Uncommon nonsense and a little sense..

2009-10-14T02:04:00.001-07:00

I wish...
Like any journey, life also came with Emergency Exits complete with parachutes or lifejackets, more so becasue its everything
That peoples thoughts were audible and words muted, so that the whole exersice of speech wasnt such a wasted effort
That happiness was an investment one could make, by postponing too much of it at present so that it could be encashed when we hit rock bottom
That this whole notion of someone up there wasnt such a big question mark, we ought to know either way, life is fucked up with too many unknowns as it is
That it wasnt down that the birds fell when they died because something so beautiful turns into carcass, wish it just got sucked into the orbit and didnt remind us how two faced we were
That three leaved cloves, eyelashes and shooting stars were just wishes that by some magic came true, there is so much to wish and so little granted anyway
That pain was controllable, that it went to a point and stopped like everything else in life does
That I am granted a day where I am granted things before making a wish..

2009-09-10T03:40:00.000-07:00

I read an interesting article today, which said that most heart attacks world over are caused to people due to suffering idiots! It’s true, as per the article – if you have a particularly distressing conversation or confrontation with an idiot who screws up, chances are, you would be increasing your heart risk. The study, conducted by the medical college at University of Colorado (citation needed, the article was in print, so very sorry, don’t know the source) says that 83% of their study sample of 1500 people suffered from strokes within 48 hours of having a lousy experience with a person with less mental capacity from work/social circles etc. I don’t quite know what to make out of this news. I am often told that I have very little tolerance for people who aren’t my kind or those who share a point of view different from mine. I say bullshit. In what broader perspectives should I endure idiots..picture this:
A call to the Vodafone call centre after by phone was barred for the umpteenth time:
Me, sounding thoroughly harassed “Hello, my outgoing has been barred again, I need it corrected immediately. I have to make an urgent call”
The call centre executive “We are very sorry for the inconvenience ma’am, for security reasons, can you give us your number and name”
Me, irritated “Since you have made me dial my number some 10 times before reaching you through that stupid IVR, cant you figure that out?”
She, again in the irritatingly soft tone “Still ma’am, for security reasons you have to give your number again”
Pissed now “Fine 9*********, *****”
She “And now, can you tell us your mothers maiden name ma’am, for security reasons?”
Counting to 3, I reply “*****”
“And your rental postpaid plan ma’am?”
Me “Look, are you going to come to the point?”
She: “Last question ma’am”
Me: “So-so rental scheme”
She “Thank you for the details ma’am. Ma’am, we are very sorry for the inconvenience faced by you ma’am. For the solution to the problem, we suggest you visit the nearest Care Centre and they will be able to assist you”
Me, thoroughly confused now “Wait, so you are telling me you won’t be doing a thing about this problem”
She “Ma’am, to find the solution, you will have to visit the nearest care centre”
Me, totally losing it now “So, why did you ask me all those stupid questions?”
She: “Ma’am, that is for security reasons”
Me: “What kind of security, you didn’t tell me anything?”
She, confused I think, pausing “Ma’am, we have to confirm the identity for security..”
I hung up…

2009-08-11T05:36:00.000-07:00

Homer discovered!

I know Greek mythology is colossaly famous but no one really knows why. I mean, we have heard the words Iliad, Odyssey, Ulyssus, Homer being thrown around but I didnt really know who or what the hell these were till sometime back.
I watched the movie Troy recently (this is quite shocking but frankly it is the truth, I am that outdated) and I was very intrigued by the characters of Hector, Achilles and Breseis. Obsessed as I am with details, I began reading extensively through the trivia and pretty soon was compelled to start on a full translation of Homer's Iliad (Illius in Greek) and have started now on Odyssey. To say that thay are compelling reads is quite an understatement. They are poignantly breathtaking. And to think that it is volumes of poetic prose. God is really in the details, and if so that is the word for these amazing volumes, every character, every nuance, every emotion has been given its due space in the pages. I've been told that people do their doctoral thesis on parts of Hum 1 and Hum 2. Phew!
My personal favorite characters: Ulyssus and Hector. Yeah yeah, its not Achilles - There is some pattern to the people I like, for instance in Mahabharata my favorite characters are not the usual heroes but Karna. Its something like that. There is something heroic about standing by your convictions and fighting to death for them even if they are not the convictions the world lives by. As also, there is this unconditional respect I have for the mad genius kind of characters. So, till I discover another splendid read, its Homer all the way...

2009-07-16T05:45:00.000-07:00

This blog is for all those friends of mine who touched my life, unknown to them and have a lot to do with what I am today... P.S: Even though I seldom say it (maybe never, in some cases) I love you guys..

I'd like to tell you about this girl who is a complete mess. She thinks she hates the world and how badly it sucks, but when she misses it she realizes it - she loves it. She thinks to be emotional is to be vulnerable and so hates herself for it. She seldom calls people, is a pathological anti social. To her bliss is her bed, coffee and a novel. Tell her she has to slog her butt off and she wont blink an eyelid, she will revel it. But tell her she has to meet a dozen people over the weekend and it is her worst nightmare come true. She doesnt remember birthdays, anniversary's, even now many nieces and nephews she has! But ask her to rattle off history or trivia she loves, and she can go on for hours. She frets over her weight, her height, her unfeminity, and quickly forgets she has to do something about it. Memories are her fetish. But she wont tell you how often she remembers you. She wont tell you she misses those days, when things were uncomplicated, when life was just beginning and we werent running, running like there is no tomorrow. She likes the run, but she loved that stillness too. Too fiery, too tart, too closed to let her guard down, misandrist sometimes, feminist sometimes..indivisualist always..confused mostly..wants a son like Calvin, commitment phobic, wants to adopt a child. Agnost..atheist..theist..self involved, procrastrinator....shopaholic..bundle of extremes..ultimate dream to publish a novel..
But above all, what these 25 years have made her realize is that she loves it when she makes a difference,she loves her friends, she cries when they cry, she cries when they are happy, is fiercely protective of them, will do anything for them, and they mean they world to her.. Yours truly.. Love you guys

2009-03-05T03:38:00.000-08:00

I know 2 years isn’t long enough to count for an era, heck it isn’t even an eon. But if life is summed up in memories, in feelings, in what you make of them, what you learn and what you feel, how much you and things in your life change; then I am coming to the end of one. I have a habit of compartmentalizing time, of seeing how I moved from one to another. In moments somber, I sit down and suddenly I am this independent observer who is going through my life as if it were compartments on a train and looking for how things graduated, how they moved and why they have come to be the way they are today, and there is always something I chance upon, something that helps make more sense out of life than the mindless continuum it seems otherwise. For instance, I look back to the first day in college, about how unsure I was, yet how keenly awake, with every sense in anticipation of the 2 years to come. I didn’t know that it was going to be like this, but what I know already, foregone, was that it was going to be worthwhile, it was going to be important, that it would change a lot. I can say with conviction that I am stronger; I’ve seen one of the lowest points in my life. If you’ve seen Gone with the wind, which happens to be one of my all time favorite films and novels because it is about how heroic life is, then you’ll remember the scene where Grandma Tartleton tells Scarlett O’Hara that if you think you’ve seen the worst in life, you aren’t really afraid of anything. I am not going to dramatize and say that that’s how I feel, I don’t even know what the worst is, but yes, I am less afraid now.
People are great teachers, every one of them, the whole of humanity. If you think that way then you’ll know how humbling it is to know just how much there is to learn. If you observe people closely, you’ll know it’s their faces and eyes that give them away. They are like lanterns hung on an otherwise dark alley, revealing to you one more shade of the complexity that goes into making personalities. Seeing so many in just this span can tell you a lot about people, like the fact that universally what moves people is to know that what they do makes a goddamn difference, somewhere. Every one of the 300 people who joined with me as the class of ‘0709. That’s how most left jobs, hopes of a better career, postponed today’s dreams and joys, thinking some interest will somehow add up and the whole will be given back to them, somehow making them richer in experience. It was money, but that was not all. There was something more to it, something that words cannot capture, I saw it all the time, in every class assignment people burned midnight oil for, in the way they went after everything that required them to compete, from sports to B Plans to jobs. It was what kept me going in all I did here. Has the 2 years left us richer, in some way? A cynic will tell you that in a time when the whole world is impoverished and we are in crisis, me talking of riches is not just laughable, to some, I may even be cruel. But each one of us can look into our heart and know that there were some moments that made all of it worthwhile. That’s what I can tell about the compartments I went through. Even though the journey at times felt like hell, some of them just made all of it worth it.
PS: I’d like to dedicate this column to a Friend, a mentor I learned so much from that I’d name this compartment after that person. If you ever read this, you’ll know this one was for you.

