Friday, September 21, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
dreams of a love lost
I came across Iron & Wine randomly and now I am in love with this song and have been obsessively listening to it. Here are some of its lyrics:
Sixteen Maybe Less
Beyond the ridge to the left, you asked me what I want
Between the trees and cicadas singing round the pond
I spent an hour with you, should I want anything else?
One grin and wink like the neon on the liquor store
We were sixteen, maybe less, maybe a little more
I walked home smiling, I finally had a story to tell
And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
My brother told me, he saw you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting
Call it predictable, yesterday my dream was of you
Beyond the ridge to the west, the sun had left the sky
Between the trees and pond you put your hand in mine
Said, “Time has bridled us both but I remember you, too”
And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
I dreamt I traveled and found you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting"
Sixteen Maybe Less
Beyond the ridge to the left, you asked me what I want
Between the trees and cicadas singing round the pond
I spent an hour with you, should I want anything else?
One grin and wink like the neon on the liquor store
We were sixteen, maybe less, maybe a little more
I walked home smiling, I finally had a story to tell
And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
My brother told me, he saw you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting
Call it predictable, yesterday my dream was of you
Beyond the ridge to the west, the sun had left the sky
Between the trees and pond you put your hand in mine
Said, “Time has bridled us both but I remember you, too”
And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
I dreamt I traveled and found you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting"
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
:-(
Doodle by Lee. The code for this doodle and other doodles you can use on your blog can be found at Doodles.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Stats Camp Chronicles
July 19:
Three more days to go. with each passing day, I feel more dorkier. not sure I really want to spend a month in an unknown place attempting to study stats.
July 20
We leave for camp tomorrow. Hate packing! Need to pack a life for a month. NOT fun! TT is also going to be there. Can't wait to see her! 8-X
July 21
First leg towards mission stats camp. Spent time with G's parents, one of the most gracious hosts I have ever met. Awesome dinner. Felt like I was home after all. Played an insanely funny game called Balderdash. Learned a few new obscure words. Hobbledehoy is our new battle cry!
July 22
Left around noon after a most wonderful breakfast - its been ages since I had breakfast and slep in late. Drove through a red state. Fun stuff! And then through a blue state - loved the pro-life hoardings and Jesus Saves billboards! Reached safe and sound. The house is really nice and so is the city. I think I will like it here.
July 23 - Day one
Woke up at an unearthly time. Maybe a month will change my sleep cycle for the good, though I doubt it. Walked to the university and got registered. Free coffee and breakfast. Went for a decent lunch and then walked over to class. Waited for an hour, felt like an undergrad, waiting for the professor. After an hour left. Drank some more. Told G somethings that should best lie dead. Came back, drank some more. met TT, she is crazy have concluded. SO is NOT coming. YAY! but after all the flack I took from G, I wish SO was coming.
July 24 - Day two
Had the first set of classes. Wasn't too bad - did some game theory. I think I like game theory better. At least I don't feel like an idiot most of the times. walked back, went to the grocery store and then cooked dinner. Not a very unusual day except had no internet access, so was twitching, but made it through the night. Wasn't so bad.
Three more days to go. with each passing day, I feel more dorkier. not sure I really want to spend a month in an unknown place attempting to study stats.
July 20
We leave for camp tomorrow. Hate packing! Need to pack a life for a month. NOT fun! TT is also going to be there. Can't wait to see her! 8-X
July 21
First leg towards mission stats camp. Spent time with G's parents, one of the most gracious hosts I have ever met. Awesome dinner. Felt like I was home after all. Played an insanely funny game called Balderdash. Learned a few new obscure words. Hobbledehoy is our new battle cry!
July 22
Left around noon after a most wonderful breakfast - its been ages since I had breakfast and slep in late. Drove through a red state. Fun stuff! And then through a blue state - loved the pro-life hoardings and Jesus Saves billboards! Reached safe and sound. The house is really nice and so is the city. I think I will like it here.
July 23 - Day one
Woke up at an unearthly time. Maybe a month will change my sleep cycle for the good, though I doubt it. Walked to the university and got registered. Free coffee and breakfast. Went for a decent lunch and then walked over to class. Waited for an hour, felt like an undergrad, waiting for the professor. After an hour left. Drank some more. Told G somethings that should best lie dead. Came back, drank some more. met TT, she is crazy have concluded. SO is NOT coming. YAY! but after all the flack I took from G, I wish SO was coming.
