People come. And then, people go. That's the surest part, the-going-away part. Celebrate people as and when they happen to you, because for all you know, they might not be around any longer.
Rahul bid good-bye to international cricket today. What does that mean to me?
Remember The Picture Of Dorian Gray? Today, my hair turns a bit gray and face has few wrinkles. I've grown old, irreversibly that too, with his retirement. The huge chapter of admiration and adulation that ran across my teenage and youth, came to an end. There will be no new additions to the numerous stories I weaved out of his mere presence. The star I kept gazing at in bored hours and kept praying to in moments of desperation, has gone out of my horizon, once for all!
But hey.. I'm the winner here. I've loads and loads of goods to carry home. A wealth that has escaped from memory cells to find a deeper suitable seat for a life long stay.
Thanks Rahul for being around and for what you're. And yeah, love you!
(నా తెలుగు బ్లాగులో ఫిక్షన్ తప్ప మరేం రాయనని మడి కట్టుకున్నాను. అందుకని ఈ ఆనవాయితీ పోస్టును వాయిదా వేద్దామనుకున్నాను గానీ, నేనెంత పనిదొంగనో ఒప్పుకోవటంలో నాకు బోలెడంత నిజాయితి కూడా ఏడ్చింది కాబట్టి, ఇక్కడ.. ఇలా..)
2011 హోల్ మొత్తంగా వెనక్కి తిరిగి చూసుకుంటే ఉండీ లేనట్టూ, లేకున్నా ఉన్నట్టూ, ఉండడానికి లేకపోవడానికి మధ్యనున్నట్టూ ఏదోదో అనిపిస్తోంది. చేతిలోని పర్సో, మొబైలో "అర్రె.. ఇక్కడే ఉండాలి. ఎక్కడ పోయింద"ని వెతుక్కున్నట్టు ఈ ఏడాదినీ వెతుక్కోవాల్సి వచ్చిందిలే! ఇహ, అందులో మళ్ళీ పుస్తకం.నెట్ విశేషాలంటే ఏం రాస్తానో ఏమో? మొదలైతే పెట్టాను కాబట్టి.. ఖాళీ పేపర్ అయితే ఇవ్వనులే.. జై జె.ఎన్.టి.యు..
2010 ముగింపులో పుస్తకం పనుల మీద చాలా తిరిగాం. అదే 2011 మొదట్లో కూడా బాగా కొనసాగుతుందని ఆశించాను. విజయవాడ పుస్తక ప్రదర్శన కాస్త నిరాశపరిచినా శ్రీశ్రీ ప్రింటర్స్, నవోదయ రామ్మోహనరావుగారిని, తనికెళ్ళ భరణిని, పాత పుస్తకాల నాగేశ్వరరావుగారిని కలవటం ఆనందం కలిగించింది. కొత్త ఉత్తేజాన్ని ఇచ్చింది. కాకపోతే కొద్దిలో నండూరి రామ్మోహనరావుగారిని కలవటం తప్పిపోయింది నాకు. And I always knew, I lost once in a life time opportunity!