2008-11-04T19:33:00.000-08:00

Year 1989: Even though my mum claims I’ve been taken to the beach a gazillion times before this, somehow this incident is stuck in my head as the first one. I was jumping up and down like an excited pony. Hell, with that fountain like way my hair was tied (I shook it for that extra fountainy effect :P) and those peddle pushers (they were in vogue back then) that I wore I was the excited pony. Mum shooed me away because I wouldn’t let her get ready. I wandered around my aunt’s room still prancing and what it this I see. There lying perched on her bed were the fanciest things I’d ever laid my eyes on. I’d seen moushi wear these and I walked in and perched them on my nose. From the lower half I could see nothing and from the upper half the world was a jaundiced yellow. (Found out later that they were goggles). And then they came right off. I put them back on and held them there before the mirror. My moushi walked in and pinched my cheeks. Didn’t mua baby look cute? I held them there bravely. That was pretty cool. I look like one of those women that my ajji watched in Chitrahaar. And I held them through the whole trip to the beach and back. All the pictures show me holding it up even though my hands hurt and everyone tried to coax me into taking them off.
Year 1991: My style quotient was still dominated by what moushi brought and here I was wearing some frock thingy, only with one puffed sleeve and well the other no sleeve. There were even red shoes to match and a red purse that had Winnie the pooh and Peanuts on alternate sides (PS: That was the vacation I got introduced to Roald Dahl after 3 years of reading Enid Blyton and Winnie the pooh, but Winnie the pooh was still my favorite). I stood before the mirror and was making a face at myself. I had a front tooth missing and there was one growing back, albeit painfully. “Hey there, move away, I want to look to”. My bro stood behind me, hands on hips and wanting to do everything I did. I turned back without changing the face I was making in the mirror. “Copycat”. His face clouded “I’m not a copycat”. His whine brought out that mean instinct in me. “Yes you are. Copycat, copycat, copycat” He bolted “Mommmmmmmmm”.
Year 1994: “I hate you you donkey” I was pulling my brothers hair in all my flourish. I was as tall as him then (wish I would say now too, but I am NOT 6’ 1” and definitely DO NOT weigh 168 pounds) and weighed as much. He pushed me away, always the stronger one, the dork.
“Go play with the other girls for once. Do you see guddu or pillu(Ok I wont tell anyone who was called this, she is so gonna kill me) play with us?”
“They are boring, they are 11 and play house house!”
“I think its ok”
“Yes you do. You play it with them sometimes, so you go”. The other guys in the colony roared with laughter. “You play house house with your sisters??” (I know why my brother still thinks I was an ass). “Besides” I added smiling “I can bet you are afraid all your kites will be gone if I join you because I’m gonna cut your kites”.
“Ha, you are the scared hen I’m not” he was defiant.
“Ok, I’ll join Viju’s party, you and Sachu” He gave in, “Ok” “Yay!”
“But first change idiot, we are climbing on Sachu’s roof, you’ll tear that thing you are wearing”.
I looked down and made a face. It was one of those long gown like dresses which was made of velvet cloth (kinda felt like those mosses that grew on the old house by the corner that I was punished for bringing home) and with huge sleeves. Mom had even matched them with bobbins to go (I didn’t have ear piercings, so they were those press hoop things). It was my birthday dress from moushi. I quickly changed into the usual, tapering jeans and oversized t shirt. And yes, I lost those hoops that day.
Year 1998: “Yippee to the girls outing” M said that with that fake giggle I tried to mimic in front of the mirror so many times. How does she do it. We were sitting at one Walts store with our sundaes and all, after our end terms. “Yeah yippee, to girls and er.. D” they were looking at me. M moaned “What happened to our dress code. You were supposed to wear a skirt and those jackets we brought and you are also wearing sneakers!” I looked down. So I wore jeans, and my T shirt was well – I had stolen in from my brother because it was black and was this University of California Varsity T Shirt. Ok so it was a Little oversized. And how on earth are you supposed to match those girly pointy shoes and lace socks with my outfit. Plus when you are 5’3 and weigh 70 pounds, everything is oversized. “Can we leave my clothes alone, my mum was not back from office when you called, I cant dress up like you guys without assistance.” (They still tease me mercilessly for it, plus my sad mushroom cut – who the hell named it that).
Year 2000: I guess you find your groove eventually. I was comfortable with the fact that I and style were not to be said in the same breath. Moushi still tried to coax me into wearing the stuff she brought and I stoutly refused, forcing her to give it away to my other second cousins who ate it out of her hands. I mean it was GAP and stuff, who wouldn’t. And the only place the cosmetic mine she brought ended up was our local ukkirda (that’s Marathi for thrash). I still wore jeans and skirts. The world had moved on to fancier salwaar kameez, those airline dresses were still in vogue and perming hair was still in. Mine were of an unmentionable length. Plus I wore no contacts. So black rimmed glasses it was.
Year 2002: Ah – the year.   Yes yes, I and moushi had found the middle turf. I gave in. A tad bit. So did she, the darling(she didn’t get clothes that were frightfully girly). The day was the 10th of September and I had for the first time taken 3 hours to dress up. G will vouch for that. She was the one who did the makeover. She and A and M and pretty much all my s-maties (I still can’t believe they stuck to that name, we were 14 and very stupid when we had come up with that). “Please tell your aunt to get this one for me too”. I was really tired “M, for the last time this is not from New York or New Jersey or even London for that matter. This is my sis’s design dumbo. She gifted it to me.” M nodded, “Ok ok, and what are you gonna tell that b**** A when she asks you what this thing is”. I moaned “Yes, yes, it is a zardosi lakhnavi from Delhi and is a hand made one. Now will you please tie my hair, its very hot”. M looked at me in indignation “What! And ruin all the curls. Not on your life”. My middle turf came at a price, extreme discomfiture. Only, this time I kept it.

2008-10-05T05:41:00.000-07:00

Not a week goes by without knowing that some financial institution has called quits and a few hundred jobs are wiped out like that.Woosh! One moment its a billion dollar standing, the next moment its dust, like some fake think that stood eaten by termites ages ago before someone decided to blow air and see the whole thing collapse like wood flake.
Not a day goes by when I, thanks to this awesome "responsibility" I've taken up, hear the line "Lets talk placements". Thats still decent. It gets worse. "What do you forsee for the economy and how it will affect the jobs scenario?". Wow! Heavy stuff dude. I'm thinking, I like Economics (though I admit that only with discretion for the fear that the "geek" label I worked so hard to rid myself of may be back again), but hell, thats a question which might just stump Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke even if they apply their whiz brains together. Thats the job of some soothsayer or prophet. I'm just a two bit noneity who doesnt even count. I understand insecurity. Jeez, I'm scared too (thats just a same pinch thing by the way, not with emphasis on I - I am no superwoman by any stretch of my imagination, hell I chicken out as easily as the next guy). But this is too much. Its like this typical trait all losers have, where they let the fear get the better of them and think if they ask a question repeatedly, answers will drop into their laps like miracles. Oh and no miracles drop like that. That was a speech figure. Which goes to say, neither do anwsers. So moral of the story, find your own answers, dont bug others. And for God's sake, get a grip!!!

2008-09-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts...
I just went through another mindless day. Mindless in every sort of way. And here's what I think today:
People have weird ways of seeking attention. They seek approval for things they arent actually but think might appeal people they dont care about. I really dont get this.
First impression is an overrated concept. Most people dont even manage to make an impression. Now they need to find a word for that.
Change is inevitability. But what if the change is more fundamental.Or can there be people who go about life not knowing what they want or having no fundamentals?

2008-08-26T11:05:00.000-07:00

My own 20 minutes...
There is a dialogue that appears somewhere in the Season 6 of Scrubs when La Verne dies and the staff is sitting at the chapel – the rabbi remarks that if you reach a point in your life when you don’t have 20 undivided waking moments where you selfishly and unashamedly do something only (and purely) for yourself then maybe your life is not worth living. It stirred my innards somewhere because I felt for a moment that I really, truly connected with that line. In our entire godforsaken life where every waking minute of every waking day of all the years they call life we are conditioned into doing things that we seldom question if we really like. And that’s why when I ask myself if I have done something I liked without thinking of what it would cost me, how it would benefit me and whether it can be postponed, I draw a blank. I haven’t. Sometimes I find me telling myself I have me to catch up with. That I haven’t done any real thinking in ages now and all that I do is touch the surface of the feelings I have pent up and all the talking there is to do with me. People have the strangest things that bring vitality back to a life that’s losing the sap out of it. There is no reasoning to why it does that to you. It just makes everything else worth enduring. Worth living for.. A, I know, can do anything to spend those 2 hours in the football field. He tells me it’s one of the few things he is really passionate about. That for how he feels about it,all the manic things he does(in my opinion) are validated. AK always says that when she reaches Padua for every vacation, she is so happy she doesn’t mind dying there and would have no regrets. Baba feels that way for those cryptic medico and physics books he still keeps stacked in his study and loves to read. Things he gave up because he had no money to pursue them. Things he gave up so that he could start working for us. Small for big. Now for later. Aai for that stuff she writes which we never bothered to understand. You see she wanted to be a novelist once. SM says she writes with a heart rending beauty that surpasses all. I wish I could understand her. Or those letters that her favorite authors have written her. Her souvenirs. Her best awards. Proof of the mettle we know she had but gave up because she was too busy sending us to school and doing our homework. She still sits up nights to write for a rare competition. She doesn’t know why. It’s their 20 minutes they are living. Things that validate our most innocent and self righteous rights – hedonism. Since I spent my 20 minutes gathering thought for theirs, heres mine. Knowing that everyone has kept theirs. It’s what keeps them going.

2008-06-05T04:25:00.000-07:00

“If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.”
How often have wistful lovers not whispered this line in each others ears to the point where it became a cliche. Its adorned cards, little gift trinklets, mugs at Archies. Still, when you look at it in an unpartisan way, its a beautiful line, little denying that.
A A Milne can be attributed with creating one of the most celebrated character of his time, one that still finds resonance with children and adults alike. The characters of Winnie,Christopher Robin, the bear, piglet, owl are all pregnant with vitality, character, depth, veracity and honesty. It is story telling at its amazing best. Few know however that Milne was a thorough bred romantic, a little like his mentor, the famous H G Wells, but yet distinctly different. Of his writings and what he'd write, he once said, "The only excuse which I have yet discovered for writing anything is that I want to write it; and I should be as proud to be delivered of a Telephone Directory con amore as I should be ashamed to create a Blank Verse Tragedy at the bidding of others." This is a very profound statement, almost in line with the revered Aristotle's line of thought, "If I had to write for a particular time I'd rather break my pen and throw it out of the window". Writing stubbornly by will, this eternal romantic has given us what are arguably some of the sweetest lines that I can think of, slow, soft, almost like caresses:
These are particularly my favorites:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”

“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"”

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
"It's the same thing," he said.

The best of course is this one, which is the closest to my heart..
“Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.”
Here's a tribute to Milne and the kind of writing that endeared his world to us, they honestly dont make like 'em anymore..

2008-05-14T04:20:00.000-07:00

Bangalore outing:
It’s a myriad city, it lacks character, it’s clearly been overexploited and what it certainly could do with is less people. Yet there is a certain serenity to it, a kind of calm that few other places have. It sleeps (well most of it anyway) by 11, stubbornly refuses to change its quiet pace and has so many colors it’s a delight.
One thing that I always have when I am at Bangalore is experiences that no other place in the world can give. They are so typical to the city they are almost forming a part of its fabric.

Typical trait 1:
Our autowallahs: I am yet to find one who I can say with certainty is honest. They’re rude, impudent, always want more than their rigged meter charges hapless travelers and refuse to come to most of the places we have to go anyway. Question is, where do they go. The other day I was with a friend and we stopped an autowallah.

She: BTM bartira? (Will you come to BTM)
Him: Illa Madam, tumba hattira ide. (Wow, he stated the reason, and what a reason – Its too close by)
She: Aitu, Bannerughatta bartira? (Will you come to Bannerughatta)
Him: Illa madam, tumba doora agate, olagade hogbeku. (No, its too far off, I’ll have to go inside)
She (totlally exasperated now): Majestic hogtira? (Will you go to majestic)
Him (nodding)
She: Hogi matte, nanagen hogodilla, yelladru neevu hogtiralla (Go then, you go somewhere atleast, I don’t go there).

Typical trait 2:
Our roads: One road that’s not spilling with traffic, where 2 wheelers and autos aren’t driving on footpaths! Where in the world does that happen, should we even call them footpaths anymore. I am really stumped when one of the vehicles comes charging at me on a footpath and the rider doesn’t blink before telling me to get off the footpath. To where? Unless I have wings overnight, there is a high degree of probability that a footpath is my only refuge when walking.

Typical trait 3:
Our outing: Where does the whole of Bangalore go on its outing? To the 2 malls it has which have milling crowds on every inch and there is no possible way you can wade through them without shoving everyone off. I can’t understand it. Why do bawling kids, grandmas who are scared of escalators and have to be escorted and convinced to take the first step blocking hundreds behind them, villagers who stop in front of every glass display in awe even though all they are looking at is a stupid weekender shirt and just about any person as unlikely have to step into the place all at one go.
Forum on a weekend is an absolute nightmare. The fun part is when you see adults at children gaming parlors, showing their prowess at stations that say “For children between 6 and 11”. Come on, we’re not that jobless are we.

