Ars Gratis Artis

I have finally acquired my own set of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a trilogy in five parts written by Douglas Adams (known as DNA to his countless fans throughout the galaxy and perhaps the most popular man now at the restaurant at the end of the universe – Elvis comes a close second). I read the five books around three years back and kept reading them again and again even though it meant bunking all my classes (which I did very gladly anyway). Our world lost a truly unique man on 11^th May 2001. May his towel come in handy.

After reading a recent entry on Pracci’s blog and following the ongoing battle of wits and slandering in her comments section I decided to investigate this need to be a member of one cult group or another. Why is it that we feel the need to identify ourselves as ‘Metallica’ fans, ‘Harry Potter’ zealots and ‘Stanley Kubrick’ aficionados? Before going any further let me clear my own stance on this subject. I am a die hard buff of the following people and their work:

Note – A list of favourite films, books, TV sitcoms, performers, etc. would be endless and require a Herculean effort to prepare from my side (maybe I will do it). These are the people I worship

Al Pacino
Charlie Chaplin
Douglas Adams
Hobbes (not the philosopher because he was a materialist)
Homer
Ingrid Bergman
Jim Carrey
JRR Tolkien
Mel Blanc
Oscar Wilde
Ovid
Quentin Tarantino
Roger McGough
Stanley Kubrick
Vivien Leigh
Yoda (I know he isn’t real, but that is the greatest tragedy of this world)

These are the names that come to my mind at this moment. There may be others but more on that later. The point of this list was to show that I am inclined in a rather extreme way to follow other people and their work and worship it. I also spend a lot of time discussing the philosophy behind a particular work.

A friend (Blue pussy I think) once said that the reason people become admirers is because of peer pressure, they like Lord of the Rings because every other person claims to be a fan. I completely disagree. Yes, there are those who could claim to be adherents of a particular film/book/actor because all their other friends are claiming the same thing. But I don’t think a 20 something guy/girl would claim to be a Harry Potter fan until and unless they really adore the books (I like the books but Rowling has a lot to learn about fantasy writing). The reason why you love something is quite hard to explain. Often the reason turns out to be quite trivial. Take for example Tarantino. All his movies are pointless, lack any coherent story and yet are so entertaining and visually stunning that he is regarded by many as a master director and story writer.

But recently I have seen another trend. Most people would claim to hate an otherwise popular book/movie just to appear different and stand out. Some of them haven’t even taken the effort to go through the books which they claim to hate so much. These are the people who are in a cult of their own – the cult of the We-Don’t-Like-Cults.

But wait. There was something else that I had in mind. The real question (three of them actually) in my mind was the following – does the creator of fiction (writer/director/actor/painter) always put his own personal philosophy forward through the medium of his work? Should the receiver (reader/viewer) really be forming his own personal philosophy based on somebody else’s work? Is it necessary for art to have a meaning, a message?

The answer to all the questions according to me is no. Great books which changed the way people thought or which were at least aimed at trying to change people are few in number. And yet I believe that a work of art is not necessarily a projection of the creator’s philosophy. It could be, but not always. A writer for example chooses a particular set of principles for his book. They could be similar to his beliefs but could also be their exact opposite. His integrity, and therefore the book’s integrity, lies in his staying true to the set of principles he has selected for his book, not in his following his own personal philosophy (which could be a superset of the book’s principles).

Example – Thomas Harris has created perhaps the greatest villain of our times – Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal loves human flesh and has killed many. Yet for some reason we find ourselves attracted towards him and are rooting for him when he is going on a killing spree. That is called integrity. Harris has remained true to his character even though he himself might be disgusted at the idea of killing and eating another human being. He has succeeded in creating a character we fear and love at the same time. There is never a sudden change of heart where Lecter is himself disgusted with his habits. A part of him is evil and is convinced of its own superiority and its right to kill and eat the ones who don’t deserve to live. Lecter is the law. He punishes. Does that mean that it is Harris’ belief that a man should take the law into his own hands and go about killing people who end up on his wrong side? I think not.

