Yesterday I paid my weekly visit to the British Council Library. After spending a few hours in the library (which is being renovated and there is no place to sit) I went to the canteen outside. Even before I could place my order the elderly women on the counter took out a 5 Star chocolate and a Maaza from the fridge and placed it on the counter. I was stunned. OK so I go there very often and I think I always eat the same things, but come on you got to be kidding me. I have become so predictable that this woman could figure out my order before I placed it. My life must be really boring if it so predictable. I think I have fallen into some kind of a vague pattern and must break my way out of it. But for the time being the 5 Star and the Maaza are just fine.
Sean Penn won a well deserved best actor Oscar for Mystic River. Though Bill Murray pulled off an amazing performance in Lost in Translation, the fourth time nominee Penn won the day (If you are wondering then “Yes I have seen both these movies”). I have been reading a lot of criticism of the fact that Lord of the Rings (Return of the King) won 11 Oscars. The Academy awards have always been about popularity and have always been given to audience/media favourites. LOTR was overlooked the last two times because they wanted to make the final instalment a legend. Everyone in the academy wanted to honour the genius of Tolkien and the vision of Peter Jackson and make LOTR-ROTK a legend placing it in the not so august company of Ben-Hur and Titanic (with 11 Oscars each - both technically and cinematically very superior but not really all that great). That the Oscar has always been about popularity can be judged from the fact that Penn did not get an Oscar for his brilliant performances in Dead Man Walking (a performance which will eclipse the rest of his career, he set a very high bench-mark for himself) and I am Sam. That Russell Crowe got an Oscar for Gladiator (a role that any other actor could have pulled off) and not for his superb portrayal of mathematician John Nash in A Beautiful Mind is another proof of the award being easily influenced by media and publicity (the publicity team which had worked really hard to get Julia Roberts an Oscar for Erin Brockovich was also behind Denzel Washington's successful award campaign for Training Day).
The studios which produce these movies are allowed to throw parties for the voting members of the Academy and also send out gifts to them. Academy Awards can be bought like every other thing. But this doesn't mean that the award winners don't deserve their awards. Most winners (not all) would have won their awards even in a perfect world where votes couldn't be bought. No Man's Land would have still won hands down and our Lagaan would still have lost (See No Man's Land and you would realize that a main stream Bollywood movie like Lagaan doesn't even deserve a nomination). Studios do what they can do best (get a good publicity campaign manager) and the actors do what they do best (act). Woody Allen said after winning the best director Oscar for Annie Hall that he did not like awards because then you let yourself get judged by others. You give them the right to say that you were good in a particular film but weren't all that great in the other one. LOTR is an awesome movie and Peter Jackson does not need any Oscars to prove that.
So why am I suddenly writing about movies? Actually why haven't I written about movies for so long? Pick any three people from anywhere in the world and I can bet that I have seen more films than all of them put together. I watch films for a living. It is my bread and butter. Period.
The reason Sean Penn came to my mind was because of his beautiful and talented wife Robin Wright Penn. Very few people remember Robin as the original Kelly from Santa Barbara (the soap which used to come along with Bold and the Beautiful on Star many years back). She is best remembered for her portrayal of Jenny in Forrest Gump. I recently saw a movie of hers called Message in a Bottle (starring Kevin Costner and Paul Newman) and all my childhood memories came screaming back. She was the first serious crush of a twelve year old boy. I had a very large poster of her in my bedroom and never missed an episode of Santa Barbara. Sean Penn doesn’t need an Oscar. He has his own personal angel.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Holi Wars in Pacino-mode
Twenty people broke into my room. They did this by breaking my door (read broke the wooden panels). My favourite T-Shirt was torn, my favourite pyjama now looks like the revealing dress which Arabian belly dancers wear and my lucky underwear (sob sob) – don’t even ask about it. And then an entire rainbow was painted all over my body. If you are alarmed for my safety, relax. This is exactly the way Holi is played in IIT. This is the way uninterested denizens of the hostel zone are seduced into playing Holi with a vengeance that would have put John McClane (Bruce Willis in Die Hard) to shame. Violence/Anger is a very potent adrenalin booster. Enrage someone and you can make them do the impossible (side effects not withstanding). Thus I became wrath and I played Holi after many years today. After the initial rush I calmed down and actually enjoyed myself. The door got fixed easily. After seeing the torn T-shirt and pyjama I realized that it was time to move on to other things. But my lucky underwear, that damage is irreparable. Oh well! I was never fully convinced that whatever little luck I had was because of that underwear. But now I need to find another candidate from the ranks of my wardrobe (if it can be called that) to replace the Genuine Jockey boxer brief as a good luck charm.
As an afterthought I remembered the reason why I hadn’t played Holi for all those years. Holi has always been a violent festival. People loose their minds playing Holi. Violence brings out anger and anger brings out the best and worst in me (mostly at the same time). No wonder I am always able to pull off angry, contemptuous and conniving roles with ease. Every mono act I write plays on my ability to use all the pent-up anger (I suppose I should call it energy). Though most of us are capable of emoting a whole plethora of emotions, we all have a basic emotion which takes us to a deeper level of consciousness, connecting us with ourselves in a better way. For me this emotion is contempt, contempt of everything around me and a holier-than-thou attitude. This contempt is not real, neither is the holier than thou attitude natural to me. It’s just that when I behave in a contemptuous manner I really have fun. No wonder I am such a big Pacino fan (see The Devil's Advocate and Scent of a Woman and you'll understand). For some people the basic emotion is jealousy and for some it is vanity (more of a sin than an emotion).
But contempt can lead to dire consequences, especially when your friends are involved. That is the sole reason why I never act crazy (the way I was born) when I am sober (was that an oxymoron - crazy when sober). I wish I could but I can't. Alcohol has no effect on me. I can stay completely sober under excessive amounts of booze. But being drunk gives me the opportunity to act contemptuous and still not emotionally hurt anyone. I can always apologize later by saying that I was drunk. I get to be in Pacino-mode and no one minds. Everyone is happy. Period.
