MUSIC AND THE LYRICISM OF IT ALL

‘And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.’

-Oscar Wilde

Of the beauty of words, and the sensation blithe that pervades et al; I finally convinced my prejudiced and provincial self to concede to listening to some instrumental music [italics reflect big nose scrunches and cheeky cheeks acrobatics]. That was some months ago. I began with the tried and tested [and inherited] classical paraphernalia and gradually progressed to Satriani and the likes. And every time I heard a piece which engaged in an ‘irreconcilable differences’ attitude with its nomenclature, I would be terribly disappointed.
I was listening to girl in a blue dress* today and I love it! Except it sounds like a woman with short, tidy hair in a grey suit. Walking in an unsullied metallic environment with a determined glint in her intense eyes. Terribly disappointed #1.
But then there is whale and wasp by Alice in chains. Which sounds exactly like what the name suggests.
[but the wasp is a fairy in my head…*grins*]
And of course butterfly etude by Chopin, and it is so fast yet contained…you know how a pretty, colourful butterfly will flit from pretty, colourful flower to pretty, colourful flower.
The funeral march by Chopin again…get it, listen to it, my over-elaborate lexicon shall not help. Terrific.
Traveler [Szerelem pay heed] by Satriani is too furious. Whatever happened to the placid tales of travel, the walk on the sand, the inhaling of the sharp mountain air?? Satriani sounds like he is in on his Hayabusa forging onwards to rape some pretty, colourful Japanese chickitas [but I likeeeeeee Satriani, in spite of his naming transgressions]. Terribly disappointed #2.
Saying goodbye aint half bad…redemption rocks! Starry, starry night is perfecto!

I could go on. But a gossip session awaits with some pretty colourful chicks. Do comment.

*yes I do NOT know who it is by. Any help will be appreciated and NOT remunerated.

WATERS WATERS BABY

He began with shine on you crazy diamond [and that has to be my favourite, after high hopes maybe]. And some of the other songs I recongnised were wish you were here, the final cut, comfortably numb, the dark side of the moon...songs pretty much anyone would recognise...
And everyone was swaying from side to side in the floyd-bubble which began from where Mister Waters was sitting and cooing [a trifle far from us...ahem...but well worth it!], and its periphery stretched to include us lesser mortals [minus the Oxford Phds in architecture is it??].
And those Phds certainly made their presence felt. We were in a floyd concert and a graphic novel. Especially this song called leaving Beirut, where Mister Waters made his apparent hate for Bush and his kin very obvious, with super animations on the screen behind. To quote a certain Mister Mittal [incidentally our free-pass provider, mentioned in an earlier post] 'feel aa gayeee!'
It was a brilliant concert, there was no sound distinction in any of the ticket denomination demarcations, the graphics were impressive, and although I have been off Floyd lately [have been listening to a lot of Gilmour though] I enjoyed every bit of it.
I was hoping fervently though that he would play the great gig in the sky. It just seemed like that song would fit the occasion...
And the pink, flying pig [trademark Waters apparently] with its loud calligraphy of Kafka rules!, Habeas Corpus, Free at last et al was soooo intentional. I am thinking Animal Farm. More than Animals. Forgive.

And that was that. Super.

BOMBAY TO GO-AAAAAAAAAAAAH

Currently I am revelling in an inconveniently blah mood. I am busting my ass over the software requirement specifications of a tracerouter [project bluuuuuuuues], and it is entirely disconcerting to imagine the degree of blahness at this early a stage.
The reason I must do this by myself is because my project partner is headed out of town tomorrow for the Surathkal fest. And by the time she gets back, I will be en-route to Bombay. Yeah baby!
I am adequately excited. I will be travelling with my Roger Waters-free-pass-provider friend [yeah yippeee yeah!] who is also striving to get us free entry into some of the city's hot nightclubs. Aaaaaaaaah happiness.

Ok fine. I lied. I do not care so much about the partying. I do care about the Waters concert though. I have grown up on Floyd, which is why it was sufficiently easy to convince my Floyd-philic folks to finance my Bombay trip. And I will be meeting up with some old friends in a city that I have always enjoyed visiting. Yes, yes. I AM adequately excited.

