Don't expect. Anything.
The apparent danger of expecting something without any rhyme or reason is shown hilariously in that beautiful Zemeckis-Tom Hanks feel-good movie, Forrest Gump. Forrest is on a mission, he's running across the country, well u can say continent, since the U S of A is as wide as you can get in the American continent, both of them.
*** In Gump's own words ***
Some people say I am running for world peace, some say for women's liberation, but I just ran.
*** ***
And he gathers some flotsam along the way, people get inspired and follow him. One more month at it and he could have given birth to his own religion, and found his place among the likes of Jesus Christ, Buddha and Robert Atkins. But it would have been a troubling ritual for the followers of Forresteism, like Dec 25, they'd have their day.. "This is when Lord Forrest Gump started his run blah blah... " and the most pious of his followers would probably try their luck at lasting the length of the continent or something, hmm tough religion!
But Forrest stopped.
I admire him for that. He just stopped. And turned around. The followers couldn't believe it. How could he stop? Probably, this is the moment. This is when he's going to preach something, and heal the pain and suffering of the masses. And the masses, as it turned out, were wrong.
"I am just tired, I wanna go home". Obviously that's not scripture material! That won’t even make it to the 6th page of the evening tabloid. Duh! Humanity, thus lost the chance to witness the birth of another religion and its fanatic followers... terrorism, separate country or whatever. And Forrest went home!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away....
I’ve been toying with the idea of writing about a movie for the past 3-4 days. But it scared the hell out of me. Ok, so what’s the big deal? Both the People’s Council of China and the junta in Cambodia have expressed through written communication that they’re okay with the idea of me writing about another movie. Then? It’s the name of the movie which is setting me back, because the name is, so unnervingly for any connoisseur of the silverscreen art, “Starwars”. Now you get the magnanimity of the problem at hand.
There are two extremes of people who’ve seen the movie. The guy who sat in the next row to me; a forty something chap wearing a lungi and carrying a three-fold popy umbrella, desperately hoping to catch some sleaze in the Engleeeshu-padam. The poor chap had his moment of Nirvana when at the end of the second half, Natalie Portman appeared wearing what looked like a super-mini. That’s one end. And on the other extreme, we have people who know every single character in the movie by the name, shape, number of eyes, planet of origin, or procreation methodology. People who take it up as a thesis for their doing their PhD. People who greet each other in the morning saying “Let the force be with you”. By the way, that’s quite a nice way to say hello, but I think it’s a little inconvenient. Maybe we should abbreviate it to LTFBWU, duh, maybe we should stick to Hello.
So naturally, it was with this thought of being a part of something really colossal in its effect on humanity, that I stepped into the theatre, and there it was, all empty save a few small groups cuddled here and there, and a guard questioningly looking at me and suggesting to ask, lad, do u think u’ve landed up at the right door? I took a step backward and checked the name once again, yep, I am at the right place, at the right time. And with a wistful sigh, I marched in. And the numbers remained disgustingly low till the movie began, and that too, on the second day of showing in this town. This is the capital city of Kerala, the state of 100% literacy and a substantial English speaking population. We fit Engleesh dialogues into every improbable scene in our movies and boil in our seats at the sight of our heroes delivering them thunderously on-screen, the thunderous effect created by the unnecessary emphasis on their “t”s and “p”s rather than the merit of the script. Yet, we refuse go and see an English movie which is part of moviemaking history, and dismiss it as just special effects supershow, stuff worth watching for kids and teenagers only. Probably they should start showing alien sex in the movie, and our people will flock in to watch naked aliens copulating, I’m sure.
After three hours, when I walked out of the hall, the transformation of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Wader had etched its mark into my psyche. Why do I always have this funny feeling when watching something turn bad? I had the same thing when watching Smeagol becoming Gollum, Harry Osborne turning against Spiderman…. Maybe its time I went and saw a shrink, before I turn into something catastrophic for the planet. The same could not be said about the entire audience, though. Some were even thanking God for the series getting over, and some other, were making plans to watch the sequel which was going to be released next year!! :-D.
The fact that there won’t be another Starwars movie made me rather despondent through the rest of the day!Maybe I should get the dvds of all the episodes and watch them over and over again, a new finding, a new insight unfolding each time!
There are two extremes of people who’ve seen the movie. The guy who sat in the next row to me; a forty something chap wearing a lungi and carrying a three-fold popy umbrella, desperately hoping to catch some sleaze in the Engleeeshu-padam. The poor chap had his moment of Nirvana when at the end of the second half, Natalie Portman appeared wearing what looked like a super-mini. That’s one end. And on the other extreme, we have people who know every single character in the movie by the name, shape, number of eyes, planet of origin, or procreation methodology. People who take it up as a thesis for their doing their PhD. People who greet each other in the morning saying “Let the force be with you”. By the way, that’s quite a nice way to say hello, but I think it’s a little inconvenient. Maybe we should abbreviate it to LTFBWU, duh, maybe we should stick to Hello.
