in the present, complete and ripe.

It must be my own conscience, my own soul
Heaping these punishments on me
To exist in the present and live in the future
As a reprimand for my choices beyond the conventional key
To unlock what happens to me next, feeling like I defy my destiny
For just one chance at the person that I want to be.

Disclaimer: This is a poem echoing my plight in the past when I was stuck up in the wrong place. Currently the situation is much better. For more information on this, kindly refer to my previous posts.

A Question of questions

2007-01-07T07:15:00.000-08:00

When I was in the IT industry, I spent each day thinking what the hell I was doing there. Clearly the job didn’t excite me nor was there anything remotely satisfying for me in it. As I dragged myself out of bed everyday to go to work, I questioned me about what I really wanted to do with my life. It was painful to know that I had never ever questioned myself before; accepting whatever seemed like the right to do socially and professionally. And now I had this job and this life that seemed so not meant for me.

It was time to change things irrespective of what had seemed destined in the past. It was important to do what I felt like pursuing with irreverence to the kind of education I have had and the kind of life (read: software professional’s) that I was supposed to live. And I started trying; first figuring out what I really needed to do and then how I could actually make it there. One of the ways of making to movies was to get admitted to a film institute and I did manage somehow to make it to one. So questioning to the point of absolute irritation and frustration did help….I admit that it ruined my emotional state for about four years but in the end it drove me crazy enough to make this drastic career change.

I think everyone should try it…keep asking yourself questions until you find the answers, which most of the times are the uncomfortable truths that you have evaded for long…it makes you more of yourself than you already are…

Lost in transition….

2007-01-05T20:05:00.000-08:00

After a grand farewell from my team mates (which included a dinner party at one of the upscale clubs, a gorgeous show piece and a beautiful Titan Raga watch), I have moved to Mumbai for a while before beginning my stint as a student of cinematography in Mindscreen Film Institute, Chennai. Quite frankly, I feel weird right now…it is the sort of transition that I was hoping to make for a long time and finally when it is happening, I am desperately looking for a sign that tells me that is going to be all ok.

My parents, sisters and friends are all so supportive of this decision that I feel like the most blessed person in this world but still when I am alone (this is my status most of the times these days since I am on a break in an off season time when everyone is at work) I ask myself “Where are you going Arch? Where are you going?”

I know I am not scared nor am I am regretful about having given up a lucrative IT job but yes the thoughts that go through me these days are a little unusual. For e.g. the following five things are few of the many that creep into my mind (something that I haven’t thought about for the last 24 years or rather 15 years because I don’t really remember what I thought about before that):

What kind of job will I be doing after this?
What sort of people will I be meeting?
2.1 Will they be nice to me?
2.2 Will I want to be with them?
Is this the dream that I have been waiting to realize or did I take a wrong turn somewhere?
What if it all goes bad someday and I crash down face first?
Was giving up something that worked perfectly well to chase something that has negative chances of working out well such a great idea after all?

I guess the idle mind is the devil’s workshop so I shouldn’t be really concerned about these random musings. What I should be concentrating on, are the things that are going to happen next and the way I am going to deal with them….that seems more like the attitude I should have. And that is the right thing to do.

So to hell with all the worries….we will cross the bridges when we come to them….right now I need to strategize, to figure out what needs to be done. Even if everything goes wrong, well atleast I will know what it means to put your life and career on the line and also what ‘clichéd catch lines’ like chase your dreams and follow your heart are really all about….

Got into a film school!! Yipeeee...

2006-12-16T00:10:00.000-08:00

Finally after almost a century of effort, I have got into a school for cinematography....Yeah, baby....The coolest part is that it is owned by one of the top cinematographers today, Rajiv Menon. Was lucky enough to interact with him immediately after getting admitted. Must say that I am totally floored by his humility and openness. I am so looking forward to interacting with him on the practical sessions....it is so gonna be rocking!!

I am free from the shackles of the IT job now....can't describe how great it feels now...the flavor of freedom is the tastiest....hope that it stays in my mouth for a lifetime....

From now on, the blogs will describe my experiences with film school and shooting, so watch out this space for more.

I AM FREE!!!

The lyrical 'Piano"

2006-11-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

One of the only 3 movies, directed by women to be nominated for the “Best Picture” Oscar, The Piano is a lyrical journey of a mute woman’s life in New Zealand where she is packed off and sent to along with her 9-year daughter and her beloved piano as an on-order bride. The woman, Ada (Holly Hunter) begins her story by saying that the voiceover that we hear is not hers but that of her mind for she was dumb for as long as she can remember. The movie starts by her being stranded on the beach with her daughter (Anna Paquin in a tremendous break through performance as the highly imaginative and unintentionally cunning Flora) till her husband Alistair(Sam Neill) can find the time to go and fetch her.

When he finally does, his entourage consists of George (Harvey Keitel with freakish Maori tattoos over his face and body) and other natives. Disregardful of his wife’s pleadings, he lets the piano be left behind on the beach because he doesn’t want to pay a little extra to the help for carrying it. But he can’t keep her from going back time and again until she strikes a deal with George, for the piano in return for lessons on the same.

But George isn’t interested in the lessons as much as in Ada and before long is making advances towards her. At first she resents it and acts repulsed by it, but slowly his passion overcomes her. When the affair is exposed, Ada’s existence is threatened and her choices questioned. All throughout, the piano becomes her voice and expresses her innermost desires as she is excited, enraptured and then deeply grieved by the way the affair goes. The end is both a little tragic and surprising but you should watch the movie for that.

More than anything, this is a movie about a woman’s heart torn between her duty and her passions. The ‘mute’ Ada is a metaphor for most of the women in the world whose voices are limited to the confines of their minds and hearts and who often find their wishes and opinions silenced by the bastions of male authority and societal norms. Cinematographed beautifully in the haunting wilderness of the gorgeous New Zealand, the images linger long after the movie is over. It might not be such a good idea to watch this movie with conservative crowds for it contains intensely passionate and all-clothes-barred scenes. However it is integral to the story telling and not just an excuse to parade some good bodies.

Jane Champion has superbly managed to portray the varicolored nature of a woman’s wants and elicit excellent performances from each of the characters. Hunter is in top form, communicating layers of emotions through her body and sign language, and of course the piano pieces which she has herself performed for the movie. Sam Neill is adequate as the disregardful and lousy but jealous and hopelessly possessive husband who needs to have control of Ada. Keitel, inspite of his ugly tattoos, attracts with his irrepressible charms and his passion for Ada is so scorching hot that it ignites the screen. But the most surprising package of the movie is the little Anna Paquin, who is the onscreen interpreter of her mother’s sign language, her constant companion and friend, and whose mischief leads to an unintended tragic consequence towards the end. She has played this part with an understanding, unusual for a child of her age. She is truly the discovery of this movie.

The Piano is for those who need to feel rather then see stories…it is poetic in the language of its silence and beautiful in its expression of that which is unspoken.

Craig Ferguson: Weekend Discovery

2006-11-16T09:28:00.000-08:00

The Britney - KFed breakup is the talk of the day and there is so much mud slinging in the papers, the magazines and especially on the internet, that both the parties have come out looking like shit. Mostly, Brit has managed to walk away with the sympathies for having been manipulated by the opportunistic gold-digger KFed (who has been newly coronated as Fed Ex after his speedy delivery from the Brit camp) and the custody case is expected to raise a lot of helluva over the next few months, as the entertainment weekly chews and swallows and ruminates over this high-profile split following the Reese Witherspoon-Ryan Phillippe and the controversial Paul McCartney-Heather Mills split. Looks like the divorce season is in....and rocking....

Anyways, I wanted to get the inside scoop on what really happened in the Spederline affair so I looked up Yahoo for the details, while surfing this weekend. There I learnt that K - Fed had also added the distinction of being divorced (dumped actually) over a SMS, in his long line of dubious crowns such as worst debut album "Playing with fire", worst dad for having abandoned his two kids with model Shar Jackson and ofcourse that of a no-good husband living off his superstar wife's wealth. And the worst part is that the dumping has actually been caught on camera. It was during his shooting of a reality series on Much.Com TV that he was supposedly dumped and even though you cannot see the actual message, his reaction to one of the SMSes provides enough evidence that there was "the ONE" that must have taken the wind off his sails. He looked "down in the dumps" after that and had withdrawn to his trailer supposedly for about half an hour before making an appearance again.

Looking for the video that captured it, I came across a "Late Late night show with Craig Fergusson" clip that spoke about the split. Obviously this is such a huge opportunity (and promises to be as dirty as possible) for satire and sarcasm that it has to be the butt of the most outrageous jokes in the talk shows and stand - up comedies and Craig's show was no exception. He was pulling on major cracks at the expense of Brit and Fed, but what was infectious about that clip was Craig himself, dancing around like K-Fed, giving an impersonation of Britney and her "butter fingers in the baby department" and basically enjoying most of the jokes himself too, while he had a go at it.

This was the first time I was watching him, but I couldn't help liking him more than any talk show host I have seen before. I mean he was hilarious, classy, with a unique British-Irish accent that brought sophistication to the humor and his delightful persona was just charming. There is a spontaneity about him that is endearing and he looks like he is cracking jokes on his own, instead of having rehearsed them off some other writer's material, minus those typical, well - timed gestures and breakpoints. I went on to watch a few more clips of his, with the funny-as-hell "Dear CBS" and the rollicking "Virginity". Then there was his interview with the upcoming star Piper Perabo, small but delightful and very spontaneous. He was flirty but still very much dignified. I also noticed how he chose to pull up his chair right next to the couch on which she sat instead of having the desk between, bringing comfort and intimacy to the talk without offending the guest's private space.

I also found out that he had quite a large fan following who had created videos from his edited clips with popular songs in the background. A little birdie also told me that he was an Emmy winner for the show. Well, no wonder!! The one with the ninjas is a little ridiculous but then it is ok once in a while.

Here are the links to his videos on YouTube.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2E2hQp-094

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5ENLm0JsQw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsDFolnaREQ (Virginity)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aom0mcCmuXE (Dear CBS)

Watch and enjoy!!

Children of Heaven : The delight of innocence

2006-11-08T05:59:00.000-08:00

This is a delightful story of a little kid, Ali and his younger sister, Zhara whose lives are thrown into unexpected difficulties due to the loss of the latter’s shoes. Charming in its wholesome innocence and beautiful in its portrayal of human emotions, this movie engages right from the first scene where the cobbler mends the little girl’s shoes.

The movie brings back the warmth of the childhood, when such little things mattered so much and when we were blissfully unaware of the greater problems in life. It made me wanna forget who I had become and escape to those days in the past when everything was just what it looked like – simple, uncomplicated. The children in the movie are so refreshingly natural and shorn of pretenses that it feels like you are actually watching their real life. It is wonderful to actually see children acting out their own age rather than being some kind of stand-up comedians, acting like they are grown-ups with a heightened sense of humor and urgency to display the entire plethora of emotions, while desperately trying to look ‘oh-so-cute’.

Other than the childhood vagaries, we also get a glimpse of the Iranian lifestyle, their customs, traditions and beliefs, presented in a non-judgmental fashion. Apart from the two little protagonists, the other characters have also been acted out minus any loud ‘character’ acting, powerful one-liners and so-called sizzling chemistry. I feel short of words to describe how refreshing that is - to see a movie that so closely resembles life, ordinary yet special, uneventful yet important.
Look out for these two scenes that are nicely done:

Ali and his sister Zahara, playing with bubbles while washing the shoes.
The last scene in which the red fish collect around Ali’s feet in the pond.

Give yourself a break from the extravagant Hollywood and Bollywood brouhaha and watch this low-budget, emotionally satisfying charmer…

The Dreaming Insomniac

2006-11-04T08:04:00.000-08:00

Lying awake all night
I dream of things impossible and far away
that beckon me to come their way
and fight and struggle come what may

Sometimes a little wink that steals me for a while
Leaves me with images of broken dreams
of life filled with terror and screams
with strife ridden plains and famished realms

Once in a few moments of suspended conscious
A faint glimmer of hope shines
through the pitiful cries of the present and its untolerable whines
a reassuring voice speaks to me, almost divine

Putting me to some rest for the infinity of a moment
at peace with myself, frozen in a spell
wishing that it all goes well
as I lie, waiting, longing in my eyes...balancing between heaven and hell

A Clockwork Orange

2006-11-04T05:20:00.000-08:00

Stanley Kubrick’s bold and theatrically dramatized version of the future perfect delinquent and maniacal “adventures of a young man whose main interests being rape, ultra-violence and Beethoven” is a revelation of the sort of bravura film-making that excites, disgusts, scares and awes at the same time. After watching this movie, I knew why Kubrick is so revered amongst directors of all ages and races and why he is amongst the greatest directors ever born. The unflinching quality of his vision and his absolute determination to keep its artistic integrity alive without any compromises or concessions to his perspective is what makes him one of the towering artistes of all times.

