Building Character

It's been well over a month since I posted anything, and I lay the blame squarely upon my own shoulders. I believe in taking responsibility for one's actions (and inaction) and this is the time for me to stand up and be counted. Or read, as is the case with a blog.

A major reason for my not posting anything in a while is because, well, I haven't got anything going on in my life worth posting about. And so it shouldn't come as a surprise that even for this post, I go back more than 2 months for my inspiration. It has been on my mind for a while to write something about this, and yet, I've not felt like it all this time. So here goes.

As all tales begin, this one too begins in a far far land where the sky was blue, the rivers were clear and the grass was green and available in plenty within walking distance for the subjects of the kingdom. And I realize that that's about how far I can carry the whole analogy thing, so suffice to say that I'm referring to NIT-Trichy where we (G3W) had gone down for their annual cultural fest, Festember. We managed to make quite a wad between us totally, but then, it isn't always about the money is it? No, sometimes it's about what the title says.

The event in question was Scrabble, and along with my illustrious cricketer-first, scrabbler-next partner Naresh, I daresay we gave ourself quite a chance of placing in the event. The prelims were written, and as is usual it was the standard mixture of Scrabble boards, a bit of anagrams and the like. Around this point of time, we were doing 9-5 working hours, so most prelims were a blur, with the next event already coming up to think about. But again, prelims qualifying was never supposed to be a problem. Character-challenge Moment One.

As the papers were being totaled to find out who the 6 finalists would be, the score we had put up seemed to be sliding steadily and easily backwards. 5 teams ahead already and quite a bunch of papers left. We watched as each one fell way short, or just short of our total and kept remembering to breathe in the interim. It came down to one last paper, and as their total kept getting bigger, our chances of qualifying got slimmer. But you know, I wouldn't put this post up if we didn't have something to do with the finals as well. And so, it gives me great pleasure to reveal that this last paper fell short of ours by 1 point. 149 to our 150. Game On.

You would think that that was the inspiration-moment that you see in most movies - like in Gilli (Athadu for my Telugu friends) when Trisha misses her flight to America to come and watch Vijay's Kabadi match. Sadly, that wasn't to be, as our prelims paper didn't quite generate the same feelings in us as Trisha, nor is Scrabble Kabadi. The first round in the finals was Clabbers, which, if you are clever you might notice, is an anagram of Scrabble. And hence, all anagrams of any word were allowed in this round. To put it simply, you could play gtocziy on the board, since it is a perfectly valid anagram of Zygotic. This whole messing up concept was looking pretty fine till the last two moves. Actually, they became the last two moves plainly because they were 'Bingos' which is where you use up all the tiles in your rack, and get a 50-point bonus for doing so. Ergo, the opposition finishes off 14 tiles in two moves, gets a 100 points outta nowhere, and it's a 120-odd points defeat in the first game. This is bad in any circumstance, but it is definitely not good in a three-match round-robin. Character-challenge Moment Two.

And so, we go into the second match, to play the other team at the bottom. This is normal Scrabble, and all is fine until, 'Bingo' again. For them, of course. I even remember the word, bloody Chromite, I didn't know Chromite was even a compound, let alone a word! After making a mental note to brush up on my Chemistry, we calculated our total deficit, including the first match, and saw ourselves staring at -148 points. This is where the straight faces and the hammering hearts come out. Also, Character-challenge Moment Three.

Now, there are two ways to get yourself out of a hole. One is to keep digging, and find yourself going deeper inside, or you can stop digging, take a deep breath, and then try to pull the other person also into the hole. Which is precisely what we did. First, some prudent use of the Js and the Xs got us ahead in the match, and then playing the vaguest two-letter words that both of us knew definitely existed, in the hope of getting challenged. We made quite a bit of free 5-pointers in them challenges, not to mention keeping track of their time down to the precise micro-second, so that they ran out of it quite a while before the tiles were done. Excess time carried a penalty too, and all things considered, we won the game, and got ourselves a good 4o-odd points positives in the bargain. Here's where the three-match round robin concept got useful. Only 2 teams were on two wins, and they were going to play each other. So, only one person ends up on 3 wins. That left the winner of our next match, ironically with the same opposition we had played Clabbers with, guaranteed a third place, with the possibility of a second if one of the top 2 got mauled by the other. Thankfully, one of the top 2, was Nush and Sandeep, the other IIT team. It isn't Rocket Science, but if they beat their opponents handsomely, and we beat ours as handsomely, that second place was ours.

It's not like BPL's Soccer Sunday, where, when the Big Four are playing each other, everyone knows what's going on in the other match. Here, you concentrate on your game, and don't even hope that things are going fine in the other match. The game proceeded quite satisfactorily, not a huge margin, but we kept our noses ahead. It didn't look like we were heading for a big win, whereas we definitely needed one, to wipe out our overall deficit of -90. Slowly though, the previous game's strategy of deep breath-think clear-pull other person in began to work. There's nothing quite as beautiful as closing the board out with 'ug' and 'ch' and 'li' and leaving the opposition nothing to work with. Which worked quite effectively.We did not have a Bingo at any point in the game, or for that matter, the tournament. Yet, the closed-board game was bringing in the 20s and 30s quite well, and that was fine by us. As the tiles ran out, our lead kept getting ever so bigger. Eventually, it was done. Bingo-less, without any fancy words on triples or double, we finished with a 120 point positive from the game, a total of +30 overall. But was it enough?

We needn't have bothered. Nush and Sandeep had decimated the other team by around 150 points. All we needed to do was win, and we would've got second. As it turned out, we did much more than that, thank you very much.

It may not be the Natwest Finals Yuvraj-Kaif chase. It may not be United's 5-3 second-half demolition of Spurs from 0-3 down. But it was a comeback nevertheless, and comebacks are always sweet. For what it does is, it builds character. Tenacity, hope, self-belief and such. As I said before, it's not always about the money.

However, 700 bucks a head does go quite a long way in ensuring that the Character is Built.

Anticipation

Indrajit was beginning to feel a bit fidgety. Sure, there was still a good two hours to go for his 10th-birthday party to start, but there was absolutely no sign of any preparation for the same around the house. No doubt his parents had everything arranged and Dad would swing into action as soon as he returned from work in an hour, but this total lack of activity was disconcerting. Everything was not well, and Indrajit thought he probably knew why.

It was just a minor incident, and it was not even entirely his fault. A week ago he had been playing as usual in the front yard. His usual 'game' consisted of throwing a ball at the wall, and then batting it when it came back on the rebound. He was a disciplined batsman, restricting himself to playing in the 'V' since there was the family car always parked in the square leg position. Hence, he also alway threw the ball in such a manner that the rebound reached him at perfect driving length. On this day, and this fateful 'delivery', the ball had slipped out of his hand during the throw and hit the wall slower than usual. As the ball came back, he watched it pitch well in front, and bounce towards his chest... and his moment of madness. The ball grew in size as it came towards him, and an image of Yuvraj dismissively pulling a ball flashed through his mind. Whack, the horizontal ball dispatched the rubber ball perfectly square. Right into the front windscreen of the car.