Typical trait 4:
Our role models: This was remark passed by a friend and I realized how right he was. The typical software moron look.
If its him, usually a 20 something, wearing ill fitting formals, usually carries a Tupperware bag in one hand and wears a backpack. Has a tag hanging around his neck even though he has been out of office for more than an hour and is walking down the lane, head always lowered as if he is too dejected to hold it high.
If its her, wearing some Indian/western formal, carrying a handbag, a Tupperware, some bottle, a shopping bag (they don’t shop everyday, what do they carry???) and on phone, in the bus, on the road, anytime you see.
This ones ironic, because when I say this, I see myself, a year ago. :)

2008-04-21T09:45:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts of a restless(ful) mind...

Well .. well I'm finally home and yes, I do feel (and look - my sister's opinion,not mine) like I've left behind an inferno. I feel good to say the least. And I've been sleeping - A LOT. And for a change I'm not thinking a lot. Still what creeps into the mind are random musings, my writings dont have to be on a subject all the time have they.

Random thought 1: Left to myself I always end up being very very uncool - the first thing I did when I returned home was to read Freud back to back. And then took a nap.

Random thought 2: Deep down I am still 6 or something to the effect - my mom had to pillow me because I refused to sleep with an actual pillow.

Random thought 3: I inherently hate junk. Totally. Nothing can explain that out of the entire platter that was made for me I picked sprouts to break my fast.

Random thought 4: Silence unnerves me. Except in Goa. After living in a city where people like worms (or lemmings) occupy every inch of the space there is to occupy, I find my city disturbing. It depressed me a little bit. Which may explain why I have been hooked to the phone since I have come.

Random thought 5: I am a lot lot like Monica in FRIENDS. I love it when things are clean, else all I do is clean things up. And I love taking charge. My ex roomie spent 2 hours telling me how I'd be "in-charge" of my ex-flat for the next 2 months and I spent and hour detailing her all I'd do to and I was actually excited. Shit.

Random thought 6: I am the most a social being I've ever met. I am totally awkward in front of those middle age maami types who are flocking to visit me(? - why on earth. I dont even know half their names. My mom tells me they are in town for one of our cousin's wedding who by the way I dont know how I am related to). Consider this conversation that took place between me and maami(s - aunts for the ignorant):
Maami 1: You have lost weight, and you look dark.
Me: Ya, I had exams (wow, thats how we start conversations now a days?)
Maami 2: So when's this course getting over?
Me: One more year.
Maami 1: You study a lot.
Me: (what?) No I hardly study.
Maami 2: You are at 26.
Me: (depressed) I am 24
Maami 1: Oh, thats Shruti. Avvi here is 2 years younger.
Me: (phew) Ya.
Maami 2: So when are you planning to get married.
Me: (they are not very discreet are they) In a couple of years.
Maami 1: You should have kids by then.
Me: (really angry now) Well I think I know what I should do by then, I'll manage.
(Mom sensing what I wad coming to) Mom: Avvi, go get some water for Maami.
And off I went. I mentally canceled going for tomorrow's wedding. I'll watch Scrubs Season 5.

And so it goes ...

2008-03-09T01:45:00.000-08:00

The self imposed glass ceiling:
I read in the papers the first thing when I woke up was that Women’s day had finally arrived. Phew! I was getting sick of the ads anyway, good riddance to that. And all the “Happy Women’s day” messages. Not that I personally had anything against the celebration of the day – I am a woman and proud of my womanhood. But it is this newfound frenzy of commercializing just about everything under the sun, from Valentine’s Day to Divali to Heart’s day and now this, where every single commercial from a kitchen appliance to cosmetic gets linked to March 8th, which baffles me. “This women’s day, take some worries off her shoulder – gift her a LG kitchen set, now 30% off” – hello? Meaning – that it goes without saying your wife is going to cook every single day of the rest of her godforsaken life, just throw in something fancy just so that you keep our cash registers ringing and still do something symbolic so that you aren’t left out of this pseudo women’s liberalization thingy. Whatever that is. How is it not possible that one sees through the gimmick? I mean they do it every single time. For every single occasion. Does it work? If it does, I am amazed.

I flipped further, and I realized that it was not the ads alone that had a mention of the special occasion that today was supposed to be. There were reams of text dedicated to today. The television spoke of one activist or the other hosting an event for this day. There were short messages on the telly from fancy celebrities like Aishwarya Rai and Sonia Gandhi about hold your breath – women exploitation and liberalization – duh! Exploitation my foot, besides being big terms they use to sound impressive, do Rai or Mrs. Gandhi even know the meaning of those terms. It was the shallowest thing I had heard in the day.
Then there was the other extreme, of showing the deprived women, the neglect of our times, the brave hearts that made it big despite being women. There was going to be a week celebrating the “Entrepreneurial spirit of the women”, announced by Ms Sheila Dixit. My city even hosted a big event at the City Glass House, some event by the cheesy title of “Sakhi” to which my mum, thanks to her writer’s status got an invite. And since I was in town this weekend, I drove her to it and had to sit through all the honors.

So what’s the point I am making. I have been around for a good 24 years of my life, and not a single time have I felt I am anything different unless reminded – by things such as this. Discrimination – the ugly term that means anything from prejudice to showing preferred judgment or bias – has been a part of civilization as long as memory goes back, from racial, to sexual to just about anything. Nations and generations have faced its stigma. Religion, our biggest divide and the greatest unifier ever, has been the greatest discriminant, the cause of many of history’s worst tragedies. The Blacks around the world are still to stop facing it. Asians face it, so do many others. It makes me think, that perhaps the fundamental reason for discrimination is the power to discriminate – we all do it, all the time, here, in our own country – look at what is happening to North Indians in Maharashtra, or for that matter, to Biharis and UPites in Punjab or Delhi or the North East, or to Muslims the world over, especially in the West. Is it fear alone, is it insecurity alone? No, it is something more deep rooted, something more innate and inseparable to us – mankind will never let go the capacity to wield power, if granted. It is a high few other things can give him, none at all if he tastes that power. And this instinct doesn’t come to men alone, it is universal. It only happens that men have experienced it longer, this power, the authority and so the desire.

Which is why women have, over centuries, felt the need to manifest their individuality over that of men. Because the oppression has left them with a complex they cannot come out of. Maybe what my gender has achieved today is commendable. Maybe it is worthy of mention, laudable. But why single out this discrimination alone. Why by we, ‘the fairer sex’, mentioning it again and again, don’t want to jettison the baggage and carry it around. We don’t hear anyone else do it. It is we, by reminding ourselves that we have to commend our genders, who are unwilling to make the equation truly equal. Why celebrate feminism, why not individualism. Why not the spirit of womanhood as an ongoing process. Why does any achievement by a woman have to be fixated on the fact that she is a woman? She is an achiever. Period. Leave it at that. Let it be. Why do the smallest of things a woman does become worthy of mention hinging solely on the fact that she is a woman. We don’t hear men commemorate every damn thing they do as a tribute to their manhood. True. They haven’t faced the kind of societal bias, the hurdles a women has. But by mentioning all of it, we weaken our own cause. No strength is ever great if it needs a seal of approval to hide its own insecurity. And no cause then is truly great. Such as this. Sometimes silence is the greatest standing ovation. And all we need.

2007-12-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

Money matters:

I have often been accused of being materialistic, over simplified and stressing way too much on the importance of money. Frankly, I dont give a damn about any of it, but I have trouble explaining why exactly is money the measure of the worth of men and it is not money that corrupts men but men that corrupt money. I dont want to preach on this subject, but I would want to ask you to read my bible on this issue here. Ayn Rands writing here speaks everything I could have ever spoken and much more. Its a salutation I offer to one of the best minds that ever lived. Please read, its for the best within you.

2007-11-16T09:25:00.000-08:00

I wonder if I can refuse to inherit the world..
There was a time not so long ago when Television and Newspapers were serious stuff. People looked up to them as means of knowledge. It was for the educated, not the literate. Nothing, about it, was idiot business. Not so any more. Welcome to the era of shameless, in your face voyeurism.We see it happening everywhere.

Differentiation is good, especially when you have a hundred odd channels beamed to you with the help of colossal technology sitting some 36,000 miles above the planet earth. Its called the satellite (INSAT or whatever). But one look at all the channels and you wonder whats the freaking point. They're all the same. You have dimwits dancing when thats not their business (and other far bigger dim wits rushing to copy them, fearing they might run out of business if they dont), some morons singing, someone being made a fool of, some ugly woman being given a makeover to become the next Bipasha Basu, a bunch of squeaky teenagers riding bikes to nowhere, for no rhyme or reason. And all the time there are these extremely irritating "hosts" to these shows who keep asking them 'how they feel?'. They're not supposed to be there in the first place, so how would they feel? Like stupid I'm guessing. But then you never know, may be they are not even wise enough to realise the magnanimity of they cruelty they're inflicting on us in the first place. In that case they'd feel first class. Welcome to the era of "reality tv". All TV is reality. Even news is not spared. What makes news has degraded to such shocking levels, its every man's 5 minutes claim to fame. Be it the Professor whose wife ran away with her neighbor, or the obscure daughter of a South Indian celebrity who made headlines by marrying some guy in defiance. The point is: Who cares? And the answer is scarier. Everybody. Thats who. No channel, be it news or otherwise can hope to survive without this carcass. Its a generation that feeds on others lives. Why? Perhaps because their own lives are so empty that everyone hopes they find preoccupation with the trivia of others lives. Magnanimity isnt important anymore. It doesnt have to touch your life or be the budget to make news anymore. It doesnt have to be anything. Its twisted irony, isnt it, that Yedyurappa's interest in numerology and his change of name makes headlines in a godforsaken popular newspaper (you should guess which, it wouldnt take an einstien to do that), but the first policy he signed we have no clue about. Incidentally its about the revision of the Devanahalli project deadline! And thats going to affect a lot of us.

Newspapers are another miserly tragedy. The page 3 supplement is bulkier than the daily. Sports section carries stories about imminent breakups and infidelity. Come again? How the hell is that a sport!! Because it involves a sports player. And we'll have to make our peace with that. There are ads everywhere. Our leading daily is 22 pages of page 3! Lo behold Times of India. It reports news by calling Musharraf's coup 'Mushy's Outing' and posts dry jokes about him being called son of a whatever. Who's laughing? Jug Suraiya even did a half page article on "bad language history". When Liz Hurley (the third rate mediocre actress whose only claim to fame are her safety pin costume and a dumb ass husband) got married, it made headlines. So did the Beckham's vacation plan.