The story is about Alex (Malcolm McDowell in the role that got him the 100th spot on the Top100 performances of all times) who is a delinquent crime-scene regular, with absolute disregard for law and society. With his band of ‘brothers’, he commits rapes and robberies with the delight and indulgence of a little prankster doing his routine mischief. One day, the mischief goes too far and Alex is imprisoned for murder. In the prison, he is given a chance to go free if he undergoes a revolutionary new treatment for complete reformation of the criminals. After the treatment, Alex’s behavioral preferences are altered but then the questions about the morality of the treatment, its torturous after- effects and choice by coercion arise. A singular incident in the end changes things again and we are left with a bizarre dream sequence of the protagonist, considering what the probable outcome of the whole exercise could be.

Saying that the movie SHOCKS is an understatement. There are rape scenes and fights, choreographed with background scores, robberies committed while ‘Singing in the rain’ and fast forwarded orgies. Most of the women in the movie are either completely undressed or pictured topless with the director never holding back on showing us the perverse and sadistic imagination of the protagonist at any point of time in the movie. Not to mention the scores of innuendos and allusions those that are carefully hidden beneath the obvious, this is one movie that deals with underage crimes, lawlessness, politics, morality, justice and surprisingly even science-fiction with thought provoking insight.

Apart from bold subject, daring direction and tremendous controversy, the movie also holds the distinction of being one of the two X-rated movies to be nominated for the “Best Picture” Oscar. There are a lot of interesting anecdotes pre and post the release of the movie, with the X-rated version being banned in UK till as recent as 2000 and the Catholic church tagging it as “C” (Condemned) when it was released.

But what really needs to be told that this kind of cinema is liberating in many ways. It depicts the truth and the possibilities of reality in the ‘in-your-face’ kind of fashion which is very rare, not to mention quite alarming and at times sickening to audiences like me who are used to having torture and crime been shown in a ‘held-back-to-avoid-hurting’ the audience’s sensibilities way. I have to admit I was completely taken aback by the rather sensational picturization of most of the scenes but along the way realized that it was important for the message to get across as memorable and hauntingly as it did. The futuristic sets, the outrageous décor, the flashy costumes and the bizarre poetic dialogues add to the ‘retainability’ quotient of the movie quite impressively. The cast does a great job too but the one thing that leaves an indelible imprint on your mind is the sheer courage of the director for creating such a visual stunner with steadfast conviction, unmindful of the business aspect and social acceptance, but extremely fastidious about the artistic integrity of the work.

Reality or photographic illusion??

2006-10-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Here's an amazing pic, supposedly taken by NASA using the Hubble telescope.

This reportedly happens once in 3000 years....

Haven't verified whether they are facts, but posted this since it looks pretty dramatic and colorful to be some kind of planetary phenomenon.

The second image is that of the moon being at the closest point at the North pole. It is just too freaking fantastic to be true.

Both are beautiful, fascinating and well to a certain extent, unbelievable....Though even if they are real or a product of someone's imagination, we have to give credit for it to the artist - The Almighty or the 'Not-so-mighty' imagineer....

The inspiration behind “Memento”

2006-10-04T08:57:00.000-07:00

Christopher Nolan’s ambitious and ground breaking movie “Memento” was based on as short story written by his brother Jonathan Nolan called “Memento Muir”. A few days ago, I had the good fortune of reading the original story and what a story it was!! I mean, the narrative is unconventional, the idea revolting and the philosophy insightful…

Here are a few excerpts from that story

“The question is whether you want to do something about it. Whether revenge matters to you.

It does to most people. For a few weeks, they plot, they scheme, they take measures to get even. But the passage of time is all it takes to erode that initial impulse. Time is theft, isn’t that what they say? And time eventually convinces most of us that forgiveness is a virtue. Conveniently, cowardice and forgiveness look identical at a certain distance. Time steals your nerve.”

Cool, huh? There’s more….

“Every man is broken into twenty-four-hour fractions, and then and again within those twenty-four hours….For a few minutes of every day, every man becomes a genius, Moments of clarity, insight, whatever you want to call them. The clouds part, the planets get in a neat little line, and everything becomes obvious. I should quit smoking, maybe or here’s how I could make a fast million, or such and such is the key to eternal happiness. That’s the miserable truth. For a few moments, the secrets of the universe are opened to us. Life is a cheap parlor trick.

But then the genius, the savant, has to hand control to the next guy down the pike, most likely the guy who just wants to eat potato chips, and insight and brilliance and salvation all are entrusted to a moron or a hedonist or a narcoleptic.”

There are more but I think it is better if you read it within the context of the story where it makes more sense. It is available at the end of the script for Memento in most of the script sites. So check it out…this is ‘real talent’ thing. Jonathan Nolan is clearly at par with his brother’s creativity, and it would be very interesting to see what kind of story he develops for the next Batman movie.

Till then….

Affair with the moon continues....

2006-09-20T05:35:00.000-07:00

I am way too fixated on this heavenly dude....got to find a way to escape his charms....

Till then will be glad to keep clicking...These are few of the many taken on the night of the lunar eclipse, an hour before it actually happened. All have been taken with the same camcorder, my Sony DCR 90E Mini DV within the span of an hour, with different settings.

Awaiting your comments...love the moon, I say....till next set...

The Extraordinary Redemption

2006-09-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

Fear can hold you prisoner
Hope can set you free

Two lines that are remarkably simple but so astonishingly powerful that I was awed the minute I looked them up at the DVD cover for the first time. I had heard a lot about the movie before, but thankfully never insisted upon reading up a review or a short summary before viewing it and after the movie was over, not only was I kneeling before my computer in sheer reverence of the masterpiece, I was also immensely glad that I hadn’t bothered about religiously sticking to that pre-movie viewing ritual of mine. In short, you don’t need a great review for a movie like this, just watch it. It is bound to change your life in more ways than one. It is one of those experiences that leaves you speechless, if not exuberant, and creates a sense of hope, if not of hardcore optimism and patience.

For those who are purists when it comes to seeking an opinion about a movie, here’s the rest of the review. It is a story of Andy (Tim Robbins) who gets a life term for being the accused in the murder trial of his wife and her lover. In the Shawshank prison where he is sentenced, he meets Red (Morgan Freeman) who becomes his closest friend there. It is through Red’s pov that you see the movie that spans for about 20 years of Andy’s life in the prison and the way he revolutionizes the lives of the prisoners and the warden at Shawshank. Along the way, we witness his struggles, trials and tribulations and his unwavering patience and conviction that top it all. The most jubilant part in the movie is towards the end, when Andy pulls off a very carefully planned stunt in a style that will get your soul to cheer for him and have your faith restored in the eternal power of good and justice.

Giving away the end won’t dilute the essence of the movie for it is not about getting to know what happens next. It is about knowing what is happening now and living that experience through the narrator’s and protagonist’s eyes. It is about influencing people’s lives in a positive way and knowing how to make yours worthwhile. Most of all, it is about the soul seeking redemption and the spirit being set free after finally acquiring it. It is about life that you get just once and it up to you how you make the best of what you got.

Based on Stephen King’s novel “Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption”, this is a deeply soulful movie, beautifully directed by Frank Darabont. The cinematography is almost breath taking, especially in the aerial scenes of the Shawshank prison. Even though the content expanse of the storyline is limited to Andy and his Shawshank years, the cinematography makes us believe that the scope is much wider and leaves an after taste of an epic in our minds. The dialogues are taut and well-written just like the script and there is not a moment of laxity or slack in this lyrical saga of an inspiring life.

As for the actors, words will fall short if one has to describe Tim Robbins’ spellbinding and subtle-nuanced performance as the quiet, brilliant, thoughtful and genteel Andy. He has played the character to such perfection that for a while Andy and Tim are undistinguishable as different people in your perception. Freeman, as the crook Red, has delivered effectively and his voice over for the entire story is the best voice overs out of the countless ones he has done. It is never intrusive, and has an unusual calming effect like that of a wonderful storyteller. The rest of the cast is up to the mark and leaves nothing undone.

As for the reason why this movie never won a single Oscar, all I can say that it had to be the one of the greatest offences that the Academy committed for which God knows when they shall seek redemption.

Being me

2006-09-06T01:02:00.000-07:00

Sanity and reasoning are way too dull for me
Let the learned have them
Rhythm and harmony are too methodical for me
Let the composers make them

Logic and interpretation are tedious to me
Let the scholars do them
Tranquility and perseverance are difficult for me
Let the sages master them

Give me the impulse of the moment, the insanity of love
The random tunes of the wind, the berserk pattern of the clouds
The noise of my thoughts, the ephemeral joys and sorrows
And let me live with them.

Death By Numbers

2006-09-01T04:34:00.000-07:00

Just have a look at the upcoming Hollywood offerings

Spider-Man 3, The Dark Knight (Batman 2) , Jurassic Park IV,
Pirates of the Carribean 3, Terminator 4, Indiana Jones 4, Back to the Future Part IV, Daredevil 2, Rush Hour 3, Batman: Year One (Batman 3), Superman 2

The one that takes the cake is : Rocky VI.

Ofcourse not to forget the Scary Movies, the remakes of Omens and Wicker Mans (albeit hopelessly) etc.

What is going on here? There is nothing but sequels, prequels and remakes. Doesn't the most fabulous movie industry in the world have more than three original, stand-alone, prequel and sequel- less concepts a year?

All we are left with are the franchises or the tried and tested formulas - some of which can't even claim to be successful or popular. What's more to come? Let's guess

American Pie 4
My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2
Just your luck (Sequel to Just my luck)
Legally Blonde 3: The Seychelles
Yours, Mine, Ours and Theirs (Sequel to Yours, Mine and ours)

and lots and lots more.....

Quentin, Rodriquez - some creative oxygen please, we are dying by the numbers here...

Dandyman - The return

2006-08-19T07:23:00.000-07:00

They befriend. They enamor.

They enlighten. They define.

Another four from the Dandyman series. Enjoy!!!

Out of ordinary

2006-08-17T23:10:00.000-07:00

Here are some words that I came across the other day(albeit not for the first time). And decided to trace their histories, geographies and philosophies. On answers.com, I found some very interesting, bizarre as well as creepy explanations, stories and theories about them. So check them out:

Doppelganger
http://www.answers.com/doppelganger&r=67

Homunculus
http://www.answers.com/topic/homunculus

Changeling
http://www.answers.com/topic/changeling

It is bound to give a nice, twisted break to the monotony of regular thought.

The 'Memento'us Citizen

2006-08-14T04:07:00.000-07:00

Here are two 'must-see' movies that should be on every movie lovers' list

Memento

Mind blowing narrative, decent performances and a complex story that happens over different slices of time, keep you hooked till the end to reveal the twist in the tale. If you are into introspection, you may find yourself questioning your own memories and trying to separate the truth from the perceptions that you believe are true, after watching this thriller. Nerve wrenchingly intelligent at times, this is a masterpiece from Christopher Nolan, based on a short story by his brother Jonathan Nolan. Memento is so awesome that you wonder if it is the same Christopher Nolan who revived (if it could be said so) the Batman franchise last year with the very insipid and uninspired “Batman Begins”.

Teaser: Imagine having to live your life without a memory of what happened even five minutes back, a reality that is supported by a few polaroids, scribbled notes and tattoos serving as reminders of what happened in the recent past, a past that is thoroughly distorted and subject to manipulation by those who need you to go their way. How do you know who you are? What are doing here? And who really is the person sitting next to you? Is this today? What is today? What do you do today?

People with normal retention powers can answer these questions right away but what if you are one of those who can’t.

Citizen Kane

The greatest movie of all times….that’s what they say. Finishing comfortably at the top of every movie critic’s list, this movie is said to be unequalled in its concept, conviction and creativity. And that is true. But I had the unmistakable feeling of having missed out on that WOW factor that I would have had, had I seen the movie back in the 1941 when everything about the movie was must have seemed so innovative, so smashing, so experimental and so mind blowing original. But still with that missing factor, the movie stood out as bold, artistic and different.

The one thing that amazed me were the unconventional angles in which the scenes where cinematographed. Yes, for one of the few rare times, I actually felt the astounding power of cinematography as an art, with a strong presence of its own rather than just an aid to the actual story telling. This is the kind of legendary cinematography that makes the images not just impactful but forever entrenched in your visual memory. Gregg Toland, the maestro cinematographer has played around so skillfully with the lights, the shadows, the low angles, the sweeping shots, the blending and the merging and his patented deep-focus shot that it is almost unnerving to imagine what he might have done had he the advantage of our modern day wizardry.

