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Sorrow

2021-05-27T22:53:00.002+05:30

There is always an inherent sadness in listening to old songs. Even if they are jovial and singing about how they love each other, I can't stop thinking about how it is all going to end like the song I am listening to. And if it's a song that I liked but I've never heard before, I'd think about how I missed it all these years and if not for the grace of an inanimate algorithm I would have never even come across this. And I'd think about how much I'd have missed if I missed this all these years. Eventually, I'd think about movies and books that I would never read just because I will never have the time. By then, I could feel my heart drown in my chest.

Walking Out

2019-05-13T02:06:00.001+05:30

I keep throwing glances towards door
Inching towards it when no one was looking
But with each step, one of them turns towards me
And query, "Hey, you leaving the party?"

Not sure what to answer
I stay back for the pointless banter
Smiling to mask the seething anger
All the while it just keep getting louder

The host kept passing us all by
Making us all older each time
Others busy with their glasses of wine
I shifted around biding my time

The queries started dying down
The feet stopped turning about
I started walking out
This time stopped by fewer

I opened the door wishing (not really)
Someone would look at me finally
And I walked out quietly
Where there is no one to meet

Just me
And the darkness to greet

Disgust

2018-07-08T06:00:00.000+05:30

Everyone remembers where they were when the ships first arrived. Everyone remembers what they felt when they looked up. Nevertheless, all of them lied. First to make sure that others know that they were the first to see the ships. Second to avoid admitting fear.

The visitors too were wary of hosts. They kept their distance until the fear cleared up and gave way to admiration.

The moment one of the visiting ships touched the shores followed the hours of jubilations celebrating the fact that the hosts aren't alone, and that the new strangers are friendly.

A delegate for the king of humans was sent to welcome the messengers. The delegate handed over a bouquet of the most exotic flowers they could find on such a short notice.

The messengers chucked the bouquet.

The king raged at the discourteousness and roared. No one has seen him open his mouth except to remind humans once in a few years that they made him the king. The people, of which no one remembers when that happened, unquestioningly agree every time he says that.

The king, reeling from humiliation, gave orders to kill the messengers. The messengers tried to explain their actions but soldiers weren't paid for listening.

All the time the bullets hit the messengers, the king cried out, "Why did you hate us? What did we do to deserve this? Why did you make me do this?"

The king calmed down once he sensed that the bodies stopped moving. He addressed the people, who in turn were dismayed by the unscheduled words. He reminded of people how they need no outsiders to fill these lands. He certainly needed no dilution nor mingling with the insolent visitors who are never what they seem to be. If we tolerate this disrespect today, he stressed, we could definitely get killed once they live among us. Who knows, he wondered, that these visitors aren't worst of their kind being kicked out of their planet. Thanks to the strength he displayed, he ensured that there will be humans left in these lands to make it great. The people, though baffled by the greatness he was talking about, begrudgingly applauded for the chosen one.

The visitors were watching all this. They never understood why the humans threatened the messengers with the limbs chopped off the plants and killed for being shocked at it.

They had never felt what they were now feeling for the host. For the first time in their whole existence, they felt disgusted.

The Noose

2018-05-10T03:44:00.004+05:30

The only time he looked away from the gallows, gradually moving towards completion, was to look at the faces exiting the courtroom. As he looked at each of them for a hint of recognition, he hoped to himself, "This is the man I have been looking for. He is the one who will set me free."

Alas, no one acknowledged his presence, let alone his curiosity. Each of them just walked over to the gallows and contributed to its fruition. At first, they worked on erecting the pole. Then the trap door. The rope. The knot. Each of them walked towards it with the sense of determination sure of the task they have in hand. They never talked to one another. Yet, with the competence exhibited by the builders, the man started rejecting the idea that they are working independently.

He started out with hope, later sliding into impatience and finally got stuck in self-doubt. He grew uncertain of the truth or at least his version of it.

He started to wonder whether this is a nightmare he forgot to wake up from. He tried hard to think what he was doing before he walked out into this hall. He was shocked to find that he can't remember anything from this morning. He is not even aware what time it could be. He wished that it was still morning. (He never could figure out why he wanted it to be morning. He wouldn't know what day of which year it is, if he asks himself that. But fortunately, he wasn't worried about any of that.)

After what seemed to be the hundredth person to quash his hopes, the man, now hopeless and forsaken, stood up and walked towards the noose. Climbing the stairs, his boots struck against the wood, thundering and echoing filled the room. With each step he took, he glanced at each of those human beings. He looked for a betrayal of emotion, a hint of mischief, a flash of recognition. Anything that would make sense in this purgatory.

He walked towards the noose, put his head through and waited momentarily for something, anything to change. The room was silent, with the crowd of dead eyes staring back at him. Dejected, he kicked open the trapdoor and stepped towards the death which surprisingly seemed more and more alluring by each passing moment.

He let himself fall through the door. And the last thing he saw was the judge walking out the courtroom confusedly looking at the squirming, kicking, hanging man.

The man who cheated himself out of a guilty verdict.

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

2018-01-07T22:01:00.002+05:30

There are certain things you'd get when you watch the new series from the creators of Gilmore Girls. Fast-paced dialogue, dysfunctional parents, conversations around the dinner tables and great songs.

