I'm definitely not a 'blogaholic', at least I don't experience / think about / recollect the worldly things in terms of a blog post or a micro-blogging status message. Yet, it makes me startled on when and why I don't blog.
At any given point of time, I've at least 5-10 drafts in the head that can be posted straightaway. Somehow, it doesn't happen and they remain in my head. I've wished and hoped of writing a detailed account of the Hyderabad Test Match. I thought of writing about few movies, I've watched.. at least, those of Rob Williams. And some notes of the interesting stuff I always gift myself. With most happening times of my life, I still leave my blog stranded. Bad!
With years into it, I still haven't got any kind of discipline with respect to blogging. As with most of the other things, I'm erratic and elusive here too.
Why and when do I not blog? A question that I would like to answer soon.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Show
The curtains raised. Lights went on. The stage was set. Audience were enthusiastic.
Nobody could point out when it started. They walked onto the stage - he and she - not as actors, but as characters. It was hard for the onlookers to believe they were watching just a play with two on the stage. He and she were so engrossing that all the settings were lost in the background. For him and for her, acting and living are synonymous. They act to live, live to act. While everything was just about perfect, call it a moment of self realization or a nervous breakdown, she broke into tears on the stage. Audience took that to script's demand, while he was left baffled. However, the brilliant actor that he is, not to forget his nimble wits, he pulled off something extra-ordinarily good. All could have been back to normal in few moments, had she co-operated. Instead, she refused to act. She had refused to be anything other than herself. She wanted to be she, nothing but she. He can't do a thing now. His supreme talents will only allow him to carry on the act, single handedly. But what about the other characters who, by then, have declared their presence on the stage? He doesn't know where to head to. Curtains can't be dropped, he doesn't hold the strings. He can't continue with what was planned, as planning something new and executing it would result in pandemonium.
The show, however - as it must and should - is going on.
Nobody could point out when it started. They walked onto the stage - he and she - not as actors, but as characters. It was hard for the onlookers to believe they were watching just a play with two on the stage. He and she were so engrossing that all the settings were lost in the background. For him and for her, acting and living are synonymous. They act to live, live to act. While everything was just about perfect, call it a moment of self realization or a nervous breakdown, she broke into tears on the stage. Audience took that to script's demand, while he was left baffled. However, the brilliant actor that he is, not to forget his nimble wits, he pulled off something extra-ordinarily good. All could have been back to normal in few moments, had she co-operated. Instead, she refused to act. She had refused to be anything other than herself. She wanted to be she, nothing but she. He can't do a thing now. His supreme talents will only allow him to carry on the act, single handedly. But what about the other characters who, by then, have declared their presence on the stage? He doesn't know where to head to. Curtains can't be dropped, he doesn't hold the strings. He can't continue with what was planned, as planning something new and executing it would result in pandemonium.
The show, however - as it must and should - is going on.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Come home, Laxman!
There's this Telugu movie in which the lead complains about losing a day in the calendar. She lost it because she was on drugs. I didn't know what was sucking me into, but it looks like I've lost too many days in my calendar. I missed the world for about a month or so. I'm glad, I'm back. And though this post is a delayed celebration, I'm happy I woke up in the nick of the time.
If I tell you that the news of Hyderabad hosting a test match makes me ecstatic, you might raise your eyebrow or laugh at my stupidity. Even if you've been ardent cricket fan all your life, you might not understand my ecstasy. Especially if you're from those big metros like Delhi, Kolkata, Chennai or Bangalore. You wouldn't know what it is to be a metro and yet have occasional cricket matches happen in a multi-purpose stadium. You'd have no idea what it means for an ordinary cricket fan to have a cricket stadium. You'd have no idea how harsh it was on us, when IPL was taken away from Hyderabad because of agitations. You'd have no idea what its like dying to watch your heroes playing the highest form of cricket and yet can't even dream of it.
My ecstasy is two fold. One is that this city, which has been cricket loving all through and yet deprived of proper cricketing action, is getting its due, finally! This city will cheer, roar, celebrate and enjoy every single action involved when two Test teams are battling it out.
The other reason, and more important of the two, is Laxman! He made the Australian crowd to bow to him. He made Kolkata his home. He's shown a piece of wood can be a magic wand, too. In the days of slam bang cricket, he keeps showing what's called class. He'd be coming home. He'd be cheered for the first ever time, by his own people and the people would enjoy their fellow, perform at the level he's best at.
It would be pretentious to say that Laxman would be most sought out in Hyderabad's match. No! The God would take all the honours, as the ritual goes and no hint of doubt in it!
But Laxman needs this bit of it, for what he has given to Test cricket! Hyderabadi's aren't intelligent cricket lovers like Chennaites or sophisticated as the Bangaloreans. We don't go on to streets to fight for our heroes. We don't make fuss when Laxman is neglected or ill-treated. We can't make ourselves visible or heard like our counterparts from Bangalore or Kolkata keep demonstrating. Not that we're gauche. Not that we don't love. We've a unique way of doing it. When we love, we love! That's all! No further action gets kicked in. We're too laid back to tell how much we love. May be, not even that! We just don't see the need. The Australians might call us daft, but we're the way we're.
The authentic Hyderabadi would get a typical Hyderabadi reception.. for the first time ever is *the* reason for my ecstasy.
God bless, Hyderabad!