The guy behind it all- Orson Welles, the man, the guts, the brilliance. I had read about how the movie was completed in spite of the extremely trying circumstances manufactured by the media mogul, William Randolph Hearst whose life was the inspiration for Citizen Kane and it made me even more reverent of Welles for his tenacity and spirit for standing by his work uncompromisingly, in the face of these odds. Personally I believe that Hearst and all his generations should be grateful to Welles for immortalizing him in such an unforgettable masterpiece.

There is also a famous story about how Welles unwittingly introduced the concept of controversial movie publicity to Hollywood by threatening to sue RKO (distributors) of dire consequences if they withheld his movie, under pressure from Hearst. As a result he got the audience excited about the movie and the studios to release the movie due to mounting public demand to do so. Anyways that’s just some trivia. What shines through the movie is the sheer courage and undeniable talent of the irrepressible Welles, who also gives a powerhouse performance as Charles Foster Kane, complete with all the nuances. Rest of the cast does well too. Citizen Kane does live up to the hype, but the unmistakable feeling lingers on….

That reconstructed old photo look

2006-08-10T02:27:00.000-07:00

If you can make your picture look like it is an old picture reconstructed, I think that adds a little touch of artistry and makes it more interesting. Look at the effect achieved in the pictures seen.

Doing this might seem tough, but with Picasa (Google's picture software), it actually becomes a cakewalk.

Once Picasa is installed on your PC, it will automatically search and find all the pictures on your system and arrange them systematically. So all you have to do is locate the picture that you want to work on in Picasa and then follow the steps given below:

1. Right click on the image in Picasa and choose 'View and Edit' option
2. Under the 'Effects' tab (on the left), choose Black & White.
3. For the image that has become B & W now, use the option 'Film Grain'
4. Then select the tab 'Tuning'.
5. Adjust the Fill level, Shadows and Highlights bars suitably.

Voila, you have your reconstructed look!!!

For free Picasa download, visit http://picasa.google.com/download/index.html. It is totally worth it.

Motorcycle Diaries - A journey worth taking

2006-08-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Oscar nominee in the Best Foreign movie category, this is one film that would do well even without the translation, with such an interesting and inspiring a premise as the beginning of the making of the legendary Che Guevara, the fire that sparked the Cuban Revolution. The story is about the 23-year old Che (Ernesto) and his biochemist friend, Alberto Granado as they undertake a bike trip around Latin America. Initially, it is an amusing account of their adventures and escapades but later turns on a serious note as they slowly come to terms with the suffering of the natives and identify the crisis and the vices of the capitalist domination. It was this journey that sowed the seeds for the future of Cuba and changed the destinies of the natives forever.

The cinematography in this movie is hauntingly beautiful as the camera pans effortlessly across the varicolored contours and the diverse cultural scenarios of the picturesque Latin American countries; instilling a wonderful earthiness in the movie with the sounds, the smells, the traditions of these lesser known lands. It is truly breathtaking at times.

The lead actors have done a superb job with their unassuming performances, subtle yet so real. Especially Gael Garcia Bernal, whose charismatic screen appeal and intense persona most certainly makes him a true to life young Guevara. Rodrigo De La Serna as the chubby, horny and harmlessly cunning Alberto Granado keeps you smiling throughout with his playfulness and wit. But it is really the director, Walter Salles, who has to be credited for creating such a impressive work of art incorporating the talents of not only the professionals but also of some of the natives who bring such authenticity and credibility to the movie that it almost feels like a documentary at times. He should be applauded for introducing a new kind of documentary-commercial-art kind of cinema. Kudos for a movie nicely made, with no pretensions, just all heart, soul and spirit.

Trivia: How Motorcycle Diaries is truly one of its kind

The film was an international co-production between companies in Argentina, France, Germany,Peru,United Kingdom and the United States. Ernesto Guevara is played by the Mexican actor Gael García Bernal and Alberto Granado by the Argentinean Rodrigo de la Serna.The film was directed by the Brazilian filmmaker Walter Salles. The screenplay, written by acclaimed Puerto Rican playwright José Rivera, is based on Guevara's and Granado's journals. The soundtrack was produced by Gustavo Santaolalla, an Academy award winning Argentinean composer.

Movie Tagline: Let the world change you and you can change the world.

Get a glimpse of Che Guevara’s inspiring life at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Che_Guevara

P.S. Maybe a long road trip is what I need to find out what I want to do with life; I might find a purpose to me too just like Che.

What a song feels like…

2006-08-08T02:32:00.000-07:00

I know of a few songs that have unusually associated themselves with the sounds, the smells and the surroundings that environed me when I heard them, maybe for the first time or maybe for the nth time. Now these aren’t those songs (mostly the romantic ones) that people tend to associate with their favorite or memorable times such as the first kiss, best date, engagement night etc because they were been played in the background when the event happened. No…no…not those. These are the songs, which for some unfathomable reason; unmistakably manage to bring back memories of a particular time that I had heard them, recreating the mood, the feel, and the emotions that I felt then, down to the last freakish detail. It is an intriguing phenomenon for I know that the songs aren’t all my favorites, or the settings in which I heard them, exceptional, but the recreation of the ambience is impeccable.

Now for example, there is this song ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams. Whenever I listen to that song, I am transported to this time when I used to work in Bangalore, left all alone at night time in the office, in the corner seat of one of the bays, working on the computer while listening to this song. Sometimes I can also hear the dull sound of the server in the background. I can see the entire office just like it used to be on those nights, absolutely quiet except for the occasional intrusion of the sweeper boy or the cleaning lady. Then I can see myself moving out of the office into the balcony. The night suffuses over me with the delicious aroma of the night queen and the gentle touch of the cool breeze. As I search the sky for the moon, it shyly peeks out from the clouds where it had been hiding and I smile at it. I feel like it smiles back at me. Then I decide to move in and take a steaming cup of Bournvita along for warmth.

It is unbelievable but I see this every time the crooner hits the ‘Angels’ note. And there’s more. I admit I have never seen what the video for this song looks like. But there are some images that come to me when I try and imagine what the video must be like. I see Robbie, walking down a lonely road, shadowed by enormous trees at its sides. It is autumn and the trees are resplendent in lovely hues of orange and red. As Robbie is walking along, a strong breeze is blowing by, showering him with beautiful leaves and as he raises his head to look to the sky, the shadows drift off for a moment to light his face with sunshine. Then he smiles, looks towards the ground and keeps walking ahead.

Why do I get these images when I hear the song? Still trying to figure out….

Find the lyrics for ‘Angels’ at http://www.lyrics007.com/Robbie%20Williams%20Lyrics/Angels%20Lyrics.html and by the way, it is nice, soothing song.

The outlaw and the outlandish

2006-08-07T22:25:00.000-07:00

First thoughts on two movies seen over the past weekend

Tsotsi

An Oscar award winning South African venture, Tsotsi is the story of a young outlaw whose has to make life altering choices after being entrusted the responsibility of a child by a chance encounter. Along the way, he faces a lot of dilemmas and has to give up some relationships and initiate new ones, that influence the person that he eventually becomes.

Even though the sensibilities of the characters were deftly handled, I still felt the movie becoming too mushy at times. Also there was a sense of déjà vu as the lead character undergoes moral transformation, for I have seen similar storylines in Hindi movies. However Tsotsi manages to score in the acting and the cinematography departments, with all the performers giving life-like believable performances and the camera admirably portraying the glaring contrasts and striking differences between the downtrodden, dilapidated colonies of the poor and the snobbish, stylish complexes boasting of upper class extravaganzas. It is also notable how the sky is always shown to be some shade of red, depending on the mood of the scene without ever seeming artificial or contrived. The soundtrack is rap & hip-hop medley, the beats managing to get your feet tapping though I felt irritated when a track was played every time Tsotsi took a walk, like some kind of forced style statement.

All in all, a well made movie with talented artistes and smart camerawork but not something that will stay with me for long.

Capote

Capote, in one word is slow. Ok I will make it two. Excruciatingly slow. By the time the movie gets over, the characters have lost your sympathy, the script has lost its tautness and you have lost the ability to even say that it was ‘boring’ because you are too bored to even utter a word.

What, however cannot be ignored is the path breaking performance given by Phillip Seymour Hoffman as the flamboyant, gay, life-of-the-party American author Truman Capote, who invented the genre of non-fiction novel with his best-selling “In Cold Blood”. Based on the true story of the murder of an entire family at the hands of two seemingly sane men, this book went onto be a critical and popular success. But the process of researching and writing this book took a toll on the psychological health of its author, who could never complete another book in his lifetime, having fallen for the charm of alcohol and drugs under the spell of depression. Many contend that it was because Capote had betrayed the trust of the accused men, who bared their souls to him, and exposed their realities to the rest of the world through his book, garnering enough fame and money for a lifetime at the cost of their death sentences.

The camerawork is pretty neat. The sets and costumes are appropriate without being too elaborate. Katherine Keener, in the role of Harper Lee, Truman’s close friend is the other cast member that impresses with her subtle, restrained performance. Rest of the actors fit into their roles but other than Clifton Collins Jr., playing one of the accused Perry Smith, no one else gets enough screen time to make a mark.

Sensitive in its portrayal of each of the characters, including the criminals, this should have been a great movie if not for its lousy pace and a drama that doesn't really give the expected high. Eventually, it ends up becoming a showcase for Hoffman's unbelievable prowess to get into the character physically and mentally, but even with his Oscar winning performance, he is unable to salvage the movie from being the perpetual drag that it is.

For a brief on Truman Capote, visit http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/capote.htm

Enamored by the moon

2006-08-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

One of the most lovely things in the sky....the moon. The object of most people's fancies, the inspiration for a thousand poems and a million sonnets, symbolism for love. The moon.

Captured here using a 3 MP digital Sony camcorder, over a period of an hour, using the maximum zoom settings. Out of the many snaps that I took, these four came out decently. Others suffered from distortion (when in zoom, even the slightest move can ruin the photo), excessive graininess and ofcourse cloud cover due to time delay of the cam.

A fun experience that left me with an exhausted arm (out of the effort of holding the cam for a long time waiting for the cloud cover to pass) but an enamored heart.

2nd whiff of freedom

2006-07-24T03:11:00.000-07:00

Continuing on the ‘felt free’ series…..

Once I went to a water camp at Karwar, a few kms from Goa. I freaked out like a total water baby there, refusing to come out of the waters even after dusk for almost two days. Water just fascinates me, never mind the fact that I almost drowned twice, but still it holds a unique attraction for me that I can’t deny. Whenever I come near a water body (tank, pool, river, sea, ocean….) it is pretty hard to resist the temptation to jump in. So it was no surprise that in the welcome absence of any parental authority around and the unobserving company of chilled –out fellow campers, I let my body loose and set my soul free to sway to the rhythmic, soothing sound of the waves and literally managed to stay drenched for 75% of my time there.

Water however is not the main element of this story. After a day and half of canoeing, rafting, swimming followed by a boat ride to see an ancient lighthouse, we cycled about 5 kms to this place that had an ideal setting for rappelling. I was cycling after a long time but it felt like I had never left it. For the first 5 minutes, I was cautious but then I felt settled like I was always meant to do it right. I started picking up speed. The road, gloriously smooth and devoid of cracks and holes, edged me further. And then within 2 minutes, I raced to the front of the entire gang (about 10 of them being guys). They couldn’t believe it for a while. And then they started racing. It was fun thereafter. I never finished first, there were many too good to beat but it felt nice to make a great headstart and initiate a race that everyone joined in. Rappelling was fun too and though it was my first time, it was thankfully not injury-ridden. And then the real thing started.

Warning: Don’t try this anywhere. Not especially the place (or others of its kind) where I did it.

It was getting late to go back to the camp so the camp leaders asked those who were done with their rappelling stints to go ahead and pack (we had to leave for home the same night) while the others finished theirs. I hopped on my cycle and began to hurry back. The way back was through NH11 (National Highway No.11), the same that we had come through. But this time I was alone. I was riding in the opposite direction of the lane discipline and had so far managed to stay out of the vehicles’ way. The road was awesome. The sun was hurrying to go home and kept peeking through long stretches of fields and forests, trying to steal some last glimpses of the gold smeared earth, while creating a smattering palette of vibrant colors in the evening sky. I kept alternating my view between the heaven above and the heaven below. Suddenly a thought struck me. I slowly withdrew my left hand from the handle. The cycle unsteadied a bit but glided further smoothly a second later. I was relieved. Thought I had forgotten how to do this, but I hadn’t. The last time that I cycled like that must have been about 7 years ago.One hand free, eyes glued to the road, legs maintaining the steady speed and the mind absolutely focused on cycling. It felt good, real good. And then another thought struck me.