July 24 - Day two
Had the first set of classes. Wasn't too bad - did some game theory. I think I like game theory better. At least I don't feel like an idiot most of the times. walked back, went to the grocery store and then cooked dinner. Not a very unusual day except had no internet access, so was twitching, but made it through the night. Wasn't so bad.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Last Sunday of my vacation
Saw Harry Potter
Shopped after a long time.
Bought shoes and two cute shirts :-)
Mood: Finally Happy
Shopped after a long time.
Bought shoes and two cute shirts :-)
Mood: Finally Happy
am on a much needed week long "semi"-vacation. It is semi because I have been working on papers etc to meet arbitrarily forced deadlines by my boss. But a vacation means waking up late and not worrying about what bus to take to work. I woke up to a beautiful thunderstorm this morning, so stayed in bed longer, just looking at the rain through the window.
Mood right now - HAPPY, CONTENDED
Mood am sure I will be in a few hours: Annoyed, frustrated
Mood right now - HAPPY, CONTENDED
Mood am sure I will be in a few hours: Annoyed, frustrated
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Every time I study a defunct constitution and study elections, this song by Jagjit Singh rings true. I am not sure who wrote this, but its relevant to every political system. Here is the link.
ek brahman ne kahaa hai ke ye saal achchha hai
zulm ki raat bahut jald dhalegi ab to
aag chulhon men har ek roz jalegi ab to
bhukh ke maare koi bachcha nahin royega
chain ki neend har ek shakhs yahan soyega
andhi nafarat ki chalegi na kahin ab ke baras
pyaar kii fasal ugaegi zamiin ab ke baras
hai yakeen ab na koii shor-sharaba hoga
zulm hogaa na kahiin khoonkharaba hoga
ons aur dhuup ke sadamen na sahegaa koi
ab mere desh men beghar na rahegaa koi
naye vaadon kaa jo dala hai vo jaal achchha hai
rahanumaaon ne kahaa hai ke ye saal achchha hai
dil ke khush rakhane ko Ghalib ye khayal achchha hai
ek brahman ne kahaa hai ke ye saal achchha hai
zulm ki raat bahut jald dhalegi ab to
aag chulhon men har ek roz jalegi ab to
bhukh ke maare koi bachcha nahin royega
chain ki neend har ek shakhs yahan soyega
andhi nafarat ki chalegi na kahin ab ke baras
pyaar kii fasal ugaegi zamiin ab ke baras
hai yakeen ab na koii shor-sharaba hoga
zulm hogaa na kahiin khoonkharaba hoga
ons aur dhuup ke sadamen na sahegaa koi
ab mere desh men beghar na rahegaa koi
naye vaadon kaa jo dala hai vo jaal achchha hai
rahanumaaon ne kahaa hai ke ye saal achchha hai
dil ke khush rakhane ko Ghalib ye khayal achchha hai
it is so hard to say goodbye to yesterday*
Its been a week since Ajji's first death anniversary. Time does fly fast. 10 years of having her around seem less than the one year that she wasn't. The empty expandable bed that has been a part of my childhood no longer is slept in and the kitchen has lost its den mother. The tattered book is no longer read. is it still there? Or has it been thrown away? Just as a lot of her memories and her meager possessions wrapped in a dusty plastic bag, stashed in the ancient steel armoire?
It is hard to say goodbye to the past, to yesterday, to a loved one, to a part of our lives. But it is time, time to let go. Goodbye Ajji. We miss you!
*from boys to men
It is hard to say goodbye to the past, to yesterday, to a loved one, to a part of our lives. But it is time, time to let go. Goodbye Ajji. We miss you!
*from boys to men
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Merci...
Your Inner European is French! |
 Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so. |
Why do I even try?
Doodle by Lee. The code for this doodle and other doodles you can use on your blog can be found at Doodles.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
The summer of unfinished resolutions
The summer is almost half gone and I haven't even finished a fraction of what I had intended to accomplish this summer. I shouldn't be surprised though - that is just the way my summers always are - a lot of unfinished and broken resolutions. I have however stuck (admittedly half heartedly) to my detoxification program. Eating healthy and home cooked food as much as I can (of course, once the semester begins, its going to be good old soul-food-for-the-impoverished-graduate-student-i.e. Ramen).