A better example would me Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. Humbert Humbert is a pervert and ruins the life of Dolores Haze (Lolita) and yet the reader feels his pain and the reader’s heart goes out to him. Yeah so he did some regrettable things and fell in love with such a young girl. But Humbert has our sympathies. Nabokov’s descriptions of Humbert’s fantasy at first shock us but slowly we get involved with it because of Nabokov’s beautiful word play. Now that is integrity. The writer does not approve of child molesters and perverts and yet he has created a very endearing character that does such abominable things. The reader can actually feel himself giving advice to Humbert – don’t do it man, it isn’t worth it, she isn’t worth it. Your sympathies don’t go out to the nymphet Lolita, which in retrospect seems strange.

Douglas Adams loved science and believed in it. He knew its limitations and yet believed in its greatness. Still in his work we only see him bashing science and just showing its extreme limitations. His books are covered from page to page with eastern philosophy’s simple rules - there is no coincidence (which perhaps makes all science useless), things happen for a reason, all things in this universe are completely interconnected. And though these are parts of his personal philosophy some aspects of his books are contrary to his otherwise western ideas.

On the question whether art should have a meaning, I believe meaning is overrated. There is no need that a book should have a message. It could be plain old Pulp Fiction. It is in no way the creator’s responsibility to give a message to his audience. I believe in the aesthetic movement – art for art’s sake – ars gratis artis. Ars gratis hominis doesn’t make sense because I don’t think that the artist is answerable to, nor has an obligation towards the audience. It could have a message and the audience is free to interpret it any which way they want. So I give my thumbs up to David Lynch’s latest movies (his old stuff like the Elephant man is pure gold but his latest stuff is just his self-expression and nothing more). This brings me to the second question.

If the art does have meaning/message, is it necessary for us to intellectualize about it? Yes. But do we form our own philosophy based on it? No. Any form of art even if it rambles on for thousands of pages cannot be kept as a basis for a complete set of human principles. Rand’s and Salinger’s characters are too idyllic for the real world and wouldn’t survive in it. One could appreciate their traits but could not live their life by them. A man/woman who does not compromise would never enjoy his existence because he/she would never find love. And what is life without love. And though Roark found love, it was only in fiction. He would not continue to be in love if he doesn’t compromise.

So read/watch books/movies, have fun interpreting them and worshipping their creators, but don’t lead your life by their support. Books/movies make great companions but if they are your only companions then you are in trouble. So I am in trouble. I need to get out and get some fresh air. Maybe I should go out with some friends for a movie.

The Life of Stanley Vacant (continued)

The story so far: Stanley Vacant, a middle aged voice artist by profession, has joined the local gym after having endured some stinging remarks about his appearance from his girlfriend Tricia.

The girl on the reception desk had a sweet smile and a good pair of knockers. That is what she is being paid for, I mean the smile. She asked me to fill out a form with some personal details while she called my personal trainer Ricky.

Ricky, sounded like a hoodlum who had spent his late teenage years in prison, where unquestionably he had felt the need to bulk up. I could easily picture a guy six feet four inches tall, weighing 205 pounds with a motor bike tattooed on his left shoulder. The description turned out to be quite accurate except for the tattoo. It had ‘I love my mom’ engraved on a valentine heart. I did not trouble myself in trying to understand the underlying currents of the statement. So he loved his mom. Good for him. We need more people who care about their parents.

Ricky stepped forward and shook my hand. “You got a firm hand shake there Stanley. I can see you going all the way. Just work with me on this regularly and within 12 weeks you’ll be giving Brad Pitt a run for his money.” I smiled weakly back at him and proceeded to finish the form which then I handed over to the girl with the great knockers. Sorry, I mean the girl with the sweet smile.

Ricky explained how on this first day he would take me around the gym and give me a thorough tour of all their facilities. “I am going to check your endurance and strength today, Stanley.” I nodded my approval and entered the inner sanctum of this commercial temple of physical beauty. Like Aphrodite’s oracle, Ricky proceeded to tell me what the function of each machine was and how this enterprise was totally dedicated towards combining cutting-edge-state-of-the-art technology with good training practices.

Now around me I could see a lot of people sweating profusely and working out real hard. Young and old, fat and thin men and women were trying to improve their health and their looks by working out to some fast paced rhythmic music. The only good looking people with perfect bodies were the trainers who were moving around the whole place, smiling a broad smile and giving little nuggets of advice to anyone who would listen.

Ricky asked me to try out a machine which had a lot of complicated gears and weights. I had to sit on a seat and pull a bar of steel with both my hands towards the back of my head. This bar was connected to different weights. There I was sitting on this complicated looking machine trying to do an exercise I had never done before and also trying not to hurt myself in any irreparable way, when my eyes landed on the most beautiful, the most exquisite women I had ever seen in walking daylight.

She was exercising on a similar machine directly opposite and was facing me. A small bead of perspiration rolled down her forehead, onto the side of her cheek, down her neck and disappeared into the valley of her round and firm breasts. She looked so athletic, so angel like that I could not hear what Ricky the oracle was saying. In this temple of beauty, I had found Aphrodite.

I had seen her somewhere before but I could not place her. Then I realized that she was the model in the Estee Lauder perfume ad for which I had provided the background voice. She looked far more beautiful now. And what was this. She was staring right back at me, without batting her eyelids. Come on Stanley this is the time when you take destiny by the forelock.

“Yes Stanley you are doing it perfectly. Just bring the bar down a little slower to feel the tension in your muscles.” The oaf was telling me how to use this damn machine correctly while this most beautiful sweating creature was staring right at me. Wait a minute. She was watching me exercise. Come on Stanley be cool now. You are the voice of Baritone Bunny, the most suave and dashing rabbit in the world of animation. Do this exercise properly. Pretend you have been doing it for ages. Listen to the oaf.

“Yes Stanley you are doing great”. I am doing great. Is that a look of admiration I see in the eyes of the Estee Lauder model? Yes it is. I am admiring her and she is admiring me back. He hits, he runs, he scores. Stanley scores? This is a new feeling.

“I’ll increase the weight a bit Stanley to check your endurance.” Go ahead oracle Ricky. Increase any weight you want. Stanley is on a roll here.

But what was this? The bar was stuck in the air and I couldn’t bring it down. Be cool Stanley; bring it down slow and easy. She is watching you man. For the first time since I had started exercising I could feel my forehead perspiring. It took all the strength I had to bring the bar down. “Very good, Stanley. Just nine more times and you are down.” Nine more times. Is the oaf trying to kill me or something? Aha! Jealous is he, Aphrodite’s oracle jealous of her lover Hermes. I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of seeing me lose. Stanley Vacant’s ego had just been challenged and he was ready for it.

With great effort I brought the bar down again. She was still watching me. Oh! How gracefully she was doing her exercise - power hidden below the veil of beauty.

By the sixth repetition I was thoroughly drenched and didn’t have an ounce of strength left. Did I just catch a look of dejection on her face? Her hero had turned out to be a loser. She finished her exercise, stood up and walked away, without looking back. I could take this exercise no longer and let the bar go. It went and hit the pivot with a bang and a few faces turned around to see the culprit. I could see looks of been-there-before-buddy on some of the faces.

“Don’t be disappointed Stanley. It’s just your first day. Within a few weeks this would be a cake walk.” The oaf was gloating over his victory and applying salt to the wounds. “Yeah, I suppose so”, I replied and stood up.

It has been more than an hour now and we have finished the tour of the entire place. I am sitting inside the steam bath. Each and every muscle in my body is screaming out right now. Ricky says the pains would go away in a few days. The muscles are just getting used to the exercising. I got up and took a shower, got dressed and all the while I was thinking about how very different I was from Baritone Bunny. Except for the voice (which is mine anyway, or is it?) we have nothing in common. He is cool. The chicks dig him. He could have done all those exercises single-handedly. He could have won the heart of the Estee Lauder model in a snap. Well at least he can’t speak without me.

I stepped out of the gym with my gym kit (a gift from Tricia) and made my way towards the car. Suddenly I heard a voice from behind “Mr Vacant”. I turned around to see the Estee Lauder model running towards me. “I have been waiting for you outside, for some time now”, she said in that sweet nectar like voice of hers. “You probably don’t know me. I worked in a commercial for which you provided the voice. I am a big fan of yours. I watch Baritone Bunny every week and absolutely love it.” I could not believe my ears. Here I was, fantasizing about this goddess and she turns out to be a fan. “Would you like to come to the recording of next week’s episode of Baritone?” I spoke in the most sophisticated voice I could conjure up. With that I gave her my studio card after having scribbled my home number at its back. She seemed very excited by the prospect and thanked me. “I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow then. And thanks for inviting me to the recording.” I said sure and with that I entered my car.

She was still standing some distance away and talking very excitedly on her mobile. She was telling someone, apparently another girl, about how she had met the voice of Baritone Bunny and how she was going to the studio for the voice recording session. She was as excited as little kids are when they are promised a tour of Disney world. Seeing her in this new light I realized that she was hardly a day over sixteen. Oh my God! What was I doing? I had been fantasizing about a young girl, a girl who was still excited about cartoons, a girl who was young enough to be my daughter. I hung my head in shame. Sophia would be as old as this girl now. I hadn’t seen her for ten years. Her mother had got her custody when we got a divorce and then had moved to Paris. All I had were a few photographs and letters from her. She was going to college this spring. Maybe it was time I met her.

With these thoughts I decided to drive back home to Tricia and tell her that the gym was a bad idea. She wouldn’t be happy. But I can’t take this pain in my muscles. For now Aphrodite and her temple are not meant for me.

Stanley Vacant © Anshumani Ruddra 2004

The Life of Stanley Vacant

There is this character in my mind that is yearning to see the light of day in a book. Sadly for him, all spaces are currently occupied and he will have to wait his turn. But the problem doesn’t end there. I wish it would. While I might be his creator in every sense of the word, he also is a resident of the over active world that is my mind. And hence he is a part of me, a part of my being. And he wants to share his adventures, his crusades with the rest of the world.

First I though a brief cameo in my book would be sufficient for him. But then I realized that it would be an absolute waste of a terrific character, which he is, a very likable character who deserves to be the protagonist of his own book. So here is another solution: the blog. From now on Stanley Vacant, who is a middle aged voice artist (provides the background voice for ads and supplies the voice characterizations for over half a dozen animated characters) would make regular appearances on my blog and would hopefully stop bothering me.

It is my firm belief that fitness and health and good looks are overrated. These days everyone seems to be running after a good physique. Every man wants to be like Brad Pitt and every woman wants to be like the latest cover of Cosmopolitan (not like the cover but like the women on the cover). I believe our capitalists have once again succeeded in making absolute fools out of us. First they cut us up into little pieces and then they recommend ten different ways to stitch us back.

While growing up you are coaxed to eat tons of junk food. As a teenage boy you have to hang out at the cool places and eat the cool food or you become an outcast. TV commercials tell you where all the chicks are hanging out. So you go there and what do you do? You eat and eat and eat. And before you know it you are 30 years old and weigh 250 pounds. Even if you are not 250 pounds your wife would constantly nag you about the love handles that you have developed. People will constantly crack jokes at your expense and make your life miserable.

You go in for magnetic radiation therapy which according to Jim from the shopping network helps you lose an astonishing fifteen pounds in just a few hours. You end up buying and hoarding exercise machines which promise to give you chiselled abs and good looks. But nothing works. Out of frustration you just eat more.

On the other hand are girls. Women in our society grow up looking at anorexic super models vouching for the latest fashion products. You see sixteen year old girls dieting and trying out the latest health products from television shopping networks and ending up in the hospital because they haven’t eaten anything in the past one week. Face creams, face packs, fairness creams, oil-free soaps, extra moisturizing soaps, grime removing soaps, dandruff free shampoos, revitalizing shampoos, extra conditioning shampoos and much more can be found in the bathroom cabinet of an average sixteen year old girl.

Women are constantly conscious of their weight. They will not eat that extra piece of cake even if every cell in their body is crying out for it. Sitcoms joke about how every chocolate you eat ends up going to your butt. So you try very hard to retain that knockout figure. It doesn’t work and again out of frustration you eat.

On the other end of the spectrum are people who are naturally thin. Any amount of junk food, chocolate pastries and ice creams has no effect on them. They simply don’t put on any weight. But this doesn’t mean they are happy. Quite the contrary, even they are yearning for those chiselled abs and well toned muscles.

So we live in a society where majority of people are either overweight or underweight or are simply not happy with the way they look. The remaining 0.1% appear on television and in films and make us feel bad about ourselves. We are simply not happy about our appearance and spend both precious time and money in improving it.

Luckily I am very happy with the way I look. Or at least I was happy till a few days back. Tricia and I were watching a film sitting in my nice cosy apartment when she turned towards me and said, “Why don’t you join the gym and put on some muscle?” The question caught me off guard. But I made a quick come back in my smooth Baritone Bunny voice, “Say babe, you not happy with the looks of your lover.” “No”, came the reply and silenced me. I could not think up of a reply in my hundred or more different voices. The voice which enthralled millions of people on television every week was silenced by a very pointed “No”. I got up saying, “… it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” Tolkien would have been so proud.

But the truth was that her remark really did hurt. I have an average height and an average weight. I never played any physical sports or did anything adventurous. I had average grades in school and was not the most popular guy either. But people liked me. They still do. My voice impersonation of Mrs. Higgins, our seventh grade mathematics teacher, is still the stuff of legend. Nobody ever cared about how I looked. But they loved my voice because it could make them laugh. My voice for the ghost in Hamlet back in college is still considered by many to be a benchmark in voice quality. Every week I make kids laugh with ‘Baritone Bunny and Friends’. I have given the background voice for more than two hundred commercials and have the distinction for providing twenty one different voice characterizations for a single Disney animation. Critics have even compared me to Mel Blanc. How foolish of them. Nobody could be like Mel Blanc. He is a legend and can never be matched.

But something needed to be done. I like Tricia and see a future for the two of us. She is not demanding and makes me very happy. She has a great sense of humour and makes excellent pan cakes. But now she wanted me to be someone I was not. She wanted me to take care of my health, join a gym and build muscles. She had never asked for anything before this so I decided to do this as a gift to her. So here I am standing in my local gym after having taken an annual membership. With all my negative views on people’s obsession with their own looks, I am standing here inside a monument dedicated to commercialism and the victory of capitalism.

Stanley Vacant © Anshumani Ruddra 2004

Sadly, Disenchantment Equals Truth

Throughout my life I have been a dreamer. My dreams have been a constant source of images which are sometimes abstract, sometimes detailed; sometimes bizarre, sometimes beautiful; sometimes fear-provoking and sometimes calming, images that have left such an indelible impression on my memory that it is sometimes difficult for me to distinguish them from reality, images that have enriched my senses, all of them, so thoroughly that I remain eternally thankful to the process of sleep and the imperfectness of the human brain which leads to the random firing of weakly associated neurons, hence producing dreams.

I often wondered how exciting it would be if I were able to spend all my time in the land of dreams. Dreams constantly challenged my notion of reality. They provided me sights so colourful, so rich in texture that the real world started looking dull, morbid. They provided me such thrills, such rushes of adrenaline that nothing in my otherwise regular, ‘real’ life could match up to them. I looked forward to sleep, dreams, nightmares, visions with enthusiasm such as I had never felt for anything else. Dreams were my sanctuary, a life away from life which pacified my on the run, over imaginative conscience.

So it seemed like providence when dreams came to my aid, again. Dreams would finally help me realize my ambitions, my dreams.

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time. [Marcel Proust]

Like all dreamers I confuse disenchantment with truth. [Jean-Paul Sartre]

The Himalayas

I am back in the civilized world and the only way I can look in retrospect at the events of the past month is fond remembrance. After saying my final goodbyes to IIT Madras and leaving her serene campus I felt the veil of motherly affection that IIT had put on me for the last four years lifting up. Two contradicting emotions, one of happiness and the other of extreme sadness and pain, engulfed my heart. Happiness on finally graduating and starting out afresh in the world and sadness on breaking all ties which had become more important than even blood relations. There is always email, my friends told me, and a phone is never far away. But deep down in my heart I knew that I had lost what had become the most significant, the most vibrant thing in my otherwise colourless existence.

So when a few of us decided to undertake a trekking expedition to the Himalayas my heart jumped at the opportunity. The trek involved going to Yamunotri, Gangotri and Gaumukh (the place from where the Ganges originates), three rather important pilgrimage centers for the Hindus, all situated in the Garhwal region of Uttaranchal. The best part of May went into organizing the trek and on 5th June 2004 five warriors from the Indian Institute of Technology met in Delhi to undertake this arduous and life threatening journey (or so I would like to believe).

From 6th to 11th we braved through harsh weather, difficult (at some places excessively steep and slippery because of horse shit and mud) terrain and back breaking walking paths to cover almost 50 kilometers and visit the three places. A day of walking was followed by an even tougher bus ride in the mountain roads. But it all had its payoff and the memories from this journey will remain with us for the rest of our lives. The view of snow capped mountains and beautiful shimmering water (the Ganges however is very muddy even at its origin because of grey sand which is also a part of the ice crystals in the glacier) filled our hearts with joy.

The journey had its rewards but not without a good dose of danger. Once we were caught in a land slide in a particularly dry mountainous region caused because of some rather stupid mountain antelopes. It felt like being a part of a video game where the villain is throwing small projectiles at you and you are running and jumping as fast as possible to avoid getting hit. The adrenaline rush I felt while crossing this part will be a constant source of inspiration (and maybe perspiration) in the future. The same patch on our return trip was rather calm.

The second bout of danger was self invited, though I will remain eternally thankful to the universe for instilling the spirit of adventure (which I found to be bordering on sheer stupidity at certain occasions) deep in my heart. We were around two hundred meters from the mouth of the cave carved into the giant glacier from which the Ganges originates. Around us were snow covered mountain peaks and the giant glacier right in front of us. We could see huge blocks of ice floating away in the shallow but strong current of the river coming out from the mouth of the cave. However there was no clear path to go towards the mouth of the cave and this troubled me a lot. The message “So close and yet so far” kept echoing in my brain when suddenly I decided to find my own way through the rather rough looking rocks which could slip at any moment and fall into the river. More importantly these rocks were part of the ever changing and melting glacier but my mind was fixed on reaching the cave and I kept on moving forward. Looking back I think I was rather foolish. I had my doubts in the middle but the moment I saw my friends following my footsteps I surged ahead. And finally we had done it. We had come as close to the cave as was humanly possible (without drowning oneself in the river of course).

A sudden calmness took over me once I was there. I realized that I was having one of those rare spiritual moments. I let my mind get completely soaked with this feeling for I knew that it was ephemeral. The beauty of that moment will live with me for ever.

Others joined me shortly on the same spot and all spiritual ecstasy vanished. We saw a huge chunk of ice fall into the river with a loud splash which gave us a scare but we let it pass. It was now time to make our way back. This was when nature decided to tell us that we had been playing with its might like little idiots and we were at its complete mercy. The whole glacier gave way and rocks came tumbling down from all sides and we were dead even before we hit the water. Well not really. What actually happened was that a rock the size of a football (enough to kill a man) decided to land right between two of us. The whole thing happened so suddenly and without a warning that we were shocked. We stood fixed to the spot and stared at each other. Nothing else happened. We reached our base camp safely. Thinking back I feel that the rock was nature’s way of saying goodbye and asking me for something.

I swear to return to the same spot some day when I have accomplished the task set by nature.

The Nintendo Generation

In 1957 a large object from outer space crashed into Earth's Amazon basin, near ruins of the lost Mayan civilization. Scientists world-wide heralded the incident as a trivial cosmic occurrence, and thus the collision was soon forgotten.

Now, thirty years later, rumours of an evil force have swept into the Pentagon's front office, and tales from frightened villagers of a hideous being with an army of alien henchmen are sending chills down the spines of top military brass.

Unwilling to upset current political stability, an all-out assault on the region has been overruled, and instead, two of America's most cunning, courageous and ruthless soldiers from the Special Forces elite commando squad have been selected to seek out and destroy these alien intruders.