What kind of a generation are we heading into? Will the insignificant mooch all thats big and important and groundbreaking into nothingness? Will lies, mediocrity and incompetence rob technology, science and sheer brilliance of its space in a world where things move at a dizzying pace. Will we be a generation of escapists who try to forget our failures in others' and ignore acknowledging things that move the world but seldom win recognition? Will it be an era of forgotten brilliance and glorified failures?

2007-11-10T01:59:00.000-08:00

First day, first show: Yes I saw my hero in matinee.. 

Romancing a golden era…
Mai agar kahun tumsa haseen
Kaynaat mein nahin hai kahin
Tareef bhi to ye sach hai kuch bhi nahin…

It’s a smile that can light a million lamps.. tick! like that.. Once in an era Bolly land wood (whatever) makes a discovery, chances upon it - that just about defines the era to come. Remember Madhuri Dixit and how she bedazzled us in that stunning backless purple choli and lehenga in HAHK and how a generation to come went crazy. Or how Aishwarya Rai in her gorgeous blue and red ghagras and then flowing sarees took our breath away in HDDCS. Step aside, Madhuri and Aishwarya, for there is an ideal replacement. And she’s gorgeous. Be it the soft dimpled smile or the way her eyes light up expressively, she is the heart of every frame that she is in. If Farah Khan can pat her back for one thing most definitely, it’s this. Deepika Padukone. And the way she looks when she steps out in that flowing pink gown waving her hand to that rightfully blown away crowd.

Of course then there are other things. Now there is one thing about FK, you don’t go into the theatres to watch a movie you critique; you go to her movies expecting to be entertained! And entertain she does – in style. So we have and entire world of 70’s recreated from scratch, where the story actually begins. Its wonderland or 70’s film land, whatever you wish to call it. And you have everyone, hero (sporting long locks and sideburns), a sidekick (pardon the usage of the word, Shreyas being who he is deserves better and its about time he realizes it and stops wasting himself), a very fimli maa(how can we forget the mother goodness, widow with young son of the 70’s. Its over to Kirron Kher to do the honors, from Reema Lagoo or Faridaa Jalal who fit these roles much better. I mean we have a woman who did Baariwali reduced to this now. That’s 2 down) and a star heroine (doe eyes, curled up buns, bell sleeved salwars) for whom our hero’s heart goes flip. The villain sports a lean mean mustache, wears expensive bell bottomed pants and drives those long sedan like cars like all villains in 70’s. The whole first half has a dreamlike feel to it where everything has been done with painstaking detail and the result shows. It’s beautiful. And for those who have seen any of those period movies, nostalgic too. FK pays tribute to the golden era of Hindi cinema through rich gamut of borrowings, half funny, others so romantic it reminiscates us of what our movies were. They were a part of our culture, because ours is a movie crazy nation that loves the memories movies bring to us. Be it classics like ‘Mere paas maa hai’, ‘Pushpa.. I hate tears’ or ‘Bees saal pehele meri maut yahi tumhare haaton yahi hui thi, par kahaani abhi khatam nahi hui..’ we love our melodrama and we love the laughter, the tears, the emotion, the drama and the plot. We love our emotions exaggerated and strong. Like a strong coffee brew. And what OSO does is pay a tribute to this melodrama. Skip the technicality, we’re not Hollywood. Or the weird westernization that has crept in that we adopt half confused, still unsure whether to keep sticking to our values and what to become. OSO is a celebration of our movies and their grandeur.

In comparison, the second half is a tad ordinary, with heavy borrowings from Karz and a host of similar look alikes which have been made many times since, plus the oft repeated line a translation from Alchemist. “Jab tum sachche dil se kisi cheez ko chahte ho to saari kaynaat tumhe us se milane ki sazish karti hai”. Sounds familiar. Paul O’Coelho fans would know.
The plot is not explained and awry at some places, like the constant reappearance of Deepika without clear entry. Still it is good fun if you keep your mind out. FK is no Mani Ratnam or Sanjay Leela Bhansali. And she sticks to her strength. Making everyone around her have a ball. And that’s what makes the movie a paisa vasool. Plus of course you catch a glimpse of nearly 50% Bolly in 3 hours. Everyone’s there! Above all, and for me(and some like me  ) there’s SRK. One reason. 3 alphabets being simple reason to watch the movie. This time too, its not just an actor, it’s a dynamite you see on screen. At 43, sporting a near perfect (ok, Roshan is PERFECT) 6 pack abs and dancing to Dard e Disco, the man still never ceases to amaze me with the energy. It’s not his best acting, though to be fair, the film did demand that he overdo! And he does a decent job with that. What makes in awesome is his energy level and enthusiasm. 3 cheers for King Khan. (Don’t snigger anyone. It’s hard to overcome first love).

The music is really catchy, especially Aankhon me teri and Mai agar kahun, sung soulfully to the lyrics penned by Akhtar. Not much of cinematography, passable at best. Editing could have been a little tighter, restricting it below 3 hours, esp the second half. To sum up, it’s a 3 hours that’ll make you smile. And that’s a good enough reason to go have a look.

2007-10-16T07:38:00.000-07:00

An ode to nothing..

It has been ages since I last blogged. Where is the time, or so goes the old cliche, for all the little joys of life. Writing anything which is not a case study for the matter. Ok, blasphemy, thou shalt not bulshit technical jargon in thy sacred space, so let me drop all terms unenduringly academic.

Today I reread for the nth time Steve Jobs' masterpiece speech at Stanford, the classic Stay Hungry Stay Foolish . And like always it stirred my innards like little else. And I wondered where it was all gone, the little things that matter much (funny, that was the remark in my school diary, where a teacher ticked a student off for misbehaving). Jobs says live every day as if it were last, and because death is so profound a thing, all things trivial and superfluous fall flat at the face of it. Ok, point taken, Here's what i would not do if I lived the day as if it were my last: everything! Its amazing how intensely we do what we detest and how jovially and carelessly we did all the things that meant the world to us. Here's an ode to all the nothing my life is composed of..

All the nothing I want to do with myself.(Remembering a Calvinesque statement here: There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want to).

Taking a walk down watching the sunset at Shiroda.

Reading an amazing book. (I last read Harry Potter's end saga and a small Khalil Gibran text 3 months ago, this from a person who gorged on books).

Listening to music like it were liberating and sip coffee endlessly (Not the monkey p*** they serve here that passes off for coffee, but that from Coorg or Hornadu)

Watch Roberto Benigni take his last march in Life is Beautiful or Rajesh Khanna's ending speech in Anand and cry like a baby (I am a hopeless romantic).

Read anything remotely Ayn Rand and feel glad you are alive.

The taste of Death by chocolate from Sweet Chariot or a Choco mint chip from Corner House on a foggy evening at Brigade Road.

The couch in my living room where I lie like a doormat, unmoving when I go home and hibernate.

Calvin and Hobbes, my entire collection.

All night conversations with a certain someone I'd like to call my default punchbag in my lowest phase in life (when You read this you'll know).

Amen to all the nothing that makes everything else worth living. :)

2007-09-13T06:25:00.000-07:00

Jerks Inc..
Current Mood: S*****
State: F*****
Reason for blog: Vent out the frustration..
Calvin quote for the occasion: "In my opinion we dont devote nearly enough time in finding a scientific cure for jerks"
Warning: Read at your own risk..

I don’t understand how people (women strongly and men sometimes shockingly) can be this unbearably stupid and irritating adding to your already poor impression about people in general. At the risk of sounding cynical here goes some random situations that have exasperated me beyond description lately..

Situation 1#
I'm quoting from experience, "You don't look like a South Indian, I mean you are fair and don’t eat any curd rice". Christ I needed to shout right then.

Situation 2#
In answer to why I was doing an MBA, the reply "Oh God! How kewl (whoever thought of the obnoxious word should be hanged) you are so ambitious ya, I mean girls usually do an MBA because they want to marry late". Aspirin someone???

Situation 3#
The city I presently live in finds derogatory words like "babe" and "sexy" so 'in 'that they find the most unthinkable situations to use the words justified, like "Look at that B plan ya (find an alternative to ya someone, I think I'll forget mine), its sexy". Yes, the same word the dictionary defines as 'Arousing or tending to arouse sexual desire or interest'is used, for the lack of better adjectives, to describe something necessarily academic. Its highly unenduring.

Situation 4#
I don’t understand twisted morality, I mean its ok to ask anyone you barely know if they "have a bf/gf/are they committed", whatever it means to them, as if it were a trait or something, like you are 6 feet tall, you are wheatish and you have a bf/gf. Attribute see? But the worst comes when you get to hear crap like its ok for you to not look good, to be this/that, you already have someone.
Now what necessarily is someone trying to imply, that you can be an old hag and not look worth 2 bits because you are "committed" so to quote, while the other all so desperate ones look like they've stepped out of a band box. If you dress well, apparently its for "someone to see" and so if the "someone" isnt around, you are guilty of treason.
I need some air, can anything be more ridiculous.
I had better stop; even recollection is making me pound the keys hard enough to break them..!!

2007-08-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

Patriotism – no less...

Yes, I saw the movie everyone has been raving about for quite some time now, a la Lagaan, same patriotic fervor, same sense of national patriotism instilled, minus the additional insinuation of colonialism thrown in.

If it is a review I’ll write, I’m a tad too late, we all know by now that the plot is tightly crafted, that SRK has for a change played mature and played his age, that he has restrained himself in the absence of KJ or Yash Chopra giving him a free hand. All that is obvious, what’s appealing is that for a change we have risen above petty romance and shown that men can be stirred by something far greater, sometimes winning isn’t something, its everything, that it is alright to fight, to play dirty, to do anything but win.

I think that what clicked for Chak De... was not the patriotism alone, not Preeti Sabharwal’s sweltering looks or SRK but that it appealed to the best within each of us, it was an urge to that spirit we lose somewhere in the humdrum of life, which takes us places in life. Be it the maddening intensity that Kabir Khan (SRK’s role in the movie) experiences towards anything related to Hockey, be it the stakes with which every girl plays the game, or the moment when the girls lose to the men’s hockey team and yet get a standing definition. It is the triumph of grit that is giving a standing ovation in that scene, not their graceful loss. Kabir Khan speaks a line then which is the truest motive of any team play, everything else is just white lies, he says if you really play to win, first play for your country, then for your team and if you have anything left in you, for yourself, It is a point where the team becomes you, and everything else in life takes a backseat. Sometimes winning is the only motive that justifies life’s struggle.

Chak De .. is a salute to that spirit, and what a salute at that. Don’t look at it from the technicalities aspect. I mean, The Pursuit of Happyness was far from perfect. But it is not technicalities that make a great movie; it is the intention and the honesty of projecting that intention. SRK’s look when the team wins at the end justified the entire movie literally. It captured what winning can mean to someone who wants it the way it should be wanted – more than anything else.

2007-07-17T06:31:00.000-07:00

A phenomenon I call Swe..