Rachel Brosnahan stars as Miriam Maisel, a smart, vivacious, funny housewife and mother of two who out of the blue finds herself in a quagmire of the domestic situation when her husband decides to leave her. A night of impulsiveness sets the rest of the show for Miriam who uses her comic timings and out-and-out crude language to express her frustrations in her daily life, helped by her manager, Susie Meyerson (played by Alex Borstein) and occasionally a fellow comedian, Lenny Bruce (played by Luke Kirby)

Rachel Brosnahan plays the pretty housewife to a confused husband with the same energy as she transforms into a desperate woman looking at the bleak state the life has presented with. One of my favourite actors, Tony Shalhoub plays Abe Weissman, Miriam's father who is attached to the stability of the routine. (Not unlike Monk).

The creators (Amy Sherman Palladino) rebuilds the 1950s America with the painstakingly detailed overview, only to poke fun at whoever living inside it. The characters range from whimsical to boisterous, but never a dull one.

The mid-season gets to a bit of drag with seeming write-by-numbers plotline as if to converge to the end of the season. But when it surprises, it gets you to laugh.

But the question I ask myself is, why does everyone seem to converse in superlatives? Even when the characters are written with poignancy, the interaction with the other characters seems something like flattery face-off.

It's an enjoyable ride unless you miss something in all the confusion of the seemingly coffee-fueled delivery of dialogue.

Complicated

2017-12-31T15:13:00.000+05:30

Chill out, what you yelling for?
Lay back, it's all been done before
And if you could only let it be,
you would see

Complicated, Avril Lavigne

I stifled a chuckle when Facebook decided to show a memory of cherry-picked portion of an almost forgotten pop song.

I know why I decided to share that part. It was an act of cowardice. It was standing up for myself knowing the person who should be hearing this from me won't read this. It was an action to hold on to whatever sanity I had left in me. It was better than doing nothing and silently suffer. It was just to humour me.

I know.

Only if someone would try to convince that whatever happened in that period 7 years ago is nothing but a nightmare.

There were elaborate fantasies of the ways to kill myself. Like where, when and how. Each of them as important as others for the successful completion of the task. I didn't want to spend the rest of days as "a total failure, even in killing oneself". I know that it sounds silly.

In those dark days of my existence, there were a few things that kept me afloat. There was Linkin Park. (I have written in Google Buzz then: Sometimes, only LP videos are the one thing that makes sense in the whole wide world.) There was Semaphore Magazine. Calvin and Hobbes Archive. There was "Friends". There was a camera which was a gift from one of my best friends. Movies. And the whole wide web of social media. FB, Buzz, G+, Twitter.

Yet whenever I have to go back to the real world, I died a little inside. I remember lunches and dinners when I never got to taste what I was eating. Stuffing my mouth as much as possible, pushing it against a lump in the throat painfully, fighting back tears unsuccessfully, just to show that... I am not sure why. To show that I am brave by accepting whatever thrown at me with impassiveness? To avoid hearing the phrase "moaning like a bitch"? Hoping against hope that a certain someone won't see my tears and break down too?

And remembering all this, the memory which was triggered by Facebook status which was born out of frustration and closeted rebellion, I stood on the other side of seven years, chuckling.

The problem with memory is that it almost never stops at a single serving. You can never select a specific thing to remember. It offers itself in spurts and sometimes in a constant stream of the related experiences.

So within a few minutes, I was overwhelmed by the people who actually saved me from plunging into certain death. The people who I can always count on. It doesn't matter where I chose to go. People who offer a place to sleep even before I had to muster enough courage to ask for it (And sometimes knowing they are not allowed to). Those who fed me without waiting for me to lie about having no appetite. The people who kept checking up on me and was pushing me to get my shit together. They never asked my story. I never painted them the whole picture. Nevertheless, they understood. They embraced me.

The realization that there are people who would love me despite having nothing to offer in return, literally saved me. These are the people who helped me from the depths of my wretchedness and restored me into at least a semi-cynical being. I'd never forgotten that. And will never forget.

I know that even if I go to any lengths to pay back for what any one of them did, that would never be enough. And even though I behave thanklessly, (because I fairly recently realised what a dick I am), I hold all of them close to my heart.

And when all of this washed over me, I was choking up, making no effort to stop myself from dissolving into tears.

Broader Strokes in a Day

2014-01-06T23:40:00.001+05:30

I was thinking about writers’ block. Why writers specifically? Don’t other professionals suffer from this condition? Artists, businessmen, bus drivers. I don’t know. Everyone gets that for sure. I stared upon the unfinished work of mine and sighed.

Everyone makes it sound too easy. “You are not a real painter. You make digital art. You use computers, man!” Can’t really blame them for that. I mean every noob on the second day of their Photoshop class starts showing off. Working on a stock photograph, pbthh!! Me, I am an artist. I have to think about every line, every curve I have to put it on the screen to the perfection.

Still, I felt inferior. They say, 12-year old girl makes better art than me. all the people go gaga over it. they say, “She’s just 12 years old.” No one praised me when I was 12. I definitely did better than her then. Still, I would mumble something in agreement to them. I don’t want to disappoint my potential appraisers.

I thought to myself, “Wait for it, kid! The day you are no longer a child, you will know how many people care for your art.”

Since nothing definitive is happening to my work, all I can do is watch people around me. I never had much luck with my roommates. The one with me now, is weird one. He despises me, that’s a fact. He never looks me in the eye. Never lets a sound in my direction. Likes to think himself to be superior than me. And the habit of putting on radio on his mobile phone through speakers. It feels like someone shoving a disagreeable dish down your throat.

He is now in the room for his lunch. The way he enters the room to reach out towards his tiffin box without wasting a footstep always crackles me up. No hello’s. Glad that it saves me from empty niceties. Usually, he puts on the radio to listen to some empty-headed jabbering about something irrelevant in the most idiotic manner. Nowadays, I preemptively strike him. Just turn on my music player and put it in full volume. At least it gives me a satisfaction that is unjustifiable and sick.

Rarely, I feel sorry. Maybe I shouldn't be so mean to him. If he despises me, it isn't necessarily his fault. Or maybe I hate him because he is actually better than me.

I thought, why should I sit here, feel miserable and later worry about the reality of my existence after sharing the room with him, while I have a choice to go out and actually see people- strangers, for example. It felt like a good idea. Until I felt it on my skin the overwhelming heat of the day and remembered why I didn't do that in first place.

I moved fast to find a shade. In a suburb like this, it is not that easy to find that. So my best bet was the bakery at the first junction. Maybe I’ll have something to eat.

I was ordering for some snacks to take away when I noticed a boy of maybe 6 who was looking through the glass at the rows of packets of biscuits. Just moments later, the lady at the counter saw him leaning over the glass. She rushed towards him, got hold of his right upper arm and pushed him outside the shop. This happened too fast for anyone - the boy, me and other customers- to react. Momentarily, she realized what she has done and looked around for anyone who might have come with the boy. Except for me and her, all of them went back to what they were doing. Few seconds later, relieved by the lack of reactions from victim and witnesses, she returned to the counter. The boy was too stunned to react. So he lied there for a few more minutes. He got up and sat on the pavement, brooding.

I am usually terrible in these situations. If this were a question in some kind of personality test I would answer it using the best of the words describing in detail the ideal action I should choose. But in real life, I might always do what I did then - nothing.

While paying up, I scowled at her before asking her to include one more thing in my list. A packet of biscuit which supposedly has chocolate and vanilla flavoured cream inside. My favourite one. I stepped outside and walked towards the boy and tossed him the biscuit, turned around, winked and smiled and was soon on my way to the room.

For the first time since I woke up this morning - and maybe for few days altogether- I sensed waves of euphoria. I called it a wave because it hit me repeatedly and in short bursts. It felt good. Every inhibition, every drop of hatred dried up. I felt like I can sing, dance and recite a poem. Maybe I will even finish my work. It became very clear to me, what I should be working on next. The ideas were rushing like a stream of pure water. I could fill a gallery with those. I can see it, for real. As real as I am.

I rushed to my room, tore open the packets of food, settled down before my station and tried to concentrate on the bird in my hand.

Some time might have passed before I found myself reading the Wikipedia entry for “Writer’s Block”

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: നീതിപീഠം

2013-09-19T21:49:00.001+05:30

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: നീതിപീഠം: "നീതി, ന്യായം" എന്ന് മുറവിളി കൂട്ടുന്ന ജനക്കൂട്ടത്തിന് നടുവിലേക്ക് ഒരു മഹാത്മാവ് ഇറങ്ങിവന്നു. "എന്താണ് നിങ്ങൾക്ക് വേണ്ടത്...

Rare feat - tried and almost succeeded

2013-05-15T20:46:00.000+05:30

So, the movie chart at the multiplex looked so morbid. Thrillers, Action, Drama. And then there was Gippi. Honestly I didn't know what I was thinking when I chose to watch it.

Watching a Hindi comedy in Kochi is a bit funny, most of the viewers would be non-natives who chuckle and laugh at the drop of hat while Malayali viewers mostly try to hold their reactions back, God knows why.

A few days before I tried "The Virgin Suicides" and got seriously disturbed by it. While I admit the movie was good, it was contagious. The affair is punctuated by darkness, that it left a bad taste in me.

Unlike that experience, I was smiling from the credits of this movie that tries to be an honest portrayal of coming-of-age and high school. Think about it, how many movies in Bollywood were set in school and connect to the age group they represent. Usually they have a parade of stereotypes, with a leader, a representative for each stereotype. These leaders would put their head together or against one another on some super competition which puts their friendship, love and all the things that feel very empty on the screen.

This movie is stuffed with adorable moments that reminds us of the unusual characters, winners v/s underdogs, awkward "biology classes". The execution was detailed and written in clear. But the same writing merits make it somewhat crippling because it sometimes gives a feeling that it sounds like a broken tape.

Though the movie was done in a lighter tone, the story had some touching elements that blended very easily. (On one such moment in the movie, where the wedding photographer tooks the bride and groom with the groom's ex-wife and two children, the girl sitting next to me exclaimed,"What the fuck is going on here?")

All in all, it has got good story and setting without having to resort to complex twists to bring something new to the plate. It could be a little better in acting in addition to the writing. While the lead actress, Riya Vij, brought some freshness even with the old numbers from Shammi Kapoor, she needed a little more emoting for perfection.

Just when I was leaving the screen, I heard a girl say,"Gippi, superb movie aanennu parayaan patilla. Oru 3 rating kodukkam." (Gippi; Can't say it's a superb movie. Can rate it 3 stars [out of five, I hope] ) Bloody over-analytical hacks!! [Though she might be right.]

The Man of Constant Sorrow

2013-03-29T12:35:00.001+05:30

(Thanks to Coen Brothers for the title)

I felt full by the end of the sandwich I have bought. After a full morning of the starving, I felt full after eating just one sandwich. Something must have happened to me. Finishing the bottle of the soda, I paid up and walked out.

I haven't gone too far before I stopped. I felt like stopping just like that. I watched the passing vehicles, pedestrians. The heart felt heavy for no reason at all. I stood still and wondered,"Why am I feeling so sad?"

For some reason beyond my reasoning, I feel down. It should be when I was at the office. Ah! The work! The commonplace reason for problems to the adults. Perhaps it IS work. To think of it, it is almost nothing. It is like once you start working, you almost start hating it. Is it really that bad?

Maybe I should write a book on my work experience. With some lucrative title, explaining the most boring experiences of the workplace. Maybe I would sell some. I could even get to the best seller lists. With my age and the status as débutant(oooh! French!) author, I could get some interviews. I have read a few of the similar authors. One of the author once squeezed me into desperation and madness by explaining his tragic love story, in a way no guy would ever describe. (The keyword being "guy") The other one was supposed to be some re-incarnation(yes, proudly Indian) of P.G. Wodehouse with his writing; but after finishing the book, I felt sorry for PG. But we are not talking about creating classics. We just want to sell. Maybe after writing 851st book or so, I would be half as good as Mulk Raj Anand or R.K.Narayan. ("Half?")

The only problem with the book would be the absence of sex. Too bad, I know. By cleverly adding something steamy, I could sell the book really well. The only problem would be, I would have a lot for my imagination to fill in.

Maybe that is it! The sexual frustration! Being sexually mature and not being able to ahem.. you know.. No! no! Don’t even think of taking that path!!

I turned back to look at the bakery I just left. Should I just go back and have something else until I become happy? As soon as the question was finished, I felt it was stupid. It was tasty. I was full. I should be feeling happy. Yet, I still here standing by the road looking at the vehicles that pass by, staring at the pedestrians who are wondering why is this guy standing still there?

I decided to walk. Maybe I should go to my room and get to bed for a good sleep. I entered into a dirt road to get there fast.

Although it just takes a turn to get there, it seems miles away from the urban setting through which I have been wading through until now. But today, on the top of all the things said above, there was a tinge of uneasiness that hung in the background. It was not something spooky that makes me uneasy. Today, it was too calm. Like someone is trying to stop me from seeing something. Like the whole universe is upto something.

I looked around to come up with some logical backing that would explain my uneasiness. Then I started reassuring myself,"Come on. You're complicating things."

After a few steps taken, I see a girl leaning her back against the wall. She was smoking, I can see that. But when I got closer, I got to see the detail I missed. She was exhaling the smokes in blue colour. Which actually was pretty strange. I can't see anything really because it's dark but I recognised the colour of the smoke.

She caught my eye and I withdraw mine. But I can't help glancing back into hers. She was peering at me intently. Was it something in her gleaming green eyes that made me stop and gaze at her? Her hand stretched out and offered me the thing she was smoking. I guess I was not fully conscious when I accepted it. You see, I never smoked. I never wanted to. I must under some kind of spell until when I was filling the air with blue smokes. I felt like I was doing this world some good. Making it what I wanted it to be.

She took the thing out of my hand and said,"Go home, and trust me that nothing will befall upon you" I remember I chuckled, because in my heart somehow I know nothing is going to happen to me or to anyone around me. After that, I don't remember much.

Except that when I woke up in the morning, I found myself waking up in the stretched areas of debris and destruction. Unharmed and unscathed.

Confession: Nothing much here. The half of this post was written six months back and rest last night. There was something common on both occasions. I had no idea what I am supposed to write.

Smoke Revisited, Day 201, 20/7/2010, 365/2010
by Paul Bratcher Photography

The disciple of "Pattalam" director

2012-10-20T19:14:00.001+05:30

Jawan of Vellimala.

One look at it and you would think what went wrong. On the whole you are bound to be impressed by the completeness of the writing. The description of the character seemingly complete. The loopholes very few.

The art of storytelling. It's a bit tricky to master. To keep the listeners spell bound. To make the viewers keep guessing what is going to be next.

Without that, every interesting premise goes to utter waste. By the end of the first half, the only confusion the viewers is bound to have is to which genre does this movie belong to. That was a nice effort. If they never spend time on "closing the loopholes". That sometimes made the movie a drab affair. At some points they just get preachy. And seriously no one likes being preached for the money they have paid for being entertained.

One other thing that makes me wonder, doesn't dialogue writers read aloud what they have written? There were some cheesy dialogues that would make you cringe and that stick its sore thumb out. Won't they think to themselves,"OMG, what horrible line I've written!!"

Anoop Kannan needs a bit of lessons of shaping up the movie and tightening it. Some scenes extend themselves to the point where the viewers keep wondering,"Why are we watching this?"

I seriously hope this movie runs longer in cinemas and everyone watches this. But I have no hopes. With a "super" "mega" bla bla star onboard, the movie misses its point and looks into a bleak future.

SPOILER ALERT

PS: The title was in reference of a Lal Jose movie, "Pattalam" that failed miserably in box office. The similarities, Mammooty being in army(is in Pattalam, was in JOV). The movie revolving around a dam in latter, the climax centred around the water tank in former. Put like that, there is not much. But there are times while I watched this movie there was a deja vu. But then my friend opened his mouth just to make him and me feel stupid. "The climax is copied from Johny walker. Same bike, Eye sight problem. and falling off the cliff". I had to resist my urge to land a thuderous slap across his cheeks.

Fu-beep-k

2012-10-07T00:20:00.000+05:30

I am back from the movie "Trivandrum Lodge", sitting in my office.(Don't even ask)

If you think I am going to dissect the movie using my wholesome "movie knowledge" and experience at it, let me stop you right there. I usually fail at those attempts.

I think that is due to my lack of vocabulary.("Man of few words" Calvin & Hobbes? Come on!) Or the inefficiency in using movie jargon. Or the lack of technical knowledge which I should use while putting the movie on the imaginary postmortem table.

Man! I just love movies. I can't stop watching them. I enjoy the motion, the storytelling, the blending, the perfection.

So why am I writing this note at midnight, waiting for my director to come online for instructions? Excellent question.

The movie "Trivandrum Lodge" somehow is defined as the movie to showcase the "boldness" of the malayalam movie industry. What I actually feel is its funny someone should say that. We download movies irrespective of the language. There is sex, nudity, swearing and all. Yet when one malayalam movie does any of it, we go like crazy and start clapping/swearing.

And "Trivandrum Lodge"? Well, for me, its like a teenager who just learned what swearwords are and his illusion of how using them now and then just makes him a "dude". (Yeah, we all passed that phase) I mean most of the dialogues were common talk for me. There were some scenes that was dripping off the "dirty stuff". But yeah? Who cares?

The paradox of malayalam movie viewers: Mayamohini is family movie. Trivandrum Lodge reeks. We had watched all kinds of porn and sex on screen and stills, yet we go for cat calls and whistles on the sight of bare feminine shoulder.

By the way, before I forget. It is not that bad for a movie. You might find some things you would totally disapprove. But overall, it is not that bad.

While Online - 2

2012-10-04T19:47:00.001+05:30

When I wrote down what came to my mind last night, - a large part of it rather incoherent- it was because I needed an opening. To vent out all the frustrations I had been having due to some invisible Something forcing me to give my online life a push. In other words, I am disappointed. Displeased with myself. To think that I used to have such bright dreams and ideas. ("Used to") To think that those days were a history, dead and buried.

Don't get me wrong, the Internet is a patient listener. It would hear all you have to say. Store it away(or near) And wait for someone to dig them up. And wait.

With all these so-called(social) networking, there are actually no real connections. Instead people try hard to look "not themselves". And somehow the network is supposed to appease our human necessities. Instead it just creates an illusion of the socializing.

Ok it is easy to go hard on these things. But it is totally different thing to quit. The problem looks even harder when one's work and pleasure lies entangled in the same web.

Incidentally Facebook has released there first video advertisement. It tries hard to make a point that it is just one of the million things which are used to connect people. Really? Do they actually connect? What do they get from creating such an illusion of a 'wonderful connection'? Oh yeah, Billions and billions of dollars!! (Some would say that even those are nothing but illusions.) But yeah, a billion active users a month. Great deal!!

While online

2012-10-03T23:44:00.000+05:30

"What's on your mind?"

A very familiar question.

What's on my mind?

Dying?

LOL. JK (Yes, I am becoming retarded!)

Still, what would a "Dying" status update get me? Sympathy? Scorn? Sarcasm? Questions?

What would sympathizers do? Do they actually care? Why would they? Would they actually talk to me if I magically appear before them in my physical manifestation?

Scorners would actually make my death more of a certainty from mere whining. They might push me over the edge to make me do something even worse.

Sarcasm? That might get some laughs.

And I hate questions.

Somehow this is supposed to magically connected to the people, bring them close and make them likeable. All I get is a bunch of online avatars who fakes in everything they can.

What is the use of having thousand "friends" when you can't get a smile from any one of them while on streets? Worse, if you won't care to smile at them?

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: പാസ്പോര്‍ട്ട് സൈസ്

2012-09-11T12:01:00.001+05:30

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: പാസ്പോര്‍ട്ട് സൈസ്: അമ്പാടിയേട്ടനായിരുന്നു, എന്നെ ആദ്യമായി സ്റ്റുഡിയോയിലേക്ക് കൂട്ടിക്കൊണ്ട് വന്നത്. എന്റെ ആദ്യത്തെ പാസ്പോര്‍ട്ട് സൈസ് ഫോട്ടോ. കണ്ണാടി, ചീര്‍പ്...

The Dark Knight Rises

2012-07-21T18:30:00.000+05:30

Four years ago, the only superhero movie series I saw (and hated) was Spiderman. It never made any impact on me, except the first one. I had such reservations against superheroes. One fine night, one of my friends dragged me to the The Dark Knight. The only thing he said that it is one of the top 5 movies in IMDB rating (then). The movie started off with a bank robbery by a gang of masked men, who kept talking about someone so powerful. And then I met him saying,"I believe whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you, [removing the mask, showing his scarred face] stranger."

Frankly, I haven't understood the half of the movie. But somehow an unsettling awe ("The Vanishing Pencil Trick") was enveloping me as the movie developed. I knew some of the actors from other movies (Gary Oldman, Alfred Pennyworth, Cristian Bale and Maggie Gyllenhall) but never did I expect that the "purple-suit freak" is the guy who played the Casanova. The portrayal of Joker was so eerie.

By the time I reached back, I was hungry for more Batman & Joker.

*****

Then it was yesterday(20th June) that we booked tickets for a late-night show for the third movie in the Nolan's Batman series. Carefully avoiding the reviews, expecting the best show. We didn't mind the facts that the seats we got is the frontmost row. The appreciative applauds started right when the logos of Syncopy, DC comics and the Legendary pictures were shown (Funny that it was for the trailer of Zack Snyder's Man of Steel) And when the movie started the awe that filled me four years ago started returning. The feeling was really amazing. After a slow paced (and deep) stage setting in the first half, the second half was radiating with what it wants to convey: Pain. Bane's Pain. Batman's.

Bane: When Gotham is ashes, you have my permission to die.

I have always wondered how are they going to show Bane in Nolan's movie. Somehow he is going to have a convincing explanation for what he was, and why he does what he does. Nolan smoothly introduces us the character without making him sound and feel hollow. Tom Hardy makes an excellent cast as the pain-suffering spiritful villain with a clear cut purpose of his existence.

There is a storm coming.

Anne Hathaway slipped in too easily into the "Cat" burglar's costume. Joseph Gordon-Lewitt's casting was a mystery to all the fans. The part played by him as an earnest detective had nothing much to it. Gary Oldman as in the prequels made his own niche. Marion Cotillard as Miranda Tate was underdeveloped for the most part. The screen time of Michael Caine as Alfred was the most disappointment that I had in the movie. Christian Bale again brings the anguishes of the Dark Knight with a good craft.

The movie in relation to the trilogy is more closest to the first one in the series in its presentation. Unlike the Joker's dominant show in the The Dark Knight, the new movie focuses on Batman and his revival. When in the first movie, he returns to Gotham as Bruce Wayne after 7 year; here it takes 8 years for him to return as the Batman. Except for the fleeting references of the Rachel Dawes' death and Harvey Dent's truth there is very few mentions of what happened eight years before. (And surprisingly it was as if Joker didn't even exist)

Anyway this is the movie to be watched. This is the way how the legend should end.

Selina Kyle: You don't owe these people any more! You've given them everything!
Batman: Not everything. Not yet.

Yes, Nolan. You don't owe us anymore. You've given more than everything.

NB: I know you would do. But let me just remind you to watch the first two movies of the series before leaving for this. :)

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: കാഴ്ച

2012-03-27T11:47:00.001+05:30

വിചിത്രന്‍ & Co.: കാഴ്ച: (ഇതൊരു സ്വതന്ത്ര വിവർത്തനമാണ്. ഇതിന്റെ ഒറിജിനൽ പോസ്റ്റ് ആംഗലേയഭാഷയിൽ ഇവിടെ ലഭ്യമാണ്. ഇതെഴുതിയത് ശ്രീ: Ayub Khan. സമയം കിട്ടുന്നവർ അതു കൂടി...

This is an independent translation of the post by Mr. Ayub Khan. The original post in English can be read by clicking here. Please read the original post too.)

A Love Jihadi

2012-01-05T15:51:00.000+05:30

I'll lure you into my trap,
My charm will do that for me,
I'll force you into my religion,
Add you as my third wife
(or fourth,I am pretty weak at math)
Make you believe in my God
Together we will build a nation of our fantasies
And overthrow the petty people set on
Eliminating us.
And forever burn in the hell
Judged upon me by My God

Let's forget about all that,
For now, just know that
"I love you"

New Year thoughts

2011-12-31T11:59:00.000+05:30

Oh Naadaan parindey….

Here I am, sitting on someone else’s office laptop, absolutely no work to do, (I hope my office people won’t read this. I highly doubt their interest in my blogs) listening to “Rockstar” tracks- one of the good things in 2011……….

I take that back.

Here I am, on the verge of the change, the very much expected transition, uncertain about everything which is in the darkness of the future. Am I excited? Do I look forward to it?

Wrong questions, buddy. If I am to hate something, I’d hate me being forced to ignorance of what beholds us. But that is the part of the game.

But is there a real change? I don’t know. Isn’t it just about numbers? The science fictionists made it sure that I know the units of time we use to measure is made by us. Just for our convenience. So why are we excited when a bigger unit increment by one? Why not celebrate smaller units too? In other words, if we should be excited about the time running, why aren’t we get excited for the seconds that slip through our hands.

But then we love when we look like achieving some landmark. (I, for one, am particularly happy looking at my downloads getting finished. The last seconds are especially rewarding.) So why stand back from all celebrating? (The cynical Me grumbles)

Last Year

“Beethe hue kuch din aise hain…”

It was pretty lengthy year. Too many things happened. Some of them at which I think,”Isn’t that last year?” It started with a much-awaited closure of a relationship. 3 month stay at mosque-A period which I actually got better. A little singing princess and her sister. Wedding of the best friend. One month stay at Bangalore. Trip to Alappuzha. A job. First salary. Exams as usual.

That is it in a nutshell. There are some not-so-personal moments like World Cup, 8-2, 6-1 etc. Whatever…

One of the best realizations I had this year is about the myriad of people. Seems silly. But did we actually lean to look outside our circle to feel “the others”? Ever thought what go through their minds? We perceive as some kind of zombies walking to devour people. We forget to realize that we are too restricted in our love. I perceive it as a handicap. That our feelings comes with boundaries. And more recently, those boundaries end at our skin.

Resolutions

“Kya hua tera vada…”

None. Seriously. Well not one in the stricter sense. (Stop smoking/drinking, Learn Japanese/French etc. Dance, Exercise, Music. In these matters, I like to keep my targets too abstract. This way I can be cool about not keeping the resolutions.)

All I want to do is to struggle against myself. To oust my demons dwelling in the dungeons inside myself. To humanize myself. Just to make someone say at my funeral,”He is a good man”

All in all, though I am reluctant to wish you a “Happy New Year”, I still wish you have an exciting times ahead.

And now blaring on my speakers, my favourite,

It's my life

My heart is like an open highway

Like Frankie said "I did it my way"

I just wanna live while I'm alive

'Cause it's my LIFE!