That probably could've been avoided, he thought even as he laid part of the blame on Yuvraj for giving him such a beautiful shot to emulate. Perhaps his parents had canceled his party for that? No, he had clearly heard them talk about 'tomorrow's party' to each other last night. Moreover, they hadn't even be very angry when they had seen the windscreen broken. Sure, they had said something like You will understand what it feels like when you lose something similar, but he was pretty sure he wasn't getting a car anytime soon. He smiled a bit to himself at this clever bit of reasoning. As he turned away smiling, his eyes passed over the latch of the door, where all his presents were always kept till the cake was cut. And he froze in mid-turn. The bike!

The only reason Indrajit had been looking forward to his 10th birthday more than any other was because of The Bike. That shiny, red thing with the high seat and curved handlebars that he had fallen in love with at first sight. That thing which his parents had promised him for his 10th birthday when he had begged them for it a month ago. That thing which should be behind that latched door right now. That thing which would be something similar to the car. That thing which, hence, he could lose.

His mouth went dry. They couldn't do this to him. It was such a minor infraction, surely not worth taking away the bike. But it also made perfect sense. He would've noticed at least a small sign that a big bicycle was being moved around in the house. No wrapping paper, no tell-tale tyre marks of cycles being rolled around. And the subdued preparations for the party, after all, no parent likes to deny their child's fervent wish. And yet, what must be done, must be done. Must it?

The time for the party never seemed to come. The two hours was the worst period of time ever in Indrajit's till-now-uneventful life. His mind told him that it had been done, the cycle had been denied to him, and yet his heart failed to accept it. He was just reading into that minor incident too much, hadn't his parents been calm enough about it? Or had they let him off lightly because they were going to do something much worse? He wished he could just burst into that little room with the latched door and end the confusion once and for all. But one of his parents were either always hovering around the room or hovering around him, getting him ready for the party. He absentmindedly slipped into his new clothes, all the while staring at the latch, the door. It was all good for Superman to have X-ray vision, but the people who really needed it were 10-year old boys on the throes of an early-life crisis. He shook his head disgustedly at what he though was an unfair distribution of superpowers.

The guests started trickling in, and Indrajit noticed during moments when he actually looked that the decorations had in fact been organized as well as the last two years, if not better. People crowded around to wish him, hug him, shake hands with him, pinch his cheeks... and his mind registered none of it. His heart felt like it was being squeezed, like he couldn't breathe through the crush of the burdensome wait. He smiled weakly towards his Mom and Dad as he cut the cake and gave them each a piece after the Birthday Song had been sung. That's it, done, let's get to the door, his inner voice screamed, but Indrajit was too well brought-up to let any such thoughts out.

"Shall we?" his Dad asked, holding out his hand for Indrajit to grab. He nodded determinedly, and allowed himself to be led towards the door. His heart was hammering away wildly now, he was surprised that everyone in the room couldn't actually hear it. He tried to read something from his father's expression, but there was no expression there to read anything from. The door loomed in front of him, and Indrajit was sure his heart rate had hit 150. The latch opened and the door flew open.

Nothing, darkness. Darkness that is, in the front part of the room. But at the back, where the light from the shaded window streamed through just enough, he caught a glint of red. He took a tentative step forward, all the while following the outline of the glint of red. His mental faculties confirmed to him that it was indeed what his heart hoped it was and he ran forward with a yelp of surprise. He knelt beside The Bike, running his hand over the perfectly sized medals, moving to the tyres, the rear mud-guards and stood up to reach the seat. As he touched the seat, all the hammering and squeezing his heart had been subjected to finally gave way, and Indrajit put his head down on the seat and started sobbing uncontrollably. He let all the tension of the past two hours release itself through his tears and finally got up and turned to his slightly concerned parents. Then with a broad smile pasted across his teary-eyed face, he flew into the arms of his parents, who had now gone from being concerned to bemused, and whispered into their ears,
Yes, I understand, what it feels like.

It's that time of the year again...

Well, it's back. Bigger, better and bluer than ever before.

The Saarang Blog. The Officially unofficial blog of Saarang 2008. Everything you ever wanted to know about Saarang. And also some things you wished you'd never known.

All you people who make the mistake of regularly wandering into this blog, well, now there's another place you can wander into.

Life is a journey, and those who don't read, haven't traveled at all.

A wee bit o' celebration

It has nothing to do with the game itself, and yet it's one of the most fascinating, and at times controversial moments in football. Quite a few players have their own, unique post-goal celebration, while others just give in to the mood of the moment, and let lose. Especially tight matches which bear goals in the 90th minute are mostly likely to produce a shirt-off celebration along with/followed by running all around the pitch a couple of times. Now, of course, taking your shirt off leads to a straight yellow card, and that's enough for most players to be restrained from doing a Dada-on-Lord's-terrace. Pity, really, because I always thought that it is only in the moment of greatest ecstasy after scoring a goal that you actually reveal your inner self. Literally.

Ricardo Izecson dos Santos Leite, otherwise known as Kaka has probably the most recognizable celebrations on the football field. As the ball ripples the net, Kaka tears off to raise his arms and head towards heaven in an obvious gesture of gratitude to God. But for what? To answer this question, two important facts need to be stated here.
1. Kaka was a virgin till he got married, which, for a footballer at his level, is near sacrilege.

2. When he eventually did get married, he got himself this...

From here we work on presumptions, but based on the above two reasons, especially the very strong second one, the following theory can be stated as being nearly accurate. As most of you might have figured, Kaka is obviously not a virgin anymore, but just to make things interesting, let us suppose he has some sort of arrangement with his wife. Like if he scores in the game, then that night... you get the message. So, without sullying Kaka's character too much, I think it's a safe conclusion that whenever he scores (on the football pitch), he thanks God for his score (off the football pitch). His is a standing example of how there is a woman behind every successful man (or under. Or above. Whatever works for him man).

Along the same lines would be the celebrations of England's answer to Brazil's Kaka, Frank Lampard. I think it's a midfielder thing, raising the arm towards heaven, because strikers almost always point towards the midfielder who provided them with the final pass. While Lampard's is not so much of an obvious sign of gratitude to the skies, he does precede the raising of his hand towards the sky with a kiss on his left hand. Without using too much rocket science, it becomes clear that that is the hand that holds the engagement ring, and the person who put it there is...
Frankie L is not so much a good boy as Kaka, because he's already had a baby girl with his lady before marriage, but he clearly values the ring on his hand, so we presume his intentions are honourable.

Another distinct, and unique celebration will have to be Bolton Wanderers and France striker Nicholas Anelka's. After each of his usually stunning goals, Anelka holds his hands in front of his chest, with the thumbs interlocked and the rest of the fingers outstretched, forming a sort of a butterfly. This is probably the most confounding celebration to decipher, and the striker himself has said that it's a private joke between him and his French friends. That leaves us with only one option- that India's exalted low-cost carrier, Air Deccan had, at some point, been involved in Anelka's life, what with their logo being something similar, except that the thumbs are not interlocked. A probable story is that sometime, while traveling incognito, Anelka missed a flight from Mumbai to France, just because his connecting flight from Calcutta to Mumbai on Air Deccan got, as usual, delayed. From then on, Anelka's celebration, directed at Air Deccan and not his French friends as he claims, probably means to say 'If you could connect your two hands, you'd probably succeed in making people catch their connecting flights'

The controversial celebration of Robbie Fowler going to the touchline and acting as if he sniffed Cocaine shall not be dissected in great detail here as it is a one-off and not a customary thing. And thank God for Robbie that it was only a one-off, the league didn't take kindly to his endorsement of the non-drinking variety of Coke.