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
A few days ago, I came across a Voss bottle at a friend's place. It is one of the most beautiful and simple product designs I have come across. Needless to say, being the dork that I am, I went ahead and borrowed some empty bottles from G and now I have pretty Irises in them :-)
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
the frame on the wall - part I
A cigarette in her nicotine stained fingers, Amala stared at the empty street with her kohl smudged eyes. Beads of perspiration slid down her vermilion smeared forehead. She ran her free hand across her face, her fingers first slightly lingering on the line of her nose and then on the bump just above her lip. The sultry weather always messed up her skin - little bumps appeared overnight, threatening to mar her perfectly dusky complexion. Her mother had always fretted about her break outs in the summer, giving her bitter potions to drink and even more evil smelling concoctions to apply to her face before she went to bed. The thought of her mother, made Amala sigh - she missed her. She missed her smell - the smell of onions and stale spices that her mother gathered as she bristled around the kitchen shouting orders to the house maid in that soft, almost ringing voice of hers. She missed the rolls of warm fat around her mother's bosom that she would sink into whenever she felt lost or felt the darkness possess her. Amala threw away the now burnt out stub and lit another cigarette, forcing herself to focus on the more pressing matter - ma's memory will just have to wait for another time.
As she stood there looking at the puddles that the thunder storm earlier in the day had made, she contemplated ways to save herself from the raging depression that was threatening to possess her soon. Her eyes stung from the cigarette smoke, but she refused to close them, afraid that he would see him as soon as she did. She shuddered at the thought of him. She knew what was to come. Every second after this would be an attempt to relive that one night, several moons ago. She would sit on her bed, close her eyes and feel his hands on hers, smell his musky scent while he kissed the nape of her neck. She had always fidgeted when he did that. Her antsiness always amused him and he would find various ways to distract her, while he would nibble at her shoulder bones. Amala smiled at the thought of it - his childish ways of diverting her attention and her even more childish naivety every time he did that. Amala knew this reminiscing was unhealthy. That it would bring the onset of the darkness even more closer, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't help but smile at the thought of his boyish grin, the way his dark eyes would close to a slit when he would look at her, the curves of his slender back, the way he would call her Amma. She had laughed at him, the first time he had called her that. Amma at home meant mother, she told him amidst her full throated giggles. From that day on she would call him bachcha. Her child. It had started to pour again.
Amala pulled out another cigarette from the pack - her third pack in the day. She had started smoking heavily - "crazily suicidal" as Anna had put - from the time the phone calls had stopped coming. She glanced at her phone for the thousandth time, half expecting it to ring, even though she knew it wouldn't. She suddenly had the urge to drink wine. She had drank the last drop of alcohol in the apartment last night. What kind of a crazy behavior is this? She chided herself. She had to get out of this reverie, get back her life, those nights. She had tried to make sense of it, even withdraw herself from the deep angst she felt. But she could only half fathom what had happened, why the phone stopped ringing, why there were no more meetings, and why the only time they saw each other, the glances were cursory, the conversation almost perfunctory. Amala raised her hand, peering through the gaps that her fingers made. Was this the hand he had held quietly during that cab drive?
As she stood there looking at the puddles that the thunder storm earlier in the day had made, she contemplated ways to save herself from the raging depression that was threatening to possess her soon. Her eyes stung from the cigarette smoke, but she refused to close them, afraid that he would see him as soon as she did. She shuddered at the thought of him. She knew what was to come. Every second after this would be an attempt to relive that one night, several moons ago. She would sit on her bed, close her eyes and feel his hands on hers, smell his musky scent while he kissed the nape of her neck. She had always fidgeted when he did that. Her antsiness always amused him and he would find various ways to distract her, while he would nibble at her shoulder bones. Amala smiled at the thought of it - his childish ways of diverting her attention and her even more childish naivety every time he did that. Amala knew this reminiscing was unhealthy. That it would bring the onset of the darkness even more closer, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't help but smile at the thought of his boyish grin, the way his dark eyes would close to a slit when he would look at her, the curves of his slender back, the way he would call her Amma. She had laughed at him, the first time he had called her that. Amma at home meant mother, she told him amidst her full throated giggles. From that day on she would call him bachcha. Her child. It had started to pour again.
Amala pulled out another cigarette from the pack - her third pack in the day. She had started smoking heavily - "crazily suicidal" as Anna had put - from the time the phone calls had stopped coming. She glanced at her phone for the thousandth time, half expecting it to ring, even though she knew it wouldn't. She suddenly had the urge to drink wine. She had drank the last drop of alcohol in the apartment last night. What kind of a crazy behavior is this? She chided herself. She had to get out of this reverie, get back her life, those nights. She had tried to make sense of it, even withdraw herself from the deep angst she felt. But she could only half fathom what had happened, why the phone stopped ringing, why there were no more meetings, and why the only time they saw each other, the glances were cursory, the conversation almost perfunctory. Amala raised her hand, peering through the gaps that her fingers made. Was this the hand he had held quietly during that cab drive?