If I tell you that the news of Hyderabad hosting a test match makes me ecstatic, you might raise your eyebrow or laugh at my stupidity. Even if you've been ardent cricket fan all your life, you might not understand my ecstasy. Especially if you're from those big metros like Delhi, Kolkata, Chennai or Bangalore. You wouldn't know what it is to be a metro and yet have occasional cricket matches happen in a multi-purpose stadium. You'd have no idea what it means for an ordinary cricket fan to have a cricket stadium. You'd have no idea how harsh it was on us, when IPL was taken away from Hyderabad because of agitations. You'd have no idea what its like dying to watch your heroes playing the highest form of cricket and yet can't even dream of it.
My ecstasy is two fold. One is that this city, which has been cricket loving all through and yet deprived of proper cricketing action, is getting its due, finally! This city will cheer, roar, celebrate and enjoy every single action involved when two Test teams are battling it out.
The other reason, and more important of the two, is Laxman! He made the Australian crowd to bow to him. He made Kolkata his home. He's shown a piece of wood can be a magic wand, too. In the days of slam bang cricket, he keeps showing what's called class. He'd be coming home. He'd be cheered for the first ever time, by his own people and the people would enjoy their fellow, perform at the level he's best at.
It would be pretentious to say that Laxman would be most sought out in Hyderabad's match. No! The God would take all the honours, as the ritual goes and no hint of doubt in it!
But Laxman needs this bit of it, for what he has given to Test cricket! Hyderabadi's aren't intelligent cricket lovers like Chennaites or sophisticated as the Bangaloreans. We don't go on to streets to fight for our heroes. We don't make fuss when Laxman is neglected or ill-treated. We can't make ourselves visible or heard like our counterparts from Bangalore or Kolkata keep demonstrating. Not that we're gauche. Not that we don't love. We've a unique way of doing it. When we love, we love! That's all! No further action gets kicked in. We're too laid back to tell how much we love. May be, not even that! We just don't see the need. The Australians might call us daft, but we're the way we're.
The authentic Hyderabadi would get a typical Hyderabadi reception.. for the first time ever is *the* reason for my ecstasy.
God bless, Hyderabad!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Laxman is NOT unsung... Please...
The whole of media is going bonkers over the topic of Laxman being the unsung hero. For having not got the mass popularity, for not having those huge endorsements, for never having been part of the glamorous world, for having been doubted despite best performances. Indian media has this knack of bringing controversy from just about anything.
Laxman can't be appreciated in normal ways, you see. He's way too special to the ordinary to observe.
When you come across a breathtakingly beautiful lady, you'd show your admiration by not dropping your eyelids even for a moment. But what if you come across a woman with strong character and mettle.. how would you appreciate?
If you join your friends for a bollywood / hollywood music show, you can simply sway your hands, following your friends or the crowd. What if that show was about classical music - Indian or Western? How much of it could you enjoy, without having strong base in appreciating it, in first place?
It's so bloody easy to talk about a Hollywood blockbuster? How many of us, calling ourselves movie buffs, can actually comment on the classics that stood out time?
The Sophie Kenslies, the Stephenie Meyers RULE the literary world. But does that leave a Orhan Pamuk or Marquez too tough to comprehend? Are they unsung?
Not everything can be acknowledged by everyone. It's only in this country, which suffers from for-the-mass syndrome.. it's only here that majority counts, a little too much.
Laxman belongs to a rare species of true performers.. if he doesn't have mass appeal, it's alright. It doesn't even count. For he is, too special for the ordinary. To adore him, you gotta have that extra bit of specialty to appreciate beauty.. beauty in the purest of forms.. otherwise, he seems too ordinary.
He makes the Australian players and crowd respect him. What are you waiting for?
Stop the fuss! And bow to the man, who showed painting can be done on the canvas called cricket ground.
Laxman can't be appreciated in normal ways, you see. He's way too special to the ordinary to observe.
When you come across a breathtakingly beautiful lady, you'd show your admiration by not dropping your eyelids even for a moment. But what if you come across a woman with strong character and mettle.. how would you appreciate?
If you join your friends for a bollywood / hollywood music show, you can simply sway your hands, following your friends or the crowd. What if that show was about classical music - Indian or Western? How much of it could you enjoy, without having strong base in appreciating it, in first place?
It's so bloody easy to talk about a Hollywood blockbuster? How many of us, calling ourselves movie buffs, can actually comment on the classics that stood out time?
The Sophie Kenslies, the Stephenie Meyers RULE the literary world. But does that leave a Orhan Pamuk or Marquez too tough to comprehend? Are they unsung?
Not everything can be acknowledged by everyone. It's only in this country, which suffers from for-the-mass syndrome.. it's only here that majority counts, a little too much.
Laxman belongs to a rare species of true performers.. if he doesn't have mass appeal, it's alright. It doesn't even count. For he is, too special for the ordinary. To adore him, you gotta have that extra bit of specialty to appreciate beauty.. beauty in the purest of forms.. otherwise, he seems too ordinary.
He makes the Australian players and crowd respect him. What are you waiting for?
Stop the fuss! And bow to the man, who showed painting can be done on the canvas called cricket ground.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
On Stephenie Meyer's Twilight
Here comes the declaration: Stephenie Meyer's Twilight is one of my favourite books!
To anybody who has a fair bit of idea of my likes and dislikes, my moods and sensibilities, my way of thinking and interpretation, my interests in reading and writing, this declaration might come as a thorough surprise, if not a rude shock.
Twilight is supposedly an exaggerated love story between a human and a human-eating monster. On the face of it, it is a fairy tale for naive readers, who goad themselves with the idea that LOVE makes everything and anything possible and it’s an abomination for the other lot, who question the practicalities and possibilities. For me, it stands somewhere between. Where and how, is what I intend to tell.