As an afterthought I remembered the reason why I hadn’t played Holi for all those years. Holi has always been a violent festival. People loose their minds playing Holi. Violence brings out anger and anger brings out the best and worst in me (mostly at the same time). No wonder I am always able to pull off angry, contemptuous and conniving roles with ease. Every mono act I write plays on my ability to use all the pent-up anger (I suppose I should call it energy). Though most of us are capable of emoting a whole plethora of emotions, we all have a basic emotion which takes us to a deeper level of consciousness, connecting us with ourselves in a better way. For me this emotion is contempt, contempt of everything around me and a holier-than-thou attitude. This contempt is not real, neither is the holier than thou attitude natural to me. It’s just that when I behave in a contemptuous manner I really have fun. No wonder I am such a big Pacino fan (see The Devil's Advocate and Scent of a Woman and you'll understand). For some people the basic emotion is jealousy and for some it is vanity (more of a sin than an emotion).
But contempt can lead to dire consequences, especially when your friends are involved. That is the sole reason why I never act crazy (the way I was born) when I am sober (was that an oxymoron - crazy when sober). I wish I could but I can't. Alcohol has no effect on me. I can stay completely sober under excessive amounts of booze. But being drunk gives me the opportunity to act contemptuous and still not emotionally hurt anyone. I can always apologize later by saying that I was drunk. I get to be in Pacino-mode and no one minds. Everyone is happy. Period.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
The Child is the Father of the Man
Kids are born every day. They grow up get married and have kids of their own. The cycle continues. So what is the big deal about marriage and parenthood? Everyone does it. People have been getting married and having kids for ever. Why then do we associate so much importance with marriage and children? Answer - Just because people have been getting married and having kids since time immemorial doesn’t make marriage and parenthood simple. In fact both of them are very complex and no two are alike. Never take advice from anyone about your married life or about raising your kids. Everyone’s experience is their own and distinct from the experience of others. What works for some might not work for others (actually it will definitely not work for others). These are deep un-chartered waters but all of us still get ourselves wet in them. We learn as we go along but the lessons we learn are only meant for us. All those books about marriage and parenthood are useless. They do make for some really interesting readings though.
So why am I talking about marriage and parenthood? My dad also asked me the same question a few days back when he was in town and I was picking his brain about his experience as a married man and as a father. He just put the question in a much better way - “You are inviting your mom and me for your marriage. Aren’t you? And when is that kid of yours dew?” “Seven years and three months”, I promptly answered. The discussion which followed gave me a new insight to my dad - his maturing from a boy to a man. He told me how marriage had a calming effect on him and helped him stabilize; how fatherhood turned a Yezdi (an old bike very similar to Enfield, much bigger and noisier) driving guy, who preferred living in the fast lane and on the edge, to become a warm, caring and excessively careful man. How the earlier years of his marriage and parenthood were some of the best times he ever had. How he and mom relived their childhood when I was growing up - learning new tricks (like walking, talking, writing and eventually typing) every day. His eyes were almost misty for a few seconds as he was remembering the old days when he was a young man with a lot of dreams for himself and his family. It dawned upon me at that moment that in those misty eyes could be countless hidden unfulfilled dreams that he and mom had seen when they were young and probably they now see those same dreams for me. Those eyes made a subtle demand on the blood that moves in my veins. A demand which in my heart I decided there and then will have to be fulfilled. I will make my proud parents even prouder and happier. Just how I don’t know? “Just follow your heart instead of your mind”, said my dad smiling at me.
‘The child is father to the man.’
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
‘The child is father to the man.’
No; what the poet did write ran,
‘The man is father to the child.’
‘The child is father to the man!’
How can he be? The words are wild.
By Gerard Manley Hopkins
So why am I talking about marriage and parenthood? My dad also asked me the same question a few days back when he was in town and I was picking his brain about his experience as a married man and as a father. He just put the question in a much better way - “You are inviting your mom and me for your marriage. Aren’t you? And when is that kid of yours dew?” “Seven years and three months”, I promptly answered. The discussion which followed gave me a new insight to my dad - his maturing from a boy to a man. He told me how marriage had a calming effect on him and helped him stabilize; how fatherhood turned a Yezdi (an old bike very similar to Enfield, much bigger and noisier) driving guy, who preferred living in the fast lane and on the edge, to become a warm, caring and excessively careful man. How the earlier years of his marriage and parenthood were some of the best times he ever had. How he and mom relived their childhood when I was growing up - learning new tricks (like walking, talking, writing and eventually typing) every day. His eyes were almost misty for a few seconds as he was remembering the old days when he was a young man with a lot of dreams for himself and his family. It dawned upon me at that moment that in those misty eyes could be countless hidden unfulfilled dreams that he and mom had seen when they were young and probably they now see those same dreams for me. Those eyes made a subtle demand on the blood that moves in my veins. A demand which in my heart I decided there and then will have to be fulfilled. I will make my proud parents even prouder and happier. Just how I don’t know? “Just follow your heart instead of your mind”, said my dad smiling at me.
‘The child is father to the man.’
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
‘The child is father to the man.’
No; what the poet did write ran,
‘The man is father to the child.’
‘The child is father to the man!’
How can he be? The words are wild.
By Gerard Manley Hopkins
Friday, February 13, 2004
Commercialism: The End of Romance
That time of the year is here again. No I am not talking about Friday the 13th. I am talking about 14th February: Valentines Day (ever wondered why Children’s Day is celebrated exactly 9 months later in our country).
Personally I don’t believe in celebrating such occasions because they are just another way in which the capitalists (read western world) are trying to get the average middle class people to spend their hard earned money on useless gifts. Fathers Day, Mothers Day, Valentines Day, etc, etc are just very smart ways to popularize commercial products and increase sales. I have nothing against buying gifts or showing love and affection to near and dear ones. But do we really need a particular day (Mothers Day) to tell our moms that we are grateful for whatever they have done for us. Why can’t we tell them the same thing every now and then and surprise them with a nice gift? Why do we need a particular day to celebrate love when we can do it through out the year?
I agree that roses and chocolates and mushy movies are all very romantic. But the romantic aspect can be quadrupled if the element of surprise is added to it. And if we fix a day to celebrate love then there is hardly any surprise left in it. Pick up any random day and kindle your passion. That is romance. Now I don’t mean to be a spoil sport and dampen the spirits of some of my friends who are really looking forward to having a blast on the 14th. So here is wishing all of them a happy Valentines Day (Tip for couples who are giving CAT on the 15th of February: Gift a Mock CAT test to your partner on the 14th).
Me and my friends have been listening to this guy called Denis Leary for the last couple of days and I have to say that his wit and humor (MS Word changes all my British spellings to their American counterparts … at times it really bugs me) are both original and spark of deep rooted intelligence. Though Leary is a stand-up comedian, he has also acted in a large number of movies. I bid adieu with these lines from one of Leary’s songs titles ‘A**hole’:
[Spoken]
You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, hot pink with whale skin hub caps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights, yeah! And I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115mph getting one mile per gallon, sucking down quarter pounder cheese burgers from McDonald's in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable styrofoam containers and when I'm done sucking down those grease ball burgers, I'm gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag and then I'm gonna toss the styrofoam container right out the side and there ain't a God damned thing anybody can do about it. You know why? Because we got the bombs, that's why.
[Spoken]
Twowords. Nuclear f**king weapons, okay?! Russia, Germany, Romania - they can have all the Democracy they want. They can have a big democracy cake-walk right through the middle of Tiananmen Square and it won't make a lick of difference because we've got the bombs, okay?! John Wayne's not dead - he's frozen. And as soon as we find the cure for cancer we're gonna thaw out the duke and he's gonna be pretty pissed off. You know why? Have you ever taken a cold shower? Well multiple that by 15-million times, that's how pissed off the Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get the Duke and John Cassavetes...
(Hey)
and Lee Marvin
(Hey)
and Sam Pekinpah
(Hey)
And a case of Whiskey and drive down to Texas...
(Hey, you know you really are an a**hole)
Why don't you just shut-up and sing the song pal!
Personally I don’t believe in celebrating such occasions because they are just another way in which the capitalists (read western world) are trying to get the average middle class people to spend their hard earned money on useless gifts. Fathers Day, Mothers Day, Valentines Day, etc, etc are just very smart ways to popularize commercial products and increase sales. I have nothing against buying gifts or showing love and affection to near and dear ones. But do we really need a particular day (Mothers Day) to tell our moms that we are grateful for whatever they have done for us. Why can’t we tell them the same thing every now and then and surprise them with a nice gift? Why do we need a particular day to celebrate love when we can do it through out the year?
I agree that roses and chocolates and mushy movies are all very romantic. But the romantic aspect can be quadrupled if the element of surprise is added to it. And if we fix a day to celebrate love then there is hardly any surprise left in it. Pick up any random day and kindle your passion. That is romance. Now I don’t mean to be a spoil sport and dampen the spirits of some of my friends who are really looking forward to having a blast on the 14th. So here is wishing all of them a happy Valentines Day (Tip for couples who are giving CAT on the 15th of February: Gift a Mock CAT test to your partner on the 14th).
Me and my friends have been listening to this guy called Denis Leary for the last couple of days and I have to say that his wit and humor (MS Word changes all my British spellings to their American counterparts … at times it really bugs me) are both original and spark of deep rooted intelligence. Though Leary is a stand-up comedian, he has also acted in a large number of movies. I bid adieu with these lines from one of Leary’s songs titles ‘A**hole’:
[Spoken]
You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, hot pink with whale skin hub caps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights, yeah! And I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115mph getting one mile per gallon, sucking down quarter pounder cheese burgers from McDonald's in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable styrofoam containers and when I'm done sucking down those grease ball burgers, I'm gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag and then I'm gonna toss the styrofoam container right out the side and there ain't a God damned thing anybody can do about it. You know why? Because we got the bombs, that's why.
[Spoken]
Twowords. Nuclear f**king weapons, okay?! Russia, Germany, Romania - they can have all the Democracy they want. They can have a big democracy cake-walk right through the middle of Tiananmen Square and it won't make a lick of difference because we've got the bombs, okay?! John Wayne's not dead - he's frozen. And as soon as we find the cure for cancer we're gonna thaw out the duke and he's gonna be pretty pissed off. You know why? Have you ever taken a cold shower? Well multiple that by 15-million times, that's how pissed off the Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get the Duke and John Cassavetes...
(Hey)
and Lee Marvin
(Hey)
and Sam Pekinpah
(Hey)
And a case of Whiskey and drive down to Texas...
(Hey, you know you really are an a**hole)
Why don't you just shut-up and sing the song pal!
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Epimenides, Caribbean Rhinoceros Iguana and Tall Girls
I have had this conversation with my parents and some friends on a number of occasions and I think it is about time that I put my thoughts down in proper words with regard to this topic: What are the qualities a man is looking for in a woman? Or to be more precise: what are the qualities I would like the woman of my dreams to have? Before continuing please read the following note of caution/disclaimer or whatever you will like to call it:
* I might be the most undeserving man in this entire world and would probably never get the woman I desire (what the heck, after all the mistakes I have made I might not get a women at all). But then again I might be a very deserving man and should get an even better woman.
* For the love of God let it be clear that in no way do I intend to demean women. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the fairer sex. And inner beauty is always more important than external beauty.
* I am a very level headed guy. But if any comment of mine goes against your system of thoughts and beliefs then please think of me as a goof ball and forget the whole thing. I am a pacifist by choice (an extremist by intellect) and do not usually mouth any extreme views. The only extreme view I have is that all extremists are intellectually challenged (The previous statement is an example of an Epimenides Paradox which can be explained mathematically by Fuzzy Logic).
* This article is written with extreme seriousness.
* Though some views written here can be in general attributed to men at large, I beg you to not make any such generalization. So if I write that men usually like women who have forked tongues similar to a Caribbean Rhinoceros Iguana then read it as Anshumani likes women who have forked tongues similar to a Caribbean Rhinoceros Iguana (actually the iguana does not have a forked tongue, but that’s besides the point).
* If I am an egoist/egotist then this earth is flat.
I promised my mother that I will marry any girl who fulfils even half of the following criteria:
Physical Characteristics:
1) The girl has to be tall and by tall I mean she should have a height of at least 5 feet 6 inches (or 168 cm). I am 6 feet 2 inches tall. There is something about tall girls which totally turns me on (for more information you could ask Suds about what happened in IIMB ;-). Any way after spending time with short girls I start getting these paternal elder brotherly feelings for them. That cannot be good.
2) The girl should either have large black eyes or colored eyes.
3) Dimples look great on a girl.
4) Hair – any length as long as they are black and the girl isn’t bald.
5) She should be either very fair or should have a dusk complexion. No in-betweens.
6) Should have clean and beautiful feet (I have a thing for feet).
Other Characteristics:
1) The girl has to be a bibliophile or a film addict (I suffer from both these diseases; we will have tons to talk about).
2) Should have a distinct sense of style and grace about her. You may call it charisma.
3) Should not be to stressed out and overly ambitious about her career. I would like a woman whose first priority is family. Believe me when I say that my first priority is my family.
4) Should be a dreamer and should believe in fantasy and romance (I am not much of a romantic so she has to make up for the two of us). It would be great if she is a pathological liar like I am (likes to make up stories) and is mischievous and likes to play pranks. (Very few people can appreciate quality number 4)
5) Should take all decisions from her heart rather than her mind (I have a heart of stone and my analytical engineering mind is a useless bag of shit).
6) The girl should love walking because I go everywhere on my two legs.
7) Should be adventurous and ready to try out new things (don’t stretch your imaginations too far).
8) Should like food (eating obviously, cooking would be an added bonus).
9) Should like shopping (which girl doesn’t)
10) Should be a good singer or an excellent dancer. Nothing turns a man on like a diva dancing to salsa.
11) Should be creative (arts/literature/catching butterflies/sneezing non stop/ serial killing/blah/blah/blah).
Now there are perhaps another thousand things which I’ll notice in a girl but the above are more or less the first set of qualities I look for. I might never find a girl with the exact 17 qualities. I might find a girl with the exact opposite qualities and still fall in love with her. Only time will tell. For now my mom is happy that the list has been formally compiled. She has already started looking. I have six and a half more years to find myself a girl or I’ll have to marry the girl she finds for me (that wouldn’t be all that bad … it’s just that I don’t like arranged marriages). For now I am single and ready to mingle. So I take leave with these thoughts:
When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.
George Bernard Shaw
Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world or even with a little more care in this imperfect one) both partners might have found more suitable mates. But the real soul-mate is the one you are married to.
J.R.R. Tolkien
* I might be the most undeserving man in this entire world and would probably never get the woman I desire (what the heck, after all the mistakes I have made I might not get a women at all). But then again I might be a very deserving man and should get an even better woman.
* For the love of God let it be clear that in no way do I intend to demean women. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the fairer sex. And inner beauty is always more important than external beauty.
* I am a very level headed guy. But if any comment of mine goes against your system of thoughts and beliefs then please think of me as a goof ball and forget the whole thing. I am a pacifist by choice (an extremist by intellect) and do not usually mouth any extreme views. The only extreme view I have is that all extremists are intellectually challenged (The previous statement is an example of an Epimenides Paradox which can be explained mathematically by Fuzzy Logic).
* This article is written with extreme seriousness.
* Though some views written here can be in general attributed to men at large, I beg you to not make any such generalization. So if I write that men usually like women who have forked tongues similar to a Caribbean Rhinoceros Iguana then read it as Anshumani likes women who have forked tongues similar to a Caribbean Rhinoceros Iguana (actually the iguana does not have a forked tongue, but that’s besides the point).
* If I am an egoist/egotist then this earth is flat.
I promised my mother that I will marry any girl who fulfils even half of the following criteria:
Physical Characteristics:
1) The girl has to be tall and by tall I mean she should have a height of at least 5 feet 6 inches (or 168 cm). I am 6 feet 2 inches tall. There is something about tall girls which totally turns me on (for more information you could ask Suds about what happened in IIMB ;-). Any way after spending time with short girls I start getting these paternal elder brotherly feelings for them. That cannot be good.
2) The girl should either have large black eyes or colored eyes.
3) Dimples look great on a girl.
4) Hair – any length as long as they are black and the girl isn’t bald.
5) She should be either very fair or should have a dusk complexion. No in-betweens.
6) Should have clean and beautiful feet (I have a thing for feet).
Other Characteristics:
1) The girl has to be a bibliophile or a film addict (I suffer from both these diseases; we will have tons to talk about).
2) Should have a distinct sense of style and grace about her. You may call it charisma.
3) Should not be to stressed out and overly ambitious about her career. I would like a woman whose first priority is family. Believe me when I say that my first priority is my family.
4) Should be a dreamer and should believe in fantasy and romance (I am not much of a romantic so she has to make up for the two of us). It would be great if she is a pathological liar like I am (likes to make up stories) and is mischievous and likes to play pranks. (Very few people can appreciate quality number 4)
5) Should take all decisions from her heart rather than her mind (I have a heart of stone and my analytical engineering mind is a useless bag of shit).
6) The girl should love walking because I go everywhere on my two legs.
7) Should be adventurous and ready to try out new things (don’t stretch your imaginations too far).
8) Should like food (eating obviously, cooking would be an added bonus).
9) Should like shopping (which girl doesn’t)
10) Should be a good singer or an excellent dancer. Nothing turns a man on like a diva dancing to salsa.
11) Should be creative (arts/literature/catching butterflies/sneezing non stop/ serial killing/blah/blah/blah).
Now there are perhaps another thousand things which I’ll notice in a girl but the above are more or less the first set of qualities I look for. I might never find a girl with the exact 17 qualities. I might find a girl with the exact opposite qualities and still fall in love with her. Only time will tell. For now my mom is happy that the list has been formally compiled. She has already started looking. I have six and a half more years to find myself a girl or I’ll have to marry the girl she finds for me (that wouldn’t be all that bad … it’s just that I don’t like arranged marriages). For now I am single and ready to mingle. So I take leave with these thoughts:
When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.
George Bernard Shaw
Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world or even with a little more care in this imperfect one) both partners might have found more suitable mates. But the real soul-mate is the one you are married to.
J.R.R. Tolkien
Thursday, February 05, 2004
To Blog or not to Blog
Since yesterday I have been questioning my motives for blogging. When I had started blogging the reason was rather simple. Although I have always enjoyed writing there is one form of writing which I detest – writing letters. Some of my closest friends had moved to the states for higher studies or were living in some other city because of their work. They complained constantly that I was a lazy bum and I didn’t reply to their mails frequently. To overcome this problem I started a web log so that my near and dear ones could be kept well informed about my humdrum life. So my blogs became my own news-letter with detailed description of my activities. Life was simple. I blogged about my own life (the title of my blog says ‘Some Random Thoughts on Life’ – and I don’t write about life in general but my own life in particular) and my friends kept sending me mails. It was a neat arrangement: I blog, they mail. As time progressed my blog became a medium to express some of my own personal theories and philosophies. I enjoyed blogging and started looking forward to writing the next one.
Somewhere down the line I realized that complete strangers were frequenting my blog and sharing their views with me. I started receiving mails from people who sometimes agreed with me whole heartedly and sometimes were at loggerheads with me. This was fun. Blogging had suddenly become a means for intellectualization, for debate, for arguments and for agreements. But somewhere around this point things started going wrong. Vanity they say is the Devil’s favorite sin. I started getting a kick out of the fact that my blog was receiving around 100 unique hits daily. Checking the site meter and net traffic records became an obsession. The simple reason for which I had started my blog was lost. I just wanted to share my life, my views and my thoughts with my friends.
But I will not give up blogging. My blog, since it is essentially about my life, might seem like an exercise in ego-feeding to some but to me it is the only way of communication with my friends. So I will continue blogging in the same way I have been for the last 10 months. No site-meter, no net traffic records, just blogging. I have enjoyed the discussions that resulted from my blog and I hope my writing inspires further discussions. Carry on blogging, amigo. May the force be with you!
Somewhere down the line I realized that complete strangers were frequenting my blog and sharing their views with me. I started receiving mails from people who sometimes agreed with me whole heartedly and sometimes were at loggerheads with me. This was fun. Blogging had suddenly become a means for intellectualization, for debate, for arguments and for agreements. But somewhere around this point things started going wrong. Vanity they say is the Devil’s favorite sin. I started getting a kick out of the fact that my blog was receiving around 100 unique hits daily. Checking the site meter and net traffic records became an obsession. The simple reason for which I had started my blog was lost. I just wanted to share my life, my views and my thoughts with my friends.
But I will not give up blogging. My blog, since it is essentially about my life, might seem like an exercise in ego-feeding to some but to me it is the only way of communication with my friends. So I will continue blogging in the same way I have been for the last 10 months. No site-meter, no net traffic records, just blogging. I have enjoyed the discussions that resulted from my blog and I hope my writing inspires further discussions. Carry on blogging, amigo. May the force be with you!
Friday, January 30, 2004
News Headlines
All good things must come to an end. Saarang 2004, IIT Madras’s annual cultural festival, was not just a good thing but a great thing. It had to end. Last one month has been one long joy ride for me. No classes, no work, just plain fun.
Took a trip to Bangalore, did the scene from the Devil’s Advocate for the last time, fell in love, attended an all night dance party at IIMB, had a near death experience, came back and attended a Bloggers meet, saw Munnabhai MBBS, Love Actually and Kill Bill Vol. 1 (loved all of them), Saarang began, set up a 50 computer network for e-Serve (the main sponsor for Saarang), missed most of the events on first day of Saarang because of e-Serve, offended all the purists and prudes with my elocution piece, sang Jake the Peg for the last time (girls from a certain Bangalore college now call me Jake the Peg), the judge loved the song as well as the singer, attended a workshop on Salsa and Mambo dancing with complete strangers, acted in two prize winning plays, fell in love again, won mono-acting at Saarang, played the role of a casino card dealer in the Reality Show at Saarang, fell in love once again, doing another book launch with my theatre group on the 11th February at the Park (the book is called the Taj and I am giving the voice for Aurangzeb) and now I am off to Bangalore for attending IIMB’s festival Unmaad – in short I have been having a blast and life has never been better.
Took a trip to Bangalore, did the scene from the Devil’s Advocate for the last time, fell in love, attended an all night dance party at IIMB, had a near death experience, came back and attended a Bloggers meet, saw Munnabhai MBBS, Love Actually and Kill Bill Vol. 1 (loved all of them), Saarang began, set up a 50 computer network for e-Serve (the main sponsor for Saarang), missed most of the events on first day of Saarang because of e-Serve, offended all the purists and prudes with my elocution piece, sang Jake the Peg for the last time (girls from a certain Bangalore college now call me Jake the Peg), the judge loved the song as well as the singer, attended a workshop on Salsa and Mambo dancing with complete strangers, acted in two prize winning plays, fell in love again, won mono-acting at Saarang, played the role of a casino card dealer in the Reality Show at Saarang, fell in love once again, doing another book launch with my theatre group on the 11th February at the Park (the book is called the Taj and I am giving the voice for Aurangzeb) and now I am off to Bangalore for attending IIMB’s festival Unmaad – in short I have been having a blast and life has never been better.
Monday, December 29, 2003
For Want of a Better Title: Happy New Year
Another year is coming to an end. And I am sad. I am sad because I didn’t really make this one count. For that matter I haven’t made the last 21 years count either. Everyday I go to sleep, not because I am tired and exhausted by the day’s work, but because I have nothing better to do. I don’t remember the last time I slept after being completely spent and used; each and every muscle of my body aching for some respite from the hard work. I don’t remember the last time I said out loud, “That is a good day’s work. I need some rest now.” There are no accomplishments since there are no goals. I am just hanging on to one last ray of hope – the confidence that I am on the right path – the path that leads to being satisfied at the end of the day. That is the goal of my otherwise goal-less life: to sleep when I am exhausted because of the day’s work.
Let me start by giving an account of what has happened since 21st November, the last time I blogged. CAT got cancelled and I was disappointed for two reasons: I had done considerably well and now I’ll have to go through the whole charade of giving it again. Theatre Y, my theatre group, finished the poetry reading program ‘Rhyme and Reason’ organized by the British Council in Chennai’s leading schools. We also did a book reading of Raj Kamal Jha’s latest book ‘If You are Afraid of Heights’ as part of the book launch by Picador publishers and British Council. We got excellent reviews in the newspapers (check out what the Hindu Link 1 Link 2 had to say about us). Finally I finished my end semester exams in IIT.
During the first week of December the Park hotel organized a festival called ‘The Other Festival’ - seven days of plays, music and dance performances from artists all over the country and some from abroad. The shows were held in the auditorium of Chinmaya Heritage Center and I must say that it is one of the best auditoriums in Chennai for putting up a play. I attended five performances and I enjoyed the poetry reading by Zohra Sehgal the most. I will abstain from saying anything about the other shows. But more than the shows the most lasting memory from those seven days was the smile of a girl who I saw five times.
I was doing some research and writing an article on Memory Aid Techniques around that time. I was trying to explain to a good friend, the various features in a person’s face which leave a lasting impression. A good smile according to me will register the face instantly. No wonder Julia Roberts is so popular. It is not because she is exceedingly hot or is a great actress. It is all because of that million-dollar smile. The moment I said this, I remembered the face of this girl I had seen the previous day. The same friend had introduced me to her and I saw her again on successive visits to the Other Festival. Even after three weeks her face haunts me. And this hasn’t happened for the first time. It has happened on previous occasions also with other faces. It is my firm belief that this is the Universe’s way of telling me to wake up and do something about my life. Opportunity has knocked on my door a number of times, it has even gatecrashed into my life’s boring party a number of times but I have been too dumb-witted to recognize it. Anthony Hopkins said in ‘Meet Joe Black’: Lightning may strike. And I have been waiting a long time for lightning to strike. But it hasn’t. So its high time that I strike back. 2004 here I come.
Time to make some New Year resolutions. And this could take some time. So I’ll leave you with these thoughts:
The minute a man is convinced that he is interesting, he isn't.
Let me start by giving an account of what has happened since 21st November, the last time I blogged. CAT got cancelled and I was disappointed for two reasons: I had done considerably well and now I’ll have to go through the whole charade of giving it again. Theatre Y, my theatre group, finished the poetry reading program ‘Rhyme and Reason’ organized by the British Council in Chennai’s leading schools. We also did a book reading of Raj Kamal Jha’s latest book ‘If You are Afraid of Heights’ as part of the book launch by Picador publishers and British Council. We got excellent reviews in the newspapers (check out what the Hindu Link 1 Link 2 had to say about us). Finally I finished my end semester exams in IIT.
During the first week of December the Park hotel organized a festival called ‘The Other Festival’ - seven days of plays, music and dance performances from artists all over the country and some from abroad. The shows were held in the auditorium of Chinmaya Heritage Center and I must say that it is one of the best auditoriums in Chennai for putting up a play. I attended five performances and I enjoyed the poetry reading by Zohra Sehgal the most. I will abstain from saying anything about the other shows. But more than the shows the most lasting memory from those seven days was the smile of a girl who I saw five times.
I was doing some research and writing an article on Memory Aid Techniques around that time. I was trying to explain to a good friend, the various features in a person’s face which leave a lasting impression. A good smile according to me will register the face instantly. No wonder Julia Roberts is so popular. It is not because she is exceedingly hot or is a great actress. It is all because of that million-dollar smile. The moment I said this, I remembered the face of this girl I had seen the previous day. The same friend had introduced me to her and I saw her again on successive visits to the Other Festival. Even after three weeks her face haunts me. And this hasn’t happened for the first time. It has happened on previous occasions also with other faces. It is my firm belief that this is the Universe’s way of telling me to wake up and do something about my life. Opportunity has knocked on my door a number of times, it has even gatecrashed into my life’s boring party a number of times but I have been too dumb-witted to recognize it. Anthony Hopkins said in ‘Meet Joe Black’: Lightning may strike. And I have been waiting a long time for lightning to strike. But it hasn’t. So its high time that I strike back. 2004 here I come.
Time to make some New Year resolutions. And this could take some time. So I’ll leave you with these thoughts:
The minute a man is convinced that he is interesting, he isn't.