The darkness was closer. She could feel it. She tried to shake it off, knowing fully well that until it passed away, she would not be able to smile, to laugh, to sing or to think about him. She thought about the last time they had been alone together. How she had cried, broken down, yelled at him, screamed at herself inside her head to make the hurting stop. She had been ashamed of it ever since. She had tried to make sense of what she did. She had never done that, never reacted so. If anything, she had always been an epitome of calmness, always amused at the world and at people. She remembered that day vividly. The day, that Anne called the day of the great breakup. After a month of a furtively torrid romance with the history professor, Amala had decided to call it off. "He is a careless alcoholic," she had told Anne, fully knowing that she had never intended to let the affair go beyond a month. The professor hadn't taken it lightly, he had first plead, cried and begged. He cried some more. Amala sat on the ottoman in his office - calm with a look on her face that anyone else might have at the Opera. Seeing that his outburst had done more to entertain her than to move her, the professor had then in a rage thrown a book at her. It missed her. He never was a good throw. She picked it up from the floor and had calmly walked out from the office, leaving the professor distraught and broken. As she walked through the campus, she had laughed, not stopping until she got home.
The tables had certainly turned. It was she who had plead, begged for him to stay the night. He was unmoved - stoically standing at the doorway, while she had waffled and sniveled. Amala flinched at the thought of that night. It had embarrassed her ever since. She who had been the cold hearted bitch had finally found her nemesis. She couldn't imagine the amusement of the countless people if they heard about it. He had walked away, leaving her empty, cold and humiliated and with the realization that she had not said all that she had wanted to. She had not told him that she wanted nothing from him, except that night and a memory. That she wanted to ease his pain, stop his hurting. That she had long ago resigned to the fact that she could never be a part of his life. Why then had he loved her? Told her that she had become a part of his life? What was he running from?
She had stayed up the whole night. Waiting. Hoping that he'd come back. He did not. She hadn't slept ever since nor eaten well. It was as if by punishing herself, she wanted to hurt him. Anne had laughed at her, called her a lovelorn fool. Forced her to eat. Even suggested a visit to a shrink. Amala had laughed her off and then closed herself in her apartment for a week, not taking any phone calls, leaving only to buy cigarettes.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Of caste and networking websites
Today has been a rather usual day - just like the countless others that have preceded it. I am unsure which is better - a rigidly unwavering life like mine or a life that is uncertain and unknown. I once compared my life to a game of sudoku - every number has to be in its rightful place, for the player to win the game. Now that doesn't mean that my life is perfect, it just means that lately it has become extremely mechanical and unfortunately follows a - what some might call - "boring" logic. Enough of this diatribe about my life. This is not why I began writing this post - not to denounce the monotony of it, but to write about something that has been bothering me lately.
This all started when I got a message to join a K community on my Orkut page. Curious I checked out the link and found a member introduction thread. To my dismay, I found that most members had explicitly mentioned their "caste." Now I know this is NOT indicative of a larger social phenomena, and it would be a folly to generalize from this one instance, the very fact that there were a bunch of 20 somethings proudly displaying their castes as if it were a scholastic achievement disconcerted me. Even more concerning was the fact that this is not just a single community - a single community search for the word brahmin returned 517 hits! Now should this bother me, given that everything in India is steeped within the caste system - especially electoral and distributive politics? Some might think not.
Growing up in a family that has deliberately avoided any connection to caste, had made me indifferent to it. Living in a fool's paradise for the past 25 years, I had come to believe that people my age - definitely those from urban areas and educated in the so-called public schooling system of the country - would reject caste as a historical sociological artifact. Unfortunately my recent experiences on Orkut and elsewhere have dispelled this belief. Caste is as alive in India today as it was in my grandmother's generation, perhaps in an even more sinister and insidious manner. Cases in point: the university reservation issue and the recent gujjar standoff in Rajasthan.