Before even getting into why I like a book in general and why this one, in particular, let’s talk about writer-reader relationship. A writer writes what he needs to write, badly and a reader reads what he wants to read, badly. Yes, the key word is “badly”. To tell the same, in my own way - the freaking way - what I mean is: I care a damn for who has written it. I care a damn on his / her need or urge to write it. I care a damn for the characters created - their moods, their sensibilities, their characteristics. I care a damn if the book is a success or not. I care a damn on how this book is perceived by the world and you, in particular. I care a damn if I've lost your respect as soon as you've read the first line of this post. What I care for, only and only, is how much of the book I could own, how much I could call it, mine.
Twilight’s summary in my own words will NOT be: An impossible and implausible love story! To look at it that way, a vampire and human falling for each other, the human not stepping back even after knowing the truth about her love, the vampire under control when his prey is around, the love, the trust, the pain portrayed are too ridiculous to accept, forget about admiring.
I see it in a different way. For me, Edward Cullen isn’t a vampire. He is as human as anyone of us, but with a trait injurious to his gal. Bella isn’t a stupid gal who’s loving her man blindly, despite knowing he's inhuman, he's a vampire! She’s the one with complete understanding of her man, that she trusts him despite his trait, which is potentially lethal, only potentially! So, it’s not a vampire-human love story, for me. It is a potentially-harmful-guy and completely-trusting-gal deeply in love with each other. As human beings, we’re part angels and part demons. A twilight happens, when the demon in one is taken care by the angel in the other. A twilight is beautiful, not because demon-angel combination is intriguing. It is beautiful because, the angel doesn’t hesitate trusting the human being, despite the demon. In reciprocation, the demon is never let out of control within the human being.
I don’t belong to the rest of the herd, I’m supposed to, who expect their guys to be Edward Cullens. I belong to a special club (which has only me), because I see an Edward Cullen in each human being. Most of the times, we hid him from the world and unleash him only in solitude. Some times, we fall for those, who get scared by him and run away from us. Once in a life time - for only the lucky souls, of course - a Bella enters our life, befriends the demon in us and turns our life into seeming fairy tale.
( Ah! How dearly do I wish a Milan Kundera or Italo Calvino or Marquez, turning my interpretation into full fledged novel. Sigh!)
By the way, I was told, love is blind. I was further told, love is blind because the trust you end up putting in the person is blind. So, I took doubting one’s love to sin. No! The way it works is - at least for the single member club I’m in - the more you doubt a person, the more you understand the person and the more you put your trust in. Doubting is not sin. Letting the doubt win over you, without proper understanding IS. Deathly sin.
In case, the person whom you love the most, can’t even trust you as a human being and treats you as the demon... congratulations! You’re through with what human race dreads the most. Your last breath is a formality now. Of course, life until then, too.
Legal advice sought on the following:
Sometimes I have a problem with my temper....
I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again — openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with him.
I don’t want to be a monster.
I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.
Don’t you see, Bella? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.
You were right — I’m definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive.
Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.
I’m stronger than I thought. It’s nice to know.
Mind over matter.
You don’t realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I’m with you.
I infuriate myself. The way I can’t seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself.
I love you. It’s a poor excuse for what I’m doing, but it’s still true.
To anybody who has a fair bit of idea of my likes and dislikes, my moods and sensibilities, my way of thinking and interpretation, my interests in reading and writing, this declaration might come as a thorough surprise, if not a rude shock.
Twilight is supposedly an exaggerated love story between a human and a human-eating monster. On the face of it, it is a fairy tale for naive readers, who goad themselves with the idea that LOVE makes everything and anything possible and it’s an abomination for the other lot, who question the practicalities and possibilities. For me, it stands somewhere between. Where and how, is what I intend to tell.
Before even getting into why I like a book in general and why this one, in particular, let’s talk about writer-reader relationship. A writer writes what he needs to write, badly and a reader reads what he wants to read, badly. Yes, the key word is “badly”. To tell the same, in my own way - the freaking way - what I mean is: I care a damn for who has written it. I care a damn on his / her need or urge to write it. I care a damn for the characters created - their moods, their sensibilities, their characteristics. I care a damn if the book is a success or not. I care a damn on how this book is perceived by the world and you, in particular. I care a damn if I've lost your respect as soon as you've read the first line of this post. What I care for, only and only, is how much of the book I could own, how much I could call it, mine.
Twilight’s summary in my own words will NOT be: An impossible and implausible love story! To look at it that way, a vampire and human falling for each other, the human not stepping back even after knowing the truth about her love, the vampire under control when his prey is around, the love, the trust, the pain portrayed are too ridiculous to accept, forget about admiring.
I see it in a different way. For me, Edward Cullen isn’t a vampire. He is as human as anyone of us, but with a trait injurious to his gal. Bella isn’t a stupid gal who’s loving her man blindly, despite knowing he's inhuman, he's a vampire! She’s the one with complete understanding of her man, that she trusts him despite his trait, which is potentially lethal, only potentially! So, it’s not a vampire-human love story, for me. It is a potentially-harmful-guy and completely-trusting-gal deeply in love with each other. As human beings, we’re part angels and part demons. A twilight happens, when the demon in one is taken care by the angel in the other. A twilight is beautiful, not because demon-angel combination is intriguing. It is beautiful because, the angel doesn’t hesitate trusting the human being, despite the demon. In reciprocation, the demon is never let out of control within the human being.
I don’t belong to the rest of the herd, I’m supposed to, who expect their guys to be Edward Cullens. I belong to a special club (which has only me), because I see an Edward Cullen in each human being. Most of the times, we hid him from the world and unleash him only in solitude. Some times, we fall for those, who get scared by him and run away from us. Once in a life time - for only the lucky souls, of course - a Bella enters our life, befriends the demon in us and turns our life into seeming fairy tale.