I began to increase my speed with fervor, trying not to unsettle my one hand free biking. But it was getting tougher. So I held onto with both my hands and started accelerating. The wind grew cold and a chilly, tickling sensation ran down my spine. The vehicles began to flash by, fast and furious, their horns blaring into my face. But I did not deter, kept going faster and finally when I thought it was good enough, I did it. For the first time in my life. Lifted both my hands off the handles and kept cycling. My heart almost popped out, my head went into ecstatic frenzy. The horns of the vehicles around suddenly stopped blaring uncomfortably and if I had felt like I was gliding before, now I felt like I was floating. All alone in this world, yet perfectly happy. Happy as a bird, let out of its cage into the open sky. Happy as a fish, let out into the ocean, after being confined to the claustrophobic water bowl. Yay!! I screamt to myself silently. There was no one there with whom I could share that feeling, but I could hear the silent applause of the motionless road, the beaming sun and the trees that seemed to sway to my side now. It was phenomenal. I was riding, hands-free for the first time on the NH11; breaking the lane discipline, having overcome my fears of failing, heedless to the safety norms, oblivious to the danger…..I…was…riding.

It was after I came to a halt that I realized what I had done and what all could have gone seriously wrong. But my elated, freshly energized heart didn’t let me dwell too long on this. The whole experience had unlocked a part of me that I was vaguely familiar with, but eager to know. A self – confessed rule abider; I had openly flouted all the warnings, all the risk factors and cycled my way to feeling FREE (all capitals justified). Nothing had felt quite like that before. Of course it was very dangerous and definitely not something I would advise anyone to do, but I will never forget the way it made me feel. I don’t know if I would get a chance or have the guts to do that again. But if I do….maybe I won’t….maybe I will….

Whiffs of Freedom

2006-07-21T02:25:00.000-07:00

Freedom is a strange thing.

On paper, it means the power to act or speak or think without externally imposed restraints. So what about the internal restraints that we impose on ourselves? Can we call ourselves free if we are bound by shackles of those restraints that are affected by tradition, culture, habit, pride or just hesitation without even a proper justification? There can be a thousand odd reasons for why we chose to do or not do a thing, but that’s not the issue. The question is do you really feel free? Do you feel like you want to do something (of course not at the cost of hurting someone or breaking the law) and can’t do it for the fear of discomfort, mockery or just plain fear? And do you regret it later and wish you would have done it for it would have made you happy? Because if you do, then you really need to set yourself free.

I will tell you what made me feel free. Free as a bird, the kind of freedom that you want to have but hesitate to reach out to. I know the kind of things that I felt like doing just for the heck of it. So I just went ahead and did it. Made me feel free. Really free.

In no particular chronological order (the other instances to follow later).

There was this time that my friend told me that a bungee-jumping camp had come to town. Sure enough I got all excited about it. I had seen it on TV so many times, seemed like fun. But then I had also seen how many of those stunts had gone seriously wrong and people left immobilized for life. The perverseness of my brain forced me to concentrate on the ‘gone bad’ side and my initial enthusiasm began to be replaced by fear and almost an eerie vision of the rope snapping viciously dropping me thousands of feet through air, my hands wildly reaching out, head splitting with sound of my screams, my frame dashing towards the ground headlong first. And then a dull thud, meekly supported by the sound of breaking vertebrae. It became so real that I began to hear the dull thud in my hyperactive imagination. Anyways I managed to put up a smiling, relaxed demeanor in front of my friend who tried discouraging me further by giving his own inputs about the possible ways I could have a bungee diving accident (as if I hadn’t contemplated those already).

But I stayed put. Uneasy in my mind, but fixated on my dare. Finally we reached the venue and went ahead to buy the tickets. There were quite a few before me. So I had an about an hour to prepare myself mentally for the jump. I didn’t need it because it merely compounded my fears through a complete audio-visual experience of what others went through. Then my friend, in his quest of being impeccably informative, told me how one lady had injured her head seriously in another form of bungee-jumping two days ago, as a result of which the use of the machine in the adjoining camp area had been abandoned. I merely smiled at him. With friends like him, one hardly needs enemies. I was still intent to go ahead with it. Finally it was my turn. I stepped forward. My friend resignedly gave me a thumbs-up, with an expression that screamt 'Don't tell me later I didn't tell you so".After the regular rope fastening procedures, I was taken up in a lift mechanism to reach the place from where I was supposed to dive. I was beginning to hope that the ride doesn’t end. But it did. Then the instructor began shooting instructions. Dive. Don’t jump. Your backbone might snap. Don’t jump. I wish he wouldn’t stop. But he did. Then it was just me and the Universe. Did I tell you how spectacular the view was? I guess I didn’t. Well it was. Like it would be from a 15-storey building without any railings to hold onto. Great but scary. The crowds standing below seemed miniscule like a group of colorful ants moving about. Just a split second look, a deep breath and then I jumped.

Crashing through at roughly million miles an hour, I saw the ground rushing to meet me. The air was brushing thickly against my ears, but I could hardly breathe. My hands were outstretched in front of me and my vocal cords reverberating wildly without permission. I was screaming but purely out of the thrill of it, no fear at all. Then when I thought that I would hit ground in another 2 seconds, the rope snapped me up. A new reality dawned on me. The whole suspended-in-third-dimension thing, out-of-body experience. It was liberating. For the first time in my life, my body movements were completely out of my control. Felt like I was at the mercy of a superior being. But still it was not about been enslaved. It was about letting go of yourself, placing your destiny in the hands of the unknown and knowing that he would make it all ok. It was such a spiritual experience that it overwhelmed me. The screams however didn’t stop.

Then, of course, I learnt in mid-air that the first dive is not ‘it’. It is not over till the rope stops pulling you back. And what a pull it was!! I almost went back 60% of my fall and down to ground zero again. The same rush, except that now it was not new. Then once again the rope pulled back. Finally after a while it stopped and I was carefully untied and taken down. I couldn’t breathe for some time and I was sure that my face must have looked like it was hit by a crimson tide. My friend came towards me, grinning. I had done it. Yayeee!! The first thing I said to him was “Let’s do it again!!”

But we didn’t. It was way too expensive (Rs.600/- per dive) and way too much thrill to handle in a day. Especially for a person whose adventure spirit had been closeted all her life, out of her own stubborn ambition to not be herself and be bound by what the family thinks is appropriate for girls to do. But that day, I had chosen to break free. I was scared but I let myself be seduced by the charm of adventure. I realized that I had always been in love with dare-devilry but had lacked the courage to flaunt it, to do something about it.

That day I set my love free.

P.S. I still don’t understand why it is called bungee-jumping when you are actually supposed to ‘dive’.

Lights...Camera...Dandyman

2006-07-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

Books.They Inspire.They Teach.

They Support. They Propel.

These photos are a part of my first attempt to create theme-based compositions and photograph them. This series is called "Books...", featuring my favorite toy Dandyman. This guy is made from copper wires, covered with purple cloth and is extremely flexible. Since the time I have got it from Pondicherry, it has been my favorite toy.
The series that you see is photographed using a 5 MP Sony Digicam and the source of illumination is just a 40 W bulb. No other lights are involved. This shoot was quite a task as I balanced the camera in one hand while holding the bulb in another, whilst experimenting with the shadows. I even got mildly electrocuted twice in my careless enthusiasm. But all in all, it was a nice one, since I had the most easy-going, tantrumless star who stood 3 - 4 hours of body-twisting (literally) hardwork without so much as a whimper....

Basic Instinct

2006-07-13T12:36:00.000-07:00

Reading short stories by the unsurpassed genius of Edgar Allan Poe is quite an experience. They thrill, chill, excite, interest and many a times screw your brains right inside your skull till you have the unmistakable feeling of giddiness and mental fatigue, so strong that you are ready to collapse at any place that can afford you rest. For the uninitiated, E.A. Poe is one of the most gifted writers in American literature and has an amazing range of works to his credit right from detective fiction to horror, humor to science fiction, critique to romanticism, fantasy/supernatural to crime and even musical, mellifluous poetical verses.

I started with his acclaimed collection of detective fiction. I realized that not only are all the detective stories that I had read so far, more or less inspired by this master’s work, the most famous detective Sherlock Holmes is also a comprehensive and shameless rip off from Poe’s idiosyncratic character, a noble Frenchman called Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. Both the characters are glaringly similar and for all the Sherlock fans (I mean those who have religiously read all the 56 short stories and 4 novels) there is another shock in wait. The plots and the storylines of a few (and the smartest) of Sherlock’s adventures have been lifted (plagiarized down to the last thread of mystery) from Poe’s detective stories. Read up Poe’s ‘The Gold Bug’, ‘The Purloined Letter’ and the uncanny resemblance to Doyle’s offerings will be crystal clear to you. In conclusion Doyle’s claim to fame is a stake through Poe’s grave. And the irony of the situation is that the original genius isn’t even half as popular as the scheming plagiarist.

Anyways apart from the detective fiction, there are other stories too. What is fascinating and creepy about Poe’s work is that even the humorous tales have a hint of sadism and gothic horror, which will make your insides turn. Check out ‘Never bet the Devil your head’ and you will know what I am talking about. And the other interesting thing is his insistence that he isn’t telling anything relevant. There are a few stories that start by his disclaimer stating that the following story is almost unbelievable/unimportant/silly etc. However his insight on humans and their behavioral patterns, his close observations of the typical and the unique, his impeccable knowledge of the sciences, the languages and philosophy choose to differ with his disclaimer and soon the reader is aware that he is in the presence of the modest maestro. The language will seem highly ornamental and tedious to the average understanding (I sat with my dictionary next to me) and the grammar, archaic, very difficult to follow and keep track of, but if you pursue it till the end, I bet you will end up being satisfied and not just because it is a Herculean task to get till the end. There are many other reasons too.

I have one here. When I read his stories, especially the ones about conscience and horror, I had an uncomfortable feeling, something that made me sick inside. But something that I could identify with, yet wouldn’t dare to claim in public, lest I be considered a maniac in a civilized society. But I guess it is in each one of us, the one that makes us inherently human, capable of doing wrong for the sake of it, toeing the line to walk into the world of the forbidden and giving into temptation to do the thing that we know is a sin. I guess it is an instinct that is latent in majority of the population thankfully. Many of us are even blissfully unaware of it. There are very few who would dare to acknowledge it even in isolation for it makes us insecure, scared of our own dark side. And that’s what makes Poe’s horror so compulsively noteworthy. He doesn’t make us fear the unknown; he makes us afraid of ourselves. He frightens us with our own hidden fears and beastliness. He introduces our dormant (almost dead) sinful, subconscious tendencies to the conscious mind and leaves off gleefully as we try to fight the inner demons and make them go away. And that’s the true power of his work…..I haven’t read any other author who has had that kind of power over me, my mind, my consciousness. And that is why Poe has to be read, to feel the shadow of the dead casting its gloominess over the sunshine of the alive.

For more on Poe, check out this website http://bau2.uibk.ac.at/sg/poe/, which contains information on Poe and showcases his brilliant work.

P.S. For those who need more clues as to what instinct I am referring to in the last paragraph, read up Poe’s “The Black Cat” (Tales of Conscience).

Zidane : The (anti) Climax

2006-07-10T22:38:00.001-07:00

Here’s an excerpt from Wikipedia, about Zinedine Zidane and his disgraceful exit from the World Cup Final 2006. It seems that Zidane was intentionally provoked as planned, with racist slurs about his origin.

Read on (keeping in mind that Wikipedia is freely editable….so these might just be rumors)

Zidane’s agent, Alain Migliaccio has claimed that a "very serious" comment by Materazzi provoked the attack. Reportedly, the deaf forensic lip-reader Jessica Rees was employed to analyze the video sequences with the help of an Italian translator. According to these reports, Materazzi spoke in Italian - a language understood by Zidane due to his time spent with Juventus F.C. - and first told him: "Hold on, wait, that one's not for a nigger like you." As the players walked forward, Materazzi allegedly said: "We all know you are the son of a terrorist whore." Then, just before the headbutt, he was seen saying: "So just fuck off." According to Brazilian TV Rede Globo, a lip-reader claimed that Materazzi twice called Zidane's sister a prostitute. Earlier claims about Materazzi having called his opponent a "dirty terrorist" have been denied by Materazzi, who reportedly said: "It is absolutely not true, I did not call him a terrorist. I'm ignorant. I don't even know what the word means."

As quoted in a timesonline report, the son of two Algerian immigrants, 34-year-old Zidane is proud of his North African roots, dedicating France’s 1998 World Cup win to “all Algerians who are proud of their flag and all those who have made sacrifices for their family but who have never abandoned their own culture”, so such a slur would certainly explain, if not justify, his violent response.