Now that my project beckons, I must take your leave. But once the blah-o-meter gets red hot, I shall return. Oh yes, I shall.
Maybe the Satriani in the background will help....NOT.
[heeeeeeeeeee........Borat influences.]

MOVIE-NG

I am a happy child[a tad overgrown but heeeeeeeeee haw anyway]. I have come into a gold mine of movies which I intend to watch over the next couple of weeks.

I had heard so much about Pan's labyrinth that I felt it deserved the inaugural watch. And I must say I was a trifle disappointed. It is an intense mixed genre drama that finds parallels in the worlds of the real and the fantasy. And thus, the insect transmorgifies into a fairy[sadly sounding like a mating cricket], and the wall opens up into a monster's chamber, and death transports you to the higher kingdom of justice[with highly cool seating arrangments I might add]. But there is never a moment of fluidity. The two worlds remain isolated and detached. The only very very obvious link is the crumbling of courage yet its eventual triumph in the face of tyranny.

Now if the insect had remained an insect, but Ofelia saw a fairy. If the monster was not an inhuman carcass with hands for eyes, but a big human hirsute that evoked fear in little Ofelia. And if Ofelia died as she did, but died happy....
That would have been a beautiful merging of the real and that fantasy. Finding magic in the doggedly real lives we live and die. Now that would have been some movie.....

But some great acting, and as always a lovely soundtrack.

I also feel compelled to write about Guru that I watched some days back. I absolutely loved it. It was a goodlooking movie[always a winner!] with some brilliant acting. And it so convincingly mitigated the bureaucratic crimes of a man born of the middle class with its stagnant content and lesser dreams. And the soundtrack was niiiiiiiice. But the clincher was Abhishek Bachchan's lopsided smile, shining white in its honesty and happiness *swoooooons*.

Truly worth a watch.

Next in line - The Prestige, Amores Perros and Borat.

Will keep you posted.

FROGGONE IT!

16 hours of 24 have been borne with fortitude and fortune. And things are happening. I have started listening to CCR while being attacked by a green, gay frog. Right now it is hiding behind the mirror and I am hiding behind the computer. I would return the poor, frightened thing back to the home it comes from, I really would. But you see strong-legged amphibians are really not the easiest to negotiate with.
I was reading this article today about how ‘tinkering with nature is a bad idea’. More than fifty years ago around a hundred cane toads from Central and South America were released in Australia to check cane crop pests. The toads quickly proliferated to reach mammoth numbers (around 200 million) and is deemed today as one of Australia’s worst environmental debacles, having become unpleasant pests themselves. This ‘assisted migration’ has far-reaching effects on territorial integrity and the food chain argued the author, while the counter view stressed strongly upon massive environmental changes, due to deforestation and global warming, that render species shelter-less and without adequate nutritional sources.
I personally feel no problem can be solved completely unless it is nipped in the bud. And the solution here seems to be to concentrate on reversing, else preventing the damaging after-effects of global warming. And deforestation can easily be checked. Or maybe I am talking out of my hat. Whatever it is, the thousands of species on the endangered list need fast theoretical and faster practical attention.
And right now that tiny frog crouching behind the mirror needs to be helped back before it starves (or attacks me again! Whichever comes first…*praying praying*).
Here froggie, froggie….here froggie…

DAZED AND DAZZLED

Has anyone acknowledged the smart economics behind series such as Lost, Heroes or 24??
A most heady cocktail of attractive people, intense acting, stunning visuals, strong scripts, better screenplays and the culmination of every episode at exactly the point where you are chewing the nail of your little finger after the nails of the other more unfortunate fingers have been consumed over forty fast minutes. So you keep watching, and you keep watching.

And you keep watching.

I should know. I have been addicted to all three at various points of time over the past couple of months. Currently Sujatha and I am at our nail-biting best with season 4 of 24. We have been sprawled across the bed, ordering in, taking 5 minutes breaks every 5 hours to take a breather. One of the reasons why I haven't been blogging too much.

But I shall be back. After another 18 episodes. And 24 hours of recuperation.
;-)

THE EXECUTION OF SADDAM

In the middle of a particularly passionate conversation with a friend, he suddenly assumed a momentary garb of amnesia, forgot we were in the midst of an intense argument and asked me what I felt about Saddam Hussein’s execution. I mumbled something unintelligible to which he reacted with an, ‘I think Bush should be hanged till death next.’
Hmmmm….
Truth is I have been mildly disturbed about the execution, its timeline, its nature, and its highly obvious aftermath. I have been hungrily reading any news item, editorial, internet pop-up that only continues to corroborate my own understanding. Which again depends on what my source is.

When I was reading from the CNN website, a particular link interested me. Labelled ‘Protests and Celebrations’ it displayed nine photographs which expressed precisely ONE ‘Protest’ photograph and EIGHT ‘celebration’ photographs. However, there was one link which stated the Taliban’s reaction to the execution, which of course was unfavourable. The fact that Saddam was hanged on the day of the Eid al-Adha Muslim festival which should ideally be ‘a day of forgiveness and not revenge’ angered Mullah Obaidullah Akhund, who was described as ‘a former Taliban defense minister and top insurgent commander’. Very interesting that Taliban is recognized as a ‘military outfit’ by the U.S. and has complete and explicit intentions of overthrowing Hamid Karzai’s government, who incidentally was the U.S. appointed interim president. Thereafter of course he won in a landslide ‘the democratic way’, but not without violent complaints of irregularities [read this]. Taliban’s reaction used ‘infidels’ and ‘jihad’ in plentitude. Purposeful, yet quite ineffective. I smiled to myself.
The BBC site was better. It recorded ‘mixed reactions’ to Saddam’s execution in far more comforting proportions. It also had an interesting yet very political study of the future of Iraq. ‘Things might get better. But things can certainly become worse.’

Bush has shown a serious lack of foresight. By choosing a Special Iraqi Tribunal that was trained by American, British and Australian experts, which went on to execute Saddam on Eid al-Adha, much too early in the 30 days permission since the verdict is announced, he has managed to anger a small but strong number. Plenty of Muslims the world over have expressed their dissatisfaction about the same and subsequently minor imperfections such as Bush’s deep slumber during the execution and his jolly gloating over possessing Saddam’s personal revolver are steadily fuelling the raging inferno of anti-Bushism.
I was watching a reporter on T.V. question a young, Indian girl as to why Bakr-id celebrations had been low-key this year. She replied with a diffident ‘Saddam has been executed.’ The reporter proceeded to ask her if she knew who Saddam Hussein is. She said no, she did not.

Bush does not realize it perhaps, but Saddam-the martyr has been born. And he can only grow.
I am therefore, midly disturbed about the bloody aftermath that awaits us.

Also the person who made the video of Saddam’s execution has been arrested. Although his video quickly contradicted the dignity and rectitude of the hanging in the official video released, I am only glad. Videotaping someone’s last moments is nothing but pitiless and insensitive.


A highly morbid first post of the new year. But such is the world we live in.
Oh well…Happy New Year folks!

GOODBYES AND BADBYES

'and has it ever been that love has known its own depth until the hour of separation.'
- Khalil Gibran

Truer words were seldom spoken.

So much is taken for granted. Sharing cheery banter, toothy smiles. Sharing toothpaste. Exchanging ideas and colours. Chasing beautiful dreams and beautiful men. Ruffling each others feathers. Ruffling bed sheets. Imposing opinions. And imposing ‘funereal music’.

And perhaps the moment of clarity is truly a timeline of bygone moments, some so real and overwhelming. Others so banal. And so overwhelming.

Because it will never be the same again. ‘My life as I knew it, is gone.’

Yes, we will meet sometimes to grab at the diminishing moments to relive a different age and culture. And we will indulge in colourful nostalgia, rife with exaggeration to make the outsider believe in our colourful lives. Then you or I will extend a dismissive wave and a flippant ‘you should have been there.’

You really should have been there.

Here is to looking ahead. And glancing behind.

KALMAN AND ADDICTIONS

Is it not delectable?? *smirk smirk*
I am absolutely obsessed with colour these days. Colour and hasty, vivid strokes and deviation. And I'm always obsessing with big, giant, COLOSSAL words.
My stand on Nietzsche remains undeclared. I have his works at home. I have not read them yet. My dad described the 'superhuman' theory to me once. I started reading the Sin-city graphic novels consequently [and if YOU have not then please squat and lay two eggs for me].
As for the ever-controversial mustache I will reserve my opinion.
Which brings us to 'we go to paris instead'.
I wanted to edit that and make that Goa, where incidentally I should be headed tomorrow night if the stars shine bright and they shine right. Goa has been jinxed so far. But I have vowed. I WILL go. And I WILL return with some nice-goa-sand-which-probably-is-a-banned-substance-as-well to prove the same. Hah!
Oh the above painting is by Maira Kalman. Her work is happy and crazy and I just know she has danced to 'The Psycho' OST with a rose dangling from her mouth. I KNOW IT.
I will leave you with a brilliant observation by Jhelum. Look carefully at Nietzsche's arms...two strong strokes starting from the shoulders and dropping to his chest. He has crossed his arms. Aaaaaah...simple and sweeeeeeeeeet.
By the by, my current favourite word is Dichotomy. Does it not bring to mind biology?? Hahahahahaha....apologies.

BAAH BAAH BLAH-CK SHEEP

What an absolutely tremendous day. My best friend informed me that he had some bad news for me. He had some attendance issues, along the very tremendous lines of 28-30% and therefore had been most ceremoniously detained. I think that is when it struck him that it might be bad news for him as well...he did hmmmm, in his defense.

Baah. I am being tremendously unfair. I was being a complete and wholesome she-dog to him this past one month. What with mini project submissions and reports and sessionals and vivas and exams. BAAH. I was a very stressed out individual. And everytime my poor friend decided to commit the courageous feat of actually calling me up I would rave and rant and scream and pant. So he waited till the my examinations were over to inform me of his tremendous acheivement. Awww...cho chweet *blush blush*.


You might have noticed that I have developed a tremendous soft corner for tremendous.

Also I am on my way to becoming a full-fledged-half-wit-engineer. Joy. Gave my final written examination today. Feels like, well...erm...BLAH.
Downed some alcohol to get the edge off. Laughed with friends some. Worried about my pending internship viva tomorrow. Met up with Gagan and had some good ol' kulfi *giggle giggle*.

Still working on that bloody internship report [it's almost 5!!] about optimisation of databases. Well, at least I learnt what an OLE DB is. At least.

Current life saver: I am the walrus.

OF LOVE, LIFE AND LITTLE ONES.

1. An overworked Xerox machine.
2. Scattered paper, rough notebooks, blue pens, mismatched stapler and pin sizes.
3. Cigarettes.
4. Coffee.
5. Cigarette ash in coffee cups.
6. A filthy room *gasp! shudderrrr....DIE*
7. Inflicted Insomnia.
8. Expected Inflections *winkie winkie*
9. Unsolicited advice on love, life and little ones.

EXAMINATION SCHEXAMINTAION.

See you after the 6th of December.
Au-revoir!

THANK GOD I AM AN ATHEIST.

A TRUE BLUE BRESSON-ian

'The simulataneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event as well as the precise organisation of forms which gives that event its proper expression....In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little human detail can become a leitmotif.'

Henri Cartier-Bresson.



Tabish once told me that the reason photographers sometimes choose to click black and white photographs is because the subject automatically gets emphasis and stands out with a glaring clarity. I love the nostalgia it evokes. An old school charm, a hint of stories untold, a mist of exciting secrets. Lovely.

Henri Cartier-Bresson chooses a beautiful woman for his subject in this photograph. And if you notice carefully he manages to capture her so sharply and coherently. Everything and everyone else in the photograph is just blurred enough to make her an object of your affection. The shadow of the lady walking beside her falls so perfectly just beside her. I wonder if that was intentional.















