Desensitized:Have you heard the Linkin Park song "Numb"?

As I was walking in a night-filled lane in the residential area of Bangalore yesterday, I saw a black Skoda parked almost in the middle of the road, its owner/driver nowhere to be seen. I should have been outraged, indignant or atleast irritated. Instead, I expertly shimmied along the side of the car, avoiding traffic, and moved on. A while later, I came accross a T-intersection where the lane connected to a main road. I witnessed a Zen almost collide with a Swift, with nothing but a disapproving scowl on my face. Only after I reached home did I wonder; should I have reacted in a better way? Am I, and most of the residents in this city, jaded?

The last left turn before I reach home. It is 9:30PM. What I see: A gas station right ahead, with a billboard on top advertising hair care products(Life can't wait, they say). The sloping double road slightly winding right, busy with vehicles with bright lights. The bluish-black starry sky above- somehow, the moon is never seen in this part. The grey stone compound of a school runs along the right side of the ongoing main road. The pink (yessir, pink!) cement compound of an apartment complex runs along the left before disappearing into a side lane. The darkness that spills over from the side lane clashes visibly with the bright luminescence of the main road. And, to complete the picture, a large, shady Gulmohar tree towering over a large part of the right side of the main road. The light from the street lamps doesn't reach under the shadow of the tree.

This picture is etched in my mind with the caption:" My beloved Bangalore". Right from childhood. Of course, the background has changed over the years. A playground replaced the gas station in earlier years, and the playground was always host to grazing cows, not playing children. There were fewer vehicles on the road some years ago. And, oh, the drivers were not in such a tearing hurry to get to their destinations, or so it seems to me. Some things have changed about the picture but the essentials remain the same. Same winding main road, same starry night.

They say you haevn't seen the "real" city until you've lived in its seedy underbelly. I have never met Bangalore's seedy underbelly, leave alone staying in it. I don't really know much about my home. I suppose thats shameful, but I don't feel any shame.

Never mind the idea of fast-changing, modern, cosmopolitan, upbeat Bangalore taking over the world. Never mind the dark forebodings of Bangalore going to waste taking in more people and cars than it can hold. Never mind the lamemtation that the Bangalorean culture is going belly-up. My Bangalore is that picture(sepia-toned, no less) etched in my mind.

Weekend movie night!

My latest movie night started at 9:00PM on Friday and ended at 3:00AM on Saturday. The list consisted of three movies, each of which I will comment on now.

1408



I love horror. I love Stephen King and his morbid tales of spine chilling terror. But I have to tell you, this movie just ain't hot. Maybe the book is better (mostly that's the case), but the movie does not arouse any fear in the mind, heart or anywhere for that matter. Moreover, Mr. Cusack isn't that handsome anymore.
However, the movie did make me think. What is it about fear that it is looked at with such fascination by us no matter how old or wise we are? I'm not talking about the nonsense that is portrayed in the name of fear in movies like Scream. I'm talking about the innermost fears of our heart, our secrets that we guard with our life, our irrational fears. Fear is such a thick emotion. Its amazing what fear makes us do, and not do.
Well, enough of my ramblings. All in all, on the Shiver scale, I give 1408: 6 skulls. Screw 'em, 5 skulls. :)

Jodhaa Akbar



Oh my Goooooooodddddddd! This movie is zu langweilig! I mean, yeah, its a good story, nice sets, melodious songs and all that, but couldn't Mr Gowarikar have used the scissors a little more? Three and a half hours! There were some hazy five minutes during a war scene that I don't remember. I must have fallen asleep.
On the plus side, all the actors have shown great restraint and skill in portraying their characters. I especially mention Hrithik Roshan, the guy who plays Jalauddin Mohammed Akbar. He's awesome. Ash Rai looks stunning as Jodhaa(I love this name). Not surprisingly, she looks even more beautiful without her trademark light eyes and makeup. The locations and palaces are picturesque. The dialogues are, for most part, not understandable. The songs are soft and romantic.
Oh, there's this one song- Khwaja mere Khwaja. It shows the whirling dervishes of Turkey. The song and dance of the Sufi saints is supposed to be beautiful when seen live, but in this movie, its just hilarious. It looks like they're killing mosquitoes or something.
Whats with the hullabaloo regarding the historic authenticity of this story. History is never authentic as its always written by the winners. Moreover there's a disclaimer at the beginning of the movie. So what gives?