In the event that this is actually true, isn’t it repelling that the very spirit of sports that advocates unity, harmony and equality is openly being stabbed in full view of the world (an estimated over 6 billion people watched the final on Sunday), using the weapon of racism and hate? And that too, against the greatest soccer hero of his generation, the beloved Zizou?

There is a other side to the story too.The reasons for his unbridled anger might seem plausible enough at first, but Zidane's own dubious record of 14 sending-offs before, make his stand rather shaky. Was it a violent outcome of an unsolicited slur speech or was it his idiosyncrasy, his volatile temper, surfacing at the wrong time? But whatever be the reason, the fact remains that it was a disgrace. It is not that Zidane is any less of a legend now, but his image has been definitely tainted for reasons as maligned as the devil's desires.

Zidane, originally a street fighter from a Marseilles council block who plays football with god-like grace, was once described by one of his ardent fans; French rock singer, Jean-Louis Muratin in the words “Nobody knows if Zidane is an angel or demon. He smiles like Saint Teresa and grimaces like a serial killer.” But angel or demon - Zidane's strikingly impressive style could never go unnoticed even to the amateur enthusiast, (like me) who might be watching him for the first time. And especially in the match that began with his flawless penalty kick, I was hoping to see the brilliant artiste work at his ultimate masterpiece and finish it with aplomb. But it was not to be.

The final match, that too a World Cup final, a final chance to win the most coveted cup, once more for his beloved country and a final opportunity to justify the faith and the love of a billion fans worldwide; instead of being a fitting, grand finale of his glorious, enviable career, turned into his final downfall, and that too just before the final moments. The experience of watching the 3 time FIFA player of the year headbutt the Italian goalscorer, Marterazzi and be sent off the field under the red mist, whilst passing by the World cup, with all hopes of lifting it for the last time, dashed because of that one moment of retaliatory passion, was incomparable. There was a weird sinking feeling inside of me (and I am not even a football fan) as I wondered what it feels like to see everything in your life build up to this one moment, this one day and then see it all bite dust in a matter of seconds? And to know that you will never again have that one chance to do it....never again...

Moving on

2006-07-10T01:45:00.000-07:00

I am at a point of time in life now when my friends, good friends, great friends and best friends are all away from me. Some are onsite (US, UK), some have started their post grads- MS, MBA, some are in different cities across India, others are busy shifting out, many have left the company to join others; it is all happening faster than I can handle and keep track of. I will have to move out sometime too and it hurts to think that it would become increasingly difficult to maintain contact after that. But I will try my best.

Sometimes I think of all the great times that I have had with each of my friends and keep wishing that things work out somehow and we get to meet again. But if wishes were horses, I’d be riding them to catch up with each of my friends. Sadly I can’t.

Yes, there are phone calls and mails and smses and yahoo chats, but the lingering feeling of loneliness doesn’t just go away. There are new people to meet, fresh relationships to be formed but the scent of old friendships continues to haunt me somewhere. And then there arises in me the crushing, foolish desire to change it all, rotate back the time and be in that place where we are all together once again. And then I wish that time would freeze then and there so that we never have to get out of that utopia again. Silly me!!

But the truth remains that we all have to move on in our respective lives to better our prospects, to realize who we are meant to be and in the pursuit of our ambitions, chance upon our true destiny and that shall come at the price of being away from each other and not finding enough time and leisure to catch up whenever we feel like.

Bound by the restrictions of time and commitments, who knows when the time shall come for a reunion? Even an occasional phone call or an orkut scrapbook entry might seem overwhelming and unexpected in a few years’ time. We will all have new people in our lives and priorities would have shifted dramatically. The emotional attachments, the psychological dependence, the mental companionship; all will become dim shadows of their former selves. The pain of separation (which I feel strongly now) would have long died by then, consumed by the vagaries of the new routines and the involvements of personal and professional nature. But what will stay and I pray it does for everyone are the memories of the little moments in which we shared our lives with each other, brought together by what could only be explained as fate.

As clichéd and boringly sentimental as it can sound...

Dearest Sis,

2006-07-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

I don’t remember the day that you were born, how could I? I was just a year and a half, a toddler myself. But the farthest that my memory can go, there isn’t a single day of my childhood that I can remember without you being around. You were my first playmate, my first friend, my first piggyback and my first rival. You were the one I pinched when parents weren’t looking, the one I bathed in a big tub, the one whose hand I held on my way to school, the one who always insisted on sitting on my lap and one who held my ear while sucking on to her thumb. You were the pest who cried too loud sometimes, sat on my books and never cared to study while I taught so I had to help you cheat when Dad took your tests. But you will always remain the pest that I love.

You are always the funniest and I am jealous of that. I can hardly crack a decent joke, let alone send people rolling down their chairs, with uncontrollable laughter. I wish I had that power you possess of making a dull day seem like it is full of radiance and bring joy to those worried and hassled by life’s little troubles. Though at times, I do feel that you should give others a chance to talk too. You are not the only one to be blessed with vocal chords (I must admit, yours are great) and we have the right to exercise ours, once in a while atleast.

I have seen you take life head on and grow from strength to strength, winning over both admirers as well as detractors. At times, you do go over the top with your mischief and histrionics and I still sometimes feel like giving you a nice thrashing just like good old days. But the fact remains that no one can stay angry with you for long because you always know how to make us laugh …

Life is an arduous journey but I know you will find the way, just like you did so far. And along the way, you will also find the time to make new friends, sing, and dance, shop (your favorite hobby) and make merry. You will have many mountains to climb, many battles to fight. And there will be times when you will be on the seventh heaven and others when you will be down. But through all this, there is just one little thing that I don’t want you to forget and that is, no matter where you are or how you are, if you need me, even to just talk to, I will always be there. I might seem a little busy at first but be sure that I will always find the time to come back to you.

Happy Birthday to you. You are my hero.

Just Me.

Why the world doesn’t need a “Superman Returns”

2006-07-03T02:27:00.000-07:00

With all the unnecessary wars and the WMDs, the failed peace conventions and the abused treaties, the Bushs and the Saddams, the Blairs and the Ladens, racial discrimination and honor killings, the hate crimes and the child exploitation, the gender bias and the economic divide, the world still survives. And that is why we don’t need a Superman. We are fine without him.

With hundreds of remakes churned out every year in the name of revamped makeover for the new generation, entertainment pasted shamelessly in the face of ‘inspired’ tunes, robbed lyrics and creativity-starved albums, and the millions blown up in the superhero and spy – franchise in the hopeless attempt of combining dazzling special effects and daring stunts with the so-called ‘human’ side to their characters, the world still remains happily ‘entertained’. And that’s why we don’t need a “Superman Returns”. We are fine without it.

After a 19-year absence, the unquestionably most-popular superhero, the invincible (except for the stone Krypton and its numerous isotopes, smartly invented by the comic book authors for sheer lack of challenges for the superhero to beat) Superman makes a comeback in this strongly marketed and suitably product-placed version of the legend’s story that inspired generations of superheroes, back when it was released in 1938. But disappointingly, the comeback is all dazzle, no real body, all SFX, no real drama.

By now, everyone must know the story, so ubiquitous is the reach of this touted summer blockbuster – Superman (tailor made-to-Superman-size Brandon Routh) returns to the earth, after an absence of 5 years, during which he had been exploring the possibility of his home-planet Krypton being alive. But settling back into his ‘Daily Planet’ routine isn’t easy since a lot has changed, especially since the love of his life Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) is engaged and has a kid (the ‘Anne Geddes’ cute Tristan Lake Leabu), with fiancé Richard White (James Mardsen) and has won a Pulitzer for her editorial “Why the world doesn’t need a Superman”, obviously venting out her frustration and hurt for Superman having left her without explanation. Gist of the tale: Life has moved on, Superman has to try hard to fit in or so it seems like, at first.

But nothing is impossible for the ‘Man of Steel’ and as soon as he lands, the world with its penchant for getting into troubles from which only superheroes could save them, witnesses a crashing plane, predictably with ‘fearless’ reporter Lois Lane onboard (the only one to be tossed around in the plane unceremoniously, yet managing to retain her flawless make-up and well-set hair, when the scene ends) making it doubly, supremely important for our superhero to employ all his super-strengths to rescue this one and he does it in such style that I must say, what a comeback, dude!!!

Superman’s arch nemesis, Lex Luthor (Kevin Spacey) has by then, secured Kryptonites and has an ambitious real-estate plan that involves submerging the present continents and raising sea floor to float new ones. What will happen in the end, is as predictable as bread falling down the buttered side, but the 2 and 1/2 hour duration needs us to meander through the usual labyrinth of scenes involving the hero (yawn) saving his lady and her family, the heroine risking it all (her kid too) to rescue her love, the ‘other’ man in her life assisting her, the baddies succeeding at first and then failing miserably, rest of them dying leaving the main Lex guy and his catty counterpart (Parker Posey)alive and marooned etc. etc. The only exceptional and slightly surprising thing being the feat of strength that masquerades as paternity test, which also gives a little twist to the otherwise predictable plot.

The best thing about this movie is the star – Brandon Routh, who brings earnestness and old world charm to the most beloved of all superheroes. With spell – binding good looks and the right amount of sensibility needed to balance the geeky Clark Kent and the stud superhero, Brandon creates quite an impression. In contrast, Kate Bosworth pales as Lois Lane and doesn’t seem more believable than a college girl who has a crush on Superman, definitely much lesser as a single mom facing emotional turmoil as a result of a super (literally) blast from the past coming into her life again, and even less as a Pulitzer-prize winning reporter dedicated to her job. Kevin Spacey alternates between darkly menacing and unintentionally hilarious, trying hard to send shivers down your spine while you smirk at his tom-foolery, especially in the scene where he reveals his new world-building plans to Lois and the rest of his team. It seems like he wanted to give the character a hint of ‘psychotic’, gleeful, deliciously sadist feel but somewhere lost his conviction during the making. As the result the character looks strangely demented, suffering from the ‘split personality’ syndrome instead of being acutely calculative and painfully egocentric.

The rest of the casting is ho-hum, nothing great except for the few spurts of liveliness brought in by Sam Huntington as assistant photographer Jimmy Olsen. The special effects in one word are – AWESOME, all the capitals justified. The plane crash scene was fantastic; only it need not have ended in a thundering applause for what seemed like a publicity craving, photo savvy Superman. They should have had the baseball audience be left too dumbstruck by the entire spectacle of Superman saving the plane to even whisper so that the real movie audience would have filled in with their applause, for so laudable a scene. Anyways, apart from the self- congratulatory scene, the other that sets the movie apart is the surreal, stunningly magical Superman – Lois rendezvous on the roof scene, which is so classically shot and beautifully choreographed that it is bound to take your breath away just like Lois’s. The cinematography is superb and the visuals breathtaking. In the later half of the movie, director Bryan Singer tries to pull off a James Cameron, while showing the ship being wrecked but even with all the SFX magic, it is unable to bring the heightened sense of emergency and impending danger that was such an emotional hell raiser in the unforgettable Titanic. However the visual realization of the ‘Fortress of Solitude’ and the clever usage of the archive footage of Marlon Brandon (Jor – El, Superman’s Dad) stand as a superb testimony to the love of labor of the SFX guys.

Director Bryan Singer has a decent storyline but it lacks soul. With high production values, a suitable cast, mind blowing SFX, this is a decent movie, but not as great as it aspires to be. Last year we had Batman returning to the silver screen, again in a polished product that lacked the necessary depth, especially since that particular superhero is known for his gray shades. Next year, we will have Spiderman back again, superbly reined by Sam Raimi so far. Apart from that we have the Fantastic Fours, Dare Devils, the Electras and also the super spies, no less than superheroes themselves. Besides them, we have had Neos, Vampire superheroes (aka Blade), a certain intriguing ‘V’, Star War super galactic fighters, Wonder Women, Catwomen, Ninja warriors, Harry Potters, Asian tigers and dragons and so many others, each grabbing our mind space while Superman was gone. So we have had it all: the dare – devilry, the stunts, the effects, the UQ (Unbelievability quotients), the budgets, the stars, the Flo-Mos, the bullet freezing, the gravity-defying leaps and of course the gadgetry.

So the question really is with all these superheroes and their summer blockbuster machinations, do we really need “Superman Returns”? And that too in a plot that doesn’t quite bring out what this alien crusader is completely capable of?

Whatever we choose to believe, Superman is back but he has not quite returned.

P.S I still can’t understand how he manages to hide his thick, leather red cloak inside his normal, office wear ???