జనవరి నెలలోనే పుస్తకం అడ్మిన్ పనుల నుండి తప్పుకోవాలనుకున్నాను. అదే చెప్పాల్సిన వాళ్ళకి చెప్పాను. ఫిబ్రవరిలో రమణగారు పోవటం - one of most tragic phase in my life. వినగానే ’ఓహ్.. ’ అని మాత్రమే అనిపించింది కానీ, గడిచిన కొద్ది చాలా బాధపెట్టింది ఆ నిజం. దాంతో ఓ shellకి వెళ్ళిపోయి, పుస్తకాన్ని దాదాపుగా మర్చిపోయాననే గుర్తు. Loads of inaction, dumbness and numbness - చాలా కారణాలనుకోండి, అలా అవటానికి. సో.. పుస్తకం పనులేం చేయకుండా, అసలేం రాయకుండా, ఎవర్ని రాయమని విసిగించకుండా కాలం గడిచిపోయింది. ఆ నిర్లిప్తత కొద్దిమందికైనా సాంత్వన కలిగించిందనే అనుకుంటున్నాను. ;)
మనుషులని కలవటం, వారి చేత మాట్లాడించటం కొద్దిగా backseat తీసుకున్నా, పుస్తకాలు చదవటం నిర్విఘ్నంగా, నిరాటంకంగా జరిగింది. ఎప్పటిలానే ఒక పద్ధతి పాడూ లేకుండా ఏ పుస్తకం చేతికందితే దాన్నే చదవానరంభించి నచ్చితే పూర్తిచేయటం, లేకపోతే వదిలేయటం. మధ్య్లలో ఎప్పుడో కొంచెం అలసత్వాన్ని వెనక్కి నెట్టి పుస్తకాలను గూర్చి బుద్దిగా రాసాను కొన్నాళ్ళు. నచ్చినప్పుడు నచ్చిందని చెప్పడానికి వెనుకాడినా, నచ్చకపోతే మాత్రం వచ్చి అక్షింతలు వేస్తారని తెల్సింది. At least, I was being read - wow moment, no? :P
దానికన్నా ముఖ్య విషయం. నేను పుస్తకం నుండి తప్పుకుంటున్నానని చెప్పినప్పుడే చెప్పాను, రాస్తూ ఉంటాను. అయినా కూడా జనాలు "మీరు వెళ్ళిపోతున్నా అన్నారు? ఇంకా ఎందుకు రాసి విసిగిస్తున్నట్టు?" అన్న ధ్వనిలో ప్రశ్నలు అడిగారు, అడుగుతున్నారు. సమాధానం చాలా సింపుల్.. పుస్తకం తెర వెనుక ఉంటేనే పుస్తకంలో రాయాలని ఏమీ లేదు. పుస్తకం నిరవధికంగా నడవడానికి ఒక్కరో, ఇద్దరో కారణం కారు, కాలేరు. అందులో చాలా మంది భాగస్వామ్యం ఉంటుంది. రమణగారిలా చెప్పాలంటే ’సమిష్టి వ్యవసాయం’. పుస్తకం.నెట్ అనే తోటలో ఏదో మూల ఎన్నుకొని అందులో ఇష్టమైన మొక్కను నాటుకొని, పూలు పూయించుకోవచ్చును. దానికి భూమంతా వారి పేరు మీద ఉండాలనేమీ లేదు.
ఒక వెబ్సైట్ అడ్మిన్లకుండే తలనొప్పులు వాళ్ళకి ఉంటాయి. వాళ్ళని పొగిడేవాళ్ళకన్నా అటు-ఇటు అయ్యే క్షణాల కోసం కాచుకొని కూర్చొని, వాళ్ళని అనడానికి సిద్ధంగా ఉండేవాళ్ళు ఉంటూనే ఉంటారు. నచ్చినప్పుడు అవసరానికి మించి పొగుడుతారు. నచ్చనప్పుడు baseless allegations చేస్తుంటారు. లోకం తీరంత అని వదిలేయటం ఒక పద్ధతి. కానీ ఎప్పుడోకప్పుడు ఏ రాళ్ళు తగులుతున్నాయో, అవి చేతుల్లోకి వచ్చే అవకాశమూ ఉంది, వాటిని తిప్పి కొట్టే అవకాశమూ ఉంది. The so called sense of humour కొట్టే, కొట్టించుకునే వాళ్ళకే ఉంటాయి గానీ, రాళ్ళకి ఉండదు! :)
బెంగళూరులో బుక్వార్మ్ వాళ్ళతో ముచ్చటించటం కొంచెం పాత రోజుల్ని గుర్తుతెచ్చింది. ఆ వెంటనె గయ్ డి అనే లింగ్విస్ట్ తో ఈ-మెయిల్ సంభాషణ మరింత నచ్చింది. ఆయనంత త్వరగా ఒప్పుకుంటారని గానీ, లేక అంత తీరిగ్గా జవాబులిస్తారని గానీ ఊహించలేదు.