There is a maxim I'd like to quote before I start to say anything, by a certain 6 year old philosophical genius. It goes like, "There is an inverse relation between between how good a thing is for you and how much fun it really is". If I tell you that it took me 22 years and a 2 year long encounter with a certain person I should call my best friend (at the risk of sounding cliched) to actually realise this, maybe you'll get an idea about how slow a learner I really am. I know this blog is a bolt out of the blue, coming at a time which doesn't make sense, but I know S will understand it. Everytime I meet too many people I think I cannot take any longer, I think of her and I know that it is alright, that maybe you cant turn on sanity like a faucet and most people's tanks have gone dry (or may be had nothing to back up in the first place) and I feel sorrier than angry, something I learnt from her, even though she may never realise she taught me this.

The first time I met her, I was out of home for the first time in my entire life and quite frankly s*** scared and lost. And there she was, this hyper active, enthu female who sat 4 seats from me during our training at our first job. I cant say I liked her much, she did come across as a brat; she had the cheek to ask a guy we barely knew if there was a good place for a drink, since we were new to the city. And thanks to my couth upbringing in a typical South Indian Brahmin family where it was a sin to even think these things (where you have illustrious cousins, aunts, uncles doing their Ph. D's from IITs and all that crap, where all you are taught is how life is all about your academics and you are looked down upon if you are this regular software engineer at some Indian firm) I pretty much drew up an image of her, albeit not a good one, and decided to avoid her like plague. It took me a month to change my mind - maybe change would be the wrong word here, it took me a month to realise I was completely wrong, and it is one of the best things I have come to realise.

S and I have lived together for a good 18 months, and there is nothing we did better than procrastination. How terrible our lives/jobs were, how we ought to quit and do just about anything, maybe even remain jobless for sometime, anything but actually work. It never occured to us that most of the time, this was THE ONLY thing we actually did, remain depressed and never work. I know we were not in the best of our moods, but honestly, there was nothing we enjoyed better than cribbing to each other over all night philisophical sessions. There was another thing we made records of sorts at, shopping and watching movies. If I were to tell anyone that I spent faster in a week than I earned in a month, that I paid most of my credit card bills in EMIs and I always loaned money from our more illustrious roomies (Note: this does not include S ), I'd at best be called insane. But not by S, she was my soulmate, she understood, because it is precisely what she did. She has a very simple philosophy for this, if I dont spend now when I am single and dont have any responsibilities, I will never be able to realise how good (or bad maybe, but not bad really) it really is. She hates the word saving, I learnt quickly how right she was. It has been revelation knowing her - if I know what it is to let go all the pressure I always assumed upon myself, to know it is ok to feel crappy at times and do really stupid things as an outlet, I owe it to her. And there is no end to the memories we have made, thanks to endless instances when we felt that way.

Things like coming home after 2 everyday and waking up bleary eyed to go to work, hitching a ride from a near drunk guy only to realise that he could'nt even find the ignition and bolting out of his car realising he was drunk, meeting drunk guy 2 in front of Blore Central and talking to him for half an hour about how he was Gandhi and I was Putali Bai, having the spunk to brave all odds and sit through endless movies that can at best be termed nightmares by lesser mortals, taking walking on BG road at 3 in the night because of temporary insomnia and then running home when we realised we were being followed, sleeping and missing our bus from Tirupati to Bangalore, then getting duped of all the money because of our mad scramble for the next one.. its endless.

Above everything I said so far, I think S gave me a thing I call a perspective, its because of her that I think I realised that there is a depth to every person rather than the narrow dimensions of morality I judged a person by before S happened. She made me realise how right and wrong can be subjective and all the fun in life is nothing to be apologetic about, if anything I view them as proud achievements. And it is to those 2 years that I owe years of my maturity. It is to her. I wont belittle what we share by saying thanks, because I know what she'll say, wtf - I dont like to hear such crap. Here's a toast to the ultimate camaradie I share :)

2007-06-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

"Dear God, please mujhe koi achcha sa gora chitta Angreji dila do taki mujhe kisi kale kaloote Indian se shaadi nahi karni pade". Preity Zinta's character in the grossly overdone mess that Jhoom Barabar Jhoom turned out to be says this prayer at a church somewhere in the suburbs of Southall in London. What she meant, if I am paraphrasing her correctly, is, God, please let me marry any goddamn lout as long as he is fair and British and not some half decent Indian because my life would be ruined otherwise. This perhaps could be the most racist statement I have heard in the recent times. Initially I was shocked, agitated and aghast. But as I sat through the unenduring tragedy, I realised that this wasn't a problem with Shaad Ali's latest catastrophic tragedy alone but becoming more of a crisis trend. We just aren't comfortable with Indianness. Anything glamorised, a la Bollywood, has to necessarily be foreign. Be it locations, clothing, or just plain upbringing. Indianness just isn't good enough. Yet we are the first ones to harp about our seemingly rich Indian culture, our Bharatiya Sanskriti and shallow transient value system. Its all plain hogwash. How else would you explain these irritating observations, correct me if I am wrong:

Every "cool NRI" couple gets married full angreji ishtyle, with the bride in white (I thought Indian Brides wore read people! White was for widows) and groom in black (mourning color again). I dont remember when western countries insisted immigrant citizens to change marriage laws and get matrimony approved in churches alone.

All romantic dreams are extravagantly graphic, complete with a song taking them around Paris, Amsterdam and London.

The hero and heroine live in Tudor Palace, or The Ritz or some other vulgarly exhorbiant foreign hotel which could not be their house by any stretch of imagination, atlest not when the house is supposedly located in Chandni Chowk.

It is unthinkable for the heroine to order anything Indian, wines, aspargus or some other gddamn think I cant think the name of

Everyone treats Manhattan or Times Square of their own backyard, whoever said it was upmarket, crowded and the shopping centre for New Yorkers! Ask Saif, he must've courted a dozen damsels on its near EMPTY corners (what the hell is the point)

Finally, and for the upteenth time, the 'goras' out there dont give a damn who you are. So stop showing them as useless cronies who fall for anything stupid, it is soooo un-Indian

2007-06-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

Care to recognise this guy???

Ok, I admit I was pretty stunned when I found out who this actually was. It took me a while really. No surfing the net or anything of that sort. But off the top of my hat, I'll reel of some trivia I know about him and see how easy it becomes. :)

Going to turn 18 coming July.

Net worth £23 Million.

Is an actor by profession, his upcoming role(theatre), to quote, being that of a "troubled youth with a religious-erotic obsession with horses".

Is often mistaken for Elijah Woods by Australians and Tobey Maguire by Americans (So that rules out 2 people).

Has been unable to complete schooling because of the profession he has taken up.

Is a lead guitarist for a band he had formed while at his all boys school.

Confesses that if not an actor most likely would become a poet.

Any guesses. Though honestly not required after this, I presume.

2007-05-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

"F.R.I.E.N.D.S", apart from being my alltime favorite sitcom is the only one which I have so far been able to watch countless re runs of. I know that it is not humor at its best, that there are scores of others which may be do better justice to the title, but there is something about it that I find far more irresistible. The cast has an amazing screen presence, they're more stylish, more appealing and the storyline is kind of intriguing, albeit soap opera intriguing - may be all added together makes me a big big fan, right from my college days.

I'd like to jot down some of my all time favorite conversations from what, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the best things to have happened on television. :)

[Joey comes out from his room wearing ridiculous clothes. He has to look nineteen for an audition]
Joey: 'Sup? 'Sup, dude?
Chandler: [putting his hands up] Take whatever you want, just please don't hurt me.
Joey: So, you're playing a little Playstation, huh? That's whack. Playstation is whack. 'Sup with the whack Playstation, 'sup? Huh? Come on, am I nineteen or what?
Chandler: Yes, on a scale from one to ten, ten being the dumbest a person can look, you are definitely nineteen.

Monica: Thanksgiving tomorrow four o'clock.
[to Rachel] Monica: Guess who I invited? Do you remember that guy Will Cobert from high school? He was in Ross' class marching band. He was kinda overweight... really overweight... I was his thin friend.
Rachel: Wow. I don't remember him. Honey, are you sure you're not talking about your imaginary boyfriend?
Monica: No that was Jared. Wow. I haven't though about him in a long time.

Rachel: So are things between you and Joey getting any better?
Chandler: It couldn't get any worse. Last night, I spent eight hours calling him, trying to get him to talk to me.
Rachel: Oh, wow. Eight hours. So you could probably really use one of those plug-in telephone headsets, huh?
Ross: Should we all expect Christmas gifts that can be stolen from your office?
Rachel: You shouldn't.

Joey: [upon hearing Ross doesn't want to go to the movies with him] Come on, man! Tom Hanks! Meg Ryan! They get mail!

Chandler: I can handle this. "Handle" is my middle name. Actually, "handle" is the middle of my first name.

Ross: My dad wanted to know if you wanted to play racquetball with us.
Monica: Wow. That's great. Dad must really like you, he doesn't ask just anyone to play.
Ross: Yeah and he didn't really ask for you, he asked for Chauncy, I assumed he meant you. Chandler: Well, did-did you correct him?
Ross: No, I-I thought it would be more fun this way

[Rachel is nervous about leaving Emma alone in the apartment for a few minutes]
Rachel: What if she jumped out the basinet?
Ross: Can't hold her own head up, but yeah, jump out.
Rachel: Oh my God, I left the water running.
Ross: Rach, you did not leave the water running. Please, just pull yourself together, okay? Rachel: Ah, did I leave the stove on?
Ross: You haven't cooked since 1996.
Rachel: Is the window open? Because if there's a window open, a bird could fly in there.
Ross: Oh my god, you know what, yeah, I think you're right. I think... listen, listen.
Rachel: Huh?
Ross: A pigeon, a pigeon. No, no wait, no, no, an eagle flew in. Landed on the stove and caught fire. The baby, seeing this, jumps across the apartment to the mighty bird's aid. The eagle, however, misconstrues it as an act of aggression and grabs the baby in its talons. Meanwhile the faucet fills the apartment with water. Baby and bird still ablaze are locked in a death grip, swirling around in the whirlpool that fills the apartment.
Rachel: If that happens now, you're going to feel SO bad.

Phoebe: You name one woman that you broke up with for a real reason.
Chandler: Maureen Rosilla.
Ross: "'Cause she doesn't hate Yanni" is not a real reason.

Rachel: Guess what?
Ross: You got a job?
Rachel: Are you kidding? I'm trained for nothing! I was laughed at 12 interviews today Chandler: And yet you're surprisingly upbeat!
Rachel: Well you would be too if you got new boots 50% off
Chandler: Oh how well you know me

Phoebe: [Pulls out Monica's old bathing suit] Hey Monica what's this?
Monica: Oh, that's my old bathing suit from high school... I was bigger then...
Chandler: Really... I thought that's what they used to cover Connecticutt when it rained...

Chandler: ...And I'm not sure about this actor guy, because when he left a message and he heard my name "Chandler Bing", he said "Woah! Short message!"