Beloved

2006-06-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

I had to wait a whole year before I actually got to read this book, for reasons that will sound silly now. But the point is that the longer I waited, the more excited I got about reading the book and when I was finally done with it, I was glad that I waited that long. Glad for the simple reason that I matured a lot emotionally during that time and that helped me to identify and empathize with the intricately sketched characters in this Pulitzer prize-winning post-civil war drama.

Trying to describe Beloved in a few lines or compartmentalizing it to a restricted genre of books is not just impossible; it is an insult to this phenomenal work of the genius, Toni Morrison. So I wouldn’t attempt it. Briefly put, the story is about Afro-American woman, Sethe and her family as they attempt to survive with dignity through and after the civil war. Their struggles set against the background of racism and hate pre and post civil war, form the crux of this heart wrenching drama about surviving against the odds.

In the present tense of the book, Sethe lives with her daughter Denver. Her two sons have left her and her mother-in-law Baby Suggs has died. Paul D, a previous acquaintance and ex-slave moves in with her. Another daughter Beloved mysteriously comes back to her from the dead. At first it is about what is happening now. But as the book progresses, we keep getting glimpses of each character’s past life that builds the story, bit by bit; offering insights into the character’s psyche and the conditions that forced them to do what they did and what they do now. Morrison doesn’t attempt mere justifications; she lets us live their lives vicariously so that we don’t just empathize, we identify.

The storyline is not the kind that will generate immense enthusiasm at first go and I have to admit that for me, the first few chapters dragged on forever. I even contemplated giving up entirely, but there was something about the engaging and the down-to-earth writing style of the author that kept me going. And in the end, I was glad I did. Because as the story continued, I found myself living it in the real sense, becoming one of the members of the family, mute but capable of feeling their troubles, the hidden and the seen, rejoicing in their little happiness and praying that their woes end early.

The book is both realistic and fantasy-induced at the same time. Realistic, for its accurate, fact-based account of the inhuman treatment meted out to the slaves. I remember gasping in disbelief, several times as I read the atrocious and horrendous ways in which the whites treated the blacks, for this opened me up to a new level of torture and disregard that humans are capable of. My suffering and pain seemed so miniscule and insignificant in the face of the enormity of these people’s troubles that I felt lucky to be born as a free individual and be treated as a human being, independent enough to make my own choices and steer the course of my future. I felt lucky to be able to eat, drink and sleep by my will; to be able to work the way I want to; to have decent clothes and adequate shelter; to have use of my body and organs as I wish; to not be flogged for dropping a glass or be screamt at and whipped for looking straight into my employer’s face; to not have to be at gunpoint every minute of the day, afraid that the next shot would take my life; to know the identity of my mom, dad, my siblings; to have my family close to me and my friends, unafraid to rush to my side if I need help; to not be mistreated just because of my skin color; to be decently paid and praised for all the good work I do; to walk, talk, laugh and most of all breathe free.

The fantasy/horror element of the book is in the form of the baby ghost that haunts Sethe’s house and later as Beloved, who Sethe takes to be her own dead child, because of the similarities that are too good to be mere coincidences. However it does not distort the storyline, which essentially remains that of pain, struggle and survival. The best character in the book is that of Denver, who is shown to mature from being shy, reticent, and socially awkward to being the responsible, sensible adult, ready to take control of her life and her family. Her meticulous characterization and deftly handled transformation leaves a lasting impression. She is truly an inspiration, both in terms of the writing and the character.

All in all, it is one book to be slowly read, thoughtfully chewed and soulfully digested. Not one of the regular fast track skim-and-scan bestsellers!!

You might want to refer to the following for a better critical appreciation of 'Beloved' and many other books.

http://www.bookrags.com
http://www.homework-online.com (listed under the literature study guides)

Batman:The 'look' that stuns

2006-06-28T03:25:00.000-07:00

Here are some frames from Batman's 1999 karmic adventure 'War on Crime'....check out the amazing range of color shades, not to mention a slightly brighter, slicker look given to overall plot design.The melancholic, gothic shadows have been exchanged for some neatly positioned highlights.

'Batman: War on Crime' is the second of the series of graphic novels (Superman: Peace on earth, Shazam!: Power of hope, Wonder woman: Spirit of truth) written by the Paul Dini and Alex Ross and superbly illustrated by Ross himself. A wider canvas for a realistic story visualization and a closer-to-heart, introspective tale makes this book a must-have for all the die-hard Batman fans.

I hope to get my hands on this one pretty soon!!

Love you till the end of day

2006-06-27T03:23:00.000-07:00

Some might praise you, say you are wise
Others might rebuke you and look otherwise
Let all your admirers or detractors have their say
But I will still love you till the end of day

There will be times you will be down, in hurt and pain
And life looks morose, no joy, no gain
But let all the problems come what may
I will love you till the end of day

A time might come when we are far apart
And it looks like the reunion is never to start
Don’t worry though, I will find a way
To show you my love till the end of day

I wish you a wonderful life my friend
Let your joys and pleasures never end
Just remember one thing when you are happy and gay
There’s someone who will love you till the end of day

This is a poem dedicated to a very special friend (and ardent critic) of mine on the occasion of his departure from the rest of us for a long time....

This is for you buddy.

Try not to laugh at the contrived attempts to maintain a rhyming scheme. LOL.

Thoughts for the Day

2006-06-27T00:21:00.000-07:00

Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow it to the dark place where it leads.

Defeat never comes to any man until he admits it.

Whether you think that you can or that you can't, you are usually right.

A love affair with knowledge will never end in heartbreak.

We are all either fools or undiscovered geniuses.

If you wish to post any counter thoughts on these, you are most welcome....like for eg:

A love affair with knowledge will never end in heartbreak. Yeah, but could cause irreparable brain damage though.

Weekend Watch: Schindler’s List

2006-06-20T04:23:00.000-07:00

My very first attempt at writing a serious, full fledged film review, starting with the unsurpassed ‘Schindler’s List’ – which I watched last Sunday.

Go and watch this one, it’s more than worth it!! Hope the review makes you do it…

Steven Spielberg is a man to reckon with and is at the height of his legendary powers in the stunning ‘Schindler’s list’, a 1993 classic that set the benchmark for all movies of its genre. A powerful visual statement on the life and the times of the Jews under the Nazi regime, it minces no frames in showing the brutalities and atrocities committed in the name of racial superiority.

It is a story of the German catholic industrialist Oskar Schindler, who begins to earn great returns by exploiting the free Jew labor, but finds an awakening of his conscience when he sees that his factory is the only hope of survival for the Jews and begins to buy as many of them as possible using all his wealth and contacts, with competent help from his able accountant Stern. By the end of the war, he manages to save about 1100 of them before he has to flee for his safety from the Allied forces.

The movie begins by showing how Oskar cleverly manages to get his voice and authority established in the upper corridors of power. He befriends German officials using the razzle dazzle of lavish parties, beautiful women, exotic food and wine and extravagant presents. Using the gift of gab and charm, he opens up doors of opportunity and wealth ceaselessly. With an estranged wife and a non existent family life, Schindler has his crockery factory, a clever accountant and a few inconsequential flings, to fill his time. He smartly recruits Jews from the labor camps, free of charge and is soon on his way to being both immensely rich and powerful. However as the time passes by, he can’t shut his eyes to the atrocities committed against the Jews: as they are looted, killed, mutilated, evacuated, enslaved and tortured mercilessly. He painfully realizes that the only way that he can save the Jews is by employing them in his company and proceeds to buy them from the corrupt German officials. The war ends and the surviving Jews are liberated, but Oskar has to escape lest he be captured by the victorious armies.

The well-scripted movie is not only a cinematic masterpiece but a fitting tribute to the man who single handedly saved more than a thousand lives. The cinematography (black and white) is flawless and unparalleled, with each frame delicately composed to bring out the drama and the character of the scene. In one of the most brilliant scenes of the movie (there are countless others too), while Oskar watches from over a hill, as the Jews are being paraded and shot, a little girl catches his eye as she moves around the city to escape the Nazi wrath. This girl is ingeniously shown in color, against the black-and-white imagery of the movie and is later shown again, lying amongst the corpses as Oskar watches the exhuming and the consequent mass funeral of the dead Jews. A master stroke delivered with panache that stays with you as the most hauntingly memorable scenes ever seen.

The graphic violence is so riveting and real that it makes you wonder if such inhumanity is possible, and sends shivers down your spine when you realize that it did happen, not very long ago. As I watched the movie, the terms like ‘Holocaust’, ‘Ghetto’, which till then were just words from the history textbook, assumed their true meaning and I gaped with increasing horror at the images that spelt 'heinous' and 'horrendous', in bold capitals. There were scenes of cold blooded murders, mass shoot outs, point blank head shots, children and women scampering to hide in the closets and secret passageways, scores of people paraded towards the gas chambers, women shorn of their hair and disrobed, men and women closeted in huge wagons like animals and sprayed with jets of water through hoses, the cruel German in-charge taking random shots at the camp from his balcony gunning down innocent people for the heck of it and so much more. Words fall short as I try to describe what only the images can convey in their entirety; such is the craft and the art of this movie.

At the heart of this engrossing story is the charismatic Liam Neeson, donning the character of the war profiteer Oskar Schindler, towering both literally and figuratively in the most powerful performance of his career. Ralph Fiennes, as Amon Goethe, the psychotic, sadist, alcoholic German in-charge who shoots Jew prisoners at will and tortures his house maid for the pleasure of it, eerily sketches one of the most hated characters to be portrayed onscreen. Ben Kingsley as the dependable accountant makes his character relatable with the ease of a pro and essays it with all the idiosyncrasies, fears and helplessness intact. Other characters in the movie do not have as much screen time for them to be memorable but they do play their parts quite effectively.

The real hero of the movie though is Steven Spielberg. At the end of the movie, when the credits started appearing, I felt like kneeling down in reverence when his name appeared. The man is an institution in himself and it is unbelievable when you realize that this guy with no formal training in filmmaking, towers above all as the greatest filmmaker that ever lived. I can go on and on about his mastery but one will only truly appreciate his genius when one sees the ‘Schindler’s List’, a movie that is bound to bleed your soul as you come to terms with the heinous crimes and inhuman suffering, perpetrated for the sake of hate.

For those interested in knowing more about the real Oskar Schindler, Amon Goethe and facts and figures from the Holocaust, including the original Schindler's list, do visit the following link
http://auschwitz.dk/Schindlerslist.htm

The Stingy's guide to fun

2006-06-19T03:04:00.002-07:00

Post 1:

This is one of my first posts about how I had a lot of fun and did not end up broke. It is about a one day trip to one of the popular hill stations in Maharashtra, called Lonavala. It is about 40 kms from Pune.

Five of us started off in the morning at about 10 am. After an hour long train journey from Pune, filled with discussions about the concept of ‘Free will’ vs. ‘Predetermined Destiny’, fueled by the reading of the book ‘God’s Debris’ by Scott Adams, me and four of my friends reached Lonavala. After some well rehearsed haggling (a talent, nurtured over years of economical shopping in the bylanes of the Fashion Street and Linking Road) with the rickshawwala, we started off in the rickshaw to go around the city and then moved on to Khandala, which is at a 6 km stretch from Lonavala. Even though it was quite sunny yesterday, the place was as charming as ever. First we had some lunch at Kamath (you always manage to find this franchisee place at all the tourist locations in India….) and then moved on to a place called Tiger valley. It had a real great view, with high, pointed rocks and plain plateau forming the two ends of the curve that I silently christened as the “Tiger’s Jaw”. It was striking in contrast to the rest of the area, especially when a huge cloud cast its deep dark shadows over the curve.

The Mumbai-Pune express highway winding through the majestic mountains, covered with thick, lush green jungles provided a nice balance of rustic and the modern. Since we had a friend's digital camera and my camcorder to our generous disposal, a flurry of photo sessions and video shoots ensued. Claiming to be somewhat of an expert at these things (since I have taken the cinematography online course, all the images seem to be analysis charts of shadow and light, color and contrast, focus and exposure and I heap my miniscule, oft-mistaken theories mercilessly, with great pride, on the helpless and the uninitiated.) I was directing people to take photos in a certain way, from a particular angle against a definitive view and even though all of them must have wanted to throw me down the edge fence line that we were sitting and posing upon, they were sweet enough to shoot me those tight, single-line smiles, which I strongly suspect were clever masks for their tightly clenched teeth within.

The only scary factor about that location was that it was at a dangerous curve of road, where the stretch was inclined in a gravity-favoring way and the vehicles had to slow down almost against free fall, with the respective drivers sweating it out to keep control. Thereby our photographic enthusiasm had to be curbed a bit, being restricted to certain spatial co-ordinates and physical positions that suggested minimum danger and reduced the chances of the photo-in-making being dubbed as “The last photo taken by XYZ”.