( Ah! How dearly do I wish a Milan Kundera or Italo Calvino or Marquez, turning my interpretation into full fledged novel. Sigh!)
By the way, I was told, love is blind. I was further told, love is blind because the trust you end up putting in the person is blind. So, I took doubting one’s love to sin. No! The way it works is - at least for the single member club I’m in - the more you doubt a person, the more you understand the person and the more you put your trust in. Doubting is not sin. Letting the doubt win over you, without proper understanding IS. Deathly sin.
In case, the person whom you love the most, can’t even trust you as a human being and treats you as the demon... congratulations! You’re through with what human race dreads the most. Your last breath is a formality now. Of course, life until then, too.
Legal advice sought on the following:
- Can Stephenie Mayer be sued, because I strongly feel, she trespassed my territory, understood my inner world and violated all copyright acts, to come up with following lines:
Sometimes I have a problem with my temper....
I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again — openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with him.
I don’t want to be a monster.
I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.
Don’t you see, Bella? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.
You were right — I’m definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive.
Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.
I’m stronger than I thought. It’s nice to know.
Mind over matter.
You don’t realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I’m with you.
I infuriate myself. The way I can’t seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself.
I love you. It’s a poor excuse for what I’m doing, but it’s still true.
- Better, if I could sue God for his ineffectual scripts..Possible?
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Life long deal.. for the first time ever.
Freaking out has always been my pastime. I freak out if there's nothing to freak out. I freak out that I'm not freaking out enough. The actual point to be made in this post, has nothing to do with freaking out, but still..
Now, I freak out when people come up with life long deals. Say, if a salesman is trying to sell me something on the basis of "Life Long Guarantee.", I'd bombard him with questions like, "Whose life does that Life refer to?", "Mine?", "Yours?", "The product's?", "The manufacturer's?", "The re-seller's?", "Whose bloody life is it, anyway?" If he doesn't freak out listening to this, I freak out because I wasn't able to freak him out enough.
Similar episode happens when somebody comes up with the theory of "Friend for Life." I freak out, because it scares me to death.. yes, death. What if I'm dying? Am I not breaking the bond? If not, why do you wanna term it using the word Life?
I'm a person in hurry. See me eat, talk, walk, work, read, worry - you'd know, I'm hurry! When I've chosen to read a book, I'm in hurry to complete it. Not finishing it off, is my way of insulting it. For me everything is like an ice cream, I gotta relish, lest it melts.
I've been reading Catch 22 for the past few months, yet lingering in page 130 or so. For the first time ever, I don't feel like rushing through..I don't want to finish it, I don't want it to finish. I act like a kindergarten - alright, pre-primary 1- kid who worries about the chocolate getting over. Catch 22 is the book, which is mirroring the greed in me. And yes, I took a liking to that image of mine in the mirror.
For a 4-line content, I gave 4-para introduction. If you're the one to worry about e-waste, please freak out.
It's time that my online book racks have two new shelves: Books-that-read-me and Makes-me-greedy-books.
Now, I freak out when people come up with life long deals. Say, if a salesman is trying to sell me something on the basis of "Life Long Guarantee.", I'd bombard him with questions like, "Whose life does that Life refer to?", "Mine?", "Yours?", "The product's?", "The manufacturer's?", "The re-seller's?", "Whose bloody life is it, anyway?" If he doesn't freak out listening to this, I freak out because I wasn't able to freak him out enough.
Similar episode happens when somebody comes up with the theory of "Friend for Life." I freak out, because it scares me to death.. yes, death. What if I'm dying? Am I not breaking the bond? If not, why do you wanna term it using the word Life?
I'm a person in hurry. See me eat, talk, walk, work, read, worry - you'd know, I'm hurry! When I've chosen to read a book, I'm in hurry to complete it. Not finishing it off, is my way of insulting it. For me everything is like an ice cream, I gotta relish, lest it melts.
I've been reading Catch 22 for the past few months, yet lingering in page 130 or so. For the first time ever, I don't feel like rushing through..I don't want to finish it, I don't want it to finish. I act like a kindergarten - alright, pre-primary 1- kid who worries about the chocolate getting over. Catch 22 is the book, which is mirroring the greed in me. And yes, I took a liking to that image of mine in the mirror.
For a 4-line content, I gave 4-para introduction. If you're the one to worry about e-waste, please freak out.
It's time that my online book racks have two new shelves: Books-that-read-me and Makes-me-greedy-books.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
aatm ghaat
Aatm ghaat - I'm unable to get this word out of my head. I came to know about this word, few days back, when I overheard a dialogue in one of the Hindi daily serials. I liked the word, almost instantly. It roughly translates to "a blow causing self destruction". As I keep witnessing numerous instances of aatm-ghaat, I keep thinking more about it.
This post would be about some of the Hindi soaps, I get to know on a daily basis. I know. I know, it's crime to discuss about them. But just because I want to give samples of aatm-ghaat, I can't drag people whom I know onto a public forum. Can I? Should I? Wouldn't that be a bigger crime?
I don't remember the names of the soaps, too lengthy, too crappy. Names are, anyway, not that important.