As sheer cheek goes, one last celebration has to be mentioned. Portugese sensation Nani, who joined Manchester United this season has been expressly banned by Sir Alex Ferguson from showing off his gymnastic skills on the football pitch. Therefore, in all of United's games in Asia, and other practice matches, the forwards flip-backward flip-handless backward flip was kept dutifully inside the locker by Nani. But then the league started, and United got off to a bad start, with a goal drought hitting last season's top scorers. In such a situation, staring at another 0-0 in the game against Tottenham, Nani came up with a blistering 25-yard strike to give United the win. After the goal, Nani pointedly asks his teammates to hold off, and goes on to do his elaborate gymnastic routine, ending with the handless back flip. The perceptive camera-man zoomed straightaway towards Sir Alex, to see his reaction. He remained all smiles, celebrating the goal. But then, cameras can't enter the locker room.

P.S: Kaka is a devout Christian. In 2000, after an accident in the pool, he was threatened by paralysis, and hence an end to his career. He recovered fully from that, an act he still attributes to God. The gratitude to the skies after every goal is mostly with regard to this. But then, who says you can't be grateful for two different things, eh?

Economics and the Great Indian Dream

It was an unbelievably muggy evening in the city, something which has become more common of late, maybe there is some truth to this whole global warming affair after all. I was walking out of this mega-retail shop, the thing which stacks everything from pins to Porches. The same kind which has already wiped out your tricycle-vegetable-vendor man who comes out calling every morning and which is threatening to wipe out that very symbol of local community living - the road corner pottikadai. Digressions apart, as I walked out of the shop towards my vehicle, an old man shuffled up to me. He had his hands full of various types of Agarbathi packets, and from his forearm hung a sack-bag, which had more of the same packets. He looked terribly worn, and his left eye was clearly not serving him any purpose anymore, a long-ignored cataract having taken its toll on the eye. He walked up to me, and held out his packet.
"Sir, please buy one packet of Agarbathi sir. I came straight from Kodambakkam in the morning, haven't even had lunch. Please buy one packet sir, there's been no sales at all yet."

I hurriedly shook my head in the negative and got on to my scooter. I couldn't even being myself to look at that face again - the sallow skin with the beard gone white, the out-of-use eye, the frail body and the bag full of agarbathis dangling from the emaciated forearm. As I drove away I thought about my instinctive 'no' to the old man. There was no valid reason for me to do so, and I'm sure I could have spared ten rupees for one packet. It would've probably got his first meal of the day- at 6 in the evening. And yet I had not given him 1/20th of what I had spent in the shop just a minute ago. I nearly ploughed into the back of a truck on my way back, thinking about the whole thing.

This is not an isolated case. The boy-younger-than-me who'll be cleaning up tables at the local eatery, the platform vendor of handkerchiefs whose last sale was probably weeks ago, the man with polio whose affected leg dangles uselessly about 6 inches of the ground as he hobbles around at signals, with his outstretched arm... all images which are seared in a mind which also reads everyday about 9.5% growth and the rising middle class and the emerging superpower and all else. Where did it all go wrong?

In my simplified version of things, there are two levels that every man aims for - subsistence and luxury, in that order. In the new 'young and dynamic' India, while the transition from subsistence to luxury happens rapidly, efforts to raise people to basic levels of subsistence seems to have got left behind. And it's not as if every person who had his subsistence assured is scaling the first barrier either. There's still a substantial majority for whom it's a struggle to stay above the poverty line, but they just manage to. Those who don't, well, The Forgotten. It's not the rich-poor divide that I'm referring to. It's more like the 'can act rich'-'can just survive'-'why should I live?' divide that seems to be the divide in the India of today.

People earn more, but do more people earn more? Sure, there's a lot of things which have come up targeting this new high-income families- facilities that rival any world-class establishment, quality of services (note, this is usually mainly entertainment, or shopping) that we wouldn't have dreamed of even five years ago, so many other things. And with these places getting as many patrons as they do, it's easy for us to live under the self-deluded impression of us being a nearly-developed nation. But, as said before, the quality of your local bus service has not reached world standards. Southern Railway is still not Eurorail. And I'm not even thinking about comparing roads, lighting and other infrastructure.

I'm probably meandering but there just seem to be so many knock-on effects of the increased spending and luxury-craving lifestyle that a very few concentrated pockets of our country is witnessing today. Since when did we start buying Popcorn by the bucket?! Or dropping a 4-year old to her school which is barely 2 kilometers in a 3.5-liter, turbocharged SUV? And then bringing the monster back home with only the driver in it, till it's time to go pick up the kid, who'll probably fit in-between two people on a Scooty Pep, again. Or blindly flush around 120 bucks an hour (or whatever the bowling rates in your city is) to go and knock some big sticks with one big ball regularly on weekends? I know the great Indian dream is to eventually reach the great American dream, but that is simply not sustainable in our country. In fact, word is coming out that it's not sustainable even in America, but they of course just need to go into an oil-rich country and bomb the s*** out of them and they're good for a few more years for oil.

I agree people earn the money and they spend it as they please. I don't even think it's fair of me to say that people should maybe show a bit more prudence before they splash their wads around the next time, but I'll say it nevertheless. Demand-driven inflation will first hit the 'just surviving' section first, and soon we'll see some of them drop off below the line. Maybe your leaving the car and taking the two-wheeler or, if it's by any chance possible, public transport to work for one day will not bring the inflation from 4% to 2%. But it might bring it to 3.9999999999995%. And I think we can take that, for starters.

As Mahatma Gandhi said- Live simply, that others might simply live.

Fernando

"I believe we know each other?"

She whirled around at this sound behind her, and found herself facing a man about her age, in a long black overcoat and a briefcase in hand. He looked vaguely familiar, but she could not place him immediately. And she told him so.

"We studied together in high school, remember? I think it was ten years ago...", he checked his mobile, as if looking for the date, "probably eleven by now" he smiled.

A look of recognition dawned on her face. "Why yes! I remember you now. The obnoxious Class Captain character, right?"

"Well, yes, if I'm deserving of such a high opinion of my character, sure"

"Oh of course you are. Or at least were. I don't know how you are now, though it'd be pretty tough to become any more obnoxious, I think", she smiled.

"Right, so out of a chance meeting at Madrid Airport, of all places, I get the knowledge first-hand that the prettiest girl in my class thought me an obnoxious bastard. Bright reunion indeed."