2007-05-17T22:28:00.000-07:00

Children are quintessentially stupid, there is no denying that. No matter how cute, cuddly or adorable they or their antics might be, it would exasperate a normal adult to the point of madness when they get down to being themselves, which is most of the time anyway. And God help the poor mortal who decides to pacify the toddler who decides to bawl his way to seek attention, there are scores of serious contenders for this position, the guy is a goner.

As a kid (a word here, none of the incidents below are quoted from memory, looks like I was so damn stupid I dont remember a thing about myself till I was a good 3 years anyway) I was no exception, if anything I was a shining example of this lunacy. In short I and my sister (she beat me, I am told I was relatively less of a pain in the a** :D ) drove my parents crazy. Here are some incidents from my childhood and those of all the brats in my family that my mum, aunt, dadi all recall in great detail.

I had the typical habit of waking the household at 2 in the night with loud screams and when my tired, sleepy mom woke up, I demand Cerelac, wait patiently till it is made and eat it. Repeated attempts by my mom to shake off the habit by making me eat late proved futile, it was 2 or 3 always, halfway through everyone's sleep.

My kid sister refused to have a bath and ran around the house, making fun of my mom. Mom had put on a lot of weight after the brat was born and if she stopped in the middle of the chase to catch her breath, my sister had the cheek to say, "Why fatty, you can't catch me, can you?".

That's not all, she hated school fanatically, this one, even I can vouch for. One fine day, at the pretext of using the loo, she ran away from the school to my aunt's house a block away. Next thing, Class teacher, the school guard, me (summoned from my class in the middle of my mid term exam), the auto wallah who had seen her run away were running in the direction of my aunts house with him in the lead to catch her.

Whenever my mom yelled at her, she had the irritating habit of putting some cotton/paper in her nostrils and lying on the ground saying she was dead. My mom had a hard time catching her to take it out. She had apparently picked the act while watching television when my mom wasn't around.

My brother woke my uncle up at midnight, every single night to play cricket in the back yard because he couldn't fall asleep and if after some particularly tiring day, my uncle had the nerve to refuse, every house in the neighborhood would know, my brother's wailing would make sure of that.

My nephew once had the cheek to tell my aunt that he would get a "spare ajji" if she left him and went because he was jumping on her tummy non stop.
Another time he was watching television and my sister came up from behind and tickled him, thinking it would amuse the kid and he turned and told her, "Behave yourself silly girl!". It was the day my sister decided to return to India from London where my nephew had lived for the first 4 years of his life.

Last one, this I have a vague recollection of, though I am still amazed I actually did it. I was in my kinder garden when one day, auto mama (as we called the guy who helped me commute to school) didnt come to pick me on time. Instead of waiting, I thought it might be fun if I surprised every one by going home by bus. So I climbed the first bus that stopped in front of the school gate and sat in the last row. The bus started to move and for a long time when I dint see anything familiar about the route I began to get scared. The conductor didnt come to my seat for a long time and when he finally came and asked where I wanted to go, I was really scared and started to cry. The poor guy was really scared, stopped the bus, got me a lot of candies and some cold drink (which were all very good) and after seeing my badge (pinned near my chest with a clean handkerchief that I kept sniffing into) got hold of my phone number and called home to my parents, now sick with worry as auto mama did come 5 minutes and later and had looked for me everywhere and gone home to report my loss. The conductor assured my parents that he would bring me to the bus stop near my house as that was where the bus depot was located anyway and even our bus would be there in no time. So after a good two hours on the bus, my longest journey ended, with my parents anxiously picking me from the stop> I will never forget the kind conductor who gave me those candies and my first taste of Coke, which I was otherwise not permitted to drink at home. :)

2007-02-13T04:24:00.000-08:00

Insane arithmetic!!!

If there is a bunch of people who can get Euclid to forget his mathematics it is our bangalore autowallahs. Picture this. I board one from Jayanagar to Bannerghatta. Our man in question promptly starts the rhethoric:
Him: 60 kodi madam.
Me: Meter haaki, you are askign for too much.
Him: Madam, one-and-a-half meter agatte.
Me: Yaake, its hardly 7'o clock!
Him: Ivattu Karnataka bandh madam, vaapas yaaru savari sigolla.
(This despite the meter taking care of the possibility and him making doubly sure of covering costs by rigging the meter to the point where you are grossly over paying as it is).
Me: Aytu, ok. (Thought, after all, it will be 30, so 45 on a bandh day in the evening is not such a bad deal).
He turned the meter and to my alarm the meter had already clocked 28 when we hit east end. I could not help but wince thinking of the gloating look on the ass's face.
We reached Bannerghatta and the meter displayed a 37. He turned around and lit a match at the meter (this is one thing I have seen they make sure they carry!).
Him: Nodi madam, eega 60 aaytu.
Me: Yelle ri 60, nimma meter bere sari illa.
Him: Metergenu aagilla, 37 round aaytu 40, half 20, total 60. Sarige hoyta, bandh divasa tale kedsbedri, bega bega duddu kodi, nanage late aagta ide.
Me (Now totally dumb struck at how he arrived at the number, mutely handed him the 100): Togolli.
Next, he happily pocketed the 100 and returned 4 soggy tattered tens.
Moral: Never question the mathematics guy in khakees who is escorting you home in Bangalore. You are not wrong sometimes - you always are!!!

2007-01-16T03:42:00.000-08:00

The man and the vision..

Its finally out, the one movie we waited for with bated breath, with all the speculations rife about how it was a tribute to the genius of the Late Dirubhai Ambani and how Abhishek and Aishwarya extended their onscreen romance into real life, right from Kashi to Tirupati (that’s the latest for on the Great Wedding that is supposed to happen very soon – Ash taking no chances when it comes to wooing the deities). And the verdict is – it’s a masterpiece, albeit a flawed one. Coming from Mani, we could have expected better. But there is no denying that an amazing work of art, in an age when movies by a ‘K’ crazed, fashion conscious gay director and his silly imitations rake millions, this one deserves a salute. But the problem is it is Mani’s movie and everything he has done so far sets the precedent for this one and the burgeoning burden of expectation against a standard like that is what it fails. It’s a Utopian concept, a visionary making it against insurmountable odds with a nothing but grit, belief and will; it almost has a Randian quality to it, complete with courtroom drama for a climax.

So here we have Gurukant Desai (Guru Bhai for his peers, another reminder of Diru Bhai), working his way up to realize his dreams all the way from small town Gujarat to Istanbul (modern day Turkey) – one of working for himself. Guru returns back to India, but the money he has falls short of what he needs to start his textile business. He schemes with his childhood friend and marries his vagabond, brash sister (Aishwarya Rai as Sujata Desai) in return for the dowry he needs to start up the enterprise. What begins from here is a long journey of success punctuated by efforts from rivals, the anti capitalist bureaucracy and the moral policing of the press but Guru just relentlessly moves on.

Abhishek Bachchan in the pivotal role is decent, but the movie is not his. It belongs to the character and enigma called Gurukant Desai, and Abhishek doesn’t get under the skin of the character to the point where it’s hard to tell one from the other. The aggression and the fire are missing. Still, there is little doubt that anyone else from the present crop of young breed actors couldn’t have pulled it off better (his father or Kamal Hassan could be ideal replacements but since they cant, he seems like the inevitable choice). Aishwarya deserves only one word for her performance – pathetic. If there is one person whose short performance sears the screen, its Mithun da. As the undying champion of the cause of justice, this man in the role of the head of an independent publication that intends to expose Guru’s unholy nexus with adulteration, manipulation, profiteering and wealth amassing strategies is a treat to watch. He is the most underrated genius actor of our times. Madhavan and Vidya Balan don’t have a screen time worth any mention, their characters much less. This is the only tangent off the otherwise tightly integrated plot that seems baffling, if there are any resemblances to the real scenario, I do not have an idea.

The biggest let down of the movie is surprisingly the music. Mani-Rehmaan-Gulzaar, need we even think before grabbing a copy? Yes. Rehmaan in his narcissistic singing spree is just plain noise. Jaage hai could have been better off without his voice, as could Tere bina. Lyrics are not worthy of mention either, the only decent one being Barso re with Shreya Goshal’s youthful rendition.

Finally there is Mani Ratnam, his genius and his vision (he is the only visionary the movie promotions should talk of) which makes you sit up through the entire 160 odd minutes of the movie and think what passion went into making something so thought provoking, radical and inspiring. And all you know is you like it and will never forget it and that is the ultimate tribute to this legend.

2006-12-05T23:28:00.000-08:00

My quote for the day is one of my favorite Calvin one liners:
"Everyone I know fails the acid test of friendhip".

2006-12-04T20:51:00.000-08:00

The blast that doesn’t quite sizzle:

Either Sanjay Gadhvi loves Hrithik to the point that he decided to make everyone including the plot look like wimps so that we see just how good this green eyed Greek God can look or our man took it all wrong, or the only one who managed to pull it of was Roshan. Anyway people, what he has dished out for you is Dhoom 2, the biggest hyped movie of the year – does it keep up to all the hoopla created? Not quite.

To be fair, he hadn’t promised us a brilliant plot (come one guys, after so many years into movie making and churning out run of the mill plots by truck loads, we ought to accept the sad truth – action backed by a brilliant plot is just not our forte, just as emotional melodrama isn’t theirs), yet some parts are occasionally engaging, like the first robbery that Hrithik pulls of or the part where he confronts Aishwarya with her betrayal.

The movie’s USP is supposedly its style. And if style translates to wearing awesome designer costumes adorning lithe, beautiful bodies or making the every sculpted curve of Hrithik’s body ooze sex appeal (we shall ignore Bachchan and Basu who, for some in comprehendible reason have been punished with the worst costumes – as if their inexplicably ill written roles were not enough), then the movie is brilliantly stylish. Yet, truth is, that’s not what style is. Style is making a new statement, not through what you wear, but through how you wear it. Style doesn’t demand that you wear cult costumes, dine at your home in flowing evening wear (with eye shadow to match! for heaven’s sake) or even ultra cool faces studying exotic locales. All it needs is an attitude. It requires that the actors playing the characters are not overwhelmed by their characters to the point of narcissism. And lastly is requires a sense of self assuredness, and what is betrayed is precisely the lack of it. And therein lies the movie’s fatal flaw.

Like its predecessor we have our cop (Abhishek Bachchan aka Jai Dikshit) and his faithful sidekick (Uday Chopra aka Ali – this guy is good because he is so damn honest with his role) chasing the ‘perfect thief’ notorious for his brilliantly executed robberies and their exasperatingly unpredictable pattern. All they know about the guy is that he leaves his signature at the place of robbery and what’s more, even commits them in the same trail, the symbol being the letter ‘A’. By some brilliant deduction (really their conception for arriving at the conclusion only makes you want to laugh) apna Jai concludes that the next robbery will happen in amchi Mumbai, with even the date spelled perfectly. What begins then is the wild goose chase with Jai losing A (that’s Hrithik for you) and Suneheri (Aishwarya, playing his partner in crime and when they are not busy giving cops sleepless nights, giving him half hearted plastic kisses) every time. The story shifts to Brazil where the action moves to top gear and finally concludes, albeit predictably.