There is this one soap about the medical interns in a prestigious hospital. The chief's daughter and an intern are neck deep in love. Parents on either side approve it. When all seems well, the guy meets with an accident and "disappears". The gal keeps pining for him. Here comes a new intern - junior to her - and plays such a dirty prank that whole of the hospital - including newly admitted patients - get to believe that there's something physical happened between the two. The gal's father - head of a prestigious hospital, himself a successful doctor, father of two successful doctors - comes up with spineless question, "Who'll marry my daughter?". "Meee!" says the junior, and turns from villain to hero, instantly. This gal agrees to it, despite continuining to ache for her first love. The first instance of aatm-ghaat! She marries. Aatm-ghaat! Her first love returns, gets to know what has happened and goes nuts. This gal continues to watch him as an outsider, despite wanting to be with him. Aatm-ghaat! After six months of turmoil, she agrees to "re-marry" the same guy, now, without any enforcement. Aatm ghaat! Every single moment of her second marriage ceremony, she thinks of the first guy. Aatm ghaat!
The other day, I was talking to a friend about the movie Arya 2. He opines that it is one of the best flicks, in terms of projecting a guy's inconsistencies in actions when he's in love. Going by the same theory, though the above serial is the crappiest you ever would get to watch, I still believe, it shows how a woman, who can't choose between alternatives can traumatize her men. Nothing can be more lethal than women, in such cases.
There's another serial, which let's us see the other side of the coin. It's about a lower middle class couple, now separated. They get together because of an arranged marriage. Thanks to a series of misunderstandings between the families and the couple, they head towards divorce. By the time, the processing of divorce happens, they fall for each other, so much so that, they can't imagine being separate. But they go ahead and get themselves divorced. Aatm-ghaat!
If first serial has this aatm-ghat because a gal couldn't stand for her guy, the second one is because they strive to be more divine than humanly possible.
May be, as Chuck says, "Self-improvement isn't the answer. Self-destruction is the answer." I don't know. May be, aatm-ghaat is inevitable to keep surviving. Irony of life, you may call it: Keep killing yourself in bits, so that you can stay alive.
This post would be about some of the Hindi soaps, I get to know on a daily basis. I know. I know, it's crime to discuss about them. But just because I want to give samples of aatm-ghaat, I can't drag people whom I know onto a public forum. Can I? Should I? Wouldn't that be a bigger crime?
I don't remember the names of the soaps, too lengthy, too crappy. Names are, anyway, not that important.
There is this one soap about the medical interns in a prestigious hospital. The chief's daughter and an intern are neck deep in love. Parents on either side approve it. When all seems well, the guy meets with an accident and "disappears". The gal keeps pining for him. Here comes a new intern - junior to her - and plays such a dirty prank that whole of the hospital - including newly admitted patients - get to believe that there's something physical happened between the two. The gal's father - head of a prestigious hospital, himself a successful doctor, father of two successful doctors - comes up with spineless question, "Who'll marry my daughter?". "Meee!" says the junior, and turns from villain to hero, instantly. This gal agrees to it, despite continuining to ache for her first love. The first instance of aatm-ghaat! She marries. Aatm-ghaat! Her first love returns, gets to know what has happened and goes nuts. This gal continues to watch him as an outsider, despite wanting to be with him. Aatm-ghaat! After six months of turmoil, she agrees to "re-marry" the same guy, now, without any enforcement. Aatm ghaat! Every single moment of her second marriage ceremony, she thinks of the first guy. Aatm ghaat!
The other day, I was talking to a friend about the movie Arya 2. He opines that it is one of the best flicks, in terms of projecting a guy's inconsistencies in actions when he's in love. Going by the same theory, though the above serial is the crappiest you ever would get to watch, I still believe, it shows how a woman, who can't choose between alternatives can traumatize her men. Nothing can be more lethal than women, in such cases.
There's another serial, which let's us see the other side of the coin. It's about a lower middle class couple, now separated. They get together because of an arranged marriage. Thanks to a series of misunderstandings between the families and the couple, they head towards divorce. By the time, the processing of divorce happens, they fall for each other, so much so that, they can't imagine being separate. But they go ahead and get themselves divorced. Aatm-ghaat!
If first serial has this aatm-ghat because a gal couldn't stand for her guy, the second one is because they strive to be more divine than humanly possible.
May be, as Chuck says, "Self-improvement isn't the answer. Self-destruction is the answer." I don't know. May be, aatm-ghaat is inevitable to keep surviving. Irony of life, you may call it: Keep killing yourself in bits, so that you can stay alive.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Passions and Impressions
Today, I bought a copy of "Passions and Impressions" by Pablo Neruda. Two years back, when I started this blog, I just started exploring Pablo Neruda. I read a lot about this work, Passions and Impressions. I don't remember where exactly on internet, but I did read it in bits and pieces.
This work is not his usual poetry. It's prose, or better put, poetic prose about what can be called his musings. Here are few excerpts of what I read, in couple of hours.
"I have undertaken the greatest act of self-expression: creation, hoping to illuminate words. Ten years at a solitary task, ten years that make up exactly half my life, have generated in my writing diverse rhythms, opposing currents."
"To comment on passing events is to take on a certain tone. One rolls down the incline of a personal bias and presences begin to recur: the sentimental discovery, the heartrending aspects of departing or arriving; the comedian strikes sparks, the tragedian draws blood."
"It is night, a night that arrived energetically, decisively. This night wants to lie on the ocean, a bed with no gorges, no volcanoes, no passing trains. There it snores in its freedom, without pulling up its legs at frontiers, without shrinking back at peninsulas; it sleeps, the enemy of topography as it dreams of freedom."
"Poetry is song and fertility."
This book, just reminds me that I got take my Spanish a bit more seriously. "Book of Questions" might be my first book in Spanish.. I mean, if I get hold of a bilingual edition. :)
This work is not his usual poetry. It's prose, or better put, poetic prose about what can be called his musings. Here are few excerpts of what I read, in couple of hours.