So naturally, it was with this thought of being a part of something really colossal in its effect on humanity, that I stepped into the theatre, and there it was, all empty save a few small groups cuddled here and there, and a guard questioningly looking at me and suggesting to ask, lad, do u think u’ve landed up at the right door? I took a step backward and checked the name once again, yep, I am at the right place, at the right time. And with a wistful sigh, I marched in. And the numbers remained disgustingly low till the movie began, and that too, on the second day of showing in this town. This is the capital city of Kerala, the state of 100% literacy and a substantial English speaking population. We fit Engleesh dialogues into every improbable scene in our movies and boil in our seats at the sight of our heroes delivering them thunderously on-screen, the thunderous effect created by the unnecessary emphasis on their “t”s and “p”s rather than the merit of the script. Yet, we refuse go and see an English movie which is part of moviemaking history, and dismiss it as just special effects supershow, stuff worth watching for kids and teenagers only. Probably they should start showing alien sex in the movie, and our people will flock in to watch naked aliens copulating, I’m sure.
After three hours, when I walked out of the hall, the transformation of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Wader had etched its mark into my psyche. Why do I always have this funny feeling when watching something turn bad? I had the same thing when watching Smeagol becoming Gollum, Harry Osborne turning against Spiderman…. Maybe its time I went and saw a shrink, before I turn into something catastrophic for the planet. The same could not be said about the entire audience, though. Some were even thanking God for the series getting over, and some other, were making plans to watch the sequel which was going to be released next year!! :-D.
The fact that there won’t be another Starwars movie made me rather despondent through the rest of the day!Maybe I should get the dvds of all the episodes and watch them over and over again, a new finding, a new insight unfolding each time!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
mon objet du désir
It was, five years ago that I saw her for the first time.
Her pictures adorned the walls of my room. She was just a prototype then, just another head-turner in the inermot show. Seeing her picture, me and my fellow bunch of nut-cases had let out a huge “WWWAAAOOOUUWWW” in unison, and had bellowed with rage, squirmed with irreverence towards our own luck, writhed with ecstasy, and finally given in to the futility of all such intense desires, the nirvana of an un-attainable kind. It’s the Yam MT-01 I am talking about.
Five years since, the sight of its factory version has turned out to be even more perilous to my extremely fatuous mind. I can afford to take a look at the picture only at my own risk, for it leaves me in another fit of depression.
More at: http://www.totalmotorcycle.com/photos/2005models/2005models-Yamaha-MT01.htm
Her pictures adorned the walls of my room. She was just a prototype then, just another head-turner in the inermot show. Seeing her picture, me and my fellow bunch of nut-cases had let out a huge “WWWAAAOOOUUWWW” in unison, and had bellowed with rage, squirmed with irreverence towards our own luck, writhed with ecstasy, and finally given in to the futility of all such intense desires, the nirvana of an un-attainable kind. It’s the Yam MT-01 I am talking about.
Five years since, the sight of its factory version has turned out to be even more perilous to my extremely fatuous mind. I can afford to take a look at the picture only at my own risk, for it leaves me in another fit of depression.
More at: http://www.totalmotorcycle.com/photos/2005models/2005models-Yamaha-MT01.htm
Friday, June 03, 2005
The homecoming
Men are such clueless desperate dimwits. Why else would we imagine every other thing we use in our lives as being feminine, like bikes, cars, our working tools… the list goes endless. Just a word for all my readers from Venus who, I’m sure must have got all charged up now, and are ready to pounce on me. Please! :) See, that’s how desperate it can get. And that latest in the long line of things that I consider with a hint of tenderness, akin to the one felt towards the opposite sex, is a house. Wait a minute, a house??? Well if you consider the biological (read endocrinal) reasons that would make a bike being referred to as female, a house would seem like a rather phantasmagoric, perverted choice. But that’s not how it works.
Here’s the boring background.
All of a sudden, last month, we realized that the number of people living in the house and the size of the house (read house-rent) isn’t really much of a match together. The place which witnessed enormous amounts of crazy, noisy, dirty bachelor-life fun has now become rather subdued, there are no more fistfights and wrestling bouts which had accounted for two chairs being dumped as firewood, there are no ear-splitting, sleep-stopper screams in the middle of the night to wake people sleeping in a 2 Km periphery, and the number of vehicles flagged off from the gates at exactly 9:15 am in the morning (Office starts at 9) has been reduced from five to three. Thus, we started the hunt for a new house, and after a disgusting ordeal (we even saw places where they used to keep cattle, now converted to a house by fitting of a ceiling fan) we zeroed in on one. So, on May 31st, 7:30 in the evening, after almost finalizing the deal with the new house-owner, we reach the gates of the old house. At the gate, I pause to make a phone call, and Ch and P goes in.
Finishing the call, I hang up, and turn to face the sight that broke my heart into pieces. There she stood, bathed in the moonlight, with no lights on, partially obscured by the leaves of coconut-tree falling by the terrace, like loose strands of hair on a girl’s brow, with a heavy, melancholy air about the whole thing, and I saw the silhouettes of P and Ch sitting on the verandah. All the good moments we had there come rushing towards me in a gush of cool breeze. I walk gently towards them.
“Da, we’re sort of thinking….”
“I’m thinking too”
Smiles.“So let’s call the whole thing off, dammit!”
* * * * * * * * *
The next day, Ch fwded a house-for-rent ad from the Ads@India. P replied. “Athellam marannekku!”
Then I asked him “What happens once you’re married, pinne ni vaay nottam nirthumo?”
The reply was, “Nirthilla, pakshe athellam marannalle pattuu!”
Here’s the boring background.
All of a sudden, last month, we realized that the number of people living in the house and the size of the house (read house-rent) isn’t really much of a match together. The place which witnessed enormous amounts of crazy, noisy, dirty bachelor-life fun has now become rather subdued, there are no more fistfights and wrestling bouts which had accounted for two chairs being dumped as firewood, there are no ear-splitting, sleep-stopper screams in the middle of the night to wake people sleeping in a 2 Km periphery, and the number of vehicles flagged off from the gates at exactly 9:15 am in the morning (Office starts at 9) has been reduced from five to three. Thus, we started the hunt for a new house, and after a disgusting ordeal (we even saw places where they used to keep cattle, now converted to a house by fitting of a ceiling fan) we zeroed in on one. So, on May 31st, 7:30 in the evening, after almost finalizing the deal with the new house-owner, we reach the gates of the old house. At the gate, I pause to make a phone call, and Ch and P goes in.
Finishing the call, I hang up, and turn to face the sight that broke my heart into pieces. There she stood, bathed in the moonlight, with no lights on, partially obscured by the leaves of coconut-tree falling by the terrace, like loose strands of hair on a girl’s brow, with a heavy, melancholy air about the whole thing, and I saw the silhouettes of P and Ch sitting on the verandah. All the good moments we had there come rushing towards me in a gush of cool breeze. I walk gently towards them.
“Da, we’re sort of thinking….”
“I’m thinking too”
Smiles.“So let’s call the whole thing off, dammit!”
* * * * * * * * *
The next day, Ch fwded a house-for-rent ad from the Ads@India. P replied. “Athellam marannekku!”
Then I asked him “What happens once you’re married, pinne ni vaay nottam nirthumo?”
The reply was, “Nirthilla, pakshe athellam marannalle pattuu!”
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Puttum Kadalayum
"Puttum Kadalayum" doesn't really sound like something big enough to hinge one's career decisions upon. But it is. It was meant to be nothing more than a casual remark when Ch asked me yesterday, "Bangalore-ilo Pune -ilo poyal pinne puttum kadalem evidunnu kazhikkum??" But I know it, and he knows it too, that the Qn was a fatal setback to my plans to switch the current job for a better(?) one. I was crouching low down, ready to lift myself off, but this very innocuous sounding Qn made me sit back, and rethink.
So what is it about Puttum Kadalayum? Apart from being my favourite breakfast...(I am no glutton, but this combo, with pappadam as the kinky sidekick, brings me to my knees, literally.) it represents everything good about working in TVM. There is a certain noisy chord inside me which is still chanting I should run to a metro. The fatter paychecks, the late-night discos, the cosmopolitan crowd, the rock concerts... hmm. Have you ever stuck yourself into a chair and got too comfortable with it to make yourself the will required to get up? That's the feeling. You know you're approaching the event horizon when you start thinking like, "What could actually provide me satisfaction??". That could be the point of no return.
I am sure I've earned the ire of quite a few Mallus working outside Kerala with these statements. But this is my consolation for my inability to uproot and hurl myself, and land up in some metro and face "the crowd". I know I will do it someday. But for the time being, I'd rather relish the plaeasures of the likes of Puttum Kadalayum.
So what is it about Puttum Kadalayum? Apart from being my favourite breakfast...(I am no glutton, but this combo, with pappadam as the kinky sidekick, brings me to my knees, literally.) it represents everything good about working in TVM. There is a certain noisy chord inside me which is still chanting I should run to a metro. The fatter paychecks, the late-night discos, the cosmopolitan crowd, the rock concerts... hmm. Have you ever stuck yourself into a chair and got too comfortable with it to make yourself the will required to get up? That's the feeling. You know you're approaching the event horizon when you start thinking like, "What could actually provide me satisfaction??". That could be the point of no return.
I am sure I've earned the ire of quite a few Mallus working outside Kerala with these statements. But this is my consolation for my inability to uproot and hurl myself, and land up in some metro and face "the crowd". I know I will do it someday. But for the time being, I'd rather relish the plaeasures of the likes of Puttum Kadalayum.
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