Little Children



Hmmmmmm... Watching this movie reminded me of my experience with another movie - The Hours. The movies are nothing similar but the emotion I felt was the same while watching both; confusion. I admit, I was totally lost while watching The Hours, but even with Little children, it was like "Excuse me! What the hell's goin on?" Oh, one important thing; This movie is NOT for little children. :)

So, summary of my movie experience of this weekend? Eh.

P.S: I also watched a little bit of Welcome. Don't even want to go there.
Ciao!

Taare Zameen Par

This is not a film review. I'm sure the blogosphere is full of glowing reviews for this film, and I'm sure you can find them easily. In fact, I think that you don't even have to read a review to go watch this movie. Just trust me, and watch it. Its something every person should do - watch the movie, I mean. Not trust me. :)

Few words to sum up my experience of the movie though: Powerful performances, moving music, untold story.



As I was watching this song on TV today, I thought about the teachers in my life. Of course, there's my Mom and my Dad, and they've done the very best they can.

I'm slightly surprised to realise that my mental list of inspirers has English teachers in the majority. But then again, given my love for the volatile, young language, I can't be much surprised. In particular I recall Mangala miss, who drilled into me the finer aspects of grammar in 7th standard, as a result of which (I suspect) I caught the intricacies of Deutsch grammar quite easily.

Then there was Mary miss, who was and still is, my hero. She was responsible for my transformation from girl-who-never-speaks to sociable chatterbox. I owe the overcoming of my "fear of people" to her. She taught 5th grade. In high school, I had the good fortune of being taught Biology by teacher Alfonsa, her daughter.

I remember our music teacher, Micheal Jackson. I don't remember his real name. He always had a harmonium with him. I knew, he knew, everybody knew that I sang like a crow, and yet he encouraged me to sing. He encouraged everybody to sing, for that matter.

There was teacher Asha, my high school drill teacher who used to make us take ridiculous postures in the name of drill. Aslam Pasha, our basketball coach, who used to bark "goodshot" even before we started our lay-up, so that even if we missed, it would still remain a "goodshot".

There was our Yoga teacher, who told us not to crack our knuckles. I still do it anyway. Teacher Mamata, who encouraged my love for writing. The librarian (Name forgotten, face etched into my mind) who encouraged my love for reading (I have read a record number of Agatha Christies in high school while my friends were reading Sweet Valley and Mills and Boon). DVN sir and BGS sir, who made getting through the gruelling 10th and PUC years easier. Teacher Letitia, who used to call me BP(Don't ask why). Teacher Nirmala, who was soooo patient with my Kannada and my handwriting. My cousin Vidya who taught me painting on pillows and other quaint things, my aunts who painstakingly taught me to braid my hair( I wasn't very bright in that I guess). My cousin Sandeep, who succeeded in teaching me to make tea the right way without ever realising it, my driving teacher whose instructions (speed kod bedi! - Don't increase the speed!) echo in my head, my swimming teacher(I was his slowest student, according to him, but it doesn't matter because I'm a total water baby now :)). The list goes on...

My most recent teacher (Of course, the learning never stops. I learn from life and those who have something to teach.) was Kunal, under whom I learnt German (A1) for four months. Its kinda fun, learning and earning at the same time. Moreover, we got to learn some of the culture too.

I studied in four schools (2 primary, 1 secondary, 1 high), 2 colleges(1 pre-univ, 1 under-graduate) and at my workplace. There have been exceptionally good teachers (the kind you'll always remember, no matter what you become in life) and there have been exceptionally bad ones(the kind you remember and make fun of at reunions). All of these people have shaped who I've become, so they all deserve mention. The good ones deserve an extra pat on the back for making me the extraordinary girl I am. :) Cheers to teachers!!

The Seer

They were seated, two women facing each other in the darkened room. The only dim source of light was a round white ball on the table in the centre.

"You want me to lie?" asked the young girl.

"Lie? No, I don't want you to lie. I expect you to tell them what they want to hear." said the old woman, her eyes closed, her wrinkles soft.

"But I can truly see! Don't people deserve to know the truth?"

"Curse the truth! Truth doesn't bring us pennies, girl! You will not make the customers sad with your bally truth, you hear me?" The old women had opened her eyes wide and was glaring at the girl. She looked eerie in her mirror dress with the many strange beads.

The girl nodded nervously. After a while, the old fake fortune teller calmed down. As she lit a cigarette, she remarked, "And don't wear so much makeup for God's sake. You look like a bloody geisha."