When it comes to performances there is not much to say about either Abhishek Bachchan or Bipasha Basu. Their let down was the way their roles were scripted. So we have Bachchan reduced to a predictable, boring and often stupidly sighing cop and Basu completely clueless about what she is doing in the movie in the first place. That twin idea was ridiculous and the names were a throw back to the Govinda period of movie making. Aishwarya being who she is doesn’t do much besides look good. Her body looks amazing with all the flab off. But when it comes to playing that punk role demanded of her, she just doesn’t get it right. Sometimes she tries too hard, other times her movements are awkward and gawky. One word of advice for Ms. Rai: if you don’t like to kiss on screen, its fine. No one’s gonna hold that against you. Just don’t make a fine mess of what was to be a passionate, tender moment.

Finally there’s Hrithik. Truly, if the movie belongs to someone, it’s him. Every cut in him oozes perfection. No matter what he wears, where he looks, he sets hearts racing. He dances like God and what’s more, acts better. There is a heart wrenching honesty the guy gives to every cut of the film and though you know it could be better, you love the effort. He is the only one in the movie who lives his role. As Aryaan, this sleek conning hunk is a movie aficionado’s delight. Watch it if you must, for him.

2006-11-22T22:29:00.000-08:00

The first time I had written this poem for my story, I had made a dedication - "To Guddu, for being the kind of reader writers dream of, for being the first and last to love my writing, for loving them the way you do and for loving them as much as you do". I'd like to repeat this dedication in the name of the only girl who read as long as I wrote...

"In my sleep I breathe..
A proof of life..
For there are your dreams
A ray of light
I wake up and death sets in
A parody of the time before night".

2006-11-06T09:10:00.000-08:00

I cant write much because my mind is a blank most of these days.. Try listening to the radio and when they played this song today, it made me cry (I just can't explain it, its a song about freedom, which is not what I feel right now, perhaps thats why. But I just love it.. they are like that isn't it, you just cant listen to Eagles without reacting). This - one of my all time favorites, a big big success too -

Twenty-one and strong as i can be
I know what freedom means to me
And i can't give the reason why
I should ever want to die
Got no cause to be afraid
Or fear that life will ever fade
'cause as i watch the rising sun
I know that we have just begun
I might spend my life upon the road
Just tryin' to add to what i know
Then someday i might settle down
And all my friends will be around
They say a man should have a stock and trade
But me, i'll find another way
I believe in getting what you can
And there ain't no stoppin' this young man
Because i'm you and fast as i can be
I know what freedom means to me
And i can't give the reason why,
I should ever want to die
No i can't give the reason why
I should ever want to die

2006-10-17T20:17:00.000-07:00

Some of my all time favourite quotes are those which have appeared in Calvin and Hobbes. Bill Watterson's genius lies in the fact that he can bring home the point with such beauty in all the genuine sometime satiric humor minus all the grim prospect of consequence. One such line I shall quote here:
"It is going to be a grim day when the world is run by a generation that doesn't know anything but what is seen on tv".
(Dad, In The Essential Calvin and Hobbes)

2006-10-12T20:51:00.000-07:00

I've always maintained that I hate pop nainly because of the kind of singers who have entered the arena in the mid nineties: when Britney Spears and Christina Aguilerra belted out numbers as fast as they shed clothes and music was anything but what they made. When 'boy bands' sang kiddy stuff like 'your lipstick is so sweet' and the sight of Ronan Keating and N Sync singing copies of copies of a song which shouldn't have been there in the first place made me wrench.

But things were always not this bad. There was a time when pop (honestly this was not what the genre was always called - it was just plain good music) was interesting, when Beatles, Presley (personally not a huge fan), Madonna, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, Modern Talking (now thats one helluva band), Bono, Johnny Cash, Abba, even Samantha Fox had more interesting stuff to make then the crap they make these days. There's one such song made in the year 1994 by a singer I'm otherwise not a great fan of. The name is Mariah Carey (I can never forgive 'glitter'. What the hell was that?) and the song rocks. I like the lyrics a lot, and always listen to it whenever I'm a little low. This song lost out the Grammy to Sheryl Crowe that year, but was otherwise a runaway hit. And the sound of her voice when she sings this song if pure magic.

"There´s a hero
If you look inside your heart
You don’t have to be afraid
Of what you are
There´s an answer
If you reach into your soul
And the sorrow that you know
Will melt away

And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you’ll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you

It’s a long road
When you face the world alone
No one reaches out a hand
For you to hold
You can find love
If you search within yourself
And the emptiness you felt
Will disappear

Lord knows
Dreams are hard to follow
But don’t let anyone
Tear them away
Hold on
There will be tomorrow
In time
You’ll find the way"

2006-10-08T07:46:00.000-07:00

We all have our idisyncrasies, some as a phase, some incurable. They are typically us, some funny, others exasperatingly funny, all worth a laugh nontheless. I was tagged to list mine. Initially, I drew a blank. But then I started noting down and there was no stopping then.
Ok... Here goes:

I have a subconscious affinity to panic – I’m supposed to list down weird traits, but I know this one sounds too weird to be even regular weird, but a bunch will actually vouch for me. A certain person has all cards and gifts actually addressed to one ‘chintamani’ (no prizes for guessing who she meant). I actually panicked and went oh s*** and had a near seizure when there were results out for a paper I hadn’t written because I had a ten on ten average!

I have never retained a single umbrella I have bought to date. I make up my mind each time – not to stop losing them (see, that cannot happen, I’ve tried everything under the sun to stop this habit, it may actually work for other stuff but when it comes to umbrellas, I don’t know, all the effort just draws a blank!) but to stop buying them. I can’t stop that either. The count so far – 4 in the year I’ve lived in Bangalore!

I always end up sleeping till the last stop in my company bus, only to have the driver ask me where the hell I wanted to go in the first place. Ergo, some actually don’t ask me anymore.

I can never get left/right correct at the first go, ever. I have to go wrong the first time. I’m in an auto and the guy asks which way - I am never right as a rule. This has caused some amusing, many not so amusing incidents with autowallahs (esp. in Bangalore see, the guys certainly don’t have patience as one of their very few virtues).

I hate pop/mush/hip hop/boy bands/girl bands as a rule (I think rock is musical).

I never remember names of people I do not meet on a regular basis. This has caused many embarrassing conversations. One sample:

I met one at Jaynagar. I could place the face as some sample from college but nothing beyond that.
She: Hey hi! How are you?
Me (unsure): Hi, I’m fine. (Full stop. Another one of my traits that really really puzzles me. I have absolutely no capacity for small talk. I cannot exchange pleasantries, they just seem too superficial. If I’d said I’m miserable, I flunked my test today, I’ve got zilch on my bank account and there are 8 days before the month ends, I have a lousy cold, I had a bad spat with my boss – how is someone asking me going to help anything! For God’s sake. I try though. Sometimes I remind myself to ask ‘and how are you?’ but in surprise situations I am myself. Meaning rude.)
She: So what have you been up too? (Sheesh! Is there a template?)
Five minutes (in which she mostly conducted the interview and I gave monosyllabic replies) later:
She: So, stay in touch (why on earth!).
Me: Sure. (Note: I never bothered to ask how? I didn’t even know the specimen’s name! But she did. So she pulled out her cell and diligently typed my name. Then she asked me my number, frankly I wanted to leave, I hurriedly spelled it for her and was about to leave. But she interrupted.)
She: Note down my number. (Aha! Clever girl, she is. Didn’t leave much choice for me, did she. I half heartedly took out my cell. Now, ahem.. I had no clue what to do next! And there she was, looking at me expectantly; ready to tell me her number. There was no way I would do anything but ask, look, I don’t know who the hell you are, so before I call you, tell me your name so that I know who I am calling. I was furiously racking my brains, I remembered the name of the roly-poly thing she hung around with back in college – a miracle by any standard, I don’t know how I accomplished that – but not hers. Suddenly it struck me - :-) )
Me: Give me a missed call, just to make sure you too have got it right da (aha).
She: Ya, sure.
The number appeared, sure enough, and I put it in my phone box, sure enough.
Name: *****. Literally.

My recurring nightmare is that I reach the exam hall and people are getting ready to leave.

All my photographs till the age of 3 have me sticking my tongue out or crying. (Apparently, my mom saw a snake when she was carrying; giving her the fright of her life and that explains the first habit. My ajji’s story. And I actually believed that photograph is what I would become if they clicked the camera in front of me! Which explains the crying. There is one family photograph taken when I was 2, where everyone else is in peals of laughter and me at the center, crying like it was Armageddon!)

I actually believed that ‘foreign’ was a place till I was 5.

I accidentally put a rajma grain in my nose and that blocked my wind pipe, had another brat (are you listening bhai?) put amrutanjan in my eyes and was stung by a scorpion thrice by the time I was 3. In short I kept our family doctor very busy.

I stand to relax – that’s my comfortable position as sitting is to others.

That’s it, I think I had better stop. The weird list is comprehensive enough.

2006-09-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

“Remember that hope is a good thing Red, in fact the best of things. And no good thing ever dies”.

This line just about captures Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank redemption, just about, because the emotion you feel well inside you when you read Stephen King in this book cannot be captured in words entirely. And it is for making me feel like this that I salute this man. For the integrity and oneness of thought that has been pursued, for the single mindedness. For bringing out the heroic in man, in the form of a spirit unmarred by life’s unfairness. For Andy Dufresne. For Red. For lines like
“Fear can hold you prisoner. But hope will set you free”.

“Get busy living or get busy dying”.

For a spirit that is not bogged down by years spent in the confines of prison for a crime not committed, captured beautifully in the lines:

“He wore his freedom like an invisible coat, something that the walls of the prison did not manage to take off in time”.

“You need music so that you don’t forget, that there are places in this world not made out of stone... that there is something inside that they can’t get to, that they can’t touch, that’s yours”.

The novel is about a man, Andrew Dufresne, who is falsely, convicted for the murder of his wife and her lover. The story unfolds in a in a fictitious prison in Maine, Shawshank from which the novel gets its name. The story is an account told by Andrew’s inmate in prison, Ellis ‘Red’ Redding. Andy to him is more like a phenomenon than another man serving time, because he brings to the place, a sense of hope and life, something which, in his own words, the walls of the prison were taking out of him. As the novel proceeds, it gives a dispassionate yet gritting account about Andy’s struggle in prison against all the horrors, for decades and his ultimate triumph over what already looks like his foregone fate.

The book is surprisingly small for an account of thirty years of a man’s life. But they brevity of the book underscores the underlying intention of the writer, that of showing that there was nothing significantly different in the days that Andy spent in prison, each day was as monotonous as the previous, the posters of the women adorning his prison cell wall (Rita Hayworth being the first one) the only indicator of the passage of time. But what stays with the protagonist all the time is the undying hope that he will get out of this place some day, and live, a free man by the beach side. He one day tells Red that he wants to feel the sand by the seaside and the sun on his face, at a place far away from here. He even knows the place he wants to spend the rest of his life at, Zihuatanejo, New Mexico.