We couldn't resist the temptation of the melting 'gollas' and relished them hungrily. With maroon lips and stained teeth, we were quite a sight for the sore eyes. Moving up the road, the kulfi seemed irrestible too, the blazing sun making it all too delicious so we had a taste of it too. Then we stopped by a porcelain vendor selling colorful cups, glasses, and other such crockery items at reasonable rates. After much deliberation over the design and the color, three of us settled for three varicolored mugs for office tea times.

Then we moved on to a garden, again with a spectacular view of the other side of the valley. The highway was seen from here too. There was lot many sights to see other than cuddling couples and frolicking kids; like a cactus plant where love stuck had carefully carved out the names of their beloved in its barren and thorny stems. Such a contradiction: the dry cactus used for expression of the most vibrant of emotions, love. There was a cartoonist too, offering caricatures at a measly Rs.40/- but then in my case, his work wouldn’t have had a challenge since I already look like one. So in the view of the greater humanitarian purpose that I had to serve of not making the man feel like his talent was wasted, I decided to give it a skip.

Anyways, some more photo-sessions blossomed in full swing, with all of us, taking turns, in group of 2 or 3, to mimic the act of pushing each other from the top of the mountains, to the best of our acting abilities. It was lot of fun till I began to fear that one of my friends might actually get into the skin of the rogue character that he/she was playing and take the opportunity to end their constant pain (ahem…this is a clear reference to me) and push me over the edge. I cunningly stepped down before it went too far.

Finally we moved to this place called Shooting point, had another amazing view of the mountains and the deep valleys, with a few waterfalls (the rains have vanished for a while, so the scarcity) and meandering streams. To get to the shooting point, there were two ways: one- a relatively steep 50 degree runway down which needed quite some rock climbing skills and the second - a roundabout, safer walk down to the same place with minor challenges such as a few slippery stones. The second one was a better option anyday but then people who know me know that I consciously and subconsciously look for trouble and have a penchant for choosing the less conventional (read: the stupid oaf's way). My smarter friends took the better way and I tried to push my luck too far when I chose the first.

As I began my climb down (this HAS to be mentioned: As a undeniable evidence of my stupidity, I was wearing heels on what could unquestionably be a moronic choice when you know that you are going to a hilly region and would have to do some climbing), rocks started slipping under my feet and soon I was crawling (bottoms down) rather then actual climbing down. Then it got worse as I faced the slope down. Wow...this was it!! Either I go back, which was less tougher and laugh at myself for being such a coward or I take this almost suicidal fall of shame and have others (my friends and some unknown people who were staring from below at me int his moment of indecision...as if waiting and hoping for me to fall) laughing at me. I chose and the next moment was hurtling down the path with demonic speed, imagining how tangled how I look when I crash. My life was beginning to flash in front of my eyes, when suddenly it was over. Yeah, I did it!! But till then my friends and those unknown people had all moved away and I had no one to flash my victory smile at...how unceremonious. Pretending not be affected by this, I moved on.

The rugged terrain on which I stood now, had almost an 80 degree steep fall, punctuated by protruding rocks, uneven surfaces and carelessly grown bushes. It was just breath taking, not to mention that I was already out of breath thanks to my little adventure. Again there was a lonely waterfall here and a few streams nearby. A few picturesque houses were seen on the mountains that enclosed the valley, nestled snugly amidst the glory and harmony of the beautiful nature around. I felt that I should paint that whole scene, but then I when I feel like I want to sing (out of the joy of my heart) and do it, the results often aren't as harmonious (rather others think that they are not, I like to believe that they are just jealous)so I dropped the idea. Instead I just stood there watching the brilliant work of the greatest artiste ever.

Now my friends were again onto their photoshoots, but I, being a person, too tired of all this paparazzi affair and privacy-violating photoshoots kept away from it. It is another thing that none of my friends actually asked me to pose for any pictures then but Whatever. After that it was time to go and I chose the saner way to go up, along with the others. Ah, smart me!!

At the next point there was a dam but since no photography was allowed and we refused to part with our precious equipment, we had to turn back. Anyways we argued, what is the big deal with a dam, a few turbines, some high walls and a bit of equipment - nothing really worthwhile so we gladly spent our time doing the more important stuff - food. We had some cotton candy, few gulps of ice slush and 'butta', all worth the 'dam' time.

We asked the rickshawwala to take us back again to the station, which he promptly did. It was just a matter of 10 minutes before the train arrived, while we discussed our lovely day.

After the train journey from Lonavala to Pune, we walked down from the station towards the bus stand, an almost 15 min stretch away and there luckily found the bus home, almost immediately. Again it was a walking distance of about half an hour till we reached home, but it was so entirely delightfulIy amidst the teasing and the harmless jokes, whilst enjoying the beauty of the sunlit sky that we didn't realise it at all. By now, the looming clouds had begun to turn a darker shade, threatening to pour out at any time. The sky looked like a pregnant woman whose water was about to break. And in time it did too. But by then we were snuggling in the cosiness of our homes with a faintly tired body but a wildly invigorated mind, listening to the thundering music outside accompanied by the elusive rain. It was just 7:30 pm.

Now for the whole blog title justification thing:

The whole trip cost us about Rs. 100/- per head (excluding the food expenses-lunch, gollas, kulfi, cotton candy etc., again not very expensive), Rs. 500/- in total. We decided to go by train, instead of private vehicle, haggled with the rickshawala for a reasonable charge, used the bus - when in normal circumstances we would have opted for rickshaw and walked when it seemed like fun. It all turned out well plus we could fancy ourselves to be people who might make some smart investments in the future. A great trip and a good ego boost - all in a day's time.

Here are some details of the expenditure:

Rs. 104/- (Train ticket to and from Lonavala to Pune station for 5 people)

Rs. 330/-(Auto charges for the day)

Rs. 66/-(Miscellaneous - bus to and from Pune station to residence, pack of chips and biscuits shared by all)

Company of friends - priceless.

Till the next one....

MI 3: Tom ‘Ethan’ Cruise’s $200 million egocentric extravaganza

2006-06-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

Ting…ding..ding..ding..ding..ding… Ting…ding..ding..ding..ding..ding…ding…

The unmistakable MI 3 music had begun playing in my head long before I had entered the theatres that day, and it was more fun as I raced up the stairs, imagining myself to be some kind of spy on a mission….but more about myself later since this blog is for the movie MI 3, the well publicized summer blockbuster with the most famous movie star in the world, Tom ‘Popular’ Cruise at its helm…

The opening scene of the movie is predictably in the now-hot style of Director JJ Abrams (creator of the racy Alias and multi-layered Lost) where the Philip Seymour Hoffman asks the tied Cruise about the elusive Rabbit’s Foot. This Rabbit’s Foot is such a top secret that even in the end; no one knows what it is, including Tom ‘Producer’ Cruise. I guess the director couldn’t decide what he could possibly designate it to be, considering that nuclear weapons aren’t shocking enough for the audience bred on daily doses of WMD and any other thing isn’t just dangerous enough. So he took the easy way out –kept it a secret, atleast till the next installment, MI 4. (no big surprise…everyone can see it coming…)

The story isn’t all that complicated, except that the ‘spy’ terminologies used are, and the characters aren’t all that new, except that we are made to believe they are. Ethan’s fiancée Julia (Michelle Monaghan – whose resemblance to Katie Holmes is just too good to be a coincidence) thinks he is a traffic pattern expert (now that’s new!!) as they get engaged before he has to rush off to save one of his protégé, held by the sadistic arms dealer Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Zillions of bullets, explosions and a helicopter chase through the wind mills – later he manages to rescue her only to have her die from an explosive charge planted in her head. He now has to track down Davian, who is to close some arms deals in Vatican City and he does too. Zillions of bullets, explosions, a bomber plane blasting the bridge-later Davian escapes and captures Julia, making Hunt go after the Rabbit’s Foot. Hunt and his team (Ving Rhames, Maggie Q, Jonathan Rhys Meyer) has to get the Rabbit’s Foot, save Julia, capture Davian and corner the double agent inside IMF all in a matter of 48 hours.

Sounds familiar? That’s because it is. With minor changes here and there, the storyline more or less resembles all the spy thrillers that we have seen before. The most – clichéd however are the dialogues. Deliberately and uninnovatively styled to get those immediate cheers and claps before the audience has faint recollection that they have heard those lines before. The action however is top class; with the stunts, getting bigger, flashier and more breath taking than before. It has all that you could list on a must-have-in-action-flick: bomber planes, monster trucks, slick cars, giant vans, helicopters, machine guns etc. of course apart from the regular MI franchisee gadgetry. The stunts are pacier too with Tom ‘Stuntman’ Cruise hopping from the top of one skyscraper to another, hanging from the base of the car shooting at the vehicles behind, scampering wildly amidst full-blown Shanghai traffic, running away from a missile and getting smashed into the side of a van due to the after – explosion and his usual top spy Hunt antics.

Arguably the most popular of all the motion picture sound tracks, the Mission Impossible title track ensures that the audience gets into that pulsating, expect-action-and-blowups mood. The new soundtrack though not as great as the previous ones (including versions from ‘smash rock’ Fred Durst and ‘eccentric’ Moby), nevertheless maintains the basic beat and gets us looking forward to the movie. The background score though is inconsistent and not up to the mark.

The cast has been cleverly assembled to attract all sorts of audience – Ving Rhames and Lawrence Fishburne, the dependable Afro Americans; Maggie Q, the curvy Asian incentive; Jonathan Rhys Meyer, the attractive British heartthrob; Michelle Monaghan and Keri Russell (as Agent Farris, the Hunt protégé) , the American cheerleaders; and of course Tom Cruise. The most inspired casting decision however is Phillip Seymour Hoffman as Owen Davian. In just a few minutes of screen time (Tom Cruise is busy hogging the limelight for almost 99% of the frames) he makes Owen more memorable than the rest of the cardboard cutouts around him. This guy’s got his stuff right and is clearly a director’s delight.

It is Tom, cruising along all through the movie, being the good guy, the great guy and the best guy. It is his money that you see being blown up so he might as well have all the spotlights. And damn, he’s still a great eye candy!!
So go watch this movie, but don’t expect some class cinema; it is entertainment and one hell of it while you watch. But nothing lingers long after the movie ends.

All that stayed with me after I emerged from the theatres was

Ting…ding..ding..ding..ding..ding… Ting…ding..ding..ding..ding..ding…ding…

Broken, not Shattered

2006-05-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

In everyone’s life, there comes a time when we feel that the whole world around us is crashing slowly but steadily and all hope of ever sustaining the precious is dwindling away piece by piece. It seems that there is nothing left to fight for, to live for and everything that seemed so important before suddenly dwarfs before the enormity of the grief of our loss. And suddenly all the sunshine, all the ambitions are clouded by this enormous shade of pain.

At such times, life becomes an antagonizing struggle to wrestle out all the memories, all the great times that keep coming back to haunt us. We keep wondering what hit me or how didn’t I see what was coming and how something that seemed so right suddenly go so wrong. It could be the separation of a loved one, the passing away of a close companion, the heartbreaking end of a dream, anything that we believed in and that was the closest to our heart. And then in our despair we try to hold on to the remains, the ashes, the carcass of the living that was swept away by the winds of destiny, now lost in the sands of time. But little do we realize that this very stubbornness to keep hiding in the shadows of the dead and the gone will one day make us question the stranger in the mirror. This very curtain of sorrow which we choose to hide behind will one day expose to the world an unrecognizable, mutated version of us, stripped of the vibrancy and spirit that made each one of us, a special “me”.

Even if we decide to get out into the open with the courage to fight our inner battles, it is easier said than done. For the fight that goes on within is the toughest to fight and the hardest to win. You are fighting against yourself, with all the weaknesses and all the strengths known. It is an even fight between the warriors that know each other too well.

Such times are the true tests of our faith, our patience, our resilience and our inner strength. The faith that this is just a phase and it will pass by, the patience needed to let the phase pass and not submit to nervous breakdown, the resilience to get back our life again and the inner strength to keep it going in the face of enormous odds. Each one of us needs to know that we can make it through only if we want to.

But it is easier said than done. Picking up the pieces of broken dreams and trying to see life again through the cracks is an effort like none other. But then what is life without sorrows? We need to lose something to appreciate the value of the things that we otherwise take for granted. It is human tendency to ignore what is given and crave for something else. These times of pain are the ones which make us realize the importance of what we have because our grief isolates us and gives us the time and the inclination to reflect on our life and then hold onto the things we have. If we have been mistreated by someone or hurt by someone’s absolute disregard for our emotions, even an expected good turn or a little consideration by a friend or a stranger seems like a ray of sunshine in the darkness. As we build our life on the tomb of our past, we choose every little brick with care to see that it fits in the wall of our future and like parts of a puzzle being put together, makes more sense with each passing moment.

It might also happen that we become over cautious and try to protect ourselves by building an impervious fortress around our heart and mind to eliminate the possibility of any future pain. However it might so happen that in this zeal of over protectiveness we might push away someone genuine or hurt our own self by denying some much desired company or affection. At the end of it we need to decide what we value more and depending on how accurately we learn to judge the people around us our future engagements of the mind and the heart shall be decided.

There is no one way or the “right” way to do a certain thing. For each one of us there is a different way of doing a particular thing right. The same applies when we are trying to move over our bitter, sad experiences. But what is universal and the most important thing of all is to realize that it is us who have to decide whether we resurrect ourselves from the broken pieces of our life or remain shattered forever.

The Queen of the Night

2006-05-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

Next to a shadow lit stone
Stands the Night Queen all alone
Wondering why she feels so
Amongst all but yet so lone

As the moon slowly passes through the clouds
It peeps out for a while
In that one brief moment of eternity
The queen feels alive, feels like she belongs

In that single glimpse, the moon promises a thousand things
The warmth of love, the joy of understanding
Touch of care, the solace of company
Promise of trust, the leap of faith

But it only lasts for that eternal bit
The promises, the expectations,
For like the oasis the moon is gone
Before it could get any closer

The queen is still enthralled by the feeling
The high she has had for just a while
The comfort that she felt, the hope that swept her away
Only to dash her back on the rocks of reality

As she comes out of the reverie, broken and abused
She can look nowhere for help but only within
What went by, was real or illusion?
She can't decide, only sob in pain

Engulfed in her own scent, she sits there
Quiet, broken and weak inside
The lessons seem to come to her from far away
As if a millennium has passed in a moment

As she looks to the sky, her heart yearns to find the moon
Silly as it is to see it appear from nowhere
But the moon is gone, the trace so faint
The clouds have hidden it all

As she prepares to collect the pieces
Ready for another struggle through life
So suddenly so much had passed
And now the moments drag on forever.......

The only constant that is a variable

2006-05-13T18:33:00.000-07:00

In my knowledge (which is by no means in-depth and almost always questionable) there is just one. Which can it be? And how can a thing be one and also the other, when the one and the other are stark opposites?

Well it is there. It is all around you. Some accept it well; others are uncomfortable but have to deal with it sometime. It happens to everyone, to everything. It is ubiquitous, like God.

That one thing is change. The phenomenon of change is constant, yet by definition change means varying. So change is both, constant and variable.

Think you have some inputs in this. Let me know.

Warrior

2006-05-10T20:30:00.000-07:00

Amidst the downpour, the earth shivers
Existence is threatened, living becomes a luxury
But when you learn to weather the gale
The storm means nothing….

Caught in the midst of the mist,
One fights to find a strong footing in the invisible ground beneath
But when you have etched your path through the quicksand
The mangroves mean nothing….

Lost in the forest, fumbling in the deep woods
The calls of the night bring the fear of the unseen
But when you can light up the path in a black hole
The darkness of the night means nothing…..

As the fire of passion burns
It consumes the sense of the mind
But when you have won it against the devil
The human temptation means nothing….

In love one suffers
The pain of separation, the agony of rejection
But when you have sacrificed all your heart at its altar
The heartache means nothing….

The greatest enemy lies within
With the strength of a thousand men
But when you learn to tame the beast beneath
The mightiest of the opponents outside mean nothing….

In life there are differences to overcome,
Struggles to cope with, hardships to be borne
But when you are the warrior
The battles mean nothing.

Atop Royal Enfield - T(w)o Mahabalipuram

2006-04-04T17:30:00.000-07:00

This is the second of the series of Atop Royal Enfield.

As we departed from the ECR Dhaba, we cruised along the road passing by lovely streams, huge salt beds, tiny huts and prosperous fields. I tried to capture as much as possible, grievously aware of the limited battery power and the constraints of the tape.

Soon the winding road took us to Mahabalipuram. It is a little sleepy place that seems to have nurtured its old world charm with care. I have to say, this is where I literally saw art and creativity lazily scattered on the road, in the form of statues, temples, half-finished busts, idols of sandstone, marble etc. sitting unceremoniously outside the huts and little workplaces that lined the 'kacche' bylanes there, each of the artifacts made so dedicatedly that they demanded a second look. As we cruised along the road, the sight of the temples, flashing by, were a delight. They were built with such delicate and measured accuracy and aesthetics that they were just 'stunning', not to mention gloriously colorful, with imagery from the mythological genre of the Ramayana and the Mahabharta.

We decided to go see this ancient lighthouse, situated in one corner of the city, boasting of a glorious view of the area around for miles together and the deeply peaceful ocean beyond. As we were moving up the hill that housed the lighthouse at the top, I noticed very unique, marked crevices in the rocks that ran from one end to almost its mid-portion and sometimes well below it too. My friend offered a very interesting explanation for it: In the ages when the funda of dynamite and explosives was an alien concept, the builders needed some kind of break-apart mechanism to burst the huge rocks. So they managed to make small crevices in the rocks, inserted long pieces of wood in them and watered it regularly. Faithful to its biological property, the wood would bloat up and the rock would be burst apart. Now that's what I call smart and also an economical way, not to forget, pollution free.

Still marvelling over the age old wisdom, we climbed the stone stairs to the top. After shooting a 360 degree view of the area, we moved over to the light house. The light house was nothing like I had envisaged. It was just a doorless single room, extremely well decorated with sculptures and carvings, that was used to burn logs of wood that served as a signal to the ships at sea. An old artist sat right outside that place selling small art works in marble and moonstone pendants. He told us that the lighthouse was built by the Palava dynasty. He also showed us another similar structure, mostly in ruins, atop a distant hill that he claimed had been a temple built about the same time. There is also a modern lighthouse built next to this old place which is about a 100 years old.It is built in the typical architecture fashion that the rest of them are built. The small lavishly decorated lighthouse stood in stark contrast to the plain but tall architecture of the modern times, with pride. I just watched fascinated by the ethereal difference, trying not to be biased or judgemental.

At the foot of the same hill, was a sanctorium-like entity carved out of the hill itself. They must have used that wood-bursting-rock technique, I thought as I gazed at the sheer power of the craftwork inside. There were carvings of gods and goddesses all over the place. The ceilings, the walls were endlessly dripping of great artwork. It is so hard to describe what I say, but all I can say it was almost like God's work, flawless (except for the areas where the sands of time had eroded the structures) and bewitchingly beautiful. It was a demostration of an artist's prowess to please the king. Dude, those kings did have some life!! Just for one glance from them, just one word of praise, artistes would slog their entire life out and create these marvels of beauty. I felt insanely jealous for a while, of the kings and queens...:)

The artist that I previously mentioned now began to pester us relentlessly to buy some of his artwork. They were great actually; there was this sandstone globe that had carvings of gods, moonstone lockets and a very special thing that I later purchased from him. It was a decorative, marble elephant that housed another smaller one, inside it. The best part was that this whole structure was carved out of a single piece of marble, which implied that the bigger elephant was first created, then the smaller one was made inside it, through the circular sieve pattern, made on top of the first one. It was just amazing to look at; the intricacy, the effort laudable. The artist later showed us the marks of his craftsmanship, visible as wounds on his hands, at the sight of which I winced.

As we steeped down that hill, we saw some artistes' huts nearby. We went on to see a work in progress; it was a statue of Brahma, being made for an Indian museum in France. Already five months of work had gone into it and there was still one more month to go, the artist informed us. It had been ordered for about Rs. 75,000/- but one look at that nearly 51/2 feet work and you could say that it wasn't a fair deal. Clearly it was worth lakhs!!The beauty of that half-finished statue was so radiant that I couldn't take my eyes off it. However there were many others demanding attention too: Buddhas, Mahaviras, Hanumans, Sarawatis, Ganapatis and so many more.The place was overflowing with charm and grace of those idols.

The artist's family traditionally praticed that profession and from the looks of it, were quite something to reckon with. Then he showed us another little workshop where there were countless little idols and artworks, some of them might even be called 'modern' and 'abstract'. The best part was when he showed us almost identical idols of Ganesha, one costing Rs.100/-, the other Rs.1000/-, where the difference wasn't that obvious except when he told us that one was created by the student, the other by the master. A closer look justified the price, for the work of the master was that artful and perfect to the last indentation.

After chatting some more and marvelling at other beauties, it was time to leave. On the way out, we saw the majestic Panch Pandava ratha, a monolithic marvel set in sand. So much beauty and culture in an hour's time; it was overwhelming. A quick look at it and we were ready to proceed. The town still seemed a little sleepy to me, maybe because I am so used to the hustle-bustle of the city and its ever resonant conundrum, but I couldn't shake the deep sense of tranquility that had quietly enveloped me while I was there, in the presence of beauty and sanctity.

I promised myself that I would go back again and this time would most definitely have more leisure to revel in the divinity of Mahabalipuram.

Atop Royal Enfield - The 'dhaaba'

2006-04-03T04:47:00.000-07:00

The time: Early morning about 6 am
The road: The wide and inviting ECR(East Coast Road) from Chennai to Pondicherry
The vehicle: 500 cc, sturdy, suave and smooth Royal Enfield

What could be better than a bike trip to the idyllic town of Pondicherry on a Saturday morning, whilst taking a little 'sculptured' diversion to visit Mahabalipuram on the way?

Starting off early in the morning, me and a friend of mine made it to the ECR road, unobstructed by the yet-to-rise traffic of Chennai within half an hour. Once on the road, it was as smooth as it could get. I fished out my camcorder and began shooting the lovely sun, who had begun acccompanying us on our journey. Since he was the most gorgeous amongst the three of us, it only seemed appropriate that he get more frame time than the both of us put together. Over the shoreline, punctuated by green fields and Tsunami rehabilitation camps, the sun travelled by along our side, hiding occasionally behind the picturesque duplexes, the numerous varied colored theme parks and vast expanses of coconut plantations.

The road was a delight and the bike a fantasy. Both made for an ecstatic ride, fast and fabulous!! While on the road we stopped at the ECR Dhaba. The name creates an impression of a small place that serves some Punjabi spicy stuff accompanied by the ubiquitous cola offerings. But what we saw was so much more than just another eatery...this place was like a restaurant with a mini zoo of sorts, having the distinction of being one of the breeding grounds of the rare Emu.

It was the first time then that I heard that name...Emu...and then I saw it. I don't know what it was about that bird - its ostrich-like appearance or the fact that it wa such a rare sight or its black egg but it instantly caught my fancy. Emu, they say is a wonderful option to livestock, its meat has low fat content and its skin and feathers could be used for decorative purposes. A native of Australia, it is striking in its likeliness to the ostrich though it is not as tall. There were about a dozen over there in a cage and from the looks of it they seemed to be very peaceful, laidback creatures.I took an instant liking to them and caught one of the camera friendly ones on tape.

Now I could have spent another half an hour atleast recording their moves, but my wiser friend had the smart suggestion of moving on to explore other areas of this unique dhaba. I found that they had a basketball stand and a beachball net put across in the middle of a garden bordered by majestic sunflowers and other wild varieties of flowers I was unable to put a name on. However I couldn't help appreciating their beauty and the charm that they cast around them as their dewed petals glowed in the infant sunshine of the morning.

As if the emus weren't enough, the dhaba also had hens, pigeons are barned up. There was just so much life around in that place that I didn't feel that I was only one of the two individuals inside that place, barring the caretaker who rested outside. After the animal farms, we moved on to the actual 'dhaba' place. It was stylised like a hut with wooden stalks supporting the conical roof and little groups of low chairs arranged around small tables. Right outside this hut in the far left corner there was a mock truck setup, doubling up as a place where you could order a meal, cleverly setting the tone of the Punjabi ethos.

As we moved around the hut, we came across a wooden bridge, under which there were fish tanks, housing many colorful species of aqua life. All the tanks were set in a semicircular arrangement, beautifully maintained and adding yet another diverse element to the already fascinating place. I thought I had seen it all but threw a little cry of surprise when after the land - borne and the water - borne, I set my sight on a whole lot of twittering air -borne bundles, chirping in their cages. For a sudden, I had the rushing desire to set them all free but decide otherwise. In vibrant colors of pink, red, green, yellow and purple, they were quite an alluring feast to the eyes.

The entire ECR Dhaba experinence was so sudden, unexpected and satisfying visually that I had to be reluctantly pulled away from there to move on to the next part of the journey. However not before I made myself a promise, to come back someday again....and this time have a meal before leaving....

Next Stop : Mahabalipuram