"I have undertaken the greatest act of self-expression: creation, hoping to illuminate words. Ten years at a solitary task, ten years that make up exactly half my life, have generated in my writing diverse rhythms, opposing currents."
"To comment on passing events is to take on a certain tone. One rolls down the incline of a personal bias and presences begin to recur: the sentimental discovery, the heartrending aspects of departing or arriving; the comedian strikes sparks, the tragedian draws blood."
"It is night, a night that arrived energetically, decisively. This night wants to lie on the ocean, a bed with no gorges, no volcanoes, no passing trains. There it snores in its freedom, without pulling up its legs at frontiers, without shrinking back at peninsulas; it sleeps, the enemy of topography as it dreams of freedom."
"Poetry is song and fertility."
This book, just reminds me that I got take my Spanish a bit more seriously. "Book of Questions" might be my first book in Spanish.. I mean, if I get hold of a bilingual edition. :)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Real time Stack Overflow Exceptions
I guess, it's high time that I maintain notes about my readings. Given the erratic nature of what I read and my poor memory, it becomes a must that I scribble about them somewhere, somehow. This blog wouldn't be a bad idea either.. alongside my buzz.
It was two years back, that I read this story. I was asked to explore the genre called "magic realism". This was during my early stint with Telugu fiction - I tried out magic realism without knowing what it is.
http://www.angelfire.com/wa2/margin/Behrens.html
This is a too simple, yet sweet love story. I like the way in which feelings were projected. An exceptional way of showcasing real time Stack Overflow exceptions.
No wonder, I was dying to read it! ;)
It was two years back, that I read this story. I was asked to explore the genre called "magic realism". This was during my early stint with Telugu fiction - I tried out magic realism without knowing what it is.
http://www.angelfire.com/wa2/margin/Behrens.html
This is a too simple, yet sweet love story. I like the way in which feelings were projected. An exceptional way of showcasing real time Stack Overflow exceptions.
No wonder, I was dying to read it! ;)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
A Disappearing Number - A Play
There could be occasions when you rush to the nearest mirror and flew a flying kiss to yourself, pat on your back, buy a chocolate for yourself; for you've taken time out of nowhere and presented yourself a opportunity to, perhaps, read a book or see a friend or do anything you're fond of. I've done something similar today; I made it a point a watch the play named "A Disappearing Number". This moment, I thank myself for it.
I haven't done any homework before going to the play. I knew only the bare minimum facts about it - it's all about the collaboration between Hardy and the Indian mathematician, Ramanujan. Arriving too early to the place gave me a chance to know a bit more. And when my friend joined me, he had his own bit to add. The play started tad late and we were quite unsure of our maths skills helping us to understand the plot.
And suddenly a middle aged women rushes onto the stage and starts teaching basic math. I took that as pre-play guidance or whatever, to play that was full of maths. She keeps going on with her math on the blackboard and a gentleman walks onto the stage, "Imagine, if this were to be the whole play!". That's when I realized that the play has already begun. That moment I knew, I'm gonna have few of the most treasured hours of my life.
I wonder if I can actually write more about this play. For when it was happening, it was too many things to grasp. And when it ended, it was just too overwhelming. The whole theme is about math, at least, that is what one tries to convince you, with lot of numbers, mathematical equations, complexities shown, discussed and referred to during the play. The lady who was teaching maths at the beginning of the play, is a contemporary mathematician who's attached to Ramanujan's work. A business man is attached to her. Ramanujan is anyway attached to his math. Hardy finds himself too fond of Ramanujan. And these attachments are linked across time and space. The interweaving of these links, taking us across time and space, with beautiful theatrical effects and wonderful dialogues make it a treat, an experience.
But for me, this play is about more than math. We keep trying relentlessly to answer the questions haunting us. We do that by different ways, by different ways. Some try to seek answers from religion, some from philosophy, some from art, some from science and this play is attempt to answer the questions through mathematics. And how math can get you the answers is what this play is all about, aptly summarized in following lines:
A mathematician, like a painter or a poet, is a maker of patterns. If his patterns are more permanent than theirs, it is because they are made with ideas... The mathematician's patterns, like the painter's or the poet's, must be beautiful; the ideas, like the colours or the words, must fit together in a harmonious way... It may be very hard to define mathematical beauty, but that is just as true of beauty of any kind we may not know quite what we mean by a beautiful poem, but that does not prevent us from recognizing one when we read it.
I'm spell bound by the screenplay. This one comes next only to "Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind", for me.
And yes, the following's gonna be my favourite lines for sometime to come.
"1+1/2+1/4+1/8+1/16+.................. = 2.
I love you."
If that has to make sense, you gotta watch the play. Don't miss it, if it's in your city!
And thanks to my friend, who made the evening even more enjoyable.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Full stop
They have been writing, together. It wasn’t planned: the ‘together’ part. But it happened, fortunately or unfortunately.
They have been writing whatever comes to their mind. Sometimes meaning business, lot other times making fun. Fun was the element of the writing. Fun was the intent. And it was fun too. So, they didn’t plan to end it. Every full stop marked a beginning of a new sentence, new para or fresh idea. For them, every full stop meant a new commitment.
They have been writing, though fun ceased. They keep looking for a new hope, a new inspiration or a new beginning, whereas all they need is a final full stop.
They have been writing whatever comes to their mind. Sometimes meaning business, lot other times making fun. Fun was the element of the writing. Fun was the intent. And it was fun too. So, they didn’t plan to end it. Every full stop marked a beginning of a new sentence, new para or fresh idea. For them, every full stop meant a new commitment.
They have been writing, though fun ceased. They keep looking for a new hope, a new inspiration or a new beginning, whereas all they need is a final full stop.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Deal with it, baby!
Thanks to Stephene Meyer and her Twilight Saga, I've quite a bit idea about the vampires and werewolves. In fact, it's the characterization of Edward that keeps me hooked on to this teenage fiction series. I've read only the Twilight book, but have seen it and "New Moon" on the silver screen. Jacob - a werewolf - was least impressive for me, but "werewolf" is the topic of this post.
A once-upon-a-time-friend (how do you refer to a friend when friendship ceases to exist?) used to push me a lot to read non-fiction works. Every time he recommended me a non-fiction book, he got rhetoric, "That reads better than super thriller romantic comedy novel. Do read it." I've been reading quite a bit of technical related works, these days and I bet without any doubts, those are few of the well written books I've read.
One such is Frederick Brooks's essay: "No Silver Bullet." I'd write about this article in my technical blog, but for now a one line summary of this article: Software is the werewolf, which has no silver bullets. I was stumped by the impeccable style of Brooks in carrying the metaphor till the end. Werewolves are characters in folklore, who are humans almost all the time, but when they aren't they turn into wolves. The point here is, something so familiar suddenly turns into a bloody monster. It seems, silver bullets have a magical effect in calming down the werewolves.
Enough of introduction (yeah, all of that was introduction!), I wanna get to the topic now. I was thinking of the same lines of familiar-turn-furious cases in life and ended up with quite a few. But the first prize goes to: TIME.
TIME, they say, is a healer. Though, in most cases, it's like 'operation success, patient dead.' Time also keeps testing the nerves. Why do people dread failure so much? Because a re-attempt means hell lot of time, all over again. We are time-bound. We're nothing but time-bound product. By three weeks, start staring the ceiling fan, by three months, take the first turn, by nine months start walking, by three years go to school, by teenage start dealing with existentialism, by fifteen fall for somebody, by nineteen decide your career, by twenties start your career, by 30's *settle* in life, by 40's plan and save for kids, by 50's make sure your kids *settle* in life, by 60's RETIRE.. and if in any of these, you're not up to the mark, then, that is where TIME becomes the monster. It scares you, it drives you crazy. Look back and the whole of past would be ready to sweep you off as a Tsunami wave.
Past Imperfect. Present Tense. Future Complex.
And alas, are there any silver bullets? No. Yes? Let me know. How about this - "ho sake tho zindagi bitaa do.. pal yeh jo jaane waala hai..."
Moral of the story, any story of a werewolf without silver bullets: Deal with it, baby!
A once-upon-a-time-friend (how do you refer to a friend when friendship ceases to exist?) used to push me a lot to read non-fiction works. Every time he recommended me a non-fiction book, he got rhetoric, "That reads better than super thriller romantic comedy novel. Do read it." I've been reading quite a bit of technical related works, these days and I bet without any doubts, those are few of the well written books I've read.
One such is Frederick Brooks's essay: "No Silver Bullet." I'd write about this article in my technical blog, but for now a one line summary of this article: Software is the werewolf, which has no silver bullets. I was stumped by the impeccable style of Brooks in carrying the metaphor till the end. Werewolves are characters in folklore, who are humans almost all the time, but when they aren't they turn into wolves. The point here is, something so familiar suddenly turns into a bloody monster. It seems, silver bullets have a magical effect in calming down the werewolves.
Enough of introduction (yeah, all of that was introduction!), I wanna get to the topic now. I was thinking of the same lines of familiar-turn-furious cases in life and ended up with quite a few. But the first prize goes to: TIME.
TIME, they say, is a healer. Though, in most cases, it's like 'operation success, patient dead.' Time also keeps testing the nerves. Why do people dread failure so much? Because a re-attempt means hell lot of time, all over again. We are time-bound. We're nothing but time-bound product. By three weeks, start staring the ceiling fan, by three months, take the first turn, by nine months start walking, by three years go to school, by teenage start dealing with existentialism, by fifteen fall for somebody, by nineteen decide your career, by twenties start your career, by 30's *settle* in life, by 40's plan and save for kids, by 50's make sure your kids *settle* in life, by 60's RETIRE.. and if in any of these, you're not up to the mark, then, that is where TIME becomes the monster. It scares you, it drives you crazy. Look back and the whole of past would be ready to sweep you off as a Tsunami wave.
Past Imperfect. Present Tense. Future Complex.
And alas, are there any silver bullets? No. Yes? Let me know. How about this - "ho sake tho zindagi bitaa do.. pal yeh jo jaane waala hai..."
Moral of the story, any story of a werewolf without silver bullets: Deal with it, baby!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
... inebriated ecstasy ...
I miss Kafka, these days. As if none among the living is worth missing, I choose to miss the dead often. How often did your soul wanted to dance and your feet fail to stand up? How often did it want to dissipate into eternity and you couldn't even understand that? Kafka, in his engaging prose, kept complaining about a trampled soul trapped in a decent body. I've an exact opposite problem. Added to that, I can't express myself. Now, doesn't that justify me missing Kafka?
"pee loon, hai peene kaa mausam" - professes a song from Once Upon A Time in Mumbaai. I've been drunk too, drunk on happiness, drunk on life, so much so that it's hard not to stagger, not to stammer. Yet, I've decided to write something on the album that has swept me off.
I was introduced to this album through the song, "pee loon.." , which is truly an intoxicant.
Mujh mein samayi hai yun, Jis tarah ki koi ho nadi
Tu mere seenay mein chupti hai, sagar tumhara main hoon
These are the lines that make this song an exhilaration, for me.Bollywood poets were always good at getting to heart of man-woman relationships; the above line, in its various forms, already part of numerous songs. But the amour prope shown by the man here - in being her saagar - amuses me.
The rest of the song is good too, passionately rendered and beautifully composed. Having listened to it many times, I conveniently skipped checking the album in full, until I came across the song "tum jo aaye" by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. Listened to it. Got bowled over. I keep listening to it. And I enjoy getting myself bowled over again and again. This is one of the best songs that happened inBollywood , recently. I can't talk much about the music, but I'm sure it has enough to sway anybody to its tune. The semi-classical base and Khan's voice make this song a beauty, especially the start of the song:
Breathless rendition leaves you gasping with ecstasy. And the more I talk about the lyrics, the less, I feel I could express.
Again! I-damn-the-death-when-it's-you attitude has been part ofBollywood for long, but the way these lines are rendered take it to a new height.
The lines that I like most in this song are, the following:
Fall in love. That's the ticket to stay put a visit in both hell and heaven. You keep swinging between dreams and practicalities, between spring and autumn, between life and death, between excruciating pain and exhilaration. If I can tweak those wordings a little, "mere dil ki jeet meri maat ban gayi.. tum jo aaye zindagi mein baat ban gayi" capturing the irony of love.
The re-use of the old song "parda.." isn't very great, thoughthe original has such a magic that it can easily live next 100 years, with or without remixes. And that leaves just two others songs in this album. "babu rao.." song is a funky, for-the-masses song, however is good enough to catch one's attention. The big plus of this album is that the songs have captured the soul of each character very well, be it the 'can't help being love' souls in above and soon to be followed song or the typical i-me-myself character in this song. The lyrics catch the mood well, and liked the song a lot - especially the lines: babu rao mast hai, mast hai, mast mast hai - makes me mast!
Final song of the album is a usual, listen-i'm-in-love song . The lyrics, though, are refreshingly beautiful.
A typical Indian male for you! The dreamer, the fighter, the yearner, the lover, the traveler all rolled into one - what a combination, delightful and frightful at the same time. Alas, if only the characterization in films could reflect what the songs convey. The directors either aren't poetic enough or can't translate that onto celluloid. I'm not pinning any hopes on this movie, despite such lovely songs.
Monsoon suits both: fall in love and fail in love cases. However, when such music comes to your rescue, you can fall in love, all over again. Just as the raindrops falling onto you titillate you, let the music grow on you.
Get drunk. Stay drunk. On music. On life. On love.
pee lo.. hai peene kaa mausam..
"pee loon, hai peene kaa mausam" - professes a song from Once Upon A Time in Mumbaai. I've been drunk too, drunk on happiness, drunk on life, so much so that it's hard not to stagger, not to stammer. Yet, I've decided to write something on the album that has swept me off.
I was introduced to this album through the song, "pee loon.." , which is truly an intoxicant.
Mujh mein samayi hai yun, Jis tarah ki koi ho nadi
Tu mere seenay mein chupti hai, sagar tumhara main hoon
These are the lines that make this song an exhilaration, for me.
The rest of the song is good too, passionately rendered and beautifully composed. Having listened to it many times, I conveniently skipped checking the album in full, until I came across the song "tum jo aaye" by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. Listened to it. Got bowled over. I keep listening to it. And I enjoy getting myself bowled over again and again. This is one of the best songs that happened in
Paya maine, paya tumhe, rab ne milaya tumhe, Hontun pe sajaya tumhe, nag mein sagaya tumhe
Paya maine, paya tumhe, sab se chupaya tumhe,Sapna banaya tumhe, neendun mein bulaya
Breathless rendition leaves you gasping with ecstasy. And the more I talk about the lyrics, the less, I feel I could express.
Zindagi bewafa hai yeh maana magar
Chod kar raah mein jaoge tum agar
Cheen launga main aasman se tumhe
Soona hoga na yeh, do dilon ka nagar
Again! I-damn-the-death-when-it's-you attitude has been part of
The lines that I like most in this song are, the following:
Mere dil ki jeet meri baat ban gayi
Hoo tum jo aaye zindagi mein baat ban gayi
Fall in love. That's the ticket to stay put a visit in both hell and heaven. You keep swinging between dreams and practicalities, between spring and autumn, between life and death, between excruciating pain and exhilaration. If I can tweak those wordings a little, "mere dil ki jeet meri maat ban gayi.. tum jo aaye zindagi mein baat ban gayi" capturing the irony of love.
The re-use of the old song "parda.." isn't very great, though
Final song of the album is a usual, listen-i'm-in-
Baadal pe chalta hoon main, girta sambhalta hoon main
Khwaishein karta hoon main, khone se darta hoon main
Jaaga na soya hoon main, musafir khoya hoon main
Kuch sarfira sa hoon main, budhu zara sa hoon main
A typical Indian male for you! The dreamer, the fighter, the yearner, the lover, the traveler all rolled into one - what a combination, delightful and frightful at the same time. Alas, if only the characterization in films could reflect what the songs convey. The directors either aren't poetic enough or can't translate that onto celluloid. I'm not pinning any hopes on this movie, despite such lovely songs.
Monsoon suits both: fall in love and fail in love cases. However, when such music comes to your rescue, you can fall in love, all over again. Just as the raindrops falling onto you titillate you, let the music grow on you.
Get drunk. Stay drunk. On music. On life. On love.
pee lo.. hai peene kaa mausam..