It is a simple story of the triumph of will over destiny, it instills you with hope (the novel’s last line being the culmination – I hope). It makes you feel there are things in life worth living for, the ultimate being you. It is one of those books that justify the writer’s intention of writing it. It is the best tribute to the best emotion of man – hope.

For more trivia on the movie (that I haven’t reviewed) follow the like:
Shawshank Redemption – The movie.

2006-09-29T01:41:00.000-07:00

Food for thought..

“Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth, more than ruin, more even than death....Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habit. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”

Bertrand Russell

In a world which speaks only one language, that of might, thought seems like an absurd, old fashioned, obsolete term whose only use seems to be that of adorning useless talk shows which do not end in anything conclusive, absorbing “intellectual” (I tell you they should ban the damn word, from what it originally meant it is fast coming to mean anything that is complicated bordering the in comprehendible) writing or the forte of a man crying hoarse to save the world, whom no one ever listens to (UN anyone?). Who has the time to think? The world is fast, if you stop to think, you had better stop there. You are gone. (The French would know this well, they actually ‘thought’ before stating their stand on the Iraq issue, now how absurd is that! Imagine, they actually applied their smart, smug brains to the events unfolding and worse still, gave George and American Holy War thumbs down. See what happened to them. Everyone hated them. Ok, not everyone, at least everyone who mattered anyway. The rest? Who cares?). Thought is a dangerous thing; it essentially puts you on the differentiator. And that is bad. In a unipolar world ‘progressively’ moving towards phasing out variation in men, that feels safe when they conform to an unspoken rule, someone with ideas is not a revolutionary, he is insane. And insane men are not good for the society; they corrupt the whole process of refining men. Does it mean we’re near the goal already? Sure we are – look at Iraq, Afghanistan, Lebanon or scores of other places, where mindlessness has underscored its victory.

Maybe I’m looking at too large a canvas, maybe the relevance is lost on you. Maybe you will not believe it that it is safe to shut your mind out (you may not credit yourself with intelligence then, but then, you’ll be smart!). All this world politics is too complicated, you may retort, besides world politics (today) is inherently mindless – I agree. Look back at our own place; look at the state of governance. Each time one ruling authority replaces the other, the degree of thought reduces some more. Most states have already managed to achieve the desirable, they have already shun thought; it is not applied to any aspect of governance – states have become ‘progressive’ –Akshardham, Godhra, NBA, scores of Mumbai blasts, the never ending North east crisis, Bihar stuck in a time warp, and Karnataka – what can I say about this place. I have seen the progress unfold in front of my eyes, the capital being the jewel in the crown. (We are the nations IT capital, a true cosmopolitan, home to 1 million immigrants and churning out IT professionals by the minute. Do I hear someone talk of non existent infrastructure, spiraling cost of living, abysmal public transport, rising crime rate, a shocking real estate condition and a government that has decided to veto out its part of the thinking, leaving the place and things to take it course? What rubbish! Things are progressing, fine and correct. This is a problem with too much thinking; it breeds cynicism, too much negativity. You become anti social, anti state, anti nation. What the hell, you become anti mankind! Don’t think too much. Too bad).

Again too vague, then what about us? We, the ‘thinking’ species. Thought, our sole point of our elevation over other life. (Or maybe, our nemesis, our tool of self destruction – that’s why it’s being put out see, it could ruin us). We who are a generation that thinks it’s fashionable to be western unconditionally (they’re cool, for some mysterious reason) and still want to be good Indians – patriotism is a good attitude (what’s that? It’s something that everyone has. What is that something? It’s an attitude. Now come on, don’t you know what it means? Don’t you have one?) – a la Rang De Basanti, Swades, Pukaar. We are a generation who are insecure being who we are (lots, lots will cry hoarse and hate me for stating this, I know) and we show it when we make Lagaan and still wonder why we didn’t win an Oscar (we even cry racism like a wronged child not being given what we deserve). We are a nation that jumps when the US even mentions ‘treaty’ and cant wait to sign the dotted line (Hey! Who wants to read what’s written, no time to think of that, besides, its stupid to think remember?) and then we go sour when they pick a certain neighbor for all the perks. (But of course, we don’t want to think, and ask why?).

What about the ‘I’? The ‘me’ in us. I am afraid to commit as I do not know what I would think sometime down the line (if I think at all), I do not know if a job is right for me (I’m unhappy, but I don’t know why?) and I do not know if I’ll stick to this place. I am bored out of my wits but I do not know if this is the normal state of mind anyway (I’m afraid to ask). I want to be rich, but I also want instant gratification. Why? I do not know, everyone wants it. I am a confused something who is yet to figure out what to do with life (what the hell is life anyway?). I only know something’s not ok, I tire easily and wonder when I lost the real me. The world moves fast around me, yet everything is slow in my mind.

Maybe its time to ask Why? Why not pause to think? We are a scared race, yes, that’s right, we who have inherited this world and brought it to this, we are afraid of the consequences of all the mindlessness (in our lives, our city, state or country, in every facet of our lives). We are afraid to think as thought is logic, and logic is brutal, unforgiving and crystal clear.

Maybe its time to go back to our actual functioning, maybe its time to ‘think’. Maybe its time to put our fears and escapism behind and look at things, long enough to retrospect and ACT on thought - rationally, as mankind was expected to. Maybe its time to make thought a habit, as we once did with thoughtlessness. Come on, it can’t go worse than it already is right? If things will change, this time, they have to – for the better.

2006-09-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

This is a verse I like, its part simple, part inspiring style is admirable. The verses below reportedly were written on the wall of Mother Teresa's home for children in Calcutta, and are widely attributed to her. The original composition was by Kent Keith, but most of it is rewritten by mother Theresa, and frankly I find it more appealing. I do not agree with all of it, but it is the last two lines that makes it the winner it is..

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.
Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.
Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten.
Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.
Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.

2006-09-26T05:03:00.000-07:00

If I were to explain to a non – Banglorean that I spend a significant, precious part of my life (the hours of my day do constitute my life) commuting, and for most part of that commuting time, I am doing nothing but standing dead still, he would think I’m off my rocker!!! Better still he might give me a word or two about how I can walk and get my a** moving instead of wasting my time idling. But you have to take my word or check it out for yourself, there is not an inch of space where you can set your foot down and actually move. Unless our species is overnight given the gift of flight, there is no way you can move ahead on Hosur Road without being on wheels. Sure I’ve seen some creatures, trying to find direction and make sense in this maddest stretch of the planet, ON FOOT (how??? Do they ever make it one piece to their destination? Or are they those daredevil contestants of crazy dare road shows getting a high by attempting the impossible?) And all I think is, shit. That’s one brave, really brave guy.

For a year now, I’ve burned my blood, gone nuts, tried everything to see if I can escape with minimum damage. I’ve observed patterns, like at one time, I thought the traffic is at its minimum from 3 to 5 (showing an increasing trend of course) and then it hits the peak at 6, stays that way till a good 8 and then begins to decrease. I planned my commuting that way too. But that’s the beauty of the damn thing! The only rule about the traffic here is that there are no rules (good one! Another one of my calvinesque statements J ).

Like always, I boarded the bus armed (yes armed.. it’s a war out there man! ) with a bag of wafers, some cookies and bottled water. Only, only – I had nothing to keep me occupied. One of the worst mistakes you can make is to board the bus without a book, radio, newspaper or just about anything that keeps you from looking at your watch and wanting to tear your hair (Statuary warning: These ensure partial success only, no 100% remedial solution has been found and if some ingenious mind actually comes up with a solution to this, he can be assured it will be an overnight runaway success). I climbed in and from the minute the bus hit hours road it began to crawl. I downed whatever I had in 45 minutes flat and had nothing to do. Status: I was still on Hosur road. One of my biggest doubts over the year has been, how do they do that? How is it possible by any stretch of imagination to create a mess like this? Does the guy at who’s had a start in the race think, ok now that I’m first, its time to give us losers some fun! I’ll stand here, with my big bus/truck and won’t let them get off. Nothing else can explain how nothing moves! 15 minutes later I was thoroughly frustrated. I started looking around, the guy on the seat in front was reading a newspaper with headlines that read something like this “Mush makes a creepy attack”. Wow! Mush! Childhood buddy to Vineet and Indu Jain I’m sure. TOI beats its previous record every day. Another headline read “Kissinger dated shady woman”. New age journalism – its going downhill at a pace which will make it hit the abyss before you know it. To this day I haven’t been able to understand Bangalore’s obsession to this two bit shoddiest piece of crap yellow journalism. Every morning I climb the bus to see every seat occupied with someone carrying this Page 3 newspaper. How do they read it? One year down, this place still amazes me. Hats off to Bangalore. Or should I say – Stand still! It’s Bangalore!

I’ll wind up with my favorite Calvin quote in this context:

“Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us”.
Bill Waterson, Calvin & Hobbes

2006-09-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long time, long enough to say safely that it feels kinda weird when I begin to write and expect my words to be in harmony with what I feel. I work for a 'software company' see (dont ask me to explain that) and I can safely bet that those who know the feeling will sympathise with me when I say they'll kill your imagination before they kill you with the monotony. It feels like an imposed hiatus I've come out of. :-) . Needless to say it feels good.

When I ask myself how this one year has been, I can single out this year of 'independence' as the being the one which has taught me the most. Not ideologically, but in terms of practicality. Its amazing how objective you can get when innocence sloughs off and what replaces it is cold practicality. Its probably not the best, but if you can't dish it out, you'll be taken in. Sure there have been major disappointments, the biggest one being that a 'job' is a job and nothing beyond earning yourself a living. (I speak for myself, plz refer to my profession in case of doubts). All those Roark-like ideas of equating it to life are safely stacked behind and I don't think I'll bring them out for a long long time. That does not mean I do not equate the two, I do, ideally. But life isn't always. And this year has taught me that, truly, in the best possible way.

The second thing that this year has made me is turn from an atheist to an agnostic. Do not mistake me to be your regular 'I-dont believe-in-God-show-me-where-He-exists' type before, its just that my ideas of a 'God' if you'd like to call it that were (and still are) so radically different from anyone i've ever met that if I ever begin to explain what He means to me, I get a o-you're-an-atheist response, so I begin by saying I am one. Yes, what I'm getting at now is, from being one who didnt believe that religion (as it is percieved) can be a calming factor, I have realised it is. In that sense, I am an agnostic.

In this respect I'l sign of with two extreme qoutes from two people I admire:

Hopton Stoddard: "You are a profoundly religious man Mr. Roark, in your own way. I see that in your buildings"
Roark: "Thats true".
(Source: Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead).

Hobbes: Do you think there is a God?
Calvin: Well, SOMEBODYs out to get me..
(Source: Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes)