English Vinglish

What is it that you expect in a movie ?.., whatever it is, "English Vinglish" just delivers that. A feel good movie is a term, in some sense, belittling the sense of satisfaction that a viewer takes back home after watching the movie. There are very few negatives, in fact none  that I can point out. Even emotional scenes are given matured treatment and fortunately, you are saved of the scenes were the protagonist open up the flood gates.

The Callous Side

This post has been due for some time. There has been a tussle goin on for a few weeks now, a bitter one between my self confessed procrastination and a never ending itch to write. This is not the first time I have hosted these fights, but my pen had never before endured such a long struggle to come out victorious. On July 26th morning, another usual bright morning at office, I was skimming  through the online news papers when one headline caught my eye. Thankfully it was not another media sensationalized sexual abuse incident, but much worse. "Newborn dies as father couldn't pay Rs. 200 for incubator". I didn't want to read the details; who would want to begin his/ her day with such a heart wrenching news matter.

Magnificent Mary

I don't remember the day when I read in print media about an Indian woman winning the world boxing championship for the fifth time. it wasn't a big news either, just a small article at the last page. I didn't remember her name, but I remembered that media or in fact boxing world had rechristened her as "Magnificent Mary". Some days back when the Olympics began, as everyone else, I too joined the bandwagon of well wishers for the team.

We slipped,limped, but somehow managed three medals even though none of them were gold. Then came the event of women's boxing and all the news media had one name to chant,'Mary Kom'. By the time, she cleared the first round, she was everywhere in the news, even international news media covered her victory. I was just amused; "Who is this lady?, is she so great that even the westerner's hail about her?". After a little bit of R&D, I came to know much more about her, a mother of two; five times world champion, residing in an old national games village quarter; was about to retire, but continued due to her husband's insistence and obviously the medal hope of India.

An Eyeopener

"When a movie amuses you, its an entertainer; when a movie makes you think, its an experience"

A few months back, I don't remember the date, I don't remember the day; the only thing I remembered was I "paid" an amount equivalent to hardly one-tenth of my monthly salary to a charitable organization (Till yesterday, it was a payment for me, not a donation). Don't count me for a messaih because I had not done it out of charity, not out of a clear conviction that indeed I am doing an extremely small part towards a better life for someone; It was an accident( a pleasant one I would call it now).

That sunday fine morning when I was busy having some fun time with friends, I heard a knock at the door. One of my friends had gone out to fetch breakfast, expecting him I opened the door only to find a strange but smiling face. He was a student working as a part time volunteer for an organisation called CARE INDIA which worked for the upliftment of the downtrodden. He was explaining their various programmes and we were bored to hell. We just wanted to get rid of him somehow, a weekend never seemed to be a good time for charity. Initially we thought we would dispose him with some hundred bucks, but it seemed  the programme was to provide health care for some HIV infected kids in Andhra Pradesh and so the initial amount was really high. I was not moved at all since these stories were always on the air and people run all melodrama for snatching money in the name of some or the other cause. We put forth some probing questions and when he started promptly answering them, we told him we were short of money now and if he comes after two-three days, may be we would consider paying for the cause. We had performed more than enough so that he realizes we were disgusted with his very presence, forget what his purpose was.

The girl with the RJ tag

Its been a long time since I spent some time over here. My pen seemed to have stopped spilling ink. I sat days starring at my blog without typing anything. So now,  as my eyes flirt with the elegant night lights of Bangalore,  I  put in a committed effort to break out of the jinx, I try hard not to lose myself,  vehemently fight not to get drowned in the trivialities of life.
The music that soothened my ears came from a radio channel. Usually I prefer not to give ears to the blabber of RJs, but I always appreciated their ability to keep words pouring in with loads of energy. As the sweet voice of the anchor created a cozy ambience, I noticed that she was talking about "falling out of love ". I had quite a lot heard about falling in love,  but a programme on falling out of it appeared interesting. The most interesting part of the programme was that while the RJ kept sobbing over many callers ' experiences, she would say, " On this note, lets listen to a very romantic song ". I really felt sorry for her. She had some songs lined up to be played and irrespective of the scenario or mood,she had to play them. The callers couldn 't ask for more. A poor chap calls up and says his gf has dumped him and there comes the song for him, 'Ek ladki ko delha toh aisa lagaa...',  well how could that relieve a distressed soul,  I have no idea.

The Trial

Someone rightly said, 'There is a thin line between sanity and insanity'. The beauty of Franz Kafka's novel  (for that matter, his any other work)  is the ease with which he treads the line and takes the reader through an ambiguous mental realm. It was nothing more than just curiosity that prompted me to read his works; having known about his reputation as one of the very best in modern literature, it was high time that I should read any of his works. I started off with his short story, "The Judgement". After reading it, I felt, "Give me a dose of 'ecstasy', give me a pen and paper, I would, at any time, give a better shot.". I just couldn't stop cribbing  at the unquantifiable piece of insanity , I felt it like a holy piece of ****.  But not let down by this, I thought I would read "The Trial". My first impression, "What Kafka can contemplate, well only he can contemplate.". His ability to detail even a trivial human thought with unrivaled surgical precision impressed me beyond words.