Friday, November 21, 2003
First Set of Musings
I have a lot to write about, many things have grabbed my attention in the last couple of days. Being a social animal who takes pride in his skills of observing others and finding out the stories behind their faces, it is not only my interest but in some odd way my duty to write and narrate these stories. In writing these stories I use the data gathered from my various faculties as well as employ the power of my imagination. But this is where fact and fiction separate into almost two parallel lines, never touching each other, but always staring at each other from the same fixed distance, ad infinitum. Imagination is the key ingredient which makes fiction different from fact. It adds that little bit of spice which makes reality a little more appetizing. Fiction, standing on the thin line between what is and what could be. Fiction: What dreams may come? That is how I like to think about it. Dreams written on pieces of paper or typed out on a word processor, running on an ancient almost obsolete machine- purchased with other pieces of paper that came out of my father’s pocket or from that little plastic card. After all there are few things that money can’t buy, for everything else there is dad’s credit card.
Musing One
There is this nice little eating place on Cathedral Road where I go quite often. The quality of chat items is amazing and the ambience is really nice. A lot of young college people hang out in this place. One day as I was going about savoring every last piece of my order a big Gujrati business family walked in. There was an old lady who was probably the head of the house hold and accompanying her were her three daughters-in-law with a whole bunch of toddlers.
The old lady was a domineering woman with complete control over the workings of her family. Her sons kept calling her on the four mobiles that each of them were carrying and asking her permission to do this and that. She made the owner of the place take her order even though the place is a self-service restaurant. She sat like an old powerful queen on the chair with her family members sitting all around her trying to please her and elevate themselves in her eyes. I was impressed by this matriarchal display of authority in what seemed to be an otherwise traditional Gujrati Indian family.
But then my eyes fell on the three daughters-in-law. All of them were wearing sarees and their heads were covered with the pallu as a mark of respect towards their mother-in-law (or maybe they had no other choice but to keep their heads covered). None of them looked a day over twenty-five and in fact one of them looked even younger than me. She had a baby in her arms and every now and then she would look at it and give a small, almost invisible and inaudible sigh. All of them had a smile on their face, a very synthetic smile, a very artificial smile which was not in keeping with the great food I was having.
I stopped eating to take a better look at them, to peer through their eyes and see the truth behind those fake smiles. All I could see were broken dreams and crushed ambitions. All around them were young people talking excitedly about their future plans, their careers, the new film in the theatres; and sitting there with their heads covered and listening intently yet uninterestedly to an old queen were these three young women. Marriage and motherhood slapped on their faces.
One could argue that they were happily married and what woman wouldn’t want to be a mother. May be the only ambition they ever nurtured was to become a house wife and raise sons who would grow up and marry more women like them or raise daughters who would be married off into other such families. May be they all enjoyed covering their heads with the pallu and listening to the words of wisdom of the old queen. But why did I hear the faint cry of a dream, a dream which knew its end was inevitable. She looked at the baby and took another sigh. May be a new dream was born.
Musing Two
An Ode and a Stanza went out on a date.
They had a few drinks of Romanticism
And decided to mate.
After a few syllables a poem was conceived.
Ms Ode couldn’t hide it
Such news is hard to conceal.
A few rhymes later the poem was born.
They decided to call it an Epic
Since it smelled like Bourbon.
© Anshumani Ruddra
Musing Three
I think I suffer from Pathetic Fallacy.
I see a human being in a lump of clay.
No cure can be found for my disease
After all I am the protagonist
Of a surreal post-modernist play.
© Anshumani Ruddra
I will end this session of musings with these beautiful words of Spike Milligan:
This evening in the twilight’s gloom
A butterfly flew in my room
O what beauty, O what grace
Who needs visitors from outer space?
- From Spike Milligan’s collected poems Hidden Words.
Musing One
There is this nice little eating place on Cathedral Road where I go quite often. The quality of chat items is amazing and the ambience is really nice. A lot of young college people hang out in this place. One day as I was going about savoring every last piece of my order a big Gujrati business family walked in. There was an old lady who was probably the head of the house hold and accompanying her were her three daughters-in-law with a whole bunch of toddlers.
The old lady was a domineering woman with complete control over the workings of her family. Her sons kept calling her on the four mobiles that each of them were carrying and asking her permission to do this and that. She made the owner of the place take her order even though the place is a self-service restaurant. She sat like an old powerful queen on the chair with her family members sitting all around her trying to please her and elevate themselves in her eyes. I was impressed by this matriarchal display of authority in what seemed to be an otherwise traditional Gujrati Indian family.
But then my eyes fell on the three daughters-in-law. All of them were wearing sarees and their heads were covered with the pallu as a mark of respect towards their mother-in-law (or maybe they had no other choice but to keep their heads covered). None of them looked a day over twenty-five and in fact one of them looked even younger than me. She had a baby in her arms and every now and then she would look at it and give a small, almost invisible and inaudible sigh. All of them had a smile on their face, a very synthetic smile, a very artificial smile which was not in keeping with the great food I was having.
I stopped eating to take a better look at them, to peer through their eyes and see the truth behind those fake smiles. All I could see were broken dreams and crushed ambitions. All around them were young people talking excitedly about their future plans, their careers, the new film in the theatres; and sitting there with their heads covered and listening intently yet uninterestedly to an old queen were these three young women. Marriage and motherhood slapped on their faces.
One could argue that they were happily married and what woman wouldn’t want to be a mother. May be the only ambition they ever nurtured was to become a house wife and raise sons who would grow up and marry more women like them or raise daughters who would be married off into other such families. May be they all enjoyed covering their heads with the pallu and listening to the words of wisdom of the old queen. But why did I hear the faint cry of a dream, a dream which knew its end was inevitable. She looked at the baby and took another sigh. May be a new dream was born.
Musing Two
An Ode and a Stanza went out on a date.
They had a few drinks of Romanticism
And decided to mate.
After a few syllables a poem was conceived.
Ms Ode couldn’t hide it
Such news is hard to conceal.
A few rhymes later the poem was born.
