Generally Bland, with Hints of Spice

Two Bits on the Passing of the Legend - Steve Jobs

2011-10-07T00:37:00.001+05:30

Creative yet logical; spiritual yet practical; iconic yet understated. A man who, like us all, made mistakes, and a lot of them. But one, who at all times held on to his values and to the calling of his heart, and listened closely to the whisperings between his mind and gut.

To think most of the anticipation and euphoria we've experienced over the past ten years originated behind those round, benign pair of glasses...

I'm honored to be born in the same day and age as Steve Jobs. May his soul continue to experience the peace and exhilaration he undoubtedly felt at the time of death.

Forward Thinking

2011-08-27T14:06:00.007+05:30

It is widely regarded that our experiences are our teachers. But teachers aren’t always the inspirational, motivational mentors they are meant to be. Some are detractors to our spirit that make us withdraw into a shell. One that progressively becomes harder to infringe, as the cracks in our being are reinforced with all the wrong materials. We are left self-conscious, guarded and saturated with mental chatter. We become insecure.

Insecurity feels strange, no matter how familiar it may be. It is the component of our personality that brings the past to the forefront and painfully links it to happenings of the present, eventually influencing our future. Drawing from our experiences can be great if the lessons learnt are imbibed once and for all. The problem lies in continuously drawing from experience. It takes focus away from the present and forces us to look back. It steals away the spontaneity that makes us creative beings and instead, compels us to think two steps ahead of ourselves. That is, it makes us consider the outcome even before it has occurred based on circumstances that existed in the past, making the chances of success more-or-less as volatile as the result of a fresh perspective.

The way to move forward is not to look back; neither is it to look ahead. One must taste the winds of the now to shortlist the direction and allow the beating of the heart to intervene. It is hardwired in us at the most primal level to move with awareness, but we have masked it with a layer of foresight. Simply possessing the knowledge (if not just a vague idea) of the end result does not suggest that the journey is worthless. Foresight provides us with the probable bulls-eye, while awareness helps trace the movement of the dart.

Insecurity is a manifestation of the past, a mere shadow upon the endless possibilities of the future.

And wherever there is a shadow, there is bound to be light.

Open At The Close

2011-08-21T02:56:00.004+05:30

As the last leg of the day draws to a close, it brings with it a quiet of a kind that is seen in conclusion to a storm. The day, with all its errands, routines, places and populace melts to give way to a fast expiring moment of calm; seemingly serene, with nothing alive or awake, save the senses. Quiet and reflective.

A lamp to the left effuses a soft glow, partially illuminating a face fresh from an evening shower. Its expression is that of unconcern; free from the worries and ire of the day. The dark hair framing it still shines, with beads of moisture hanging to its tips for dear life.

Without warning, the face is washed with a second source of light - a cold flash originating from in front of it. Slowly, the face tilts backward and the eyes close. A few moments of inactivity pass. The light ahead dims ever so slightly. Then, with a jerk, the face becomes perpendicular to the earth again. The light brightens, revealing a set of arched eyebrows. A soft, continuous but arrhythmic tapping sound punctures the silence.

The sounds continue, pausing occasionally, while the face tilts from side-to-side, professing deep thought to the observer. After some debilitation, it straightens and the eyes begin to rove, left to right and then back. The tapping resumes, but this time, as sharper, more infrequent pecks.

Finally, the sounds cease and the eyes traverse the light ahead one last time. The eyebrows take their final shape, forming an expression that can only be described as - powerful.

The light ahead disappears, as quickly as it had arrived. The warm radiance of the lamp dims and eventually plunges all in a pervasive blackness; but not before the eyebrows relax, the eyes close and the slight wrinkles on the face vanish, no doubt in preparation of a resurrection the following day…

Late Bloomer

2009-12-23T00:19:00.006+05:30

The glow of the screen, or the turn of a page,

After midnight, it’s all but the same,

A cry emanates from the depths of my grey,

‘It’s too early! Come on now, stay!’

With drooping, blearing, wilting eyes,

I grope about for the date and time,

My heart plummets, the news ain’t good,

For the time’s for bed, I should sleep.

I should.

But the heart is the guide

For my brain tonight,

The desire to delay

Leaves all else in disarray.

I manage to squeeze in a chapter or two,

Or perhaps an episode of a TV show,

Hell, even half a movie would do

Till finally, off to sleep I go.

How wonderful it is, this dreamless reverie

Surrounding me, while I curl up, comfy,

A time when this world, so noisy and polluted,

Fades into something multicoloured and convoluted.

But barely after entering the cocoon,

The alarm tune sounds, and I screech back home,

My nerves on fire dragging me up

Forcing me to acknowledge that my time is up.

My mother trained me impeccably

To wake up without a whine or whimper,

Bless her commitment and sensibility

For making me such a diligent kipper.

But diligence only goes so far,

It flies right out once I sit in the car,

The rocking motion, back and forth,

Puts me back in slumber mode.

Striding up to my desk at work,

Outwardly looking lean and tough,

My mind, however lags behind.

Guiding my body in a trance divine.

Work is barely an effort for me,

Thank God it comes so naturally!

For if I behaved what I felt inside,

My job, my life, would be in the ‘Reject’ pile.

I trudge my way through the day,

Pausing to yawn, stretch and wallow,

And although it’s far from a bale of hay,

My keyboard acts well as a pillow.

Every moment spent at work,

Makes me regret the night before,

But in regret I hate to lurk,

So I decide to tackle its core.

The sky deepens and so does my resolve,

Tonight’s the night I ignore its calls,

No matter how hard it coaxes and pushes,

Early to bed I’ll be, in all cases.

The glow of the screen, or the turn of a page

After midnight, it’s all but the same,

A cry emanates from the depths of my grey,

‘It’s too early! Come on now, stay!’

The Great Indian Festive Season

2009-10-19T05:15:00.019+05:30

The fourth quarter of our Earth's great journey around the Sun approaches, just another of the many that have passed and that are to come. An almost audible buzz begins to manifest; the streamlined culmination of countless thoughts emitted by millions of minds. One word dominates the cerebral chatter. Diwali.

The celestial revolutions of our planet provide us with four seasons - clearly inadequate for the omnipotent human race. Festivities worldwide give rise to seasons of their own. Hailed in India as the Christmas of the West and the Eid of the Middle East, Diwali is India's chance in the whole year to pull out all stops and create an atmosphere that even changes the topics of unacquainted chitchat. No longer does one speak with a stranger about the weather. Phone conversations with family far away have an undertone of anticipation about the holiday season. The heart of the foodie beats faster as visions of the full glory of India's culinary treasures come to mind. Shopkeepers start placing massive orders of usually slow items ranging from dry fruits to delicate china, while conglomerates drop prices to an all-time low. Customers, following the clues like some bizarre treasure hunt, swarm the malls and shopping streets in search for a bigger TV or a quieter washing machine.

Nine days of feeble personal sacrifice and the immersion and ignition of idols, each bigger than the last, set the mood for the days to come. Wallets and purses become lighter and homes fill up with gifts for and from others. Visitors drop in at the drop of a hat. Bellies protest against the barrage of dry fruits, while endorphin-saturated brains send smile signals to the lips. People who have been ignored all year are suddenly contacted, visited and gifted, as if in attempt to make up for the lengthy period of neglect. And as always, it works like a charm.

The festive mood begins to permeate the veils and walls that separate religions. All houses participate in a silent battle of one-upmanship, in attempt to make the prettiest contribution to the landscape. Twinkling LEDs border windows and balconies, or hang off them like glowing snakes. Florals adorn the grilles, and rangolis, the floors. Parties and melas bring socialising to a community level. Traditional garb and jewellery, newly purchased, transforms even simple gatherings into ethnic fests.

But it's not all rosy. As the weeks hurtle towards the big day, the media screams out to banish fireworks, while schools threaten to banish students who don't. Child labour activists, who have formed an image of themselves akin to Kumbhkaran, the Ramayana's drowsiest character, start banging afresh at the doors of Sivakasi, the fire cracker production hub of India. Large shipments of crackers, many of which are destined to burn human skin, are sent to every corner of the country imaginable. Clogged roadways make distribution of gifts as big a nightmare as it is a pleasure to receive them, and bomb scares loom large, making even a simple walk to the market a potential trip down death lane.

Finally, the sun rises on a day that deceptively looks like any other. It progresses as usual, with an exception of pujas throughout the day in different locations, and the internet showing up an exceptionally high search trend of the word 'Diwali'. One would wonder if all the fuss was even worth it at all. One would. But doesn't. For it's when the sun dips below the trees, that the silence breaks.

It is postulated that the moment of creation of the Universe was one big explosion lasting barely for even a noticeable period of time. Diwali night, in time frame humans are accustomed to, is something similar. Spectacular airborne fireworks light up the skies making night seem like day. Tiny fires spring to life on every windowsill, porch and step. Stars up above shine dully like American diamonds in the backdrop, while rubies, sapphires, amber and emeralds of exceptional brilliance, and in never before seen quantities, steal their glory. A constant din of explosions is commonplace, with only the bigger one's managing to catch ones attention. The delighted squeals of children intersperse...

And then, just as soon as it started, it is over, leaving behind satisfaction, and hopefully a weekend to prepare oneself to return to the grind of everyday life.

For me, Diwali's annual catch-line, 'The Festival of Lights' has a deeper, more philosophical meaning. It is a time to reconnect with the the soul. What exactly the soul is, has been and shall remain, in all foreseeable future, debatable (although, what I came up with a few days ago engrossed in a conversation about the Large Hadron Collider with a friend was that the soul is a collection of Higgs Boson particles, hence having measurable mass :P). By soul in this context, I mean the collection of thoughts, feelings, actions, achievements, aims and agendas, as well as people, that make each day we wake up to, worth living for. It is the celebration of the 'light within' that guides our human self to perform superhuman feats every day.

So, allow yourself to get lost in the din created by society during Diwali. But take out some time to reflect upon the things that make YOU such an indispensable part of that society, as well as of the things that you have done, and that are left to do that would make YOU stand out, just as the most beautiful of houses, or prolonged and colourful of fireworks do.

Happy Diwali and Cheers to Light, Inside and Out!

The Games We Play

2009-10-09T02:59:00.015+05:30

“Darling! Dinner’s ready!”

“Be right there, sweetie!”

“Is that the TV I hear? When are you going to learn that I hate seeing my day’s work going cold?

“What’s that, hon?!”

“Did you even hear a word I said?”

“Just a second…”

Aaaand that’s OUT! That was close! Nadal can’t afford such close shaves…

“FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“That is ENOUGH from you, Amrish Mehta! Have you no SENSE?”

“What is wrong with you, woman? Huh? Whaddya got a problem with now?”

“SHOUTING ABOOSES IN FRONT OF OUR CHILDREN! JOINING THE TABLE LATE EVERY DAMN DAY! THROWING SOCKS AND SHOES AROUND! THIS IS NOT THE MAN I MARRIED!”

“SO WHAT’S YOUR POINT?”

“MY POINT IS –“

“WHY ARE YOU KIDS MAKING SO MUCH NOISE?! And what’s this blanket, Meera? I remember telling you to FOLD it and put it inside the drawer. I do NOT remember telling you to make a tent out of it! I want it done. NOW. And march straight down to the dinner table after that. Can I trust you to bring your little brother down with you? Or will you make a chair out of him on the way?

What were you doing under there, anyway?"

“Playing Ghar-Ghar”

Fight all you want. Behind closed doors.

The Second Sin

2009-04-24T03:03:00.009+05:30

My eyes fly open with what I was waiting to hear
The melody that continues to drum on my desk
It barely manages to catch my ear
For my mind is at work, no longer at rest.

It’s not for work, for fun, or to pray
That I sit up straight, my belly threatening to betray
As it grumbles and growls, politely no more
With breakfast alone, it’ll settle the score.

The spread isn’t sumptuous, and rather small,
A change, however, from the day before
Toast with eggs, scrambled and warm
Enough to cease what now threatens to roar.

I dress to step out of my room, my home
Leaving my modest buffet empty and forlorn
But I cheer myself up, for it won’t be long
Before I’m in a cafeteria,
Hell, it’s my break, what’s wrong?

Hours pass as the seasons change
Till I find me in a mall, my desk a million miles away
I scan the restaurants in my range
Hands wringing, eyes bulging, tongue out, splayed.

Finally I decide upon Pepito’s
Neither Indian, nor Chinese, but Mexican
I hog on Tacos, Quesadillas and Burritos
Till my intestines fail me,
And I rush to empty what has recently burgeoned.

Ah, the pleasure of freshly vacated bowels,
That I could write about in many a novel
For it has made space in my endless pit
For teatime, just a bit after six.

I head on over, back to work
Only to return shortly afterward
Biscuits, scones and coffee with crème
In the company of a co-worker, a friend.

The sun dips below the visible dome,
Leaving behind a carrot orange, then a grapey purple sky
But little do I notice as I drive back home
Taking mental stock of the vegetable and meat supply.

To get the right flavours and nuances
One must add the right condiments and spices
I chop and grill, pouring in the sauces
Voila! You have dinner, lacking only glasses and swashes.

So I serve me some wine to go with the grill,
In a glass, perfectly tapered, tall and thin
A repeat of the Simpsons and the lights dimmed nice,
Burrp…Ah! This is the life!

The bed is as I had left it, ruffled, but clean
Waiting to engulf me in sweet slumber
I promptly snuggle into the covers,
The corners of my mind forming,
Yet another delicious dream.

On Opinions...And Then Some More

2008-08-19T21:56:00.015+05:30

It's been, well, a long time since I started this blog out of boredom, curiosity and the pure desire to just write. I managed to satiate all those things, and in the process also garnered a lot of appreciation, criticism (and also a helluva lot of spam) in the form of comments and my 'ingeniously' included feature of rating posts. Inspiration, interest and availability of time played a serious role in determining the frequency of posting. But in spite of my long drawn absence from the blogging scene over the past two years, I still see a strong influx of visitors on the page. I've got to say, it feels great. Come on. I am human after all. (Or am I? Hmm, well. Guess this shows God loves attention as well).

This isn't one of those 'hearfelt Thank You' notes that famous people seem to include sometime or the other in their work (and neither does this sentence imply that I consider myself even remotely famous, though it's nice to toy with such a prospect). It is more of an acknowledgement of just how much a few of your words, for the many that I write, mean to me. Even if you're out there to pan my prose, it's a standpoint nonetheless. That's the beauty of opinionated writing. Along with giving your take on things, it amasses opinions, both negative and positive at an (almost) equal scale.

A useful note for everyone. I hardly associate with most of my previous writing anymore. People change and so do their perspectives. It's all a matter of time. Everyone, most of all, the less experienced, dabble in immaturity from time to time. Once you've seen more of the world, it allows for the formation of new as well as modification of existing stances. So judging or defaming my personality based on the silly opinions I put forth is not only sillier, but also an unncessary exercise.

Continuing with character analysis (just 'cause I'm enjoying it so), under normal circumstances, what remains constant is your set of morals and values. Beliefs strengthen, or weaken to allow the fortification of a new set. In such a case, the new belief set is accompanied by the confidence that changing over will do you good. Alongside, if you permit it to happen, your capabilities only grow, They, of course in the case of invincible me, proliferate limitlessly. ;)

But then again, these are opinions yet again. Keep checking back. I look forward, as always, to your invaluable comments on all past, present and future posts.

Varsha Ki Asha

2008-08-09T12:43:00.016+05:30

Contrary to what the title might suggest, this isn't a discussion about bold adult themes in a B-grade Hindi film. In spite of its annual frequency, rain is a phenomena that repeatedly manages to evoke completely polarised feelings in me year after year. The Lord above has never believed in moderation when it comes to Delhi weather. Winters are cold enough to make the flabbiest of people feel like iced jello. Summers put up stiff competition to the middle eastern deserts, with the Rajasthani north-westerns winding their way into the most sealed of houses. These winds are appropriately called 'loo', for just how disgusting they are. Spring and Autumn are mere teasers of the splendour of nature and are all-too-soon usurped by one of the other two extremities.

While these two dictators are locked year-round in a battle for supremacy, a cloak-and-dagger revolution builds up and eventually throws itself into the strife, coming off as the victor. The titans are kept bay for a while, held off by an unrelenting legion.

The monsoons are here.

Bless the low pressure over the deserts of Rajasthan. The heat of the sands that was pushed into the same category as a lowly toilet suddenly becomes the harbinger of long awaited precipitation. A thick, grey coverlet blots out the sun and fills the hearts of millions with a variety of emotions. Lovers get another excuse to flail their romance, while beggars finally get their long awaited bath. Prayers ascending from the villages are answered. The crops get their dose, implicitly giving villagers their own. Pollution laden vegetation is suddenly green again and the muck of the cities is washed away for a fresh coat of grime to be reapplied in the coming months. Children, as well as adults who enjoy becoming children once in a while, happily hop in puddles while drops of water the size of crazy balls drench them from head to the pinky toe.

This is the effect this surreptitious inclusion to the weather system has on the population. The first few days of the downpour are euphoric, with the radio, TV and print media celebrating in unison with the people they address. I give it three consecutive days. Postdiluvian, the croons become curses, the puddle bobbling jacks duck for cover, trees fall, traffic gets disrupted and soils saturate, destroying the once arid crops. The deluge even dilutes flowering romance (for what is love but a complex chemical reaction?). Sweat pours down and does a better job of showering than the rain. Suddenly, wistful memories of sunshine resurface and people are seen glancing with drooping faces at the enveloping gloom. Finally, to add to the overhanging misery, out come the anthropods from the depths of hell. A whole squadron of leeches, ants and flying beasties with an inexorable relish for human blood silently squirm out of their long exile. The feast is on, and this time, we're the meat.

The clouds exhaust their quota for the time being. The sky is a sickly blue again. The country stabilises. But human nature demands missing something only after it's gone. So the silent wishes restart. The heavens comply. A drizzle. Hearts uplift. The way is clear for another go.

The sinusoid goes on this way. However, the fact remains that revolutionaries are emotional. The poor monsoon just can't take it any more. It weakens under the pressure of mass upheavals. That's the opportunity the plotting winter has been waiting for. It gives our protagonist here a kick in the bee-hind and with a mighty sweep of its icy cloak throws us all at its mercy. (I love winters by the way. But I love being dramatic just as much!)

I'm in the downswing right now, as I sit about scratching an enormous red patch one of these creepy crawlies has given me. A re-yearning for the cool, moisture laden breeze should be underway in a couple of hours now. Wait a second. Here it is.

A long time ago...and to go

2008-07-04T15:35:00.005+05:30

It has positively been AGES since I posted last. This isn't a make-up post. It's to clarify that I am suffering from a serious lack of time, not to mention recovering from an even more serious blow to inspiration. So until then, feast your minds to my earlier posts (the rolling of eyes is getting old). I might just be coming up soon with a whole new thing. More soon. Don't ask when.

Talking of Travel...

2006-08-28T01:22:00.002+05:30

Perhaps some of the most amusing observations in my new-found (now relatively old) life in Dubai have quite surprisingly been gathered not within our primary haunts, but outside them. The means of travel which I earlier considered comparative - although mundane - novelties have come to pass as the most eventful and frequent ones. I’m talking about cabs and flights, whose presence has now become more of a necessity than a convenience in our lives (lives which now mostly involve travel more than anything else, thanks to the incredulously large gap in distance between the hostel and the college).

Taxi Trauma

Not that there’s anything particularly special about cabs in Dubai. Even though they’re definitely fancier than the ones in India, with Camry taxis regarded as the lowest in the pecking order, that doesn’t change the drivers behind the wheel. They’re usually Indians, Pakistanis or Arabs, and though most of them are happy doing just their job (definitely preferable), it doesn’t prevent the occasional bump with an odd one out.

There are the types, who are so delighted to serve someone of their own country that they fail to shut their traps for the entire length of the journey. For example, one evening we were faced with an esteemed shayar of the Indian mainland. Or so he thought himself to be. The entire ride was a painful recreation of the film ‘Fanaa’, except this fellow expected us to join in with his lyrical fixation. Now, taking into account that not one of us knew a single sher other than the perverse prose used in the hostel, and also that one of us three friends was an Andhrite (completely out of the scene right from his birth) definitely displeased him. I can say this with considerable confidence because he left us off in a fairly deserted and unfamiliar location far from our destination, with a frown so deeply etched on his face that it was visible even in the sooty darkness that had enveloped us over an hour back. It was my late reaction that gave us a solution to this out-and-out mess. We confidently entered a Shangri-La hotel which was two blocks away (as regally as our casual, hotel-inappropriate clothing could permit), pretended to check out the menu of the coffee shop, emptied our bursting bladders in the loo, and stepped out, demanding the doorman to hail a cab for us, a service provided without inquiry to all hotel guests. It’s a separate matter that we reached the hostel in style that night, stretching out with a sigh of pleasure in a beautiful, navy-blue Lexus.

Another kind is the prejudiced, racist type. Mostly the Arabs (primarily of National Taxi Service) and hardcore Pakis constitute this much despised category. The Arabs make you feel like you’re trespassing on private property by daring to dwell in their desertificated country. They either try to scare you out of your wits by driving as rashly as possible (of which there’s plenty of scope on the wide roads and among the blurring traffic), or they pretend to simply not understand English or Hindi (a feature prevalent in Europe as well, again a consequence of superior, racist sentiments).

The Pakistanis, though mostly quite friendly and in harmonious acceptance of the fact that serving Indians is a part of their job, too have their share of weirdo pricks. There was an instance around the beginning of semester 1, when my mother and I were travelling by a Pathan cab (Illegally operating private cabs, usually indistinguishable from the licensed ones). The cabbie remains one of the strangest, most repulsive persons we’ve ever encountered in our lives. He part-took in activities to the tune of cleaning the hard-to-reach places in his car with a toothpick and then using that very piece of wood for the task it’s actually meant for. Alongside, he constantly mumbled about the unacceptable direction in which today’s world is heading, pausing his monotone from time to time to ask us tourists, whether the route he was taking was right or not. There were moments more than one during that journey, when we were unsure whether we would sanely see it though.

Though, as I mentioned before, this definitely doesn’t mean all of them are like this. In fact, most cabbies are quite pleasant and accustomed to their jobs. Weirdoes exist in all spheres of life, I guess. Be it on the road, or as professors in college. But that is a separate matter. One I’m sure all BITSians can well relate to. Wink!

Attitudes, On Board

Shifting to Dubai has certainly had its share of fringe benefits. Frequent air travel is one of them. Or so one would presume. Flying, the way we do it is far from fringe. Air India and Indian Airlines bode well to the Indian ‘culture’, by which I imply that they fit in seamlessly into all the things which have caused our country to assume the title of a ‘developing nation’ and not a developed one.

One trip aboard the IC-896 outbound to Dubai is all one needs. For the amateur traveller, disappointment towards the much hyped prospect of air travel is inevitable. For the frequent flyer, it’ll be shock, amusement and a tinge of sadness towards the state of affairs in our country, which is so visibly full of potential, but just as openly, floundering.

On a world class flight such as KLM or British Airways, the friendliness, hospitality and dedication of the staff are among the first things you’ll notice, other than of course, the pristine upholstery of the aircraft, which in AI and IA is on the verge of collapsing. On Indian Airlines, all one gets to see is women who’re just too old for their jobs . But that’s not the major problem with the staff (unless it’s hotties in tighties that the passenger wants to see, which in the case of BITS boys, is mostly the case). The problem arises because the women know they’re too old for their jobs. Air hostesses are made to wear the most unflatteringly styled and dully coloured uniforms ever. As a whole, they can most aptly be described as a gaggle of cackling witches. Except they’re so bored, frustrated and disinterested, that even cackling is too much of a bother. Though their job description entails something much different, they’re best at stomping up and down the aisle in a towering temper that threatens to unleash itself at the first person to call for assistance. Rudeness and unconcern is second nature to a personality made hard by the nasty majority of passengers that the Delhi - Dubai sector usually carries. So much so, that a simple smile of welcome or goodbye is just too much to ask.

The passengers in the flights, especially those on the way to Dubai are a class apart. Literally. About 80% of them constitute the labour class that is constantly and consistently routed from the Indian peninsula to the modernised desert, unless, of course, if that 80% percent is booked by BITSians somberly making their way back to college after at least a month of pure bliss. This group of labourers are mostly so poor, that, forget a flight, even a local train is too much to afford. So their behaviour is actually justified. Nonetheless, behaviour it is. Bad behaviour. The seemingly unlimited supply of liquor along with seats more comfortable than any they’ve ever rested their sore buttocks on, have an effect more intoxicating than that induced by drugs on them. It takes precisely two mini bottles to make them cling to the already pissed attendant asking for more. They gobble their food noisily and shamelessly, making sounds heard only in areas like Kishangarh. And when they take off their shoes...well, all hell breaks loose. And that my friend, is putting it mildly.

There have been occasions, of course when we’ve come across other breeds of in-flight weirdoes. For example, perhaps the most eventful flight till date has been the return journey to India in June this year. As is usually the case, I had a group of friends accompanying me, and my faithful travel buddies, Pranav, Nasser and Ehtesham were sitting right in front of me. They bore full witness to all the happenings on board. Just as I did.

The sad ratio of boys is to girls in our college followed even inside the flight. Out of the ten odd students on board, just three were of the female kind. Two of them were sitting right across the aisle from me. The third seat on their side was occupied by a person who was not only out of place on an aircraft, but also the thought of him wandering the streets of Dubai prior to boarding it seemed absurd. A villager complete with an enormous off white turban reminiscent of Shah Rukh Khan in the God-awful flick ‘Paheli’, a skirt-like Rajasthani dress atop a stained, cream dhoti, and handmade chappals on the feet. To top it, several hammer-beaten gold and silver ornaments adorned his ears, neck, wrists and ankles, while a roughly hewn wooden staff stuck on, as if super-glued, to his hand.

The girls, naturally, were so uncomfortable with the seating arrangement, that one of them actually refused to sit. Being the gentleman that I am, (you can stop rolling your eyes now) I offered to let them take mine and my college-mate Abhijeet’s seat. Sadly, it was him who had to sit next to this vision from a village. Either way, it didn’t stop me from observing him to my hearts content throughout the flight. A few of the antics he displayed include eyes directed only towards the girls opposite, his pose which was suggestive of every character in ‘Lagaan’ (feet on the seat in with knees apart), and the rather shocking production of a pen-knife from the folds of his laborious outfit to open up a packet of peanuts that the bored air-hostess had dropped onto his lap.

Believe it or not, that isn’t the end of the experience that was this journey. About an hour into the flight, God seemed to decide that we needed some more in-flight entertainment (as if the dude from rural India wasn’t enough to keep us preoccupied throughout), when four surds sitting one row behind me let alcohol get the better of them. In five minutes time, the interior of the aircraft had transformed into a Punjabi post-wedding celebration. Profanities, antakshari and nursery rhymes filled the air for the rest of the flight-time, and not one person had the guts to mess with the drunken duds. Pranav, who was busy writing his own blog prior to the musical outburst, actually stopped even trying to do so once it began, and did what probably we all should have done instead of firing disapproving, yet amused glares at the surdies. He joined in! Well, I guess that’s what makes him the Blaze Fanthom…

I’m sure I haven’t seen the last of the lasting memories that exceptional journeys leave behind. Three more years worth still to come!