ఈ ఏడాది మరో అపురూప పరిణామం - జంపాల గారి వ్యాసావళి. అందరి వెంటపడినట్టే వీరిని పుస్తకంకు రాయమని మొదట అడిగినప్పుడు "నా ప్రొఫెషన్ అంత సమయం మిగల్చదు" అని అన్నారు. అదీ నిజమేనని ఊరుకున్నాం. కానీ వారం తర్వాత వారం ఆయన రాస్తూనే ఉండింది ముందు అబ్బుర పరిచింది, తర్వాత కొంచెం అసూయ కలిగించింది, చివరకు ఆయనకు నమో నమః చెప్పేసుకున్నాం లే! అంతలా, రాస్తూనే ఉన్నారు. Amazing insipration! కేవలం పుస్తకం విషయంలోనే కాదు, మనిషికి డిసిప్లెన్ ఉంటే ఎన్ని పనులు చేసుకోవచ్చోనని చూపారు. చదవటం, రాయటంకన్నా ఆయనలో నాకు చాలా నచ్చేవి.. the passion to communicate! Simply mind blowing!
ఏదో ప్రళయం వస్తే తప్ప మేం థీం మార్చేలా కనిపించలేదు. అలాగే, హాక్ అయ్యే పరిస్థితులు తప్పించుకొని ఎట్టకేలకు ఆ పాత బట్టలను వదిలి కొత్త బట్టలు వేసాం. అవేమో అంతగా అతికనట్టు లేవుగానీ, ప్రస్తుతానికి అలా కొనసాగించాల్సి వస్తుంది. దాన్ని కొంతైనా ఒక తీరు తెన్నూ తేవాలని ప్రయత్నం. చూడాలి!
తెర వెనుకున్నా, ముందున్నా, తెరనే ముసుగేసుకున్నా పుస్తకం అనేది ఒక ’కొంచెం ఇష్టం. కొంచెం కష్టం’ వ్యాపకంగా అలవాటయ్యిపోయింది. ఈ ఏడాది మేమిద్దరం కాస్త వెనక్కి తగ్గినట్టు అనిపించినా, పుస్తకం బాగానే నడిచింది. మున్ముందు మమల్ని అనాసక్తులూ, అలసత్వాలూ ఆవహించకుండా ఉంటే మా వంతుగా చేయాల్సింది మేము చేస్తాం. ఆనక whosoever's ఆధీనం!
Goodbyes should happen. Like love. Happen before you realize they're happening. Happen in a way you can't help it. Happen without seeking your permission.
Goodbyes, like easy death, should be without rehearsals. Because the more you prepare to bid a goodbye, the more you hang around. The more you try and look back, the weaker will be your step forward. The more you struggle to say it, it only means your secret wish is to stay back.
'It's time this blog goes into dust' - I never wanted to write any such thing on any of my blog. A good friend of mine once did the same. After few usual concerns and pleas about closing his blog, one person had this to say: "If you wanna buzz off, Buzz off. Why the drama?" That always keeps playing on my mind.
I don't know if stubborn reticence is an offence. I don't know if prolixity is a crime. What I know, for sure, is, if they are, then I could be convicted in both cases.
To tweak Dorothy Parker's quote a bit, I love writing. Not having written. Writing gives you the solitude. Having written forces you to stand among public.
The reason this blog would go dumb is, because there's this nagging feeling that it isn't suiting me, not any more. Micro blogging is where I find my love, these days. Also, I'm keen on practicing the economy-of-words. So..
(Thanks to each one of you for being here. I don't know if I deserved the attention I got, but it made me feel good. May be, having written isn't such a bad phase. So long! )
One day, I was in a moving bus. It came to a sudden stop and it took a moment to realize, we were saved by a fraction of second. I was scared to death. After few breaths, I looked at the book in my hand. I smiled and thought, "Not such a bad way to die, after all." I was reading Catch 22. It would be poetic, if I get to the last page of Catch 22 on my last day.
To bring the date with death to a li'l more perfection, I wanna die listening to this song, "Zindagi aa raha hoon main." Well, it might sound ironic, but irony is what life is all about. So, that would be make it.."Just Perfect."
Kishore daa and Jo Heller! Ah.. all too tempting! Lurking around, Ms. Death? :P
People who are sick of me, complain that I think too much. People who aren't.. well, they too complain the same. And to prove that I've a hint of sanity going into my thinking, I need strong backups. Like the case I'm trying to present here.