They decided to call it an Epic
Since it smelled like Bourbon.
© Anshumani Ruddra
Musing Three
I think I suffer from Pathetic Fallacy.
I see a human being in a lump of clay.
No cure can be found for my disease
After all I am the protagonist
Of a surreal post-modernist play.
© Anshumani Ruddra
I will end this session of musings with these beautiful words of Spike Milligan:
This evening in the twilight’s gloom
A butterfly flew in my room
O what beauty, O what grace
Who needs visitors from outer space?
- From Spike Milligan’s collected poems Hidden Words.
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Am I an A4 Size Sheet of Paper?
This cannot be happening. I cannot let the month of October go by without blogging even once. This is an offence of the gravest nature: I being a person addicted to writing. It is an unpardonable crime. So I am sentenced to writing a 500 word blogs every two weeks from now on (I might be punishing all of you in the process). Now that everything is set in order I have to decide where to get the remaining 413 words from.
Life in the last one month had become a triangle whose nodes were Theatre Y (my theatre group), Shaastra and CAT (the entrance exam for the IIMs). Shaastra became the largest technical festival in the country, both in terms of the events as well as the contribution of the industry in terms of cash and kind. We also got the much sought after ISO 9001 certification for Shaastra making it the first event in the world to get this certification. My public relations and publicity work left me very satisfied and exhausted. Next stop Saarang (the cultural festival of IIT Madras, to be held from 21st to 26th January 2004)! The theatre workshop progressed further into voice exercises and poetry reading. I started work on another play which I am temporarily calling 'Sane Asylum'. Preparations for CAT are in full flow (finally!!) but with less than a month left I am beginning to panic a little. Diwali was spent with my family and provided much needed change of atmosphere. The finals of the Main Quiz are tomorrow and I am really looking forward to winning it (with my teammate Neela's recent form this should not be a problem).
One thing which has always interested me in a non-obsessive kind of way is astrology. The concept that every twelfth man (roughly) in this world has a similar future has always bewildered me. A newly acquired friend asked me my sun sign. "Cancer" I said. "Oh! You are one of the what-if-people.", came the immediate reply. Another half an hour of questioning and interrogation from my side introduced me to concepts I couldn't have come up with even in my wildest imaginations (and believe me they can get really wild and crazy). My friend went on to attribute all my habits to 'typical Cancerian behaviour'. I was shocked, surprised and horrified at the same moment (I wish I could have looked at my face; these things don't happen to often, it was a Kodak moment). I, Anshumani Ruddra was stereotypical and representative of one-twelfth of humanity. It has taken me two days to snap out of this uselessness. I felt like an A4 size sheet of paper, no two different from each other. I felt like a mass produced piece of equipment. I felt like a grain stored in a container with other thousands of grains. Luckily for me none of the predictions made in Sunday’s newspaper have come true so far. I was supposed to find 'true love' (what ever that means) and start a relationship that was supposed to last for ever ("till death do us apart"). So now I can go back to feeling unique: I am the beautiful poem written on the A4 size paper, not the paper itself; I do not need the paper to survive.
Poetry is the only thing these days which is adding colour to my life. I was recently introduced to the poems of Roger McGough and I can now claim to be one of his biggest fans. McGough is a genius, with absolute command over his words and I have never seen anyone wield the pen with greater poetic power.
Survivor
Everyday,
I think about dying.
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world.
It helps
keep my mind off things.
Roger McGough
Life in the last one month had become a triangle whose nodes were Theatre Y (my theatre group), Shaastra and CAT (the entrance exam for the IIMs). Shaastra became the largest technical festival in the country, both in terms of the events as well as the contribution of the industry in terms of cash and kind. We also got the much sought after ISO 9001 certification for Shaastra making it the first event in the world to get this certification. My public relations and publicity work left me very satisfied and exhausted. Next stop Saarang (the cultural festival of IIT Madras, to be held from 21st to 26th January 2004)! The theatre workshop progressed further into voice exercises and poetry reading. I started work on another play which I am temporarily calling 'Sane Asylum'. Preparations for CAT are in full flow (finally!!) but with less than a month left I am beginning to panic a little. Diwali was spent with my family and provided much needed change of atmosphere. The finals of the Main Quiz are tomorrow and I am really looking forward to winning it (with my teammate Neela's recent form this should not be a problem).
One thing which has always interested me in a non-obsessive kind of way is astrology. The concept that every twelfth man (roughly) in this world has a similar future has always bewildered me. A newly acquired friend asked me my sun sign. "Cancer" I said. "Oh! You are one of the what-if-people.", came the immediate reply. Another half an hour of questioning and interrogation from my side introduced me to concepts I couldn't have come up with even in my wildest imaginations (and believe me they can get really wild and crazy). My friend went on to attribute all my habits to 'typical Cancerian behaviour'. I was shocked, surprised and horrified at the same moment (I wish I could have looked at my face; these things don't happen to often, it was a Kodak moment). I, Anshumani Ruddra was stereotypical and representative of one-twelfth of humanity. It has taken me two days to snap out of this uselessness. I felt like an A4 size sheet of paper, no two different from each other. I felt like a mass produced piece of equipment. I felt like a grain stored in a container with other thousands of grains. Luckily for me none of the predictions made in Sunday’s newspaper have come true so far. I was supposed to find 'true love' (what ever that means) and start a relationship that was supposed to last for ever ("till death do us apart"). So now I can go back to feeling unique: I am the beautiful poem written on the A4 size paper, not the paper itself; I do not need the paper to survive.
Poetry is the only thing these days which is adding colour to my life. I was recently introduced to the poems of Roger McGough and I can now claim to be one of his biggest fans. McGough is a genius, with absolute command over his words and I have never seen anyone wield the pen with greater poetic power.
Survivor
Everyday,
I think about dying.
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world.
It helps
keep my mind off things.
Roger McGough
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