She laughed, "I'm sorry. I exaggerated a bit, though it was the first thing that came to mind when I recognized you. Anyway, how ave you been? I presume you are on a business trip, judging from your attire and lack of a traveling partner?"

"Oh yes. Just stopping over for a day or two here, and then I'm continuing on to Buenos Aires. And you? No wait... you're here for the Conclave on Photo-journalism, right?", he inquired.

She was taken aback. After a few seconds, in which time she closed her mouth which had fallen open, she managed to stammer, "Why... Yes, that's what I'm here for. How... how did you know?"

He shook his head, "I didn't know. I guessed. You were always interested in photography in high school, I remembered. And I knew there was this conclave in Frankfurt around this time. So... educated guess."

"Impressive. That you remembered I was interested in photography, and that you know about the events in a city where you're just stopping over" she said with a hint of a smile.

"I try to keep myself updated", he shrugged and once again reached for his mobile and fiddled with it for a while. "So where're you going to stay, I'm booked into this hotel called The Carriage..."

She sighed, "I'm not going to be surprised anymore, this is just taking coincidence to a whole new level. I'm booked into the same hotel as well, even the conclave is scheduled to be held there."

"Wow, really? Small world indeed. So... we'll share a cab to the hotel then?" he asked. She nodded. As they walked towards the exit gates, he looked at her. She had not changed a bit over the past ten years - the same serene face, the quick wit, that smile which could make any guy's heart miss a beat... Drawing a deep breath, he turned to her.

"You don't have any plans for dinner I hope? I mean, the conclave begins only tomorrow..." he trailed off as she turned sharply to face him.

"Ten years after we last met, you see me. And ask me out" He kept silent, waiting for her to launch into a lengthy tirade. "Oh well, I'd like company for dinner anyway. Especially known company", she smiled.

Without too audible a sigh, he nodded, "I'll pick you up from your room, around 8"

"Yep, I'll try and look half-decent", she said with a wink.

As they walked towards the cabs, he reached for his mobile once again. It read '1 Message Received". He opened it and read,
'Fernando: Will that be all boss? Or would you also like to know what she's talking about at the conclave tomorrow? Or perhaps where she'll be going for dinner tonight, and what she'll be wearing for it... ;)'

He pressed the Reply button and typed out,

'No thanks, Fernando. I'll find those out myself tonight..."

Last Action Hero

The last hope. Or maybe not.

6 Things that tell you you're growing older...

1. 'Teen prodigies' in the world of sports are a clean 3 years younger than you.
2. WWE matches you watched as a kid now appear in their 'This week in History' segment.
3. The Hospital you were born in is not a hospital anymore, and the Doctor who delivered you is... er... Not there.
4. You do not open throttle fully as soon as you see an empty stretch of road, but hold a sedate 40k in the interest of fuel economy.
5. Auto people graduate from calling you 'thambi' to 'saar'.
6. Kids playing on the street tell you 'Uncle, can you please give the ball'.

Updates are welcome.

(With inputs from The Deputy Manager (Manufacturing), Ashok Leyland Ltd.)

Motorcycle Diaries: Part II

The story so far...
A group of guys get dressed up and hire bikes. They plan to roam around town, meet a lot of girls, preferably hot, French ones, fall in love with them, get married and open a new chapter in Indo-French relations. Everything happens except for the 'meeting a lot of girls' part and its consequent actions. Hence, they are still riding around town...

The Silver Beach had been recommended to us by a bunch of enthusiastic localites determined to promote their region as the favoured tourist destnation in India, next only to the Taj Mahal. It was actually in the adjoining town, a near thirty kilometer ride along a highway with small villages and large industries sprinkled along the path. Navigation was not too great a problem. There was one road, which went left and right, and curved this way and that and didn't split or intersect or indulge in any other disorienting act.

Just as we started out on this trip in the early evening, the weather made a complete volte-face. Dark clouds gathered overhead and completely blotted out the sun. The sky was dark enough to prompt thoughts of a large mother-ship breaking out of the clouds a la Independence Day. With all the foersight of the builders of the Titanic, we forgot to take any protective eye or head-gear. Those with spectacles had a tough time dealing with the sands whipped up by the wind, which was really building up now. Me, with my 15/20, 20/20 in my eyes and lack of speactacles thereof, felt like Brendan Fraser in The Mummy. The gale-force winds apart, everytime a huge vehicle like a bus, or one of those eight-wheel lorries carrying one of them chemicals (Yes, I'm a Chemical Engineer, but I don't want to burden you with technicalities) went by, the slip-stream was a literal slap in the face. At times, getting through these walls of resistance felt like breaking the sonic barrier (though I have no idea what that feels like).

The clouds were now definitely building up towards something big. The villages became fewer in number, and quintessential highway stretches began to appear- two lanes, hige trees on either side, incredible wind in your hair, mind subconsciously playing 'Endrendrum Punnagai...'. While I was not in pursuit of any speed records, we decided it would be a good idea to get to the safety of civilization before the storm broke. So we just lightly tipped the accelerator, you know, just to be sure. We didn't hit anything more than 90, really. And our efforts were rewarded, as we reached the town safely. Just as the skies opened up.

The incredible irony of us racing towards a beach to beat a storm, was not last on us. Riders on the Storm or not, I didn't quite relish the idea of a wet 'n wild visit to the beach. Hence, abandoning our vehicles under the nearest trees, we rushed into quite an unusual source of shelter which we found in a parking lot next to the beach. 'Old, rusted, gears-broken, head-light-removed autos with their roof intact' must rank second only to 'narrow, space-only-for-two, dark alley with hot girl already in it' on the list of 'Places to shelter from the rain'.

As the rain petered out, we moved out of our auto-matic shelters and headed towards the beach. The sand was not silver, though it was very clean for a public beach. I will not be cynical and claim it was only because this government-sponsored festival was going on there, and as is the case in India, the place was all spruced up just for the occassion. The water was silvery, but that could've been because of the rains- the sky was silvery as well. After a prolonged discussion that lasted all of two minutes, we decided it was called Silver Beach because Golden Beach was already taken by VGP. This seemed very logical and all were happy.

The summer festival had attracted immense crowds, and there were loudspeakers placed at optimum positions dissemenating a speech that some leader was making. The security was pretty tight as well. There were so many cops around that we formed a square of bikes around this one bike whose key had fallen off in the melee caused by the rains, and left them there.. If there had not been so much security, we would've been afraid to leave the bike unguarded at all. Tamil Nadu's finest filled us with much confidence. Seriously.

After around half an hour of splashing around in the waters, running on the beach and doing everything else that all of us had done on countless other beaches, we came back to our strategically-parked bike unit. Which was still there, thankfully. The clouds had disappeared and so had the sun. Starting out in darkness, we retraced the straight path which we had folowed with so much difficulty on our onward journey. The thing about driving at night on an unlit highway with the headlights from the opposing vehicles glaring in your eyes is that you're mostly blind. You can see approximately two meters in front of you, and you know from Newton's laws that you're not going to be able to stop within two meters from the speed you are travelling. Once again, hope lives. Apart from a few speed-breakers which got missed, and hence became take-off ramps, the ride was mostly uneventful.