Kabul

"But the game involves only male names. Because, if it's a girl, the name was already chosen". My eyes barely met with the penultimate word that it flirted with a news article on my computer screen. I sat numb with my eyes gouging into oblivion on account of two facts I conjured; Khaled Husseini is nothing less than a pied piper, Hope still seems to be too highly priced a dream for a desolation draped nation.

I was meant to be writing a book review on " A Thousand Splendid Suns" which is another class act from the author, but it would be unfair to constrict the vastitude of human misery defined in the book to be mere heart wrenching. What pains me the most is even after almost 40 years of endless wars and crimes on humanity, Afghanistan remains a blood sucking land and Kabul, a cradle of unfathomable miseries. I have never been to Kabul, but the novel teleports me from my plush mattress to the parched meadows, air conditioned coupe to sun stricken deserts. The endless times of endurance tests are beyond words and sometimes, it is hard to perceive the depth of adaptability cortex wound around human souls that transcends any emotional breakdowns and bypasses savage torture. Its unbelievable what a mass of flesh and bones can withstand in order to survive and realise its hopes.

I winced in pain when the protagonist embraced the lashes, silently wailed when mines chopped off the limbs. When I finally finished  the book, I had a sigh of relief that there will be no more EQ poking, a satisfaction of having read a wonderful piece and more importantly, the assuagement that  after all this is just a story and I just self-abased to pamper some one else's imagination. All of a sudden, when the news article that worded the brutal bombings at Kabul, struck my eyes, I knew; Beyond any veil of words of misery in a novel, beyond any magnifications by the media, there is truth in the pale story of Kabul, there is pain in every street which I might never see, but I feel it. A pain inflicted by humans on humanity with nature watching  silently as if incapacitated by its intensity. Many excuses tabled  and the burden being borne by mute ideologies which are being preached by purblind "saviours". I realise the triviality of my self assurance of existence, how obvious it seems to me that I will be alive tomorrow, how true is Maslow's hierarchy where the base level  meant nothing  more than an academician's delight to me.

But there are some painful similarities between me and a human embodiment in the land of hopes. He has learned to walk past the debris of bodies with indomitable calm, he has learned to sell his artificial leg for a meager meal, he has lost hope of seeing his kin and kith alive tomorrow morning. He has gained strength. I have learned to skim past the pages of truth with indomitable calm, I have learned to tread on others pain without a treble. I proudly claim, with an unashamed conscience, I can feign compassion.

The Kite Runner

My fascination for fiction is in its infancy and I am quite enthralled to tell you that I have been fortunate to read a gem which is termed as one of the best read in the last decade. 'The Kite Runner' is nothing but fascinating in every sense of word and beautiful beyond any bounds of tangible expression. As  I ran through the last words of the book, it was not a sense of  satisfaction that I had, but of a settled window pane that had quivered in a severe gust of wind, a satiable smile after having a ride on roller coaster of emotions.

The novel takes you through the parched lives of Afghanistan and the hardships people face to survive another day. Its an unparalleled caricature of  human story of Afghanistan with such depth and vividness that you cant tear yourself off the plot. The first hand narration of the protagonist makes you empathize the character  and your involvement to the whole plot bears an involuntary commitment.

Chanakya Chants

Its been a long time I have written a review on a book I read, the reason being successful pampering of my procrastination in ploughing out time for reading something worth. When you are happy cuddling on your idleness in life, it requires something spectacular to throw you into action and "Chanakya Chants" is nothing less than that. Its the latest novel written by Ashwin Sanghi of "The Rozabal Line" fame.

The novel starts with an old man, toiling for his last breaths at a hospital bed, watching, a woman getting sworn in as the prime minster, on television. The next chapter pulls you down the time line to some where around 500 BC when the King Paurus is brutally murdered by a female assassin. The novel is a blend of two stories occurring at different timelines but the theme being the same. The present time story has a man named Gangasagar Mishra as the protagonist who successfully thrones a poor village girl in the helm of the world's largest democracy. The second story which dates back to 500 BC or around when Vishnu Gupta alias Chanakya avenges his father's murder and in the process places Chandra Gupta Maurya as the Emperor of 'Bharath'. The novel in detail portrays the strategy carved out by both protagonists in taking their partisans to the zenith of political power. It explicitly mentions the shrewdness and diplomacy played out by both king makers in getting their jobs done.

One cannot stop admiring the precision with which Sanghi has spawned both threads and intermingled them throughout the novel in a delightful and gracefully discern manner. The novel glues to your palms from the first page and it requires quite an insensitive mental attire to even take a pee break in between. I would recommend this novel a must read for those who love political thrillers and also those who closely follow the Indian political scenario. Even though the author claims the book to be entertaining, rather than educative, I feel the second aspect has been well covered, given the depth with which the domain has been handled. Read it and conjure your wickedness :)

Chotu

Drenched in November rains, this morning appeared much colder than it usually is, that walking out in the streets without a sweater was implausible, at least an over coat is inevitable. I was in no mood to move out of my bed. But my belly would never agree. As always, I again 'deliberately' missed my breakfast today. I always believed that on holidays, ten in the morning is too early to rise from bed, but unfortunately, after ten, you can't find breakfast in any nearby restaurants. So, even though the clock had just ticked twelve, I decided that an early lunch would solve my belly's outcry. At half past twelve, I walked out of my apartment with my black khakis and a grey t-shirt that has been demanding a clean up for past few days. But thanks to my deodorants and perfumes, I completely suppressed the ever longing hope of my fabric.