It is perhaps not a heroic assumption to make that the majority of Indian members of Orkut are of the age group 18-30 (This age group accounts for around 70 % of the demographic of the site, while members from India account for arouond 15% of the total Orkut membership. See http://www.orkut.com/MembersAll.aspx) and presumably from urban and suburban areas (a 2007 Internet usage study by an online research firm JuxtConsult states that there are about 21.4 millions urban online users. It however does not give any figures on what percentage this is of all Internet users in the country - I am assuming it is pretty high.). The question I have here (and I do not claim to have an answer to) is that are networking sites like Orkut helping reinforce identities that might have been eroding as development is picking up pace in the country or are these identities so deeply entrenched in the social and cultural psyche of the Indian youth that such online communities are merely a reflection of what is out there in reality? Both scenarios are extremely worrying. More on that in my next post.
This all started when I got a message to join a K community on my Orkut page. Curious I checked out the link and found a member introduction thread. To my dismay, I found that most members had explicitly mentioned their "caste." Now I know this is NOT indicative of a larger social phenomena, and it would be a folly to generalize from this one instance, the very fact that there were a bunch of 20 somethings proudly displaying their castes as if it were a scholastic achievement disconcerted me. Even more concerning was the fact that this is not just a single community - a single community search for the word brahmin returned 517 hits! Now should this bother me, given that everything in India is steeped within the caste system - especially electoral and distributive politics? Some might think not.
Growing up in a family that has deliberately avoided any connection to caste, had made me indifferent to it. Living in a fool's paradise for the past 25 years, I had come to believe that people my age - definitely those from urban areas and educated in the so-called public schooling system of the country - would reject caste as a historical sociological artifact. Unfortunately my recent experiences on Orkut and elsewhere have dispelled this belief. Caste is as alive in India today as it was in my grandmother's generation, perhaps in an even more sinister and insidious manner. Cases in point: the university reservation issue and the recent gujjar standoff in Rajasthan.
It is perhaps not a heroic assumption to make that the majority of Indian members of Orkut are of the age group 18-30 (This age group accounts for around 70 % of the demographic of the site, while members from India account for arouond 15% of the total Orkut membership. See http://www.orkut.com/MembersAll.aspx) and presumably from urban and suburban areas (a 2007 Internet usage study by an online research firm JuxtConsult states that there are about 21.4 millions urban online users. It however does not give any figures on what percentage this is of all Internet users in the country - I am assuming it is pretty high.). The question I have here (and I do not claim to have an answer to) is that are networking sites like Orkut helping reinforce identities that might have been eroding as development is picking up pace in the country or are these identities so deeply entrenched in the social and cultural psyche of the Indian youth that such online communities are merely a reflection of what is out there in reality? Both scenarios are extremely worrying. More on that in my next post.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Life in a Metro
I am on a blogging overdrive today. This is my third post in a span of perhaps 8 hours. Wonder what that says about me? Don't get it wrong, I have a job (something to do with defunct constitutions in defunct countries - the less said about that, the better - I'd rather block any memories of work).
Movies - I live, sleep, drink, talk and walk movies - apart from my work that is. They make me cry, laugh, smile, sleep, happy, sad, aware. They annoy me, soothe me, make me feel alive, cold and warm. As I said elsewhere "I could live my life as a movie." More on that later. Here I attempt my first movie review:
I just finished watching the last installment of Life in a Metro - the vagaries of life (along with the guilt inducted me by grad school and the fact that most Bollywood movies are inordinately long) do not allow me to watch a movie for more than 45 minutes at a time.
Warning: The following post might contain plot spoilers - read it at your on risk!
Question: Why is the movie named "Life in a Metro"? Don't people outside the metros fall in love? Don't non-Metro people have extra-marital affairs?
Agreed, that Life in a Metro (henceforth LIM) is not your traditional non-metro, rural area fare. In fact, it would probably rankle the sensitivities of even the metro-residing we-are-cool yuppies. Case in point: my friend L (born and brought up in Mumbai) who thought the movie was worth enough for a bakwaas label because everyone was sleeping with everyone else. Actually, just the reason I liked LIM - it acknowledges the darker side of human relationships and in fact, colors it often too. I am getting on its case, largely because the name of the movie alludes that extra marital affairs/ sex-before-marriage are a Metro-level phenomena - something that living in a big city automatically translates into (I have in fact personally experienced this unfortunate misconception: resident of a big city + student of a big city university = oops! a loose moral character?!?) which I am sure it clearly is not (now I am not a sociologist and haven't really come across studies that would support such an inference.
That said, Anurag Basu (director) does a great job of inter-weaving the lives of 6(?) love-seeking individuals living in the 'big, dark, cruel' City. The script flows well and is extremely taut, with some decent acting. Irrfan as the uncouth but multilingual Bihari/ UP bhaiyya who spares no chance to ogle at cleavages and bare legs is perhaps the best of the lot. Shilpa Shetty, to my amazement has evolved as an actor and does a decent job of portraying the verbally-abused-neglected-and-lonely homemaker. Kay Kay's loathsome character, despite surprisingly mediocre acting, evoked strong hostility from me (perhaps because I am a woman?). Konkana Sen Gupta is dull as an actor and commonplace as a character. And really? Whats with all her characters stumbling upon boyfriends with other men?!? (see Page 3). It evoked sympathy the first time around, but in LIM, it just seems forced upon the storyline - an afterthought at most - an answer to: how to we make this character even more miserable for her to hate all men? Shiny Ahuja is nothing great as an actor and has little to do in the film, but the almost-love-making scene between him and Shilpa's character are brilliantly and aesthetically shot. Watch the film for the amazing three second chemistry between them, if not anything else.
About the rest, the less said the better. The sub-plot scenes between Dharmendra and Nafisa Ali are schmaltzy (yes! I finally get to use the word) and thus annoying. Even more annoying is Dharmendra's freshly dyed hair (people! there is nothing wrong with grey hair!)
Oh! and Kangana Ranaut - can someone PLEASE tell her that acting is a skill that cannot be compensated by looking cute? And the scene where she gets a mini-orgasm when she gets her cell phone back, goes in my annals of worst movie scenes ever! If thats how you feel and act after getting back a lost cellphone, move over men! sign me up for a lost and found service.
Indeed, most of the characters are well defined and a lot of effort seems to have been put in by Anurag Basu to bring them to life. Kudos to him!
All in all, I would recommend LIM, if you can stand some real bad acting (thats what the ff button on the remote is for) amongst some bordering-on-brilliance performances, not get annoyed by three unkempt singers randomly popping up in the middle of the narrative and do not mind some of the artistic licenses that Anurag Basu adopts (like the horse galloping in the middle of city roads - isn't there a law against it?).
Grade: B+
Movies - I live, sleep, drink, talk and walk movies - apart from my work that is. They make me cry, laugh, smile, sleep, happy, sad, aware. They annoy me, soothe me, make me feel alive, cold and warm. As I said elsewhere "I could live my life as a movie." More on that later. Here I attempt my first movie review:
I just finished watching the last installment of Life in a Metro - the vagaries of life (along with the guilt inducted me by grad school and the fact that most Bollywood movies are inordinately long) do not allow me to watch a movie for more than 45 minutes at a time.
Warning: The following post might contain plot spoilers - read it at your on risk!
Question: Why is the movie named "Life in a Metro"? Don't people outside the metros fall in love? Don't non-Metro people have extra-marital affairs?
Agreed, that Life in a Metro (henceforth LIM) is not your traditional non-metro, rural area fare. In fact, it would probably rankle the sensitivities of even the metro-residing we-are-cool yuppies. Case in point: my friend L (born and brought up in Mumbai) who thought the movie was worth enough for a bakwaas label because everyone was sleeping with everyone else. Actually, just the reason I liked LIM - it acknowledges the darker side of human relationships and in fact, colors it often too. I am getting on its case, largely because the name of the movie alludes that extra marital affairs/ sex-before-marriage are a Metro-level phenomena - something that living in a big city automatically translates into (I have in fact personally experienced this unfortunate misconception: resident of a big city + student of a big city university = oops! a loose moral character?!?) which I am sure it clearly is not (now I am not a sociologist and haven't really come across studies that would support such an inference.
That said, Anurag Basu (director) does a great job of inter-weaving the lives of 6(?) love-seeking individuals living in the 'big, dark, cruel' City. The script flows well and is extremely taut, with some decent acting. Irrfan as the uncouth but multilingual Bihari/ UP bhaiyya who spares no chance to ogle at cleavages and bare legs is perhaps the best of the lot. Shilpa Shetty, to my amazement has evolved as an actor and does a decent job of portraying the verbally-abused-neglected-and-lonely homemaker. Kay Kay's loathsome character, despite surprisingly mediocre acting, evoked strong hostility from me (perhaps because I am a woman?). Konkana Sen Gupta is dull as an actor and commonplace as a character. And really? Whats with all her characters stumbling upon boyfriends with other men?!? (see Page 3). It evoked sympathy the first time around, but in LIM, it just seems forced upon the storyline - an afterthought at most - an answer to: how to we make this character even more miserable for her to hate all men? Shiny Ahuja is nothing great as an actor and has little to do in the film, but the almost-love-making scene between him and Shilpa's character are brilliantly and aesthetically shot. Watch the film for the amazing three second chemistry between them, if not anything else.
About the rest, the less said the better. The sub-plot scenes between Dharmendra and Nafisa Ali are schmaltzy (yes! I finally get to use the word) and thus annoying. Even more annoying is Dharmendra's freshly dyed hair (people! there is nothing wrong with grey hair!)
Oh! and Kangana Ranaut - can someone PLEASE tell her that acting is a skill that cannot be compensated by looking cute? And the scene where she gets a mini-orgasm when she gets her cell phone back, goes in my annals of worst movie scenes ever! If thats how you feel and act after getting back a lost cellphone, move over men! sign me up for a lost and found service.
Indeed, most of the characters are well defined and a lot of effort seems to have been put in by Anurag Basu to bring them to life. Kudos to him!
All in all, I would recommend LIM, if you can stand some real bad acting (thats what the ff button on the remote is for) amongst some bordering-on-brilliance performances, not get annoyed by three unkempt singers randomly popping up in the middle of the narrative and do not mind some of the artistic licenses that Anurag Basu adopts (like the horse galloping in the middle of city roads - isn't there a law against it?).
Grade: B+
Procrastination: The art of keeping up with yesterday*.
*by Don Marquis
They say procrastinating is the way of life for a graduate student (or something like that). There is some truth to that - largely because a graduate student's job never ends, well, not until tenure at least or for some lucky ones, with the walk down the aisle wearing that ill-fitting ugly-but-expensive gown and crazy looking hat. It is an occupational hazard - one can close a file or a PC and forget about work for the much needed 8-12 hours, but how does one shut down the brain? The brain is unfortunately attached to us, cannot leave it in the office or at home when we go on a vacation. We dream (read as nightmares) about out work, we sing about our work (http://www.scq.ubc.ca/05%20HEFE.mp3), we walk and talk our work. The best ideas are borne in the most unseeming places - bars for some, romancing their better halves for others. For me it is the shower. The point is that procrastination is only yet another manifestation of our work - we just don't have anything constructive to show for it.
The real point however is that I have for long used blogs as a procrastinating tool - mostly as a reader of blogs, never as a blogger. I believe, nay, I am sure of it, that I ought to change that. Add yet another activity to my already long repertoire of procrastinating devices. I have never been a great writer (strange for someone who majored in journalism, and now hopes to make money (yes, I see those lips curling up - laugh as much as you want to, you non-believer!) from writing), and therefore have been wary of posting my musings (random mostly) for all and sundry to read (more on my various phobias later). BUT! this all changes today! Yes, as I get closer to the exams to end all exams - THE comps and my dissertation prospectus, the more I think I need a place to vent (my friends have all but deserted me - more on that later too).
So I have semi-promised myself to write/ blog religiously every day. Hopefully add film reviews or my frustration on why Indian films are so predictable, cliched, annoyingly long, unoriginal and replete with awful acting and ghastly music.
And I promise, "one day I'm going to get help for my procrastination problem. (Anonymous)"
They say procrastinating is the way of life for a graduate student (or something like that). There is some truth to that - largely because a graduate student's job never ends, well, not until tenure at least or for some lucky ones, with the walk down the aisle wearing that ill-fitting ugly-but-expensive gown and crazy looking hat. It is an occupational hazard - one can close a file or a PC and forget about work for the much needed 8-12 hours, but how does one shut down the brain? The brain is unfortunately attached to us, cannot leave it in the office or at home when we go on a vacation. We dream (read as nightmares) about out work, we sing about our work (http://www.scq.ubc.ca/05%20HEFE.mp3), we walk and talk our work. The best ideas are borne in the most unseeming places - bars for some, romancing their better halves for others. For me it is the shower. The point is that procrastination is only yet another manifestation of our work - we just don't have anything constructive to show for it.
The real point however is that I have for long used blogs as a procrastinating tool - mostly as a reader of blogs, never as a blogger. I believe, nay, I am sure of it, that I ought to change that. Add yet another activity to my already long repertoire of procrastinating devices. I have never been a great writer (strange for someone who majored in journalism, and now hopes to make money (yes, I see those lips curling up - laugh as much as you want to, you non-believer!) from writing), and therefore have been wary of posting my musings (random mostly) for all and sundry to read (more on my various phobias later). BUT! this all changes today! Yes, as I get closer to the exams to end all exams - THE comps and my dissertation prospectus, the more I think I need a place to vent (my friends have all but deserted me - more on that later too).
So I have semi-promised myself to write/ blog religiously every day. Hopefully add film reviews or my frustration on why Indian films are so predictable, cliched, annoyingly long, unoriginal and replete with awful acting and ghastly music.
And I promise, "one day I'm going to get help for my procrastination problem. (Anonymous)"
Fear and Loathing* of Death
someone once asked me, or it was perhaps a question I answered while I filled up the extremely annoying, bordering on narcissism "about me" sections on a networking website - "How do you want to die?" And I answered, "like I care, I would be dead anyway."
I have been thinking about death a lot lately. No, not in an I-am-depressed-and-I-want-to-slash-my-wrist-jump-off-a-cliff way (ah well, that is material for yet another post), but what-is-it-about-death-that everyone-is-so-afraid-about way. Introspection is perhaps the key to evolving as an adult, and graduate school combined with a windowless basement office gives ample opportunities to brooding and moping. So what is it about death that scares people? Is it losing what we have? It is stepping into an unknown that is beyond human comprehension? Is it that nothing is known about death or (for lack of a better term) life beyond it? I have started believing that for people like me (hopefully there aren't many out there), its the latter.
It's not like life is anything great. Think about the unpaid bills, the frustrating days and nights, the never ceasing attempts to be someone great (just how many Gandhis and Einsteins can there ever be) and the painful realization that maybe, just maybe, God (or the evolutionary process for the aethiests and non-believers like me) did not program the greatness gene in us, the ever burning desire to be "in love" and the aching pain when "love" turns out to be nothing more than just a mechanical desire to procreate, or the hatred and prejudices we all are born with or are socialized into - hatred that makes people, well, less than human and just a tad little bit crazy.
And now think about death - no annoying reminders to pay bills, no racing to be the best, no frustrating relationships, no love, no hate, no desires, no unpleasant run ins with bosses wanting you to finish that little project, which no one cares about in the first place, no early mornings, no late nights, no worries about how we will die, how painful will it be? will people miss us? - none of it - just plain death - bliss maybe, maybe not.
Do i care? Nope. And as one of my favorite scientist, Einstein, said "The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead."
* Adapted from Hunter S. Thompson's book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
I have been thinking about death a lot lately. No, not in an I-am-depressed-and-I-want-to-slash-my-wrist-jump-off-a-cliff way (ah well, that is material for yet another post), but what-is-it-about-death-that everyone-is-so-afraid-about way. Introspection is perhaps the key to evolving as an adult, and graduate school combined with a windowless basement office gives ample opportunities to brooding and moping. So what is it about death that scares people? Is it losing what we have? It is stepping into an unknown that is beyond human comprehension? Is it that nothing is known about death or (for lack of a better term) life
* Adapted from Hunter S. Thompson's book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
ever...
Ever seen someone sleep on an overdose of coffee? Ever seen someone laugh when their soul is torn apart? Ever seen someone running towards death? Ever asked what color silence is? What color words are? How the touch of water feels? Is love purple and hate orange? What color is lust? Or want? The sound of dreams? The touch of loneliness?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
26 years of searching, 26 years of solitude, 26 years of agony, 26 years of vacant dreams, 26 years of inanition...
26 years of exploration, 26 years of wonderment, 26 years of victory, 26 years of mastery, 26 years of complete bumming...
26 years of warmth, 26 years of strength, 26 years of pride, 26 years of ardor, 26 years of allure, 26 years of tyranny...
26 sunflower years, 26 moonlit years, 26 ocean years, 26 fragrant years, 26 grotesque years...
26 years looking for my purple love...
26 years of exploration, 26 years of wonderment, 26 years of victory, 26 years of mastery, 26 years of complete bumming...
26 years of warmth, 26 years of strength, 26 years of pride, 26 years of ardor, 26 years of allure, 26 years of tyranny...
26 sunflower years, 26 moonlit years, 26 ocean years, 26 fragrant years, 26 grotesque years...
26 years looking for my purple love...
Monday, February 19, 2007
26 - the year of new beginnings, the year of beauty, the year of love, the year of independence, the year of wonder, the year of discovery, the light-headed year of songs and riddles. 26 - the year of pain, the year of solitude, the year of darkness, the year of deceit, the year of tears, the year of dishonesty, the year of broken hearts, the year of delusion, the year of cruel games....
26 the year of life...
26 the year of life...
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