All the riding left people ravenously hungry, and we found salvation in the staple diet of Indian travelers all over the world- Dosa, Sambhar and Tea. All good things have to come to an end though, and it was time to return the bikes back where they belonged. After bidding a tearful farewell to the extra fifty bucks for the lost key, we trudged back to the bus station to go back to out little, cut-off-from-the-world village. But not before having confirmed that any of our 4 other bike keys worked just as well on the bike for which we had lost the key. A little knowledge, dangerous thing...

Motorcycle Diaries: Part I

Life is so rewarding. Think about all those people who go to bed alone every night, with nothing more than a small pillow and a prayer by their side. And then think of me, waking up everyday with two other guys for company. Three, if it was a lucky day, like today. Two of who I didn't even know, and all of them topless. No man is an island...

It was okay really. I am used to finding unexpected occurences when I wake up. Like seeing the clock twenty minutes past the start of the quiz. Or 7 P.M when I had aimed for A.M. So us, the foursome, joined the twosome from the next room and got down to the process of tidying ourselves up for the countless girls we were not going to meet all day. But still, we hope. For isn't it hope that sustains so many things? George.W.Bush, Indian cricket team, Romance for IIT guys...

The mostly uneventful bus journey into the city was made slightly worth mentioning by the fact that we couldn't get off the bus. The assumption in these buses is that people only get on and never get off, till the last stop. And so they keep packing in people so much that they make a pack of sardines seem like a night inside Paris Hilton (yes, the hotel.) So, panic situation caused us to disembark a good kilometer before our actual stop. And it's not a very pleasant walk through a busy street in the morning sun. In my defence, I thought the square-shaped shop with 'BAR' written in big, bold lettering was our cue to get down. Unfortunately, here, there's one of them every hundred meters. No, fifty.

The morning workout succesfully completed, we arrived at the place where they gave out Shadowfax...er, rented bikes. If you're a guy, please continue reading this paragraph. Ladies, can skip this paragraph. A motor-bike is this machine that combines man's two greatest loves. Speed and Speed. Some of you might argue that it's acrually speed and gals, but that's why I asked you ladies to go to the next paragraph. It needs someone who has been on an auto-geared two-wheeler all his life to deeply appreciate the wonder of the gear ratio in fourth. And of the click-click of the transmission changing. And the total nonchalanece with which the engine handles the ever-mounting revs. And the sense of absolute power just sitting on one of these things.

So, we hired bikes and we were all happy. Score! With all the feel-good generated from this accomplishment, we kicked into action, literally. Riding back the same way we had come in the bu, we went in search of this 'global village, where people live in peace and harmony, connecting with their inner self, and are above all religion, race or country'. Well, the Taliban might still shoot you down if you went to Afghanistan, but otherwise, you were a global citizen. Overall, it was this serene kind of place. It was. The five-minute presentation extolled all the above-said virtues of the place, and then it was all about walking through the woods. For peace and inner harmony and all that. I'm sure there are exactly similar patches of woods in my own campus which I haven't discovered yet. If anything, the place did prove that trees cool their surroundings, especially if the 'trees' is one huge, big, mega-banyan as large as Paris Hilton's... suites (It is always the hotel!)

Having been saved partialy from the merciless sun in this 'cool' place (ONLY weather-wise), we proceeded to bike round and round the circuitous path laid out to the highway. And thence back to the city. The minor problems of petrol running out in one vehicle and engine dying out in another were... just that, minor problems. Nothing that a few drops of petrol and a bit of kicking and cursing couldn't solve.

The priority now was to confine ourselves to a nice air-conditioned restaurant for the better part of the afternoon. For all the riders' bravado and spirit of adventure and all, we still weren't willing to risk sun-burn, skin cancer and the like. The restaurant was found easily enough, and they had a surprisingly good Sphagetti on offer as well, which went straight on my order list, given my propensity for international cuisine. The hotel management was also helpful in our endeavour to kill time, prompting thoughts of whether they had taken our order for lunch or for dinner. A couple of unburnt rotis, two helping of sweet saunf each, and a desperate pooling of money for the bill preceded our next leg of the journey. To this place which got created first, and around which they decided to build the rest of the town.

The beach, with its rocky outcroppings rather than fine sand, is the hub of the town. The government building, police headquarters, and one other similarly importan administrative building are on this road. Any tsunami with an ounce of self-respect could put the entire government machinery out of action for weeks. But I guess they've allowed for such exigensies. Our main spot of interest was this Italin ice-cream shop, which served one hell of a Chocodip. They were consumed in anticipation of the long ride ahead and ten minutes later, there was a queue for the men's room. Again, in anticipation of the long ride ahead. But also as a consequence of the Chocodips. By this time, the two faulty vehicles which had given trouble on the way back from peace-land had also been exchanged for two other beauties - a white stallion with... right, must stop with the horse analogies. Anyway, that was the equation. 5 bikes, 9 guys and God-knows-how-long a ride to wherever-Silver-Beach-was...

Good Morning, Vietnam?

Silence. Broken occasionally by the whizzing past of cars on the highway with their more-than-required horsepower under their hoods. The surf crashing against the beach, approximately half a kilometer away, was not loud enough to break the silence. The quaint, little village laid out on either side of the highway had not yet woken up to the chirping of the birds. Even the wind seemed to recognise the mood of the moment, holding itself back to the faintest of murmurs as it brushed past. Silence. Perfect.

He walked across the two-lane highway on to the rutted path that led to the beach. After leaping over the miniature valley that had been created perpendicular to the path by some strange accident of nature, he headed up towards the sea. The undulating path was quite the miniature obstacle course by itself. Here it sloped up, there it sloped down, suddenly the path was strewn with holes as if plans to erect a hundred-pillar hall had been made, and then dropped. The plans, not the pillars. And since without the pillars, it wouldn't be a hundred-pillar hall, they hadn't built the hall either, leaving an open expanse filled with two feet by two feet holes. And then there was the grass. Neat, green sheets growing in total defiance of the unresponsive sand that constituted the soil of that place. Any guy looking to court a lady who's playing hard-to-get need look no further than this grass for being the epitome of perseverance, he thought. Set on a small hillock, climbing up this green carpet eventually got him high, on grass. From here, the surf was visible, and also the hard, barren land, which had managed to thwart the progress of the grass at the top of the hillock. So, he could get high on grass, but when he came down, he had to hit hard earth.