Harsha Bhogle's candid talk with Ayaz Memon is here and here. If you enjoy sensible talking, don't miss them. If you wanna still come back here, petty welcome. There are many topics which that interview touched upon, but here I've decided to talk about elder brothers.
Lets say there's a kid. He has got his eye on a toy, which isn't easily available to him. So, he first tries to get with his own efforts. When that doesn't work, he attracts / detracts the elders to get it for him. If they don't readily agree, he'll start playing his tricks. Finally, he gets what he wants. That's an happy ending? Not really.
After he played with it to heart's content, he may start fiddling it. Or throw it away. Or while still having fun with this toy, something much more fanciful may catch his attention. Now what? Repeat of the above para?
No matter what our age accounts to, I believe, we've this kiddish tendency to be back of something fanciful. Sometimes money. Sometimes security. Yet another time, family. We keep hopping from one thing to another. Without even realizing, we tend to be the same with what / whom we love too.
Here is the need of someone to try and keep us from distractions and help us focus on the toy in hand. The best possible choice, according to me, is an elder brother.
Why not a mom? A dad? Or a sis?
May be, it's just about any body who can see you through with your life. May be, it's just that I'm over-romanticizing the role of an elder bro. May be, I'm biased. Ok.. I'm biased!
There are moments in life, when you're in self-doubt. You can deal with the world, but not with yourself. Those are the moments when you need somebody to stand by you, stand for you.
You've your exams next week and you break your hand today. How nice it is to have a bro to tell you, "Chill! This is nothing! This can utmost hurt you for 3 days. Not more."
How *fantastic* (yes, that's the word!) would it be to lean on the shoulder of an elder bro and cry to your heart's content, for having lost your love, for having lost a beloved, for messing up life, or for getting messed up by life?
A person, who shared the same womb as you did. A person, who was sent few years ahead of you, as if to set the world right for you. Who, while still a kid to his parents, starts parenting you. Who, while still toying with life, makes sure you've the right toys. Who, while still finding his path, guides you. Who, without being a lover to somebody, is already showering love upon you. He's a mom, dad and a friend all-in-one package.
Not that, everyone with an elder bro can get that lucky. Most of the times, the beauty of a relationship boils down to the two individuals in it, rather than the relation itself. But whoever has got it, I call them the luckiest souls. Where you end up with such wonderful support system for your life, is again a million dollar question.
Harsha opines that we need an elder-brother-culture and see if that helps our budding talent handle life well. Not too sure, if that works. Forced upon relations could be taxing.
I don't dream of meeting a Sachin Tendulkar. But yes, would hate myself, if I lose an opportunity to meet Ajit.
After all, a Sachin Tendulkar ain't a Sachin Tendulkar, without an Ajit Tendulkar!
Got a chance to watch RGV's bloody saga on Ananthapur's factionist and surprising myself, I've sailed through the two parts of Rakta Charitra. Here are few thoughts on it.
The movie was neither good nor bad. Otherwise put, it's equally good and equally bad.
Flip side:
All said and done, this is a gutsy film. Probably, a subject only someone like RGV can take up. Though they have been innumerable movies on the faction-ism and few on the factionists lives (like Sree Ramulayya and all), this is an attempt to portray two lives which had substantial influence on all of Andhra Pradesh in one way or the other.
The best part of this attempt is, it neither supports nor disprove faction or people involved it. It just tries to act as a mirror to what has happened and leave it to the viewer to approve / disprove it according to his own understandings.
According to me, the point RGV was trying across is, no one is good / bad by default. Individuals take the form and shape of the society they live in. Dialogues like, "Killing here is not a play. It's a need." drive the point home.
The cast was fabulous. Though I thought actors like Kota were underutilized.
Loved Surya. His eyes were emotions at their best. No wonder I liked second part better than first one.
The roles of Shatrughna Sinha and Subhalekha Sudhakar played were my favourite. They scared me the best. :P
Flops:
It is, probably, a problem for every creator. Tendency to do it all by yourself or to be everywhere possible. RGV's voice over to the film was pathetic, ridiculous and a huge let down. The narration could have been more gripping.. the voice could have done magic to the movie. But RGV has taken it for granted.