This is one of my favourites. Not so much for the photographic appeal as for the significance of the story Henri Cartier-Bresson tries to weave. Stories of devastation and challenges that still give birth to a sublime mirth and joy.
The laughter of children is pure and complete.
Love this one.










Stunning. A man seeking desperate solace from his own self, and losing himself almost inadvertently in the colossus of brick and cement. I have not been able to determine the subject here quite convincingly. Any takes??









My personal favourite. Reminds me of one my favourite paintings called 'The Umbrellas'. Probably the attire.
It tells the story of so many women with similar lives but individual tales.
For me it reflects a satisfied pace and lethargy. In a land of little opportunity perhaps. A conscious capitulation.

I want to hear what you have to say about this.



Thank you. And come again.
Yours Bresson-ian.

LET THE MUSIC BE YOUR MASTER

I have oft wondered as to what I would be minus my music, my books and my movies. Terribly boring I imagine. I have a father who is a voracious reader, an avid motion picture patron and a ravenous musical connoisseur. And the genes were faithful. I have been exposed to a healthy dose of the afore mentioned, although my Dad did try very very unsuccessfully to make me appreciate F1 also. I apologise in earnest, I guess we all have our limitations.
The order of these three has befuddled me as well. And I have finally decided. I can go a day without reading [unfortunately includes the newspaper sometimes], and more than a day without a good, complete movie. But I absolutely need my daily dose of music. Absolutely, completely, wholly.
Perhaps because now when I find myself constantly short on time and wishing there were 25 and a half hours in a day [I loooooowe my thirty minute showers!] I realize it is possible to multi-task only with music. Some tunes that are running through my head these days….[earworms Gagan tells me]….
Lots and lots and lots of Radiohead. I had been listening to ‘hail to the thief’ before I progressed to ‘ok, computer’. Am in love with ‘let down’ and ‘karma police’.
Porcupine tree, which for me falls under the same genre as Radiohead. ‘A smart kid’ is really good. I especially love the way it ends. Keep away if low on cheer and/or high on alcohol. Unless you sometimes discover streaks of masochism. I often enjoy depressing music when sad….err….I did NOT tell you that.
Beatles, Beatles, Beatles! ‘Lucy in the sky with diamonds’ is touching, creepy and reflective all at once. Dangerous. ‘Lay lady lay’ by Dylan is gorgeously romantic. Sigh…
Progressed to some Neil Diamond. Have so far enjoyed only two songs. The much overplayed ‘play me’ and the more enjoyed ‘solitary man’.
Nancy Sinatra’s ‘these boots are made for walking’ is perky and funny, like Cameron Diaz…hahahaha! I know Auyon will love that. The song I mean dum-dum. Also ‘summer wine’ by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood is very pleasantly Bollywood-ish. Listen to it and get back to me for more on that.

The Ghosh has spoken.
And play on….

HITL(ER)IST

'Those who do not learn from history are destined to repeat it.'