Disgruntled Roomie speaks

2011-12-15T11:33:00.000+05:30

It is definitely hard to understand some people. Especially one of my flatmates. Coming to think of it, I can extend that privilege to every single roommate I had after my brother. Could it be possible that the problem lies with me? Some part of me seeking loneliness and solitude. But then I adjust with others just fine. Ok, whatever!

So, last night, I needed a computer. Two out of three computers in our flat were busy. Third was said to have some problems with startup. As I had very little choice, I had to opt the third. Well, what they said was true. It definitely has problems. It would start.

Manufacturer's name.

Blank screen.

Microsoft Corporation.

Windows logo.

Please wait. (Ok.)

Please wait. (I am).

Please wait.(Oh. Come On.).....

And so after the nth time the ring turned, the screen showed "Welcome"

And the ring turns..

Turns....

God! I am parched! I went to get water.

I come back and see the black screen. No matter what I did, it chose to remain black.

So I went ahead and asked the permission of the owner of the laptop to experiment. Who knows? Maybe I would get it right. And then I'll astonish them all. They travel far and wide praising me. People come to worship me......

Long story short, I spent more than 3 hours to get it running; which after running for more than 15 minutes "in a tragic turn of events" lapsed into its previous state, which I think could be almost called a coma.

I wanted to go on and do some more experimenting. But frankly I was fed up. And I had a work at hand to finish. So I kept it aside, got another laptop and started minding my own business.

It was a few minutes later, that the owner of the comatose laptop returned after hard work on phone. And with his stupid grin, he started asking,"How did working with my laptop go?"

I was really trying hard enough to focus on my work and ignore him. But God!! Was he adamant or what? It's like he wants to admit my failure with my own mouth. (Like he could make me do that.)

At last I give up ignoring, and admitted my failure, hinting that there has been a partial success. (What? I am a man of pride!)

After his oft-repeated "I already knew" or something like that accompanied with his trademark laugh, he left. I started analyzing. Now that was the owner of a brand new laptop owner. Was he laughing at his machine-bought just the last week- which is in a very bad condition? Or my inability despite my honorable intent to get it right?

Fainted

2011-11-17T20:21:00.001+05:30

FAINTED

-How Mather Jr. learned about death and indifference

Just as one-fifth of things like this happen
It was a hot day
Boy Mather was looking at his father's body
and he felt a tickle of sweat down his back

He tried to think
what is he supposed to do.
He is getting worried
for this is not some games he is used to

He tried shaking the shoulders
and kept rubbing the legs.
All the time telling to himself
"He'll wake up."

He was not in the desert
Nor in the sea.
He was amongst the people
who just walked by them.

The boy was sobbing.
What else he can do?
He wanted to cry for help.
But everything stuck in the throat.

Everyone passed by them,
Some smiling at the lying posture
Some frowning over the crying child
A few with the sympathy
and then a lot of indifference

The shadow of a man fell upon them
The boy when looked up
Saw a good natured man

The man leaned over the body
and checked for something.
He got something from the pockets and off he go.

The day turned old
and the skies went red
The boy Mather was still there
sitting motionless
Beside his father
lifeless

*I wish to say none of the characters here are real and never have whatsoever relations with the real incidents. But then I'd be lying.

Grave of the Fireflies

2011-10-07T10:30:00.000+05:30

Histories record wars in a political fashion. The reasons. The outburst. The events. The winners. And the consequences. All in one large canvas. But just like other worldly affairs, it affects the people who end up largely forgotten. unless they are war heroes or political leaders, the dead gets buried and forgotten.The soldiers, civilians and all. Especially when there is a huge amount of bodies piling up and getting rotten. Can't blame the people though. It is not their lives that end. Its always the others'.

So should we care about the fireflies who just live for the end of the night? Who "light" up, mate and die? Why bother digging a grave for them? (The tender-hearts may disagree with the negativity. My point remains.) They amount to nothingness. When we read about the war victims—Forget war, take it broader. Any victims—our hearts bleed like anything. But do we really care? Our sympathy is just a word of sorrow. And we sigh a relief for our duty as a sympathizer is over. But what if we are really in a position to take action and save/help someone, where would we stand?

**********

They say the good old days of warfare are in the past, where the armies literally face each other. Kill soldiers and move on. Keeping aside the robbery and other harms done afterwards, I still think that is better than taking it on civilians.(Don't mind the recent war where America waged against the small countries who either were nearly non-existent or just had a large figure of the political head to fall. There too civilians were the gravest victims.... Even now) For the silliest mistakes the leaders make, the people have to trust in them. We will be told that victory will be ours. The world will be a beautiful place as a result.

And what remains is the bodies of our kins. Who were supposed to return home to their mothers, love and children. Even if you aren't in war with anyone you should sacrifice your home and people. Like in the game where they have to kill everyone and anyone to win. Regardless of whether they are in their home or in the war field.

After everything is over, only then people start asking,"Was it really worth it?"

Unity & Harmony: a tricky concept?

2011-09-16T01:42:00.000+05:30

What People conceive?

Every other human being is the same as us. They have the same organs, similar senses. Language, learning and resources. Us and them share these. So it is quite natural for him to think the way I think. Actually, it is the only way of thinking. Why not? And don't you dare to put a theory different to mine. Because no such thing exists.

OK. If you have a different opinion, it's fine. I can live with that. As long as you can keep it with yourself. Why bother sharing? Believe what you want to believe. Don't preach/teach me. Even if I a wrong, why would it matter to you? So will you just mind your own business. Thank you.