I didn't see a point in having two parts for this movie. Especially when he miserably failed to project the good-bad combo in Pratap's character. When Pratap had reached his peak, how did it affect some parts of the society? What were the negativity in doing all this? I'd heard about Paritala Ravi's regime in his area from someone who has seen it up close. As my friend was narrating to it, chills were running down my spine. For a moment, I was wondering how on earth can such things happen in a democratic country like ours. This movie failed to highlight the point. To project that regime, that kingdom as it was.. which was heaven to people inside it and hellish misery for people outside it. It could have been a 3 hour long one movie, rather than 2 parts.
The violence is in the movie was surprisingly not scary enough. Not that I wanted to see too much of bloodshed, but I expected the movie to project the ferocity or wildness that is usually associated with such factionists. Pratap's murder in part 2, came too easily to leave an impact.
All in all, if you can sit through it - for four hours of well researched content and leniently executed attempt - this movie is thought provoking. Since the director doesn't take stands, it's on the viewer to do the rest of the thinking.
For me, the best dialogue was when some MLA's complaint to the CM about Pratap saying, "He is spitting at democracy." To which, CM replies:
"Oh.. how about the days when democracy had spat at him?"
That kinda summarizes it for me. What goes around, comes around! Be it among people or be it between people and the system.
My head's got so many things thinking about, it's gonna be real hard to stick to a topic in this post. The intention is however to be in and around cricket.
Day began with Dileep Premachandran's article on Sourav Ganguly. Having been his fan for this long, nothing from him comes as a surprise. So, when he says, "I don't see a point in playing cricket, now.", I support him with the usual fervour. Looking back, this guy has been such an inspiration in my life, in terms of doing what I wanna do and speaking my mind on it.. I sometimes wonder if he IS the key ingredient to the personal I'm today. Love you, Sourav Daa.. always!
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It is always good to know somebody else is also thinking on the same lines as you. At least, it surprises me when I see my mind in others' words. Two of cricinfo's articles almost stole the words from my mouth. Both relating to India in WC 2003.
For me the most remarkable of India's wins because of bowling performance are victories against england and NZ in WC'03. It's always such a rarity to see an Indian bowler being absolutely ruthless in his attack. If Nehra's performance was such a beauty, the aggression and accuracy of Zaheer against NZ had me floored. I precisely remember sitting on the top of the sofa.. I know that's weird way of sitting.. at the beginning of the match, and was on the ground by the time Zaheer completed his first spell. Man! Wasn't he a treat to watch in that match?!
While watching the repeating highlights of various WCs on star cricket, to my own surprise, I quipped: It might have been a different story, had Laxman featured in that WC final. It's too much of a thought, but over the years, Laxman has just grown in stature of being Australia's nemesis.
Gautam Ghambir's statement, "No one would die if India doesn't win the world cup.", shows the need to be realistic with our chances and the nature of the game itself. If India wins, it would inspire a million others to pick up bats and balls. If not, nothing is truly lost.. except another chance to be champions.
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When I talk, people tend to think that either I'm too ignorant or intellectual to be termed as sane.
For instance, when I theorized that sledging is a good idea and can reap rich benefits, out of my own limited ping-pong playing experiences, I got similar weird looks. Get ready to make your eyebrows dance, as I present my theory here.
Any player, according to me, has two layers - 1. skill 2. attitude. Individually, they don't need long drawn explanations. But the combination of both is petty interesting. Let's just take binary values of the two attributes to put the theory simple.
Assuming you're some one with right level of skill and attitude needed for the competition.
No skill. No attitude. : Can be dusted off soon. No skill. Loads of attitude: As a opponent, you should be ready for surprises. Skill. Right attitude: That's a deadly combination. Win or loss, you'd be in for some serious blows. Here's where your mental strength of performing under adverse conditions comes to your rescue.