The beach in the morning was one of the most invigorating places to be. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of the sea, the salt-laden air, the... wait, he knew that other smell. He smelt it everyday, that too in the morning. And then it struck him. Not the origin of the smell, but a dead leaf blown in from the sea, stuck him smack in the face and made him open his eyes. Which was just as well, for lined up in a neat row in front of him, were fishermen who were deeply involved in their morning duties, right on the edge of the water. It was like they were practicing the natural life, giving back to the land that sustained them. Well of course, what they were giving back was decidedly worse than what the land had given them, but atleast they were trying. Trying hard too, by the look on some of their faces which were set in grim determination. This stomach ain't big enough for the two of us.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and decided to come back some other time. He headed towards the shops to stock up for the week. Unsurprisingly, it was all dark, and though the first shops were just opening up, no one had any lights going. The electricity in the place was much like Saurav Ganguly's batting style. It was predominantly off, and when it was on, it got shorted, and went out. As he neared the shops, the lights flickered on, making him regret for a moment his negative appraisal of Saurav's... no, the electric supply. But he needn't have bothered. Just as he neared and electricity pole, it provided a burst of electrons-going-mad kind of noise and then went off in a brilliant display of fireworks that would've sure brought a tear to Guy Fawkes' eye, in his grave. Or whatever is left of his eye, he was burnt wasn't he? Either way, the wires too went the Guy Fawkes' way, burnt right through. And then, as God said, there was light. From the sun.

He looked up at the sun. This is about the only time of the day you'll be looked upon favourably, he thought. Make hay while... you shine. He trudged back across the road with his bags from the shops. Now for some good sleep to make up for all this early morning waking-up circus...

Mori

He

The bank was more crowded than usual. That didn’t help at all. He looked at the clock on the wall. 10:45. He joined the queue which looked the shortest, and started tapping his fingers on his thighs, as was his habit when he was in a hurry. The line didn’t seem to move at all, while the clock just ticked away merrily. Suddenly he heard a scream from the teller counter two places away from his. A small-made woman in jeans and a ragged T-shirt was waving a box in front of the teller. She swung it around at anyone who tried to get closer to her, and kept yelling something at the teller. He could make out the words ‘bomb’ and ‘cash’ over the assorted yelling of others around him. He broke into a cold sweat. This is how I’m going to die. The stand-off continued for a while, with the woman still yelling at the teller to take out the cash, and the teller paralyzed with fear. Finally the teller seemed to regain some sort of composure and started stuffing the cash into a bag. The shabbily-clad woman grabbed it, and placed the box in front of the teller. He watched as the woman slowly backed out of the bank, and then his eyes traveled to the wall-clock again. 11:35. His heart sank.

She

They returned from the trip to the port as scheduled. It had actually been quite an informative trip, and she was filled with the feeling of having done something good for the day. However, after she left the children in class and walked towards the office, she noticed some sort of commotion in the area. A lot of people were crowding around the Principal’s office. As she enquired around, she gathered that some parent had attacked the principal. Attacked?? And that no one was being allowed to school till the police got to the place. No, she thought, that that cannot be. She looked down at her wrist-watch. 10:50 already. The police were not expected for some time now. They were gathering all the staff in the office, so that the police could talk to them together and hence save time. Save time, how ironical. They all waited in the office for the police to arrive. When they finally arrived, they made the usual statement about how they would not take much of their time. She looked down at her watch and her heart skipped a beat. 11:45.

He

At the lab, it took all his will to keep his mind from wandering to the events earlier in the morning and concentrating on finishing the paper. This was it, eight years of single-minded dedication, towards a problem that was 8 decades old. When his close friend from college had suggested taking this up for their PhD thesis, he had never thought they would actually solve the problem. The most he had hoped for was to just try and understand the problem at all. And yet, here it was in front of them, the solution. Like so many others, its genius lay in its simplicity. He surveyed their final paper with a look of affection, and then turned to his partner and gave him a huge grin.

They agreed they would present their paper later in the evening. He ran out of the lab, it was 10:30 already. He figured he could drop in at the bank, draw some money, and surprise her with one huge bouquet. She loved surprises.

She

The children were being very well-behaved at the port. Today being a Saturday, they had decided to cancel classes for Standard VII, and take them on a sort of educational tour to the port instead. To see how the big ships and the containers worked. Children are always fascinated by big things, she thought. Just like he is by big numbers. She smiled to herself. The smart Navy man who was showing them around was explaining something about how they were planning to use trained dolphins and sea lions to help with port security. This was not officially announced yet, but they were soon going to. All this barely registered in her mind. All she was thinking off was dropping the kids back at school. And after that…

They

She sent the pen flying across the room in an arc, but it missed its intended target by quite a distance. She didn’t calculate the projectile velocity right, he thought. Wait, that’s not the problem right now. She’s really angry this time. He watched for signs that would show she had blown enough steam. So far she was showing none. She was still fuming at him for having completely forgotten about their dinner plan the previous night. And having come home at around 2 in the night and gone straight to sleep. And for having done that for the third night in a row.

He suddenly realized from behind the couch that the projectile attacks on him had stopped. He peeked over the couch to see her sitting on the table, head in her hands. He heaved a sigh of relief. From here, he could handle it. He went over to the table, pulled a chair next to her and said softly, “You know how my work is. I just get caught up in it so much that I don’t even notice the passage of time.” She looked up angrily, and he held his hands up defensively, “I know. I know you work too, and I know this is no excuse. But we’re nearly done with our problem now. Yesterday’s incident will be the last of its kind, I promise. All we need to do today is to compile the result. And after that, I’ll be the best boyfriend a girl ever had” he finished with a smile. He knew she could never hold out against his smile.

She nearly did, staring angrily at him for a full minute. And then, still staring straight into his eyes, she said “If that is all that you have to do today, you should be done by an hour or so, right? Around 10 o’clock?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

"Good, then listen. My school work shouldn’t take 2 hours of my time today either. So, we meet for an early lunch, at the place we were supposed to have dinner yesterday. Yes?”

Now he was on a sticky wicket. Sure, he had only one hour of work to do today. But then, he could never tell. He hesitated.

“I can’t go on doing all the waiting”, she continued “If you cannot do this for me today, then… I guess we should call it off. This whole ‘us’ thing, today.”

That one took him by surprise. “What? Whoa, let’s not go to such extremes here. Of course I can make it, by… 11o’clock? This time I’ll get it right, trust me.” He brought out the smile again. This time it had a bit more of the impact he had hoped for.

“Ok then. But remember, 11 A.M, sharp. If not…”

Men's Rules

I know all of this is cliched, and been said many times before, and maybe it's not even funny anymore. But, in the interest of every man who is, was and ever will be committed, here it goes, for all the ladies out there...

Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

Birthdays, Valentines, and Anniversaries are not considered by us to be opportunities to see if we can find the perfect present . . . . again!

Sometimes we are not thinking about you. Live with it.

Sunday = sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

Don't cut your hair. Ever. Long hair is always more attractive than short hair. One of the big reasons guys fear getting married is that married women always cut their hair, and by then you're stuck with her.

Ask for what you want. Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

We don't remember dates. . . .Period!!

Most guys own three pairs of shoes - tops. What makes you think we'd be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty, would look good with your dress?

Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

We do not like shopping. We REALLY don't. We're not pretending or something just because we supposedly don't like shopping. Shopping sucks, that's all.

Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us. We've been tricked before!!

If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

Let us ogle. We are going to look anyway; it's genetic.

You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

Christopher Columbus did not need directions, and neither do we.

The relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out. Get over it. And quit whining to your girlfriends.

ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

We are not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.

If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing is wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as my football team, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.

BEER is as exciting for us as handbags are for you.

Thank you for reading this; Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight, but did you know, it's like camping.