Oh, great. Now you go tell your ideas to someone else. What a ruckus you are causing! Now you are creating unrest in the peaceful areas. Why can't you let people go into their routine and forget your all crazy thoughts. Even if it is true, can't you see that it goes against all the established ideals and ideologies which has been in their minds. You are causing the disturbance to the peace. You must be a communist. Naxalite? Oh no I got it, Al-Qaeda, Huji, buji, fuji...? Something with ji for jihad. Not even that? Okay then. You must be the craze of the future, the trendsetters.

Whatever you are, may you rot in hell for making me say this.

What I think?

People are supposed to have their own opinion. Its the just the way the world is. If someone is having a different opinion, it is just his choice. Like the colour of the shoes you choose to wear. Deal with it.

Unity & harmony. Its not about keeping the silence and bear with the world for all the rotten things and lies that others are silently accepting as their part of lives. If you have opinion, feel free to express them. Don't wait for any public approval. Unity- unlike what they make us believe- is not about having the same ideals or shutting up. Its about co-existing amidst all the differences.

And when we give our opinion, give a room for discussion. And it's your opinion that is important. Not some physical handicap of those who don't agree.

It is the one who is not relaxed that creates disturbance in the whole lot. Talk with reasoning, love and understanding. It is not getting overrun. It is called being human.

First meeting

2011-08-12T01:17:00.006+05:30

Everything new is sweet- Arab proverb

Very late after midnight, it was. Lucky Ali's husky voice filled the room. I was hearing it after a long long time. Before me slept three guys resting their head on the rubber tubing of a truck tyre. The only light into the room was from the street lamp post. I could also hear my friends in the next room having 'tech-talks'. It was at this moment, you first appeared to me.

You just said 'hi'.....

The impact that had upon me was quite profound. My heart was leaping and I was having hard time to take in my breaths. Confused what to reply, I stood up. I wanted to relax first. It was not easy. I walked over to the next room. None of the three talking there made any sense. Everything is incoherent. I need to relax. This could be just a dream. I am not having proper sleep, that's all. I need a glass of water. Yes, that's it.

When I returned to my room, you were still there. And by your look, I knew I have to say something. At least reply to your 'hi'.

"Hello"

-Are you busy?

I looked around before replying,"At this time of night? No"

-Do you know me?

I don't know what to say. I stammered,"Yess.." with an urge of adding "I think so" to it

She smiled. "I've heard a lot about you"

I was bewildered, I guess. "Like what?"

You didn't answer that question too. Normally, that hurts me a lot. But not today... Not at the moment.

"So how are you?"

-Good. Got a slight headache

-Headache?

-No sleep for two nights. Journey and work.

- So why don't you sleep now?

-Slept at dusk. Woke up 2 hours ago.

-And still your head aches?

Actually I wasn't quite aware of that. So I expected to return with all its severeness. Somehow I wanted to say yes. I don't know why. Maybe I wanted you to touch my forehead. Or just hear your caring soothing words.

Maybe the silence was too long there. You asked,"So, what else?"

I wanted to say something. Maybe just "You're so beautiful". That would be stupid. Relax.

-What else?

- So I just wanted to...

You stopped abruptly. A quick look at the door and back to me. A little smile. And....

You were gone. I turned back at the door to look what made you leave. A friend came into room asking, "Coming out for a tea?" I glanced at the watch. 3 o'clock. Perfect.

"Let's go."

Lucky Ali was still there. "Aa bhi jaa, aa bhi jaa, ae subha aa bhi jaa
Raath ko kar vidha dilruba aa bhi jaa"
(Come, please come, Oh Morning. Please come
Bid farewell to the Night and come, my darling)

Boy under the tree V

2011-07-28T02:35:00.003+05:30

5. Dear Sister

The cousin sister of the kids was very kind and loving. She took care of them when they were too little. The kids too loved her. But the thing is that their family has got a divide among them. Just because of some business they had done in past. Even though the kids' mother tried hard not to create any dide due to this, there is nothing for her to do to stop the inevitable hate....

All of them lived in their ancestral home. After the spite started,- and how did it start was absolutely unknown to the boys. One day, everything is fine. And they suddenly hate to look in their faces.- everything got split up. The boys can't do anything. Can't take anything. Everything they do is met by either a disapproving look, or a despise, or even worse, the grumbling.("Take my word, grumbling women are the most irritating people", the younger kid says.)

The actual story I want to tell is this: The kid has unusual passion for reading. Whether its a paper from the waste or a book with scholarly knowledge. And it so happens that the mentioned sister had a large collection of the pulp which is commonly known as the ladies magazine. So the boy visited the shelf time and again where these magazines lay. But this was done in great secrecy which was not later.

One day, when the kid returned home, his mother was upset. On seeing him, she said."Why? Why would you go to them for such silly things?" and started crying. He stood perplexed. It was his grandmother who told about what his sister said about him. Before doing so, she also asked, "Why go to them?"

It seems that something (Years after he asks,"What was that 'something'?") went missing from the sister's room. Because its a known fact that he was the one who used to be upstairs for reading those ("stupid, bloody") magazines and nothing else, they didn't have to think twice to pin the crime on him.

Who would hear the cry of the innocent? Why should they believe him? Those who believed can't speak to the Lady Arrogance herself. Seeing his efforts go in thin air, his eyes shed tears more profusely. The whole night. By the end of it, he started believing in the death and life after. Just to prove his innocence and nothing else. Just to make someone say, "You never did that."