Skill. No attitude. This is an interesting combination. This could be anyone's game. But if I'm the opponent and if I get the idea of the skills of opponent, I find it petty wise to start playing the mind's game. Playing to the best of your ability, surely rises the game's standard.. but if you can play on the guy's mind, it could get favourable to you. Also, I believe in utilizing correct skills at apt times. I don't think, trying too hard to get rid of a good batsmen with average temperament isn't that great an idea. If I'm a captain, I'd insist on bowler targeting batsmen's mind as well as his stumps, not just his stumps alone. That case, even a wide delivery can get him a wicket, needn't be an unplayable delivery.
My point is mind games work. Sledging is a part of it. It needn't get too abusive, involving mothers and wives. But well, ethics put apart, sledging of any kind works, reaping rich benefits.
So, yet another Aamir Khan Production! Beyond Bollywood seems to be the underlying motive of this production. Nice. Better, if its driven by "Cinema as an art."
Dhobi Ghat fails to reach the mark of a memorable movie, at least, for me.
I don't know why, but when it comes to titles, I get too picky. For me, title is the reflection of the soul of the piece of art - be it a writing or a painting or a movie. I consider it as an integral part of the art and not an identifier or label. Dhobi Ghat, straight away, fails here.
Why Dhobi Ghat? And why only that? Why not another place in Mumbai? Just because a key character works there? Or a lady -NY returned, investment banker, jobless in the name of research- chooses that place for photos? And a series of monochrome photos would capture the soul of Mumbai? Why a feature film when all it needs a photo exhibition?
The concept was good, but the execution failed miserably. "What is being told" should come first before "How it is being told".
This analogy may not go with everybody. From my understanding, what I see is that the director attempted to narrate a story of four individuals connected in no way, but only through the city. As they start with each other, their lives start interlacing with that of others and in the end, the final picture formed is not that of those individuals and their relations, but that of Mumbai. This is all so similar to a wall hanging made with steel or wooden frame as base with threads / strings of different colours run across each other - sometimes underlying, sometimes overlapping - to form a picture / design that one could connect to. This looks simple, yet beautiful. But the real challenge is that the threads should be neither too tightly woven, nor too loosely. It got to be 100% good to be in the awe of it. It's a case where 1% bad dominates 99% good.
Dhobi Ghat failed on showcasing the streams of the dhobi and the banker, tightly enough. And any interaction of these two with the rest, look like forced upon acts.
Also, an off-beat movie, needn't necessarily be boring. 90 minutes seeming to be an eternity isn't the target to be achieved. Not at least, when the story line has the scope to be engrossing enough for naive audience too.
Moments after getting out of theater.. I was thinking, why isn't the story better?
There is a painter, who is looking to shift to a new flat in old Mumbai. He gets to see a flat which happens to be semi furnished. The broker promises to remove the mess, if he plans to shift. He does. One day, a dhobi knocks his door and is surprised to see the new tenant, who also happens to be his old client. Now that the old tenants are no longer here, he decides to take back the clothes (or whatever to do they do with them, in reality) but handovers a key - which was tied with a knot at the end of a dupatta he washed - to the painter. Least interested, painter puts aside the key and rushes to one of his exhibitions, where he meets with this NY investment banker, who eventually ends up in his bed that night. Morning after, with all his uneasiness and inability to handle the situation, he successfully shoos her away. Disappointed, yet, sure-footed banker gets to her business of research and sees an opportunity to explore Dhobi Ghat and it's finance, when she gets to know the same through Dhobi guy. Meanwhile, the painter chances upon video letters left out by old tenant, thanks to the key given by dhobi. Now, where did the couple disappear? How did the mystery unravel? Was it a crime related to Dhobi Ghat? Or was it sheer carelessness on part of old tenants? What did the banker find out about the financial lives of the Dhobi Ghat? How did the Dhobi Guy ended up there and was he ever able to get out of it, despite his strong ambitions? Along side, how did these three deal with their passions and love and life and get along in the city?
Oh wait... why this rambling? I neither plan to do a Kiran Rao, nor do I have an Aamir Khan next to me. Let me stop here.
Aamir has said in press that this is a movie for someone who can appreciate an art, instead of being entertained mindlessly! Well.. it is not so easy to impress, when it comes to those set of people, for they tend to think too much! :P
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.
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.
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.
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:
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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 in Bollywood, 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:
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 Bollywood 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:
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 the 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.
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.