I was reading in the paper recently about the sexagenarian victims of the long muted Lebensborn programme during Hitler’s regime, who met up in the eastern German town of Wernigerode to share their stories ‘in the hope of quelling the taboos and flamboyant myths about the murky Nazi institutions.’
And I was reminded of a favourite ‘chaai-sutta’ confabulation.
‘I admire Hitler.’
This statement always, without fail, evokes only wonder mingled with forgivable traces of disgust. It reflects a vague appreciation of historical fact aggravated by a conscious abatement of a genius’ evil.
It is really an evil’s genius.
The ambitious objective of the Lebensborn programme was to produce pure-blooded offsprings of the Schutzstaffel [SS] officers and blue-eyed, blonde girls, to improve the dwindling population of the ‘great Aryan race’. This was orchestrated under the façade of a welfare home that nurtured and bred ‘racially valuable’ children who, it is rumoured were kidnapped from their homes and brought to these Lebensborn units.
Anyone who could coin ‘racially valuable’ betrays a streak of dangerous bigotry.
Anyone who kidnaps children from the security and warmth of their homes is depraved.
Anyone who wreaks an unprecedented carnage on innocent people to fuel and demonstrate their anti-Semitic theories CANNOT be admired.
Period.
The debate usually starts with a sincere appeal made to my sensibilities to acknowledge Hitler’s superior oratory skills and his outstanding leadership qualities that propelled him to a station of power and made him a force to reckon with. [Ajit abridges that by claiming ‘he took what did not belong to him’ ;-)] I acknowledge it. But to capture the attention of a weakened economy and the diluted morale of a country which was suffering from the effects of a humiliating capitulation [The Treaty of Versailles] is not difficult. To insinuate an ‘internal sabotage’ and a ‘lack of patriotism’ is even easier. And to flush out all Jews from the country to create a ‘Greater Germany’ is a crook’s way out.
History will never forget Adolf Hitler, but she might overlook the nameless victims. History will create Hitler, the personality. But she might reduce thousands to a mere number. History will record the anniversaries of Hitler, but the wounded lived and died an era.
And that is why to admire him is to give him more credit than he was ever worth.

DEAR DIARY

I am petulant and irascible after sadly outlandish supplications for attendance. 75% is preposterous. No, really.
I attempted some tried and tested techniques of de-stressing.
a) Bumped into Gagan and Prashanth at the canteen who combined forces with Ara to create a sufficiently jocular atmosphere. The subject was me. I laughed. For a bit.
Grrr…
b) Tried writing about relevant topics and significant themes. You know how writing helps you unwind.
Grrrrrrrr….
c) Started listening to a lot of classical music. Can’t wait to tell my dad that I love Catch-22 and appreciate Figaro’s Wedding and The Moonlight Sonata. Maybe it will be easier to get that expensive phone now…
Grrrrrrrr….woof!

But the actual purpose of this inadequate post is to mention what I have been listening to lately.

a) Beethoven’s 5th Symphony – sunny, tiptoeing, climactic and overplayed.
b) Schubert’s Symphony 5 – twilight, the hills, the horizon, dancing in white...the sound of music…hmmmm…
c) Mozart’s Figaro’s Wedding – abandon.
d) Maria Callas’ Figaro’s Wedding – free.
e) Bach’s Brandenburg Concert no. 3 – people, pace, suspenders and top hats ;-)
f) Beethoven’s/Mozart’s Moonlight Sonata – moody. My personal favourite, comes highly recommended.
g) Ravel Bolero is excellent. Most excellent.
h) Oh and Oasis’ Don’t look back in anger is on repeat [spot the odd man out!!]

They call it association, or something esoterically technical like that. This is a ridiculous post. Too personal.
I am petulant and irascible.
You had been forewarned.
Goodbye.

....................................

I went to collect my original documents from college day before yesterday.
It was a five minute affair and culminated in generous spells of uproarious laughter, after a thorough examination of an old snap of mine and a discourse on how much I had changed since my first year. The perpetrator was this mostly amiable and harmless man whose neck I wanted to snap in two [I grew my hair…DUH!!]
My mood was poetically distant and withdrawn. Mingled with a weighty awareness of nostalgia.
And so it begins…

Sigh…


Meanwhile enjoy the new and look feel of my blog.
Yours warmly.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Something I have been meaning to do for a really long time.

Khalid Hosseini in The Kite Runner asks, ‘Is it harder to suffer the loss of a loved one than to suffer the loss of your entire universe?’ [And I do not quote verbatim here.] The question is an almost rhetoric before some thought is devoted to it, but I personally feel that the bereavement of your home, your surroundings, and your familiarity is a formidable loss. Because along with the structural domain you lose every single person, every single object of your affection contained within. Once you lose your foothold in your space, the disorientation can be overwhelming.
In Lost in Translation the protagonists Charlotte [Scarlet Johansson] and Bob [Bill Murray] have left their homes, their universe behind and have traveled halfway across the world to land in Japan. There is a scene where Bob is standing in an elevator, an entire foot higher than all the Japanese around him. And another [one of my favourites] where Charlotte watches a Japanese bride, a slight smile on her face, perhaps believing that marriages are easier in a different country. Their sense of loss and misgivings in an alien land is therefore explicable, yet is only completely understood once their personal stories are unraveled.

Theirs are not tragic stories, of an unhappy childhood or a loveless marriage. Bob is an actor with enough credibility to land up with an endorsement in Japan. While Charlotte is a Yale graduate who gets married to her sweetheart. We are exposed to no financial crises or domestic violence, no anger or fatalities. The only inkling of trouble in paradise is the explicit comfort of their respective spouses, comfort that tends to detach them from the sudden intensity of emotions that Bob and Charlotte experience in a foreign land.
That is one of the reasons I love the movie. I have friends who exclaim, “There is no story!” And they are right. It is not a conventional yarn with a beginning, a body and an ending. There is ONLY a body. Daily, prosaic events that leave in their wake indelible impressions and make a moment magical. When Bob and Charlotte are just lazing around in bed, talking about where they grew up, how difficult marriage can get, the excitement and terrible apprehension on becoming a parent…and they fall asleep with Bob’s hand resting tenderly on Charlotte’s foot. It is an ordinary gesture after an ordinary conversation, but it lends an extraordinary profundity to their relationship. Throughout the movie there is nothing remotely sexual about their relationship. Even when Bob sleeps with another woman, the jealousy that Charlotte feels is probably an outcome of her inadvertent possessiveness, she seeks solace from the fact they need each other in equal measure in a friendship that germinates from chronic insomnia and a discriminating loneliness.
The movie is “Slow!” because it is about two people who are in an alien land and nothing exciting is happening to them. I mean they are partying, getting shot at and singing with a rare abandon at the karaoke. But there is no passion, or wild sex or infidelity issues, which actually would be a forgivable sequence of events given the circumstances. Albeit the differences in their ages and lifestyles, they are brought together in a rare relationship of familiarity and comfort. The movie progresses in mellow hues and reflective undertones. Even when Charlotte is injured, it is a minor foot injury and warrants no excitement. Understated and beautiful.
My favourite scene in the movie is the last one where after the fumbling attempts to bid each other adieu, Bob spots Charlotte in a crowd and runs to her to say that final goodbye. He whispers something in her ear [I have no idea what! Believe me I have tried to listen] after hugging her close. And then he kisses her, and whatever he says to her becomes inconsequential because after days of communicating through words this is the first time he communicates through an intimate physical gesture. In that moment they both realize that ‘they have been found’ in the truest sense of the expression. And then they walk away, knowing they will never see each other again…
Real, rare and rapturous.

‘They went halfway across the world to come a full circle.’
I hope I have convinced you Pai ;-)
Oh and must note, Lost in Translation has a beautiful OST. I am guessing that’s signature Coppola.

FEMINARCISSISM

I am doing three very useful things these days. I am keeping up pretences. I am being a true Bong [and as any potential India’s child genius will inform you, lethargy is our god-gifted left…err…right. And we exploit it with god-gifted viciousness.] And I am reading a LOT of blogs.
And I chanced upon posts after posts of highly opinionated examinations of Feminism. A word that generates awe, some and ful(l).

Feminism is overrated these days.
Or maybe over-feminism is rated these days.
Pity…

I can understand an attack on the flouting of fundamental human rights. When dirty, dark secrets have to be exhumed to recognize the decay, the stench, the absolute putrefaction of human sensibility. What else could possibly explain foeticide, dowry murders, rape?? Or child labour, mistreatment of the aged, killing because you are angry??
These are atrocities which need to be addressed with immediate deliberation. And I can understand an outfit solely dedicated to the cause of atrocities committed against women. And maybe the women who constitute this outfit can be acknowledged as ‘feminists’ [I do so wish to coin ‘sexagenarianists’ or ‘anti-child-labourists’]. But when the issues start leaning towards reservation for women, or blatant male bashing I start feeling squeamish [and without consuming any Kerala Hotel delicacies thank you very much!].
These are NON-issues. Seriously. We raise a hue and cry over reservation for SC/ST across educational institutions across the country, and rightly so because admission should after all, be contingent on merit, pure merit and nothing else! And honestly, in trying to assist the unprivileged SC/ST contenders the government in fact is fleeing from the real issue. Why are these people unprivileged? Because of an ineffective distribution of resources, of a failed mechanism to mobilize the poorer sections, of a highly facetious program that was intended to provide primary education to all but ended up making some lucky insiders richer.
Reservation for women has a similar tinge. Instead of demanding for the rightful reservation for us underprivileged women, the focus should AGAIN be on merit, and to rehabilitate the provincial mindset which would subsequently accommodate educated and working women in our daily lives. And I believe with rehabilitation and regulation this is possible.
I once overheard in an obviously feministic circle, “Women here are either male haters or male adulators.” And I was greatly disturbed. The idea is to encourage looser communication between the sexes. But the stray comment indicated a great dependency or worse, a greater detachment. It indicated a limitation, a boundary wall that fenced out anatomical adversaries. It was almost as ridiculous as the Berlin Wall – East Germany Communists fencing out the West Germany Fascists [and shooting anyone who dared to crossover!] Almost. And the intensity of ‘feministic’ gestures began grating against my intellect [of what I claim of course].
Such discussions are futile and fruitless. Whether C.S. Lewis is a sexist porcine specimen because the ‘bad guy’ in his Chronicles is a ‘wicked witch’. I mean there are giants on the witch's side in the book, so lets join forces against all tall people? Whether Virginia Woolf deliberately embraces lesbian themes because ‘only a woman can truly understand another’. It could reflect genuine companionship or a communion of minds, and have little relation to the genders of the characters. Because even if the characters are symbols of the authors’ mindset, the characters can be construed as per the readers’ discretion. And such [very] subtle and [very] discreet themes will seldom instigate a revolution of women-degradation or women-emancipation. Period.

I am headed to watch the Chronicles of Narnia right now with my girlfriends. Movie, magic, masti is being anticipated with much excitement.
Yes I love girls’ nights.
And I love being a woman more.
But feminarcissists are overrated.

Goodnight.

PS - The snap was uploaded for sheer humour quotient...hyuk hyuk!!
PPS - I NEVER throw stones at boys...ROFL!

TAGONOMICS

3 books

1. The adventures of Peter Pan, unabridged and illustrated.
Auyon claims it is very rare. ~!@##$%#&_)(!!
Cobainess – ambalika quotes:
‘When there's a smile in your heart,
There's no better time to start.’

2. Catch 22 – current read, ‘Yossarian wanted to live forever or die in the attempt.’
That kills me! – Gagan, you know exactly what I mean ;-)

3. My name is Red - intended read.
A Nobel Prize can do wonders to your readership…right Jhelum??

3 albums

Someone sagacious once said ‘Patience is a virtue.’ And those two startingly scarlet horns sticking out of my BIG hair ensure that I cosciously condemn such generalisations [Aaaaah generalisations…]
Can seldom get through an entire album unless it is assorted stuff.
If it’s one of those songs that ‘will pick up’ then you better have some pretty smooth advertising because if I do not like the beginning, I will probably not get to the end.
But 3 songs?? That I can answer…

1. ‘Let me take you down coz I’m going to strawberry fields…’
Sprinting through my head at breakneck speed. With the wind in my (BIG) hair…

2. The American baby intro[Dave Matthews] – murderous!

3. ‘This is goodbye.’
Porcelain[Moby] – journeying ;-)

3 movies

1. American Beauty – remember that polythene bag that catches the light breeze and just prances about?

2. Monsoon Wedding – I miss home ;-(

3. Lost in Translation – coming soon to a blog near you.

3 thoughts

1. I love reminiscing. EVERYTHING is funny in retrospect.

2. Google is simply brilliant. And sounds uncannily like ‘googly’.

3. Being tagged [highly, higly consciously FYI] lets me pretend that I’m rich and famous and combat those rapid fires. Give me what you got you paparazzi you!!


And I tag myself ;-)