And Now it's Haikus!

Chemistry classes are just the inspiration, I tell you!

Pictures on the board,
To me, they are stuff drawn by
Egyptians when bored.

One, two, three, four, five
Numbers swimming through the head
Don't drink and derive.

Kids who become men
Feeding mouths from Dawn to Dusk
Still, they look so Zen.

More movies I see
Unique stories maybe fill
A tub, not a sea.

'Sup' means supper, fool.
Not fancy-speak for 'What's up'
Shakespeare's so not cool.

Sweating under sun
Follow masses up and down
Just for salvation.

'Pass the ball', he cried
'Which one?' he asked mockingly
One person, two sides.

Get eight hours of sleep
Yet red-eyed at break of dawn
What to do, I weep.

Staring from under
I've always known I loved you
Do you, I wonder.

Wicket to wicket
Madly running up and down
It's just not cricket!

Where things never grow
Nor decay; without bias
Death levels us so.

The last drop of tear
Leaves the eye, as we wonder
Where we go from here.

Throw stones in a pond,
The waves you get are Rippley,
Believe it or not!

Can it crawl slower?
While in room, it flies so fast
Class never gets over.

The Crush of Love

Seeing as it is the season for writing poems, I thought I should too, having not written a single poem in all of my previous 53 posts. Besides, if love can't inspire poetry, what can, eh?

Having known her all my life,
She never gave cause for strife.
Fate destined she be mine own
Seeds of love, in my heart sown.

Tonic she was for all my cares,
As we talked of Bulls and Bears.
End of night or start of day,
Somehow she just had her way.

She's the one that's caused my dreams,
While with her, time flies, it seems.
And we go far, far and wide
All the time, she by my side.

Now that we are together
All that I did to get her,
Vanish like dew from leaves' face
When faced by the solar rays.

Like Lennon said - Imagine,
I do too, had she not been.
Aimless nomad been I might
If not with her every night,

As I fall in her embrace
Childish smile across my face,
Being with her, calm and deep,
How I love my Beauty sleep.

Thank You.

Chuck it

After reading about something twice, you start to wonder how it would really like to be, as it is described in it. Sometimes it is difficult to find the reason behind the seeming madness described, and it is very easy to dismiss all of it as mindless rantings of a sick mind. Or a very, very depressed one. And then again, some times, the reasons stare at you stark naked and your mind immediately flashes passages where the exact same thing was described. Epiphany.

Evening. A famous sweet shop, in a very prominent location in the city. The place is filled to bursting, and then some. There are guys, I can’t say men, because they are wandering about in shorts and sunglasses, and looking absolutely lost. ‘US returned’. Tag them thus, and indulge them for what they really are. Strangers in their own land. But it’s not like nature let them loose in the grime and sweat of Chennai without any help. Oh no, she wouldn’t do that. She created the Wife.

The female of the species, to give credit where it’s due, knows the modus operandi of any kind of shop almost by instinct. So, Sunday evening, everyone’s tired of having cooked stuff at home, and it’s time for the holiday for the kitchen.

Maybe we’ll go out for dinner tonight, to a nice quiet restaurant.
Yes Dear.
And if we leave a bit early, maybe we could pick up something at the Sweets’. For the rest of the week, something for the momentary hunger.
Yes Dear.

It was a generation of men brought up by women.

Or, for women.

So let’s have half a kg of this, and another half of that, and a half of what-not.
Yes Dear… Wait, the last one… half a kg of…
What-not.
Right, What-not.

Trained thus in the workings of the inner worlds of sweet-making and its delivery, the guy is no ready to tackle the final frontier standing between him and cholesterol heaven. The serpentine queue. So the guy, shorts and all, waddles up to the counter, places the order, seems extremely amused by the whole token system, flashes the MasterCard or Visa or whatever and collects the goodies. And of course chivalry demands that the lady just stand and watch all this. The above procedure takes nearly thirty minutes. Not the three lines as described here. Serpentine queues don’t just disappear in three sentences of process description. Resulting in quite a sweaty ‘US return’ at the end of the whole thing. Summers in Texas aren’t so hot.

And then, it’s a drive to the restaurant. Nice, decent place, which offers good food and a quiet atmosphere. Along with the small problem of a hundred other families who figured the same way about the place. So, drop the lady off, and go in search of the parking spot. Up and down the road, with growing frustration. Hands clenching the steering harder, legs cramping up because of the incessant switching between clutch and brake. That, and all other obstacles such as cross-parked bikes and annoying auto guys later, the car finally slots home, rather awkwardly, but it’s parked. Then it’s off smiling towards the lady, who, again, to give credit where it’s due, has secured a nice, quiet table when seemingly none was available.

Because, it’s her holiday, and she has worked all week.

Of course, it’s his holiday too. And there was a Cup Final that evening. Maybe someone will message him the result.

That old saying, about how you always kill the one you love, well look, it works both ways.

Half-Time

It's not always that I sit down and write, and attempt to make sense. It's not that I never write anything that has a point, it's just that I find it easier not to make a point. But this time, I'm going to make an exception.

There's a very intriguing list. This one. I've always been fascinated by lists, ticking things off them, starting from the top, starting from the bottom, starting from the middle and working both ways, all kinds. And this list is no different. And now that I've seen 125 movies out of the 250 on the list, I can act quite knowledgeable about the subject of movies and movie-making. And also watching.

There is no way that I'm gonna dissect each of the 125 frame by frame, pointing out moments of brilliance and not-so-brilliance and all such. I don't even remember some of those movies too well. There's no way you're going to read it even if I do. So, only a select few movies. And maybe the one that I think should top the list.

Most of the top 50 movies are there because, well, they belong there. The LOTR series and Godfather series for their sheer technical brilliance and acting respectively. The early Star Wars movies for being the trend-setters they were. Citizen Kane, for the first movie to use a non-continuous screenplay. Shawshank, Usual Suspect, Se7en, Eternal Sunshine and other such movies for being the kind of movies that you watch, and come out shaking your head in wonderment. With all these wonderful movies up there, I never understood what Rear Window was doing at 13th. It's not nearly a murder mystery. Neither is it a full-fledged, heart strings-tugging love story. It's about a guy who broke his leg and had nothing better than to snoop into the neighbour's house through his window. Heck, it's indecent, if nothing else. All through the movie I waited and watched, and waited for something to happen. And then just like that, poof, the movie was over. What the...

It's not like I have anything against Hitchcock. Psycho was everything that the hype about it promised, Vertigo and North by Northwest had screenplays that motored along very nicely indeed. Rebecca too had a strong story to back it. Strangers on a Train is, in my opinion, the best Hitchcock movie I've seen. The whole concept on which the movie is based is quite novel, apart from the fact that it IS actually based on a novel, of course. And again, I never felt the time fly by as I was watching the movie. That takes quite some doing, I get bored easy most of the times. Which is what happened with Rear Window. And yet it's the highest rated Hitchcock movie. Clearly, my tastes are not refined enough.

Akira Kurosawa is the man who showed the world that the Japanese too can make movies, and then went ahead and showed the world how to make them. Shooting into the limelight with Rashomon, he went on to make other Samurai-based movies such as Yojimbo, Seven Samurai and Ran, the last one based almost entirely on Shakespeare's King Lear. Japanese movies are a different world by themselves, with the characters running around barefoot clutching their swords to their hips, the mostly expressionless protagonists with their Samurai stunts and of course, Sake. Quite different from the dour-faced, pinstripe-suited characters of the Hollywood movies, which alone is enough to make them worth watching.

In fact, most foreign films come as a refreshing change for someone who has watched Hollywood churn out near-similar fare year after year after year, citing the reasons of 'formula of success' and other such nonsense. Amelie was an incredibly nice feel-good movie, Life is Beautiful was well, beautiful, if only for the fact that it was a war movie and yet the war itself only formed a somber background to the individual's life that it affected, which was the focus of the movie. And then again, The Downfall managed to do both, concentrate on the war as well as the individual simultaneously. It helped of course that the individual in question was Hitler. But still. Hispanic movies have an obsession with drawing different story-threads and then joining them at one point. Credit to them though, that they do it seamlessly, with each story being great in their own right, eventually coming together to create the movie which is greater than the sum of its parts. Like what happens in Power Rangers. Or the New Zealand Cricket Team. Or City of Gods and Amores Perros, in the context of this post.

Stanley Kubrick is probably the man who has most movies in the Top 250. Not without reason too, on evidence of Dr. Strangelove, The Shining, A Clockwork Orange and even Full Metal Jacket. It's just generally accepted that he's the man, notwithstanding the fact that I slightly slept through the second half of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Just like it's accepted that Quentin Tarantino is the man. Based mostly on Pulp Fiction and the Kill Bills. Not that Reservoir Dogs is any less a Tarantino special, and even Sin City which he guest-directed with its graphic-novel feel throughout. Another movie that provided a welcome break from the usual.

All this apart, there are only two movies which I know by-heart, line by line, frame-by-frame. Apart from Minnale, I mean. Fight Club, for its sheer denial of everything that humans have ever worked for, century after century. It's not that the mere rebellious nature of the movie draws the hot-blooded teenager towards it, it's just got so much to say- things that were always around and that pass by us everyday and yet, we never realized, stuck as we are in our mind-set of following the flock. You have to see the movie enough times till you can say the lines along with it. Then, will you realize the impact of each of them, like the one in the description section of this blog. And then, once you've watched the movie, you go and read the book. And realize why the movie had to be a great one. The book just cannot be made into a bad movie.

And yet, for all that, if Fight Club can manage only second spot in my ratings, there must be something else which defines movie-making. Maybe it's not a technical wonder, maybe it's not got an edge-of-the-seat thriller story or a gut-wrenching emotional drama. Maybe it's not a movie which you can be inspired by, or maybe it is. But it's probably the lack of all these which make that movie what it is. The story is naked, told with a brutal simplicity and moving at break-neck speed. The book was a melange of different stories, the movie tries to pick out only one which has a workable chronology to it, and succeeds perfectly. The lines, its always the lines, are again, so simple that you wonder how they've never struck you before. There is enough of an emotional roller-coaster through the length of the movie to call it well-made. It's not without reason it's on top of my list. It's not without reason it is the heading of this blog.

After all, we're not stupid. At least, we're not that stupid - Mark Renton.

This. Is the crack.

Perfect :)

So Long, and Thanks for all the 'Oh Fish!'

I was reading my blogger archives yesterday. I don't know how/why I got there, but very appropriately I had landed on the post I had written right after last Saarang. Apart from the usual banter about Saarang and nothing coming out of it, I've been pretty funny in parts, if I've not reached the absolute nadir of sadness in saying so myself. And now, one year down the line, that post has made me realize something. Slightly scary maybe, but a revelation which had to come, and better sooner than later. I am not the person who wrote that post.

Sure, the world is changing and it inexorably causes everyone in it to do so as well. There is this rise of Mega(goog)lomania, that omnipresent brainchild of Brin&Page that is now an integral part of every corner of web space that you'll ever visit. There is the plummeting cost of Cell phones and service providers that the average cell phone density in an area might be more than the human density itself. There is the fact that one reality show with a small bit of controversy can make front page news for a whole week while ISRO's recoverable satellite thing (Well, there were not enough details! I know Jade Goody's biography by-heart though) gets one corner of the third page. There is the fact that George Bush is sending more troops to Iraq. No wait, not that.

So with all these changes imposing themselves on the average human being, it is only natural that the person also change. But in my case the change has been much greater than what could be put down as normal updating. It's a paradigm shift, or rather paradijim shift, as a famous singer who came to judge LM group finals at Saarang put it. Without doubt, this past one year has done, taught, created, destroyed and shown more for me than the 19 preceding ones. And I am glad for it.

This was supposed to be a post on what happened at Saarang '07. For me in particular, and the world in general. But I found to my dismay that I simply couldn't put my finger on what to write about, leave alone the question of how. That is something new, I haven't had too much difficulty thinking of a topic to write about. At least I'd have a vague idea of what my point was, though I admit, most times I don't have one. This post is merely an amoeba in my head, a germ of an idea (pun unintended). Shapeless, pointless, and waiting to go wherever its pseudopoda take it. In this case, my fingers on this over-abused keyboards. And it's going nowhere.

So, Saarang 2007 was good, I guess. Though my personal opinion might be heavily biased, due to a lot of reasons. It was cut down to four days from the usual five, thanks to he-who-must-not-be-named. And then all the usual brouhaha happened, events, professional shows, workshops blah. I'm tired of writing about Saarang. And about the melange of events and the kaleidoscope of feelings and the ultimate concoction of cultures which eventually makes Saarang, Saarang. Cliched so much that I want to puke. I also wanted to puke after I went sleepless on one night this Saarang too. But my stomach held its own and I pulled through the next day comfortably. Comfortably Numbly in fact.

Leave all that. The one year between Saarang 2006 and Saarang 2007, what has it left me with? Agony. Elation. Ecstacy. Joy. Depression. Frustration. Anger. Satisfaction. Jealousy. Hope. Fear. Calmness. Surprise. Shock. Craving. Boredom. Bliss. All of the above, surely. And then a bit more, which none of these can encompass.

There are somethings which words can't explain. For everything else, there's Wikipedia.

50 Posts. I'm the man.

Beep!

This is just to announce to the world in general, and to no one in particular, that I'm still alive. And I will make the announcement even though I know that no one really cares. All in all, we're just another Brick in the Wall. And all that.

I also felt a rish of adrenaline today. After a looooong time. I mean, I was wondering if I was dead inside . You know, nothing happened that could make me feel anything at all in my hollow tin chest (I know, plagiarism, so sue me!) And today I screamed, full-throated and with all the effort that Janet Leigh put into the shower scene in Psycho (I'm not going to put some unnecessary IMDB link on Psycho, you can type it into the bloody search window if you want). So basically I screamed, and put high-fives and jumped around and was on a general adrenalin-high. Adrenalin's good.

Post became longer than I envisioned. That's good too.