The Biggest Misnomer of All Time

2006-08-19T02:47:00.000+05:30

Along with my position on the globe, partly shifting base to Dubai has gradually brought about a change in several aspects of my life. Mentally, it has matured me from a person who used to quietly take shit and give none in return, to a harsh being who has no qualms with spiteful diatribes and cutting away relationships when they get too much to handle. Emotionally, it has strengthened me in such a way that sympathy, empathy and wistful memories exist, but fail to affect me beyond that particular point around which they start hampering my mental state. Naivety now, is almost a thing of the past. Physically, I’ve slimmed down substantially; even it was the wrong way to do so (Minimal consumption of repulsive hostel food and exercise limited only to running up and down the stairs of the building, however many times it may have been in a day). Though that particular development didn’t last long, now that the vacations have settled in on my already not-so-lithe frame!

But most significant of all, is my intellectual transformation – an evolutionary process for my mind that had been largely accelerated last year. One that continues on till today. Particularly nasty fallouts occurred between me and a few friends ultimately causing a severe breach in the relationships I had held on to as tightly as a part of my own self for a whole year. I wouldn’t like to go into the whole ‘who was right and who was wrong’ of the situation, as that would be congruent to getting superfluously hostile on a public forum. But one thing I can say, quoting the standard dialogue of genuinely one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, Deepak Srinivas of Apartment 403 C, “Whatever happens, happens for the better”. Anyhow, so as to avoid further digression from the central idea of this post, I leave the happenings of the past, to the past.

The point of going into all the afore mentioned details was to bring to the forefront, the justification I have for deriving an alternate meaning to a word that everyone knows, but none can really describe. According to me, the biggest misnomer to ever exist is love. Sceptical? Cynical? Or plain sarcastic? You might have the inclination, as well as the right to be any of those. But even though my opinion and the rationale behind it seem far-fetched, since they’re both so radically opposite to universal belief, freedom of thought and its expression are both fundamental rights of mine as well. So, whether they coincide with your opinion or not is none of my concern.

On opening the second last or last page of Delhi Times on any day of the week at any time of the year, invariably at least one piece about so-and-so celebrity’s marriage being on the rocks is always present, without exception. If you crack open the same pages, say of six months, or even one week in the past, you’ll probably be lucky enough to find a snippet on the same celeb’s successful married life, and reams upon reams of archived proof on the internet of how much the couple was ‘in love’. And yet, when their alliance does come to an end, it’s mostly not even amicable. In fact, it’s far from it, involving vicious court cases and cold wars. The famous friendship turns to an even more famous feud.

This is an extreme case. But what about the other cases we commonly see around us? The make-ups and break-ups we keep witnessing all the time? The desperate compulsion that so many people have of displaying their affection, rather than actually experiencing it? What happens to this 'love' that people so flamboyantly put on show, once they break up? How does it convert to hatred? Or if not something so extreme, platonic, neutral and detached? How can love fizzle away like this? How can love possibly rest on such a flimsy thread, which has the possibility of fracturing at any moment?

True love exists. No doubt. But solely between a parent and a child. That, is unconditional, absolute, veritable love. No matter how horrible the parent is to the child, or how miserable, hopeless or shameful the offspring is, one’s reflective longing for the other (even if it is passive) never ceases to exist. The love between them is of a non-sexual, unadulterated nature. It’s completely natural, and was born with the birth of the individual itself. And it takes a hell of a lot to put that kind of love to an end. And if at this point, you’re thinking of disownments, trust me, they’re purely for social recognition. The love within never fades. Exceptions, however exist in everything. Say if a parent is guilty of something unspeakably blasphemous, like raping the offspring or something, then development of hatred is justified. On the other hand, marriages all over, more often than not, break up over much trivial issues, with not even a hint of wistfulness in the outset.

I’m not refuting the fact that ‘something’ exists between two ‘lovers’. All I’m saying is, that it’s not love. It is incorrect usage of a term that in reality is never hindered by superficial blunders. Young lovers have a deep sense of affection, heightened greatly because of raging hormones, physical and/or intellectual attraction and a deep sense of security and freedom. Hence, quite understandably, it is conveniently written off as love. In fact, science itself has proven that the feelings induced by ‘love’ last barely a few months into wedlock, after which, the longevity of the relationship depends only on the sense of friendship, companionship and trust that the couple have towards each other. Add a bit of carnal spice to it, and you have the perfect match.

This whole idea can be seen as the mindless ramblings of a foolish teenager. Or as the natural tendencies of the Libran (that is me) to always weigh the practical, rational side of things rather than the emotional ends of them (I’ve been reading a bit of Linda Goodman myself…). Or even as the 'withdrawal symptoms of a failed relationship'. But think about it. Consider it. And then form an opinion. Mindlessly following convention is more rebellious to the truths of nature than going against it.

However, since the word ‘love’ has been set as the convention to describe the funny, bouncy feeling one gets when they find their companion (for life or for a few days, whichever applicable), I can do nothing other than adopt it as well. Though, this little glaring discrepancy in the modern view of love doesn’t change reality. At least for me.

Forth and Back

2006-08-17T01:55:00.000+05:30

The time off we had so impatiently craved for is at its fag end. And indeed, time off it was! Three months away from the ceaseless tensions of college have emptied my mind (thanks to the outrageous number of sleep hours and unprecedented time to waste), while adding vastly to my already vast mass (Junk food coupled with laziness beyond compare had to show up somewhere).

Nonetheless, not all the time has gone in gorging and gaping without reason at the computer screen. I’ve kept busy, however intermittently it may have been.

Mussourie

A short trip of four days along with my parents and cousins took me once again after a long time to the popular hilly retreat of North India, Mussourie. Quite uneventful, but a load of fun since my cousins Namita and Naina are two people I get along with marvellously. Sharing a room implied full time masti all night long, and puffy eyes in the morning. A walk down the steep road just to have a plate of roadside cooked Maggi and other simple pleasures is what made up this trip which by the end of it was well worth the unreasonably long drive.

Eurotrip

No, this isn’t another movie review (Sighs of relief will not be well received). A visit to our neighbouring continent ensued a little too early in my vacation for my liking, not giving me time enough to reorient myself in the pollution and population that our country is so famous for, and that I am so fond of (No sarcasm here. I’m a total dilli ka dilbar).

Even so, after endless fights and infinite bad moods prior to our departure (a standard feature of our family vacations, which mostly extends on to the trip itself), we finally managed to board the beautiful, blue KLM jet (I stress on ‘beautiful’ as it had been over three years since I last saw the face of any airline other than Indian Airlines or Air India, barely staying airborne and just about transporting me to-and-fro from Dubai…You get the picture hopefully. If not, the next post should provide a fair idea).

The first country on our itinerary was Netherlands. It’s quite shameful that even though we’ve been to Holland the most number of times out of all the places we’ve visited, it’s the place that we were least familiar with. Till now that is. This time around, we really saw the place. Really. Staying bang next to Leidesplein, the hub of Amsterdam, we had most of the action going on right under our noses. That is where we picked a random pub to watch the deciding World Cup match between Holland and Portugal. Though I don’t much care for any sport in particular, catching a match of global significance among a crowd of enthusiastic (albeit drunk) customers, and that too sitting in one of the participating countries, has its own charm. Would’ve been better off though if Holland had qualified. Oh well…Hup Holland Hup!

Apart from the hustle bustle of the city centre, we thoroughly enjoyed absorbing the more serene sights of Volendam, a suburb of Amsterdam that has retained its rural nuances till today, complete with the wooden shoes and traditional windmills. Madurodam (Miniature Holland built exactly to scale) and Madame Tussaud followed suit (where I satisfied myself - no pun intended- gazing at a wax figurine of Kylie Minogue. Did you know she’s just 5 foot three?). On the whole, we finally saw what the world sees in Holland, a place so perfect that it almost hurts the eye.

Our next destination was Switzerland. Our expectations of this place had been raised substantially because of the endless praise we’d heard from everyone we knew who had gone there in the past. And even though I’m no fan of hills and mountains, undeniably it really does deserve all of it. ‘Picturesque’ is the word that most aptly describes Switzerland. Enormous, blue, crystal-clear lakes surrounded by mountains so white that one can’t even hope to look at them directly without sunglasses perched atop the nose, meadows with rich green grass that is unruly enough to look not disorderly but just natural, and cities so modern that one can hardly believe they’re resting on some of the loftiest hills in Europe.

We remained mainly in two popular locations of the country, namely Interlaken (a tiny town that leads up to Jungfraujoch, the highest point of the Alps and also the Top of Europe) and Lucerne (a more commercial, cosmopolitan area famous for a wooden bridge that has survived constant erosion by river water for centuries, and even a fire). Jungfraujoch is reached by nifty mountain trains capable of climbing immensely steep inclines. The ride was an extraordinary experience and the location, a sight to behold. Valleys drenched in snow along with the lack of oxygen and low air pressure make it hard to keep one’s bearings. Though this feeling was immediately elevated after ingesting some good Indian food (Just imagine. An Indian restaurant called ‘Bollywood’ at a site as exceptional as Jungfrau! Shows just how much influence Mr. Yash Chopra has had on this exotic location, which is showcased in almost all his films).

There were a number of snow-based activities going on which we missed (or rather chose to miss since the last train back down was at 4:30 and we late risers had barely made it there by 2). But we managed to catch them on Mount Titlis instead, another famous peak of the Swiss Alps. Unremarkable really, compared to Jungfrau, apart from the snow boarding and tubing that we indulged in to our heart’s content over there. Other things in these two places that are worth mentioning are the ice caves, and breathtaking cable car rides (both in open and closed capsules) which provided us with an aerial view of the undulating valleys, and Brown Cattle with the trademark Swiss bells around their necks clanking away, as they steadily munched on the healthy mountainous vegetation.

From Lucerne, we caught a TGV, the second fastest train in the world, to the city of lurrve. Paris, mon ami. Paris. Since it was my third trip to the place (the first visit being with my family a long time ago, and the second on a Cultural Exchange between my school, D.P.S. R.K. Puram and a French senior secondary, Lyceé Marguerite de Valois, in my eleventh year at school), the novelty value barely existed. Nevertheless, Paris truly does define the word romance. And now that I’m in the hormonally active age at which one begins to recognise the word’s true meaning, it really was a dreamy experience (if not slightly marred by an unfortunate fever I caught for about two days). A stroll down Champs Elyseés, one of the most elite streets in the world, a cruise down the river Seine and a peek into some of the obvious sites in Paris such as the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe served to act as the most typical bit of this holiday. A visit to the Louvre (made famous through the phenomenal success of The Da Vinci Code) was also a sure shot in the places to see. Museums, in any case, fascinate me to no end, perhaps linked with my general interest in History. A trip to EuroDisney too was inevitable. Oddly, I had been harping about it from the beginning of the trip (I really had no reason to do so, as we’ve already been to every Disneyland in the world more than once. Childish instincts still prevail I guess).

But what really made this trip to Paris shine was a rendezvous with my French correspondent (my host during the French Cultural Exchange), Florian Ponson. A torrent of pleasant memories accompanied him. My family finally got to meet him and as I expected, they totally hit it off, for Florian is certainly not one of those stereotypical, cold, racist Frenchmen. He’s most definitely fun.

Another remarkable happenstance that coincided with our stay in Paris was the victory and entry of France into the Finals of the FIFA World Cup. The celebrations, the sheer excitement in the air was immeasurable. The metro doors refused to close, people beating at the doors with the all-too-familiar football cheer…Dhum dhum, dhum-dhum-dhum, dhum, dhum-dhum-dhum-dhum-dhum-dhum…Umm, you get the point. Champs Elyseés converged to a jammed Arc de Triomphe, the plaza invaded by a boisterous mass of blue, white and red. It was on that night that I saw living proof of the multiple opinions that exist in people’s minds about sports. My hotel window looked out towards another hotel, a number of windows of which were see through. While one had a television screaming the highlights of the explosive match and its after-effects, another had a dull war movie on. And yet another had its lights off altogether!

This brought two weeks of my extended holiday to a close. Perhaps one of the most uneventful, yet enjoyable vacations we’ve had as a family in a long time.

Mumbai, Meri Jaan

The travel mania didn’t end there. Barely two weeks after returning from the exhausting yet exhilarating Eurotrip, I set off alone to Mumbai to spend a week with my aunt. Once again being inflicted with a mild illness dampened my trip, and caused me to get pricks upon pricks returning to Delhi to diagnose the reason of this recurring problem. Turned out to be nothing more than reduced immunity as an after-effect of Pneumonia. This enraged more than relieve. You know my sentiments towards needles…

Anyhow, it was a week full of exquisite meals and plenty of shopping (through which I actually managed to revamp my entire wardrobe!). I was supposed to meet Swathi (one of my closest friends) twice, in the week I was there, but the fever prevented it from happening. Nevertheless, we did manage to catch up for a whole day, even if we couldn’t do much.

Other than that, the vacations have basically involved boring myself to a wasted, bulging lump of fat. A previously unresolved issue between me and some others almost got solved. Almost. But that’s pretty much all that was of major significance in the time that I’ve spent in Delhi in these three months. With just another two weeks to go before I start off with my second year at BITS, Pilani – Dubai, preparations have begun, the wheels have started to turn and my stomach has started to churn. All in the apprehension of what the new academic year has in store for me. But till then, better bored than overworked!

Power Women

2006-08-10T13:56:00.000+05:30

Catherine Tramell…Velma Kelly…Meredith Johnson. Apart from the fictitious nature of their existence and the fact that these prominent creations of cinema are on-screen criminals, there is another aspect that binds all three. Undeniably and quite obviously, they are all female. Though, they don’t simply fall into the category of ordinary women.

Women, as I see it, fall into four types. Now here, there’ll be plenty who’ll adapt a sceptical outlook to this post. I can almost hear it right now…“Who the f*** does he think he is to judge women? Who would read something of such limited perspective?!”…followed by a barrage of abuses in both Hindi and English, especially if the one remarking is an all-out feminist. But from my experience and exposure to the likes of the feminine kind, this is what I think...

Bimbos: The first kind is comprised of the ones who are happy to depend on others (their parents in the initial part of their life, and later on, that special someone) for everything, be it financial or emotional support or even making all their decisions. Not that they don’t care. It just doesn’t strike them to think on their own. And even if they do, they screw up everything and mostly, don’t even realise it. Very enthusiastically contributed by my cousin Namita are certain highly amusing phrases heard from the mouths of these bimbos all too often at Kamla Nehru (the all girls’ college where she’s doing Economics Honours), such as “OOOH! You’re wearing green shoes too??! Me Tooo!!!! Isn’t that amazing???”, and another squeal goes something like, “Are you wearing baby pink or shocking pink nail-polish?”… These, sadly, are omnipresent in all societies. The pop artist Pink's new controversial single 'Stupid Girls' dealt with celebrity bimbos, targetting Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson in particular. The reason of controversy? Stupid Girls. Need I say more?

Smart Ass: Second, come those who are fairly independent and ambitious. They assume the stance of the one in charge at times, and unlike Type-1, they’re more than often successful at it. Trying hard to come off as more superior than men is their hobby, even if they’re inept at it (though this comes off mostly as cute rather than annoying). This kind can have varied intelligence levels, though none are totally idiotic. And mostly, it’s these kind of women that a guy with a head over his shoulders would most desire (Unless if he’s into the Dumb Blonde kind, i.e. type 1. In that case, he’s in it just for the bimbo’s lissom body and unconditional control that members of this kind offer over themselves).

The Unfortunate: The third constitute the forced and the oppressed...Prostitutes and Geisha to be precise. These have always fascinated me (a fascination disparaged by many friends as unhealthy and unnecessary). But it’s not the erotic links to their lifestyle that intrigue me, but their unique psychological condition that permits them to live their disgraced lives as outcasts free of guilt and remorse. Their pain-filled childhoods, the successful blocking of happier memories from the past, the ability to see the silver lining in the worst of situations and the innocence they possess in spite of their eroded reputation…that is what draws me towards their subject.

The fourth type is the one under the microscope in this post. Least common and most intimidating of all, a detailed elaboration follows…

Women have long been regarded as the weaker sex, and this is a piece of information that even the most unpromising and ignorant are aware of, bringing it into daily practice through the abuse of women (be it physical, mental or emotional) which especially we Indians are so accustomed to hearing about everyday. So much so, that it doesn’t even affect us anymore. And why is it so? Because the whole issue is pretty much taken for granted by commoners like us. I don’t refute the murky presence of emancipation organisations. I simply mean to say, that people who don’t indulge in this exploitation of women (like me, and hopefully you as well), treat it as a mere topic of interest or discussion. In this diverse world which is so full of opinions anyway, one particular opinion nevertheless holds firm in the minds of most men and many women, that is, that women really do constitute the weaker sex.

It is this belief which triggered the inevitable rise of the Power Woman. This corny term has been conjured up by Yours Truly, not because I’ve suddenly decided to indulge in the use of pathetic clichés, but because it encompasses most of the qualities which this broad spectrum of individuals tends to have. Somebody (or maybe it’s just me) once said, that whenever an opinion is formed, there’s always another one right ‘round the corner that opposes it. Consequently, the people who are not wholly convinced by the viewpoint that women are weaker than men are the ones who promoted the emergence of this breed of the human half.

Although such women do exist in reality, and a number of examples can be quoted (and will be, a little ahead), they’ve mainly come into the limelight through delightfully exaggerated characters conceived for many films and books, recurring often in literary and visual media.

What makes these ‘Power Women’ worth remark? A number of things, actually. Intricate personality traits differ from person to person, depending on whether she’s likeable or downright devilish. But there are a few qualities which exist more-or-less in all…

Unparalleled Confidence ... I don’t imply all the ‘we have mental strength, even if we’re physically weak’ bullshit that one gets to hear from all the females around. I mean a visible fearlessness towards all that is to come, and complete control over thoughts and actions.

A Limited Emotional Range… Things just don’t affect them as much as they would affect a normal person. Well…most things anyway. For example, failed business propositions, wrecked relationships et al, won’t cause them to brood and die of depression.

Time is of the Essence… They display an almost unnerving tendency to abide by time as if their life depended on it. Quick action is preferred over what is safer and more precise.

Attitude… The attitude! This is my most favourite of all. They have a certain panache in the very way that they move and converse. Each has her own distinct persona, oft leaving the confronted befuddled and at a loss of words. Such is its power. Such, is its potential. And it arises because of their awareness of its power.

Achievers… Call it a drive or desperation, but hitting the target is their ultimate aim. Once they set their eyes on something they want, you can be pretty darn sure they’ll go to whatever extent to get it. Morally sound or not depends once again on her raison d’être.

Dress Sense … Each has her own distinct style. Though most of them tend to accentuate their more ‘appealing assets’, if you get what I mean, while staying within the limits of acceptable dress code.

What follow are some specific examples of Power Women across the realms of reality and fiction that have caught my interest over the years…

Catherine Tramell

Sharon Stone’s riveting performance as the cold, calculating killer in the controversial 1992 flick ‘Basic Instinct’ sky-rocketed her career to unforeseen heights and shook the world in a way that the tremors continue to attract and astound till date. Though many watch the film solely with the intention of savouring the extraordinary doses of nudity and lovemaking, very few can claim thereafter that Stone’s devilry didn’t manage to captivate them. Being immortalised by the infamous leg-crossing scene during an interrogation with the police, boosted Sharon Stone’s raw résumé, and set a new precedent (though a nasty one) for Hollywood.

The character itself is a wealthy albeit bisexual novelist with an insatiable fetish for risk. An accomplished psychologist, her obvious obsession with innovating plots for her novels through personal experiences (read illegal) is hard to crack by both the police and other psychoanalysts. Matters are certainly not helped by her steamy persona and unnatural hunger for all things sexual.

Sharon Stone is the perfect Tramell, and she proves it once again in the recent mediocre sequel ‘Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction’. Perhaps the only thing that makes the movie shine is the presence of Tramell, migrating herself along with her evil intent from San Francisco to London. And among the Brits (though it may seem impossible), she’s more devious than ever before. At 48 years, Stone looks as ravishing as ever (except for a few wrinkles on the face), and was recently voted the most beautiful woman of her age, with the explanation, that her potency to the male libido rivals that of Viagra. Now that’s a Power Woman for you! A naughty one, but awe-inspiring nonetheless…

Lara Croft

Almost everyone must be familiar with this gem by now. First introduced to an unsuspecting audience of gamers in 1996 with a simple, yet elegantly designed character model, Lara Croft didn’t take long to become the most famous video game character to be ever created. Since then, the character has undergone several face-lifts in an attempt to make her more curvaceous and hence more realistic. But somewhere along the way, the designers went overboard with her ‘lovely lady lumps’. Finally in 2006, they arrived once again to a breakthrough in terms of character modelling with the ultra-realistic, polygon dripping, svelte figure with the release of the 7th instalment of the video game series titled ‘Lara Croft: Tomb Raider Legend’.

Immortalised on the silver screen by a breathtakingly accurate portrayal with Angelina Jolie donning the hot pants, and annual listings for the past several years in the Guinness Book awarding recognition as the oldest, most successful virtual heroine, Croft sure has come a long way. Her fabricated personality, which spells ‘never say die’ and ‘touch-me-not-else-you're-screwed’, an undying thirst for adventure, her sensitivity for the good cause, coupled with the character itself which has maintained itself as the Queen of the Cyber-World since its initial release on Feb 14th 1996 (Yes…Valentine’s Day…Quite appropriate don’t you think?), Lara Croft defines the words ‘Power Woman’.

Velma Kelly

Chicago the movie wouldn’t have been CHICAGO! - The Oscar winning classic without the supporting role of Velma Kelly played by the astonishingly perfect-looking Catherine Zeta-Jones. Brought down over the years by talented stage actresses in the original Broadway musical smash (which I had the fortune of witnessing in Dubai), Velma is the unfortunate murderess of her whole family, comprising of her sister and her husband. A vaudeville star and part of a sister act before her apprehension and addition to Murderess Row, Kelly maintains her proclivity for stylish stage acts, liquor and jazz. Although considered to possess a role of lesser importance over the lead Roxie Hart (played by Reneé Zellweger), Velma Kelly is the one who lends the true spirit to the story, highlighting all the banes that existed in the social and legal system of the 1930s, through her powerful, stunning personality and notorious nature. Her ability to make any man or woman dance to the tune of her little finger and her natural charisma that gives her not only her freedom from jail but also the stardom she desired all along, makes her a natural member of the Power Woman Squad.

Meredith Johnson/Sonia Roy

Demi Moore in Disclosure and Priyanka Chopra in Aitraaz. Both essentially the same. Powerful executives of equally powerful multinationals, who don’t like to be stood up. Especially by their ex-lovers from whom they demand one night stands. Although Priyanka took the character one step up by making her more seductive and callous than her Hollywood counterpart (and with a lot more gall), both get what they want at any cost, and prove to be a sea of composure, confidence and attitude.

Other fictional women falling in this category include Miranda Priestly, the ruthless editor of Runway fashion magazine in The Devil Wears Prada, Angelina Jolie’s mesmerising portrayal of Olympias (Alexander the Great’s mother) in the 2004 picture Alexander, Kaileena, the enigmatic Empress of Time in the super successful video game Prince of Persia : Warrior Within, Yu Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon), and several others…Though these are the ones that've had an impact on me so far…

Among Power Women in the living, breathing world, I am adequately aware of only one…though I do have an idea of several others as well…The one being Mata Hari.

Mata Hari

Mata Hari was the stage name of Margaretha Geertruida Zelle. A coutesan of Dutch origin in the early 20th century, she gained immense fame as an Indian and Oriental-style dancer. After moving to Paris, she became an overnight success with her enigmatic, flirtatious, confident promiscuity and her sylphlike and provocative dance-form, which was new to the French. She wasn’t merely a prostitute or a dancer. She was credited for significantly raising the bar in terms of quality of stage performances. With an ability to improvise and act along with dance and seduce, Mata Hari made dancing a more respectable, high society interest. Her facination with men in uniforms and her popular demand for numerous cross-border performances is what eventually led to her downfall. As she got further involved in the First World War scenario, she became a spy for the Germans against the French. She was even code-named H-21. She was executed through a firing squad after being found guilty in Paris.

Although never considered a good looker, Mata Hari reached her exalted status of an innovative dancer, a satisfying lover and an expert at covert spy operations through sheer street smartness, natural talent, intelligence and confidence. She is the original Femme Fatale.

So comes the conclusion of this exhaustive post about one of the many things in life which we overlook, but not quite. And to think, so far, I’ve only dealt with one type in one half of the human race. The diversity, the sheer complexity of human nature can never be truly categorised. But that is what we humans do with everything around us, don’t we? Inspect, label and archive. So why should human nature be any different?

Men : Women = Men : Materialistic Possessions??

2006-07-14T03:38:00.001+05:30

No, I haven’t started coaching for the SATs. This is a thought that occurred to me recently when I overheard a couple of college mates raving about a particular car (conversations all too commonly heard in Dubai, a vehicle fanatic’s haven). I am referring to the similarity in attitude that the typical male bears when dealing with his sexual counterpart, and the physical effects that give him pleasure.

Looking at it objectively, purely on the basis of observable phenomena, one can quantify this attitude into three factors:

Money : Money in the past and in rural areas till today plays a heavy role in deciding whether a woman is even worth matrimonial alliance or not. I’m referring of course, to the long drawn custom of Dowry. Although Dowry is not too much of an issue in the modern areas which we reside in, it doesn’t mean money has lost itself as a factor of this attitude with urbanization. It has in fact, evolved and hence earned connotations, perhaps most apparent through inheritance of fortunes held by prospective life-partners, and the existence of high class and low class prostitution. In the case of materialism, money has an obvious and all-powerful role.

Colour : Hey. If I’m going out to pick up a new mobile or a car, the colour is most definitely not going to be a non-issue. What is important to understand at this point is that I am trying to bring about a comparison in the criteria that most men would definitely consider before committing to an article of luxury, or a woman. All men, or for that matter, all women too have a certain image in mind of their ideal mate. By ideal, I certainly don’t mean to imply that the person is not going to budge from that image which he has in mind. But definitely, he or she would accept only that ‘someone’ who has the most desirable of those qualities. And in majority of the cases, colour fairly prepossesses those desired attributes, in most cases, subconciously. And this is not a fact I’ve conjured out of nowhere. I checked those figures (Bless the Internet), and in each case, be it among women or men, white with coloured matches always fell far below 50%. Anyway, in India at least, there is hardly any stress required to spell out this fact, or to prove it. The infamous ‘Fair and Lovely’ says it all…

Outward Appearance : Many would club colour under this, but by outward appearance, I mean the looks, so to say. An example being that a dark person can very much be just as beautiful, attractive or sexy as one with a fairer complexion. Take for instance, Naomi Campbell, Halle Berry (Die Another Day’s orange bikini, Catwoman’s oh-so-tight costume) or Denzel Washington. There…now you see it. No matter how much they say, “It’s what’s inside that matters”, hardly anyone would like to go for someone who’s a gem inside but a horror on the outside. There are the occasional exceptions, no doubt. But exceptions are always there aren’t they? It’s what the majority is that is taken into census. Most in fact, even end up compromising on what lies beneath for what’s on the surface. Certainly unwise…but so it is. And materialism, well, even if a Maruti 800 was as capable a car as a BMW, doubtful if anyone would go for it, especially if they had the money to afford a BM. All because of its…? You’re in a position enough to answer that now.

So, is it that the human mind is built to think only in this one track manner, be it when it is dealing with objects or with people? After reading all this, I’m quite sure some would agree. But there are cases in which all three criteria fail to fit. And I believe it is these cases who live lives liberated from the influence of mindless prejudices, influences and traditions. I don’t say I belong among those cases. Nor do I say it’s always a good thing to be them. But it isn’t bad either. So the next time you see a healthy, handsome chap walking with an arm linked to a native of the deepest hellhole, don’t jump to conclusions. Most probably the guy's hopelessly in love, or has been forced into the marriage. Otherwise, either the trotting terror has a diamond studded spoon in her mouth, or she is the Swan Queen masquerading under a mask of the Devil.

And now, upon finishing this post, I am confused on what I meant to imply in the first place. Oh well. Guess this is just one of those posts that is destined to be looked back upon as the fruit of unnecessary thought. :S

In Short...After Long

2006-07-10T23:56:00.000+05:30

As assured, here I am. Once again, geared up with a load of things to chew the brains right out of your heads. Nah. Just kidding. Or am I? Hmmm...

The amount of guilt I've been harbouring because of not updating for so long, only I'm aware of. I've become horribly irregular at it (more than evident from the abundance of 'Update!' comments in my previous posts). And now, I'm paying the price of procrastination. The number of significant things that've happened over the past few months are impossible to document in one post. But unbelievably, that is the precise task I am attempting right now.

The End...And Then Some More

Last, I left off just before the dreaded first semester Comprehensives were to begin. For future record, no references to them will ever be made again...or to the academic aspect of the first semester for that matter (Clear, hopefully, how exactly it was?). Anyway, the only memories I have of them are huddling in the chilly mornings before the exams (which was infact everyday for one and a half weeks, since the exams were consecutive) with a few friends in a tiny corner of Knowledge Village attempting frantic last minute look-throughs (of an unsettling number of articles for the first time ever). Then would come the exam itself, with an intimidating timer flashing the minutes going by on a projector screen in the exam hall.

The Compres met with an unexpected end when the Vice President and Prime Minister of the UAE and Ruler of Dubai, Sheikh Maktoum Bin Rashid Al Maktoum (Poof! That's a long name...) passed away, literally wreaking havoc in the lives of BITSians. It happened a day before the last exam. After a night of speculation, of whether to study for the following day's exam or not (which ultimately everyone ended up not doing), it was annouced that the last exam (i.e. Physics - I) would take place a day after our return from India...that is, after a period of one whole month! I couldn't quite part-take as much as others in the celebratorious after-effects accompanying this piece of news (just to clarify...the postponement of the exam and not the unfortunate death of one of the most prominent personalities of the Middle-East). Though I didn't quite feel so bad about this...the reason being that I was off to India that very evening! Now, to that, one may say, 'Big shit! He's been to India twice already in this semester. Hardly any need to get so excited about this time..'. Well, it’s only after this excessive, but each time brief, exposure to my homeland that I realised that the true intensity of the amount one misses something comes to the surface only when exposed to that thing intermittently and each time, briefly.

I spent the first seven days of this twenty five day holiday in Delhi, savouring the old life. The remaining portion of the vacation was taken up by a trip that we took to the South East of Asia along with my grand parents.

Asian Exploration

We landed in Kuala Lumpur (KL), Malaysia. From here we drove straight to a loftier area known as Genting. Genting was on the whole rather uneventful, disappointing and frankly, a complete waste of time. The much hyped Genting Theme Park were so sad that our own 'Dilli ka Appu Ghar' seemed a better bet. So thankfully enough, we all gladly proceeded to the hub, KL City itself. There, we put up in the luxurious 7-Star Berjaya Times Square Hotel. The first sixteen floors of this enormous building are actually a mall. It even includes an IMAX Theatre! On the second last evening, we all went to see ‘Memoirs of a Geisha' there. The biggest and perhaps funniest letdown was when at the beginning of the show, three sentences gaped at us from the huge screen proclaiming that the following presentation was not in IMAX format! More later on the film itself.

The first day was taken up by a City Tour, which was again a waste, not because the city itself was boring, but because the tour guide was unable to handle the whole affair artfully. The second day mainly consisted of shopping and bickering, two of my least favourite activities. It was on our last day there that we actually stepped out on our own into the heart of the city and saw some of the ever bustling roads and underground Chinese markets KL is oh-so-famous for. One thing worth remark is the openness of piracy in Malaysia. There were shops selling pirated goods even in the Berjaya Hotel Mall! And we thought India’s puny Palika Bazaar is the limit…

From Malaysia we went on to Singapore, but only for a day. The afternoon we landed, we checked into The Meridien. After letting off steam at the hotel for a bit, we went for the famed Night Safari, which was not quite the experience I had hoped and expected it to be. Since we had my grandparents with us, it was quite impossible for us to do anything there (that is, walk down the labyrinthine trails leading into the heart of the reserved forest) other than the Guided Tram Tour. But nonetheless, the stunning environment they've managed to create in that confined area was definitely worth the time we spent there.

The next day, we risked a City Tour once again, but this time, thankfully, it was quite interesting. Not that the lukewarm jokes of the tour guide were overly entertaining, but proved atleast to be less of a bore than the droning monologue of the guide in KL. At the end of the tour, we proceeded to the main and most exciting part of the trip, the Star Cruise, aboard the enormous Super Star Libra. This palatial voyager ship had enough things packed inside it to assure not a moment of boredom while on board. With restaurants, bars, activities, sports, stage shows and countless other distractions, the cruise was in itself a perfect retreat. Not to forget sprawling ocean to gaze into while the powerful wind of the midsea threatens to blow you away towards the amaranthine, unending horizon.

The cruise had two stops excluding its embarkation and disembarkation points (both of them being Singapore). The first stop took us back to Malaysia, but this time to a small port called Penang. This was in fact one of the areas worst affected by the Tsunami. However, our trip to this place mainly consisted of a drive around the city, a visit to a Thai Buddhist Temple and ending up at a fairly empty beachside where I tried out Jetskiing (Not as easy as it looks, is all I have to say about it).

The second stop was Phuket, Thailand (I do not like saying that name out loud...). We definitely managed to see the place quite thoroughly for the few hours that we were there. But all throughout we were looking out for the infamous imitation stuff that the south east is well known for, only to realise that all the shops keeping this stuff were packed near the port where we had disembarked...One of those moments when the urge to reverse time is at its peak.

And so, the cruise came to an end after three days on board. The remaining three days of the trip were in Singapore. Merlion, Sentosa, Serengoon Street. Pleasant.

And so once again, all too soon, it was time to return to the harder things in life. Tests, quizzes, grades, attendance, hostel, warden, boredom, washing your own clothes, pressing your own clothes, folding your own clothes...umm..well...you get the point.

Semester II - An Emotional Rollercoaster

I know the subhead seems a bit overdramatized. But to me it's really an understatement. Really. Won't go much into it, but if the first sem was getting to know the place and making new friends, semester II mainly involved maintaining those friends and surviving in the now mundane, overfamiliar locations...Knowledge Village and the hostel. While it took close to five months to form a strong group of close friends (Arjun, Aatish, Swathi and Sunanda), it didnt take too long for the phrase 'familiarity breeds contempt' to show itself physically. Swathi and I actually saw the storm from its brewing stages. But I can say that each and every person who knew us even faintly could feel its reveberations when it actually unleashed itself upon us.

But two good things definitely came out of it. It overhauled my personality to quite an extent. For the better. It made me less naive and showed me the absolute necessity to tread with caution. Alongside, I've learnt to handle extreme situations with aplomb. And secondly, Swathi and I found not only company, but a meaningful friendship in each other, the most fundamental basis of which is empathy and understanding. I know you're screaming in embarassment right now Swathi, but that's how it is. And you know it. Thanks for being the biggest support anyone can be and for doing the one thing I expect unconditionally from a friend...Reciprocate.

There are two more things worth remark that happened in the second semester.

The Desert Safari
The first is an annual Desert Safari that Knowledge Village organises, which the five of us decided to go for this time. Though it didn't involve all the things present on a normal safari (read BELLYDANCING), it did have a number of other things, all of which we all felt were well worth the fifty dirhams we paid for it. They included dunebashing, which was in fact a ride in a 4x4 helmed by a fit and fine fellow pretending to be all drunk and crazed, camel back rides, sand-boarding and dancing. Oh the dancing! Plus we managed to click some truly classic shots on the outing. Overall, quite the experience!

A Welcome Visit

It was around the mid-sem that my parents and brother came a-visiting. I stayed for over a week with them in a hotel in Bur Dubai and experienced life as a day scholar. An experience indeed. My parents through this visit also got an opportunity to meet the people who meant most to me out in Dubai, through an afternoon out with them.

And now that the First Year has come to a close, I'm back once again in Delhi, this time for a whole three months! Lots to come about what all's been brewing since my arrival. Till then, keep checking back!

Posting Soon

2006-06-28T15:23:00.000+05:30

I think the title says it all...A deadline? How about two weeks. Then hopefully, regularity will be of the essence.

Ciao for now!

P.S: Not that I expect anyone to even read this one, seeing the date of the previous publish.

Respite and Reviews

2005-12-23T16:09:00.000+05:30

As predicted, the first ten days of my return to Dubai after sick leave were not pretty. They involved a series of things, none of which I'm fond of, such as running around from classroom to faculty room getting makeup test forms signed, persuading (or rather cajoling) just about every professor to give me at least slightly more time to prepare, and struggling to give six makeups plus the regularly scheduled components in a span of six days!

This Thursday, after a gruelling string of four tests, Tarun (a friend from the hostel, more commonly referred to by his extraordinarily unusual surname, Tampi) and I decided to spend the rest of the day at our good friend Vishal's place. He stays practically on one of the hottest streets in Sharjah (King Faisal Street), a fact that just made me realise that the Sharjah Boys' Hostel could have been a lot better located than it currently is. Basically, it was one of those rare occasions when I felt the king of negative emotions...Envy.

After having a look around, ordering in Chinese and watching a movie, Tampi and I headed back to the hostel, reaching half an hour past curfew (surprisingly, it didn't cause a stir). Now, you'll probably wonder, how I can so casually mention watching a movie, without even naming it, let alone giving an opinion of it...Well wonder no more ;) The review of 'October Sky' is what's up next...

_____________________

October Sky (1999)

My Rating :

Dealing with the true story of Homer Hickam, the son of a coal miner and resident of the stagnating town of Coalwood, 'October Sky' puts on display the rural sensibilities of the 1950's when ambitions, and ideas that are 'out there' were forced to remain caged. Homer was the victim of scientific thought. Ever since he saw the spectacular sight of the Sputnik grazing through the sky, he was hooked. He wanted to build a rocket of his own. He turns for knowledge to a geek, paying no heed to the future of his social status in school, and gains support from Miss Riley, his science teacher, portrayed by Laura Dern ('Jurassic Park' fame) in a style that makes all who watch the film crave for a teacher like her.

Battling family disapproval and even the scales of legislature with nothing other than undying vigour and sheer intelligence, Homer and his three friends show it not only to the locals of Coalwood, but to the whole of the United States that it's not big people who make the world, but big minds.

The movie on the whole is definitely worth a watch. It's a guarantee that you will get goosebumps and a fuzzy feeling in your chest by the end of it. Go watch the Homer and Rocket Boys aim for the skies. Literally.

_____________________

You'd think with the approaching exams, I would go back and start studying again. Well...you thought wrong. Though maybe the reason that I went on to watch another movie shortly after returning to the hostel that night was because of the gallons of adrenaline pumping through my blood vessels. Reason? Hostel activities... Let's just say, two hostel mates pretended (with creepy determination) to rape me. Don't worry...it's something that's shockingly common here...more like an initiation ritual of flat number 301. Prior to me, practically the whole of my floor has already been through this experience. You have to get used to all this suggestive crap when you're in a hostel. Especially... the Sharjah Boys' Hostel. Fudj, this paragraph's for you, since you've been looking forward to reading it for so long now, that is, ever since YOU and Tampi molested me! Ha! Now you're exposed!

Anyway, later that night, I finally managed to get a movie from someone that I've been dying to watch for ages now, even though it was barely released a month back. The review follows...

_____________________

The Exorcism of Emily Rose

My Rating :

Though it's not a typical horror movie per se, there is something very special about 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose'. The first thing that draws one to this flick is the title, which is so reminiscent of the 1973 William Fredekin classic 'The Exorcist'. The second is the fact that this film is in fact based on a true story, documented as 'The Exorcism of Anneliese Michel'.

So what is the movie all about? Well, this is the heavily dramatised screen adaptation of a famous and controversial case in which the Catholic Church made the rare exception of allowing an exorcism to be performed on a freshman girl. A girl who in real-life was named Anneliese Michel and in the film is called Emily Rose. The decision backfired, for Emily died. Now the Priest who was incharge of her, Father Moore, is charged in court for negligent behaviour leading to a young girl's death.

Most of the movie is a court trial flashing back occasionally to what had actually happened. These flashbacks are when the scary scenes come in. Though there aren't many of those in it, the real strength of the movie lies in the wordplay that goes on in the courtroom, the highly absorbing storyline and above all, the performances by the actors. Laura Linney acting as Erin Bruner, the defending lawer for Father Moore shows up with a powerful portrayal of a woman torn apart by what she believes in and what she wants to believe. Jennifer Carpenter as Emily Rose, for a debut role, too gives a satisfyingly believable performance.

The film is also an effective visual representation of the 'science versus belief' war. The essence of 'Exorcism' lies in the fact that belief is something that cannot be proved. If it is proved, it need not be believed in at all.

Bit out of the ordinary, but a great movie nonetheless.

_____________________

The latest in my life now is that I am raped almost daily in the hostel along with other poor souls that Tampi and Fudj (a.k.a. Rohan Milind Phadnis) can catch. Other than that, I have practically no time in my hands whatsoever thanks to the Compres which are upon us at last. My daily routine pretty much involves giving an exam, coming back to the hostel, sitting down to study for the next exam (which is the following day), fighting to get a few hours of sleep and actively conversing with Vishal through the use of Short Message Service. 5th of Jan...that's what is the silver lining to it all, for that is when it all ends and I get to spend twenty five blissful days with my family back in India. Till then, Workshop Practicals and Theory, Biology, English, Maths, Physics, Chemistry, Prob 'n Stats and SMS is all I get.

Back...For Bad

2005-12-11T21:19:00.000+05:30

Two years ago when my younger brother Varun was heavily down with Pneumonia, I was pretty sure that my chance to battle a greater-than-average disease will come too. What I didn't know was that it'll come barely a few weeks prior to the end of my first semester in college, and also uncomfortably close to the Compres (Comprehensive Examinations, if you please). Yup...I'm sick (with Pneumonia, the 'family illness'), and have been for the past three weeks now.

It began with minor bodyache, certainly not overtly remarkable, on the evening of the 24th of November, after a glorious day at Jumeira Beach with two of my friends. What followed was five days of intensely high fever, a terribly sore throat and a phenomenally increased dose of the bodyache. I was on antibiotics for throat infection that didn't make any damn diff. Finally, my mom arrived and after an X-Ray and blood test, it became apparent that Pneumonia had struck and admission into the hospital was unavoidable. Immediate decisions, a few clever phone calls and filmi-style driving by a godsent Dubai taxi driver brought me back to India admitted at Apollo Hospital the same day.

Next came the dreaded cannulas (for all you medically impaired people, a sophisticated syringe that stays inside the vein for days on end, through which intravenous antibiotics are injected into the body. My biggest and perhaps only fear is that of needles, so the bloody cannula - pun intended - ended up making me throw up once, and lose vision for a minute and a half because of sudden low bp, twice). After eight days of being tormented by more needles than I've ever seen in my life, I came back home to recoup.

And that's where I am right now...With barely a few hours to go before I once again depart for Dubai, I'm on tenterhooks at the moment. I missed a considerable amount academically at college and am preparing to face all that with plenty of trepidation...

Now for a small amount of cliché that I usually try and avoid, but is absolutely essential at this point of time. I would like to thanks all those people who cared enough to call or even visit me during my illness. Also, I am ever grateful to Aatish, Arjun, Viplove, Dr. Ghosh, Andy uncle and Anna aunty for all their support while I was toiling in sickness prior to my return to India. And above all, I'm glad beyond words that I have parents who are truly devoted to their children.

NOW, on a much lighter note, PRINCE OF PERSIA: THE TWO THRONES IS OUT IN THE MARKET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know most of you reading this post wouldn't give a tiny ant's ass about this piece of info, but...hell I DO! The third and final installment in the Sands trilogy, The Two Thrones has been touted as the best game in the series, combining the most appreciated elements from both the earlier games, and also putting in a few surprises of its own. Prince of Persia: Warrior Within is as it is my favourite game...let's see if this one truly is as good as they say. But frustratingly enough, I most probably won't be able to play it till June next year since in Jan, we may be going on a holiday...leaving the next tension-free days to come only five months later...AAARRGGGGHHHHHHH!!! The agony of impatience and eagerness is consuming me!

More later...

My Reviews of : 'Monster-in-Law' and 'The Supernaturalist'

2005-11-01T15:10:00.000+05:30

Battling all odds and taking quick action, I've managed to come back to Delhi for nine days for Diwali. The last few days have been a mix of parental reprimand (on account of the amount I had been eating and sleeping back in Dubai), and plenty of dozing (I've been sleeping close to fifteen hours everyday...as if making up for two months worth of beauty sleep). In the time that I'm awake, we're usually out of the house, going for dinner to all of my favourite joints. I'm enjoying it while it lasts...

____________________

Movie: Monster-in-Law

My Rating:

Last night we decided to go to Metropolitan, Gurgaon to watch 'Monster-in-Law'. The multi-talented and equally beautiful Jennifer Lopez is seen once again in light-hearted comedy, this time appearing as the free-spirited Charlotte Cantilini, who was orphaned at a young age and makes a living as a dog-walker. As all JLo movies proceed, she bumps into her to-be Prince Charming, Kevin Fields (Michael Vartan), a rich and successful surgeon. All's going well, till Charlotte meets Kevin's mom. A word about this extraordinary figure. Portrayed in the bitchiest of fashions by the legendary Jane Fonda, Viola Fields is a name to be reckoned with in the celebrity world. After being replaced by a younger face as the host of the most popular television talk show in America, Viola becomes even more eccentric than she already is. And the news that her unreasonably over-protected son has a serious girlfriend does nothing more than aggravate her further. What follows is head to head combat between the saas and the future bahu. It's Tu-Tu, Main-Main Hollywood style!

Overall the movie was entertaining, but nothing beyond that. With many of the hilarious parts diluted because of the unsatisfactory voice acting, and the predictible storyline, Monster-in-Law is just a movie one should watch if in the mood of a goody-goody, fresh feel.
____________________

Book: The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer

My Rating:

I read the Supernaturalist two months back, but couldn't find the opportunity to write an elaborate review on it. So here it is...

Eoin Colfer, in my opinion, is absolutely brilliant. He manages to come out with at least one novel a year, and never does one resemble the other. The author of the bestselling Artemis Fowl series (which I adore), packs the same type of punch into The Supernaturalist as is there in the rest of his books. But the likeability factor in this one is considerably less.

The first reason for this is the complexity of the idea. Though once understood, it is easy to grasp, the idea behind The Supernaturalist is difficult to comprehend, as it makes us face a future world much different from the kind we expect would exist. Although, if we think about it, it is the kind of world which our earth is more likely to develop into, than the false image that we harbour in our minds. The second reason is predictibility of the plot. Though the plot has its due share of 'Colferish' twists, a seasoned reader is capable of determining beforehand what could happen. This is something that is absent completely from the Artemis Fowl books, which are not encumbered by such a quality, and are more delightfully unpredictible than any book I've ever read.

Concerning the story, it is set in the future where abandoned and orphaned children are kept in Parentally-Challenged Institutes, where they are treated as laboratory animals. The central character is one such kid called Cosmo Hill. Somehow, Cosmo manages to escape the clutches of the Clarissa Fraigne Institute. But at the price of almost losing his life. He is saved and taken into care by a gang of teenagers who call themselves Supernaturalists. They are together for a reason. The reason is their ability to see an evil living species. An ability which is common only to them. And now to Cosmo as well... Together they strive to rid the earth of these Parasites, as they call them.

An action packed book with its share of funny and lukewarm emotional moments. A good read for the bored.

Two flicks and a festival

2005-08-22T23:21:00.000+05:30

I've had several complaints about my previous post and I don't blame readers for it at all, as it was mainly for my own pleasure that I wrote it, hence making it longer and more descriptive than a normal post's requirement. Nonetheless, I hope to make up for it with two fresh (and non-over descriptive) movie reviews, clubbed under one heading.

This post is coming quite late, considering the events discussed in it took place four days ago. This is because I was feeling uncharacteristically lazy during this period. I say 'uncharacteristically', not because I'm never lazy (which incidentally, I always am), but because I'm never so lazy that I'm not even inclined towards sitting at the computer.

Now I personally am a Bhansali fan, and ever since 'Black' came out, I've been confident nothing can beat it (in terms of reviews and awards), since it is a film not just me, but practically the whole of the educated Indian population was stunned to speechlessness with. I hate to even call it a film. It is a work of art. The only thing I was a little worried about was 'Mangal Pandey - The Rising' , which could spoil Black's chances (and which is the reason I was secretly willing it to be a horrible film). So, on the 18th, we decided to go see for ourselves, if Aamir Khan's latest is as good as the intense publicity makes it seem.
_______________________

Mangal Pandey - The Rising

My Rating :

Mangal Pandey is really a good film. It presents the period in Indian history (though with quite a bit of bending of history itself) when the Indian people began to feel the strain of having a foreign Raj on themselves. The story has been beautifully crafted, showing glimpses of the many factors that led to the infamous Revolt of 1857. Mangal Pandey (Aamir Khan), a valiant soldier of the British Army in India befriends his Captain, William Gordon (Toby Stephens), who supports the justified pleas of the Indians, but in the process of following orders, unknowingly misleads them into believing fallacies. The Britishers, masquerading as The East India Company have the entire country under their belt. But the pride derived from their slick capture of the most sought after land in the world renders them blind to the impending mutiny. The profanity of the Enfield Rifle cartridges greased with animal fat, the discontent of the rulers, and the interference of laws with customs have all been blended into the storyline instead of the way these facts are usually dealt with, i.e, squeezing them in somehow. There are also several powerful scenes that left me momentarily breathless, such as the sudden, loud beginning, the awe-inspiring sight of the approaching ships bearing the regiment from Rangoon, and the vehement appeal Gordon makes in court warning the jury that the hanging of Mangal Pandey will only light a fire that will eventually drive the mighty Empire from the shores on India. Plus, at very few points does the movie seem like a documentary, which I think is an achievement in itself for a period film.

So, if the film is so impressive, one may wonder why I did not give it a higher rating? All the prejudices that I had harboured against the film disappeared five minutes into it. But several tiny details marred the experience of the movie. One was the freshness and newness of the sets and costumes. The rustic look expected in Pandey's village, the slightly dilapitated effect required in the brothel ruled by the crude Lol Bibi (Kirron Kher) where Heera (Rani Mukerjee) entertains the British soldiers, or even the 'old and uncared for' look needed in the Indian soldiers' and villagers' clothes, have not been delivered. This makes the film seem like a play, rather than a cinematic depiction of reality. Also, the scenes have fluidity very rarely, mostly cutting between one shot and the other as if they've been joined inexpertly and hurriedly together in the editing room.

A word about the acting. Aamir Khan is an ideal Mangal Pandey. His performance, as always, is superb, though I still feel he outdid himself with Lagaan. Toby Stephens, a very likeable Gordon, too delivers a fantastic performance, which is worth applaud considering his role in Lagaan was so different and in which too he was fitting. Amisha Patel and Rani Mukerjee play rather forgettable roles, but add flavour to an otherwise male dominated film. The background commentary has been done by a rather harsh voiced Om Puri. I still believe Amitabh Bachchan would've been a better choice, even if the use of his voice had brought about a similarity to Lagaan. His all-powerful voice, coupled with his ability to pause and emote at just the right moments would have made the commentary much clearer, rather that making it seem like a fly buzzing around a rather delicious dish.

Overall, I think 'The Rising' is definitely worth a watch atleast once. After that, it really depends from person to person how much they care about the movie's shortcomings.

_______________________

On the 19th was Rakhi. The day began early, and I went to Punjabi Bagh where I was tied a rakhi by my classmate and 'lil sis' as I call her, Amrita. It was great seeing her after so many months. In the evening, my cousins, and best friends, Namita and Naina came over to tie us Rakhis, and as a Going-Away and advance Birthday present, they gave me the Illustrated Edition of Angels and Demons by Dan Brown! I was thrilled, since this book of his ranks among my favourite ones. As soon as they left aound 10:30 pm, we made an impromtu plan to go see 'My Wife's Murder' at Gurgaon.
_______________________

My Wife's Murder

My Rating:

My Wife's Murder. The title itself is intriguing enough to draw people. Perhaps that, and the trailer, are the only reasons people are going to see it, as we did. The film is quite unconventional. The situation it deals with is very much possible in real life, and makes you wonder, 'What if this happened with me? What would I do?'. The story is simple and straight-forward, but has been made in a way, that it doesn't bore you even once, though it's not so riveting, that it'll keep your buttocks glued to the seat, and your eyes to the screen throughout. The reason I'm being so vague is that it's a short film, and a lot happens in every scene to carry the story ahead. All I can say about the story, so as to not spoil it for others, is that it's about a sound editor (Anil Kapoor), who's interaction with his wife Sheila (Suchitra Krishnamoorthy) involves mainly one-sided screaming, i.e, from her end. She unnecessarily suspects him of having an affair with his attractive assistant, Reena (Nandana Sen). The only reason he is bearing it, and not divorcing her, is because he is the father of two small, schoolgoing kids.

Performances by Anil Kapoor and Boman Irani are notable. Both acted flawlessly, and suited their roles perfectly. Suchitra has a small role (obviously, since she's the wife in My Wife's Murder), but essays it well, especially while playing dead :) . Nandana Sen was good only in some scenes. In other's she was grossly unremarkable.

End remark: Just average.
_______________________

Do give your comments on how you found the reviews, and what your take on these films is.

Holy Matrimony, the Southie way

2005-08-16T23:43:00.000+05:30

Many may not know this, but my mom is from the south of India, which makes me half an Andhrite. This fact is of considerable significance at this point because the last wedding in our family of her generation took place in the week that was (making the next in line...me!). My uncle (i.e, my mother's first cousin, Chandrasekhar, affectionately called Chandru/Chandu) was married to Kamakshi in a typical South Indian fashion. And the four day long celebrations saw me participating full-fledgedly, to the best of my capacity and requirement. Relatives and friends came in from several parts of the world (including Chandru uncle himself, who is currently placed in Detroit, USA). Other 'international' invitees included my mom's cousin Lata from Australia, her maasi Subanna Pinni from Kentucky, and from San Diego, California, Chandru uncle's older brother Durga (affectionately and most commonly called Bujji) along with his wife Anu and his daughter, the cutest little baby ever, Anika. I simply have to write an additional note about her. We saw her for the first time when we went to San Diego two and a half years ago. Remarkably, the most adorable nine-month old toddler she was. Now she's almost three, and still is so unbelievably cute (and intelligent for her age), that you just don't want to stray your eyes away from her for even a second. A pic's right here, so you can see what I mean for yourself!

South Indian weddings are very different from the usual Punjabi ones seen around Delhi, the most marked distinctions being the long duration (four days), the timings (all functions take place early in the mornings) and the style itself, which is thoroughly traditional. Though the whole ocassion would have been loads more fun if the weather had been more ambient. We were completely washed out by the end of each day, as Delhi faced a horribly hot and humid spell in the past week.

The first ceremony called 'Upanayanam' took place at 5 am on the 12th at the Sarita Vihar Community Center. We reached late, but luckily managed to catch its final moments. This ceremony involves tying a white cotton thread (called 'Jandhayam') across the groom's chest, signifying his recognition as a Brahmin. This usually can be done anytime after the age of 12 or 13, but many prefer to do it just before marriage. Later that day, I got my iPod Speaker Station (along with several other surprise gifts) from Chandru uncle, and from Bujji uncle, the desperately awaited American Edition of the latest Harry Potter book. We stayed on till mid-afternoon.

The next function, 'Snathakam', took place the following day (again in the morning), in which two more layers of thread were added, signifying that the groom is ready to be married and start a family. In the evening of the same day, was a function called 'Yaduru Sannaham', which is a ceremony in which the bride's family formally invites the groom's family. This was the most fun part in the entire wedding 'proceedure'. The bride's family and the groom's family (i.e, my own) stood opposite each other separated by about 3 metres. Then, the bride and groom slowly inched towards each other (and I mean literally inched), with fervent instructions from everyone around on the exact distance to step forward, so as to not make it seem as though one was desperate for the other ;) When they finally reached face to face, garlands were exchanged. Unlike Punjabi marriages, the garlands in a South Indian wedding do not signify the actual wedding, and are actually exchanged one day prior to it. Bujji uncle and I picked Chandru uncle off the floor and made the garland exchange all the more dramatic and loads of fun.

The next morning, that is, on the 14th, was the marriage itself. The mohurat is followed very strictly. Chandru uncle was made to sit in front of a printed curtain, and Kamakshi was brought in seated in a large basket. At exactly 7:08 am, the two of them pressed pieces of gur (natural sugar) on each other's heads. This was the main part of the ceremony and it lasted for an entire minute, during which live music blares defeaningly from the sidelines. The mangalsutra was put on the bride's neck an hour later. Many other things happened afterwards, but I went upstairs and didn't see the rest. After lunch, we headed back home and dozed for two hours, since we had only slept for three hours the previous night. In the evening, the Reception took place. This function was jarred by unfortunate incidents, including the groom becoming ill, and Kamakshi's younger sister meeting with an accident (some crazy freak as a prank threw a brick through the car window, which landed on her head). Other incidents such as Lata aunty and Subanna Pinni getting upset stomachs made the ocassion rather eventful (I'll say!).

The next day (the 15th) was the Sathyanarayan Puja, when according to me, the groom lost his independence for life, ironically on Independence Day! :) I didn't go for that though.

Overall, the experience of viewing and participating in a real Southie wedding was exhilarating, and not to forget, enlightening.

Shaadi, Bya aur Nausea...My Movie Review of : '7 ½ Phere'

2005-08-08T21:03:00.000+05:30

My Rating:

Today, Abeer, a school-mate of mine, and I decided to meet up, since he too is in the same boat as me, that is, the one still waiting to depart towards college, determined to kill its passengers of boredom before that. He is going to RV College, Bangalore, which too begins at the end of the month. First he came to my house for an hour or two, after which we set off for Saket. We ate at Subway, that is, after buying tickets for the 3:30 show of '7 ½ Phere'. Post lunch, we roamed a bit and then stepped into PVR to watch what we assumed to be atleast a watchable flick. BOY were we wrong!

'7 ½ Phere' is easily one of the most horrible films I've ever seen (in it's immediate aftermath, topping the list of them), starring Juhi Chawla and Irrfan Khan and a number of extras who are ready to do just about anything to get a shot of themselves on the big screen. The story is about an aspiring director (Juhi) who wants to start her career with something fresh and unheard of. So she decides upon a Reality Show in which, the daily goings-on of a 'normal' Indian family are recorded in secret while preparations for a family wedding are going on in the household. And how does she manage this? With the help, of course, of the Juhi-smitten Irrfan, a family member. Now I know most of you would say, 'that doesn't sound so bad...'. But this movie proves how much direction and script contribute to the end result.

The film surpasses the limits of on-screen perversity. Practically every member of the bungled family is a sex-obsessed pig (including some of the women). The nauseating characters include a son who fools around regularly with the maid, supposedly behind the back of his wife, and an old man who can't keep his hands off his even older wife, telling her to dress up in different sets of sexy lingerie every night (Oh, did I mention? The family business is production of sexy lingerie!). You'd think Juhi Chawla would've been a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stifling movie, but if you did so, you'd be sadly mistaken. I like Juhi as much as the next guy, but not when she keeps pulling down the zip of her dress further and further down, just to convince a thoroughly swollen-eyed and sleepy looking Irrfan to do her a favour and help her in her directorial venture. And the icing on the cake is, that the title of the movie holds absolutely no significance.

In a word, the movie is nothing short of vulgar. And the only reason perhaps that I'm giving it even a 1 star rating, is that the art director managed to create a poster nice enough to pull the crowds to view an otherwise sickening film.

On boredom and the Prince

2005-08-05T13:56:00.000+05:30

My daily routine nowadays is completely haywire, thanks to the unpreceedented amount of free time I have at my disposal, which I'm getting quite sick of. There's still time before I leave for Dubai and start with the daily grind once again. Till then, I'm free, free...AND BORED! I mean, there's a limit to the amount a guy can read, or watch reruns of 'Friends'/'Joey' or even sleep. I have tons of books to read, hundreds of DVDs to watch, but I just don't feel like doing any of those things. I know most people would at this point just dismiss me a crazy loon, but BULL. You have to be in my place to know how I'm feeling.

Anyway, yesterday was a day that finally brought a long awaited intermission to the incessant boredom. It started off with me getting up at 12 pm (yes, I sleep at 3:30 am and get up correspondingly late. It's just an example of my messed up, unusual schedule). Till 2 pm, I watched a couple more 'Friends' episodes, and then left for my cousin Namita's birthday at Yo China, G.K. After generally eating and catching up with some of her friends, I had to leave around 4:30, since my mom needed the car. Rain was lashing out it's fury in that part of Delhi, and the water level on the streets was equal to the height of the pavement! It took me atleast an hour to get out of there (it's funny how rain always causes traffic jams...). Upon reaching home around 6:00, I had to once again leave for the farewell and birthday party of a close school friend, Abhishek at Delhi O Delhi, India Habitat Center. He's going off to America to pursue Economics at Clarks. I didn't know it was also his birthday apart from the farewell, so I turned up with nothing but a wide smile, which didn't take long to convert into an embarassed grin when I did come to know it was his birthday :) About eight people had been invited, all from my school. I got back home around 11:15 pm, thoroughly exhausted, but contented over the fact that the day had passed with minimal boredom.

Coming to the other things I've been up to. I have been hooked onto a certain Playstation 2 game called 'Prince of Persia: Warrior Within'. It is the sequel to the Best Game of the Year award winning 'Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time'. I finished Sands of Time a year back, and just a week ago, also finished Warrior Within. And though there have been several complaints about WW's overhaul from the previous installment, I personally feel it's the best Action/Adventure game to hit the stores till date, with an absolutely stunning graphics engine. Sure, it deviates from the fairy-tale, storybook atmosphere (that consisted of pastel blues, greens and yellows) of Sands of Time to go into a more mature, dark and dreary world which is made up primarily of reds, browns and black. But the story demands such a huge change, which by the way is gripping right till the last boss fight. I took a total of 20-25 hours (not continuous obviously) to complete the game, and enjoyed every bit of it. The game has been made with artistic perfection and is more cinematic that the best movies belonging to the genre. For those of you who don't have the PS2, the game has also been released on the PC, XBox and GameCube. Include a unique and fitting Persian-Rock background soundtrack, and character voice overs by celebrities such as Monica Belluci, and you have a fantastic and better-than-the original sequel to an already great game. I wholly recommend it, though not to those who get freaked by seeing animated blood 'cause there's a lot of that in it.
The Sands trilogy still has one more installment in the pipeline, titled 'Prince of Persia: Kindred Blades', which will complete the thrilling story of the Prince who messed with time. It is expected to be released in November this year. Also, movie adaptations of the games are in talks.

To learn more about Prince of Persia: Warrior Within Click Here

New feature on my blog

2005-08-02T17:10:00.000+05:30

Now, I've come up with yet another clever ruse to make people visit my blog...by adding a system to rate each of my posts (though due credit needs to be given to Nikhil for planting this idea in my head). After hours of painstakingly trawling the internet, I finally managed to find a satisfactory way to put this rating system on my blog (Earlier, it was reflecting the same rating on every post).

All you have to do, is scroll down to the end of the post you want to rate and click on the star you want to give to my post. In the pop-up window that appears, put the following information in the usename and password fields:

Username: tjblog
Password: ratepost

And that's it! Your vote is recorded and accordingly reflected on the blog.

So, every time you read a post, be sure to rate it too (don't hesitate to even give it a one star if you absolutely hate it). And of course, the tradition of leaving comments must continue as smoothly as ever too!

MY MOVIE REVIEW OF : 'The Island'

2005-07-30T19:45:00.000+05:30

My Rating:

Yesterday, in the evening, when I returned from my sixth driving lesson and nth gym session, I dicovered that my parents had bought tickets for the late night show of the new Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson starrer, 'The Island'. At that point of time, I just felt like having a bath and kicking back with a book. But, since the tickets had already been bought...

Turned out, I didn't regret my decision for having gone for the movie after all. It's a thoroughly enjoyable and fantastically fast paced film, with stunning visual effects, even leaving me open mouthed at some places. The story, at first seemed very murky and for the first quarter of the movie, none of us had an inkling of what's going on. Then, things started getting clearer, till by the time the interval arrived, I was completely immersed.

The story begins in the year 2019 (yes, the future), in the bowels of an organisation called the Merrick Institute. It houses thousands of people all clad in identical white, body-fitting clothes, who are all there bound by the strictest of regulations concerning hygiene, health and even proximity (they are not allowed to come too near each other). All this is because the earth has been contaminated, and they are the sole survivors. There is, however, one place on earth which remains free from the devastating contamination, referred to as, The Island. It is the last haven in our dying world. At the Merrick Institute, every week, there is one occupant chosen, based on a 'lottery', to move to The Island, leaving the confines of the comfortable, but rule bound institute, for a life of freedom.

There is one occupant however, Lincoln Six Ecko (Ewan McGregor), who is visibly bored of staying in the institute and repeating the same drill day by day. It is his curiosity that sparks off the chain of events that follow. He finds a live, winged insect hovering in a restricted shaft of the institute making him wonder how it managed to escape the dreaded contamination, when they were all kept under the impression that no living creature managed to survive it. Also, he begins to find it rather suspicious how the institute authorities manage to find a new survivor every now and then, who is readily absorbed into the institute's routine quotidien. His curiosity eventually causes Lincoln to witness something so utterly horrifying that it makes him lose faith in the prospects of the Institute completely and immediately. He discovers, that there is no Island, and what's more, there was no contamination. The occupants of the Merrick Institute are actually clones of the richest and most famous people inhabiting the earth. They are their life insurances. If they are in need of any bodily organs, or even skin or hair, the clones are unknowingly at their service, all the while thinking that they are being transported to The Island or a better life. The proximity laws were enforced so as to ensure that the clones do not end up reproducing.

The sponsors of the Institute themselves have no idea that their life insurances are real human beings, with senses and feelings. They were kept under the impression that their clones are like vegetables, hibernating, feelingless and non-human in every way. Hence, not one of them had any misgivings about keeping a clone at the ready. Or atleast, they didn't know about it till Lincoln and his fellow occupant, Jordan Two Delta (Scarlett Johansson) manage to escape the institute, leaving behind mayhem and chaos. A team of trained hitmen are despatched to find and terminate the two of them, as they explore the real world in a breathtaking fashion for the fisrt time. The clones were actually created just three to four years ago. They were produced as full-fledged grown-ups, and were educated only to the level of fifteen-year-olds. So no one in the management of the Institute expect the two fugitives to last long in the harsh outdoor environment. But obviously, they manage to survive longer than expected. Much longer. The movie proceeds with Lincoln and Jordan slowly learning the way of the world, and finally giving a name to the relationship they had harboured in the Institute. Love.

'The Island' is a highly effective take on the cloning controversy that is plaguing modern science, whereby, the technology exists, but morals and ethics come in the way of executing it. It is potrayed with utmost realism, though as the movie is set so far in the future, it may seem a little exaggerated to some. The only complaint as such that I had with the film, which made me give it a three and a half rating instead of a four, is how one remains in the dark about what's happening for most part of the film. Initially, you can't understand anything and have to strain to listen to every dialogue to catch bits and pieces that finally fit together as they are explained as a whole much later in the movie.

Other than that, the performance delivered by Ewan McGregor definitely deserves a mention. The only other movie of his I've seen is Moulin Rouge, which is as different from 'The Island' as is possible. In Moulin Rouge, I frankly didn't like him much. He was too artificial. In this, he was loads better. Scarlett Johansson on the other hand, didn't have too big a role, but she's good to look at ;)

The final verdict is that the film is definitely a must watch for those who, like me, enjoy mystery, drama, action, special effects and a moral message, all rolled into one.

MY BOOK REVIEW OF : 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince' by J.K. Rowling

2005-07-27T00:44:00.000+05:30

My Rating:

After almost two and a half years of agony and speculation, I finally got my twitching hands on the sixth and second-last of the Harry Potter books just a week and half back, on July the 16th. My obsession with the (now) sixteen year old bespectacled wizard and his adventures is well-known by my closest friends, but for those of you who don't know, I've read the first four books in the series nine times each, and the fifth one thrice. I was in America during the release of the fifth, and even attended a midnight release party for the same. Apart from that, I'm confident I own almost every Harry Potter related literary item available in the market, including one copy each of the American and British editions of all the books, in mint condition (which is quite an achievement considering the number of times I've read all of them).

According to me, the sixth outing of J.K. Rowling's is by far the best, although I love all of them so arduously, that it's practically impossible for me to finely distinguish one's 'betterness' over the others. The novel has all the classic features that make each of the books in this series, whose basic concept is not altogether unique, so powerfully bewitching and hence, instant runaway bestsellers.

So far, I have tried to keep the review spoiler-free, and hopefully interesting enough to keep you hooked on. But it will become increasingly difficult for me to do so in the rest of the paras. So this is a warning : If you have not yet read the books in the Harry Potter series, but plan to read them, I advise you not to continue with the review, since it will contain spoilers and plot details of the latest as well as the previous books.

The sixth year of Harry Potter at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry finds him an emotionally changed person, one who is much calmer and matured than the short-tempered and ruthless fifteen year old that he was seen as in his previous year. This drastic change in him is attributed partly to remorse over the untimely and horrifying death of the only being he could call his own; his godfather, Sirius Black, and also to the several other pressures piled upon him, including the agonising wait for his Ordinary Wizarding Levels (O.W.L) results which would decide if he could continue harbouring his desire to become an Auror (A Dark Wizard Catcher), along with the not-so-common pressures of being The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, and the sole person who is destined to murder The Dark Lord (or be murdered by him rendering He Who Must Not Be Named invincible for all eternity).

Harry's latest year at school starts off with an unexpected twist, as Professor Dumbledore, his Headmaster, whisks him off with him to help him convince an old colleague of his to fill up the vacant post in the staff at Hogwarts. Plus, Dumbledore informs him that he would be taking special personal lessons with the Headmaster, in light of the disturbing events that took place at the Minstry of Magic, which also led to Sirius' premature death. Also, Dumbledore sports a gruesome injury in one of his hands, the cause of which and the circumstances in which he received it remaining concealed till nearly the end of the novel. As for the Half-Blood Prince, he is the mystery owner of a Potions course book that is currently under Harry's possession. The book is filled with endless doodles and squiggles passing information such potion-brewing tips and 'useful' self-invented spells.

The significant (and tasteful) expansion of Harry, Ron and Hermione's love lives (not to forget the latters' fights of increased intensity) raise the Emotional Quotient of the book several notches, giving a wholesome touch to the series by adding to the pulse-pounding action, nerve-racking enigma, and dollups of humour that is inherent in all of the previous books. Although, the shortcoming in this installment is that there is a definite lack of detail, contary to the positively detail-dripping nature of the others. Many pieces of information that are important for imagining the mystical world depicted in the book have been thrown in in a haphazard, quickly rogressing manner. This causes the effect that is meant to be felt at a particular point in the novel, to be considerably dampened.

All-in-all, through 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince', the reigning queen of fiction proves beyond a shadow of doubt, that she has not lost her charm, and reiterates the sheer brilliance and superb literary skills that brought her to the pinnacle of ascendancy.

All the gymming, driving, reading, playing and listening

2005-07-23T13:33:00.000+05:30

Now that it's finalised that I'm going to BITS, Pilani in Dubai, you'd think I have the whole day for a whole month to myself. Not so in reality. I've joined a gym near my place (for obvious reasons) which takes up one to one and a half hours, during which I strain, stretch and exhaust myself, but feel all floopy and peaceful for the rest of the day. Plus I officially started my driving classes today. I started off with a round trip to Safdarjung Enclave and back in peak hours of traffic. These lessons will last a week, one hour a day. So overall approx. 3 hours in a day goes in all this. Apart from this, I've atlast started taking initiative to keep in touch with friends. Feels good after such a long period of 'isolation'.

I'm still a full flare reading buff. That's one thing I haven't given up, even when faced with my boards or any other benchmark (Believe it or not, I finished the entire Lord of the Rings novel during the boards!). After finshing with Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden (check out earlier posts for my review), I've now begun with Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (I'm a die-hard Potter fan and have read all the books, except the fifth, nine times each). You can expect a review of it as soon as I finish with it. Till then, please don't leave a spoiler in the comments {else, 'I'll hunt you down and kick your ass' ('Friends' fans...remind you of anything? :) } Other than that, I have atleast a thousand DVDs to watch, which I got from Palika. I'm also heavily back into PS2 games. Not to forget my new-found obsession with my recently procured iPod (that's the 'listening' in the heading of this post).

So, overall, life's finally taken a favourable turn, which truthfully, with the way things were, I didn't expect would happen at all. And the best part is, the 'old me' (ever-smiling and gregarious), which has been seen by veeerrry few people, has resurfaced...

Chashmuddin no more!

2005-07-14T22:03:00.000+05:30

Yup. Got contacts today!

MY BOOK REVIEW OF : 'Memoirs of a Geisha' by Arthur Golden

2005-07-13T13:32:00.000+05:30

My Rating:

If I was told to describe 'Memoirs of a Geisha' in one word, it would undoubtedly be - 'WOW'. This stunning piece of fiction was first published in 1997, and was an instant #1 international bestseller. It garnered rave reviews and quite a few awards such as The LA Times Best Book of the Year and The New York Times Notable Book of the Year. And for good reason...

The novel follows the life story of Chiyo, a seven year old Japanese girl from a small fishing village called Yoroido, who belongs to a family that is on the brink of poverty. At the age of nine, she is sold far away into slavery to one of the most famous Geisha houses in Gion, a Geisha district of Kyoto, Japan.

The Japanese word 'Geisha' is derived from two words, 'Gei' meaning art, and 'Sha' meaning person. So 'Geisha' literally means an artisan or artist. Geisha primarily exist as entertainers. They are often wrongly mistaken as full-fledged prostitutes. They perform stage shows and are experts at playing Japanese musical instruments such as the Shamisen (a stringed instrument) and Noh (Japanese drums), along with expressive dancing, tea ceremony and calligraphy. Infact, putting on their elaborate hairstyle, makeup and kimono itself is an art. They perform only for the Upper Class of society, and have to attend their parties every day where their main requirement is to ensure that the men have a good time. This usually involves making witty, seductive remarks, playing drinking games and though not very frequently, submitting to the physical act of love. A geisha is never allowed to marry, and if she does, she loses her place in society as a one.

'Memoirs' has been written as a first person account of Nitta Sayuri (for this is what Chiyo's name was later changed to), as she narrates with the wisdom of old age, her experience as one of the most celebrated geishas of Japan. With enchanting lyricism and fairly simple language, Sayuri entrances, seduces and mesmerises, as she speaks about separation, torture, jealousy, rivalry, friendship, respect, and the fame and money that go with it.

With wholesome amounts of suspense, surprise, erotica and romance, 'Memoirs of a Geisha' is undoubtedly an unforgettable experience and a must read.

And what's more, a movie adaptation of the book is in the making, directed by Rob Marshall (Chicago) and produced by Steven Spielberg. It will be released on December 9th, 2005 worldwide.

To learn more about the book: Click Here.

To see pictures of the upcoming movie: Click Here.

Nikhil's day at my place

2005-07-11T11:53:00.000+05:30

After a long hibernation, the great friendship between me and Nikhil finally resurfaced from its burrow of negligence. For those of you who don't know, Nikhil and I were the best of friends in Springdales. But after his transfer to Kochi in class VIII, we failed to effectively keep in touch (although we did speak off and on). Even after he returned to Delhi in class XI, we barely talked twice or thrice, and then drifted apart.

A few days back, when I was out with my friends at Vasant Vihar, I accidentally bumped into him when he came over to talk to my good friend and classmate, and his FIITJEE batchmate, Anurag. The feeling of elation I felt at that moment on seeing him after so long was incomparable. It was surprise, mixed with happiness and plenty of marvel [for the lanky little chap is now a 6 + footer (though he's still pretty lanky)]. After exchanging our phone numbers, we set off again. But this time I was determined to not lose my friend again. So I took prompt action, and via an exchange of sms's and two phone calls, I invited him over for a dayspend.

Today, he spent a good 12 and a 1/2 hours at my place, and I was pleased to note that he hasn't changed at all (apart from his intimidating height and a few pimples here and there). We still have an enormous amount in common right from taste in music (to some extent) to our absolute love (bordering on madness) for video games, 'Friends' and Harry Potter. Most of the day went in making up for lost time, in which we thoroughly got to know each other again.I showed him a bunch of pictures of us at my class V and class VII birthday parties. Later we took a fairly long walk to buy a a blank DVD (which we eventually ended up not buying at all), so I burned him the first season of 'Joey' onto 7 regular CDs instead.

At the end of the day, I managed to regain one of my best friends (and had fun doing it!). This time I hope there're enough efforts from both our sides to maintain this. They'll definitely be worth it.

Day out with friends...at last.

2005-07-11T09:23:00.000+05:30

Three days back, me and some friends finally had a get-together. It had been sooo long since I'd met them, that I said yes to the invitation immediately! I reached Vasant Vihar at 11 am to find Anurag pacing around. Turned out he'd been waiting for over half an hour. Then came Dikshit followed by Garima, Kritarth, Apoorva (who's auto had run out of fuel!) and finally Ujjwal (tagged by his sis), who came just in the nick of time. We then went to see the movie 'Dus'. Nothing too special, but entertaining nonetheless.

After that, we went to play pool (ever noticed how pool parlours are always in really shady places?). It was the first time I played the game, and as expected, I was rather bad at it. But Kritarth and Ujjwal were kind enough to help me out... Neha joined us there.

Afterwards, we went to Pizza Hut to eat. That's where we clicked all the pictures.

Overall, lots of fun!

To check out the rest of the pics, click on the link below.

Black Beauty with Brains...Samsung SGH - D500!

2005-07-10T21:01:00.000+05:30

That's right people! I finally got a new mobile
(and I dare say, it's about time!). The Samsung SGH - D500 is the winner of the GSM Association's Best Mobile Handset Award 2005 at a function held at Cannes. As you can very well see, it's absolutely delicious to look at, employing the neat Samsung slide-up mechanism. The features, apart from being plentiful, are top notch for a phone of it's category. Plus, it comes along with a number of attachments, including a plug in speaker (called Sound Mate). The sound quality after plugging it in increases dramatically, and then you can control the intricacies of the sound output (such as bass and treble). Other attatchments include high-quality headphones and a handstrap.

It's been a week since I got it, and I've not been able to restrain myself from gazing at it from time to time, mostly for no reason at all, other than admiration :P And it doesn't seem as if the fone-fever will subside soon. I bought a Bluetooth USB connector to attach to my computer, and now I can transfer my music and videos to the phone and transfer photos I take from the camera to my mobile.

In short, the obsession continues...

Click on the link below to see some more photos and read reviews of the phone.

Le premier

2005-07-10T02:28:00.000+05:30

After plenty of coaxing and enlightening by all around me on blog-keeping (though it didn't contribute even minutely), I've finally decided to start a blog of my own [ WHY didn't I hear any firecrackers and champagne corks popping?!] ;)

I may be okay at writing stories for self entertainment, but keeping a diary (be it on paper or a monitor) of my day-to-day happenings is just not my mug of coffee, mainly due to two reasons. Firstly, my life is too damn dull to quote anything from, and secondly, even if the infrequent phenomenon of something interesting happening in my life does occur, I'd rather share it with my family, friends and acquaintances face to face or via the telephone, so that I can see (or hear) their reactions immediately and with a lot more emotion than a computer monitor's screen is capable of expressing.

So, I'm keeping this blog simply to express my opinions on books, movies and other knick-knacks that I come across, and find worth writing about (although, major developments in my life will be posted as they occur, of which I explicitly assure you once again, do not take place oh-so-often.).

As a conclusion to this first (of hopefully many posts), I would just like to thank you for taking a moment to visit my blog almost as soon as I informed you about it, and pray that you leave behind a few imprints of this moment in the form of comments. Hope to see you again soon on my new blog!

P.S: The first of the posts following this one are of things that happened within the past one and a half to two weeks, so although the written matter will be fresh, the content may not be so {though I can assure you, it won't be stale either :) }