Congratulations, pal, you're one of the chosen. But before you take pride in being the best, be warned.

You're about to come face to face against Red Falcon, the cruellest life-form in the galaxy. He arrived on Earth thirty years ago (that's six months time in an alien's life) to establish a foothold from which he will attempt to conquer our world and then use it as a stepping stone toward his ultimate fiendish goal: domination of the entire universe. Needless to say, playing hero won't be easy. But you have no choice -- you must be a hero. Because if you fail, life as we know it will cease to exist, and the vile Red Falcon will rule forever. If you succeed, well...it doesn't matter, because I doubt you will.

If you haven’t yet guessed which game this is then you are definitely not a part of what is being referred to as the Nintendo Generation by social scientists and anthropologists. Contra was released for the NES by Konami way back in 1988. This game soon became a classic side-scrolling shooter, with a variety of weapons, challenging game-play, and 1 and 2 player-simultaneous modes.

If your age is between 15 and 25, and even if you haven’t played Contra (shame on you for that), you are a member of this Nintendo Generation. We as a generation are unique, especially in India, since we are a part of the ongoing technological and cultural revolution. Most of us can remember a pre-cable-television, pre-western-fast-food-joint (McDonald, etc.) India. Cable TV came in 1993 and Mc only came much later. Heck none of us had an email account six years back and yet we saw Yahoo and Hotmail become billion dollar enterprises offering 4 Mb storage space. And today I have a Gmail account which gives me a 1000 Mb of storage space. Talk about revolution. We saw the rise of IT, the dot com crash and we saw the revival of tech stocks.

We grew up playing our own video games (or even renting them). We were the generation who stopped going to the theatres and preferred watching movies at home on a VCR. And still we saw the revival of the movie theatre experience and the rise of the multiplex. Computers and cars became a necessity while we were growing up. Our generation saw the entire country undergo a change. Children born in the last few years are not a part of this generation. Their generation was born in a tech savvy environment and they learned to say ‘Digital’ before ‘Dada’ and McDonalds’ before ‘Mama’. We on the other hand saw the old traditional India in our childhoods, but still accepted the modern with open arms. As the years roll on, our place in society will become exceedingly important because we are the connecting link between the traditional and the ultra-modern. India as a country and Indians as people have virtues which the western world doesn’t and I am not trying to be patriotic or jingoistic here, but that is the truth. The onus is now on us to prevent the moral degradation of our society similar to what happened to the west. That can only be done by accepting the modern and retaining the traditional and finding the right balance between the two. For now I must get back to playing Contra.

Bitter Sweet Symphony

As I sit facing my computer screen, listening to the Bitter Sweet Symphony by the Verve, the outside world slowly descends into darkness. The low level stratocumulus clouds are posing a challenge to the mighty sun. I step outside for a glimpse of the sky and feel the first drops of rain on my palms. Just then U2’s Where the Streets Have No Name begins in the background. Nostalgia takes over and lulls me into a deep hypnotic trance. This place, these people will just become memories in a few days. The golden years of my life have just slipped by and all that remains are memories. Vanessa Mae’s rendition of Bach’s Street Prelude has just started in the background and gives me hope, short-lived though it is, it is enough.

It has started raining very heavily now. My friends who were playing football till now have switched over to rugby (or some very weird form of it) in the mud. Half the guys have taken their shirts off to differentiate between the two teams. The game is just an excuse for them. An excuse to remember all the good times spent together. They are just running and passing and tackling and having fun. This is what life is all about: semi nude men playing in the mud? No. Life is about young boys living together and sharing an adventure, a dream and going out into the big world as men. The game of rugby was just an excuse to tell the rest of the world: We are on our way. Get ready.

In a few days it will be time for goodbyes and farewells. I might not see these people again, ever and this thought saddens me. I am too old to make new friends now. I have been doing it for the last 21 years with great ease and have always looked forward to meeting new people and making friends. When you have studied in nine different educational institutions and lived all over the country, making new friends becomes detrimental to your survival. But I was always good at it. Now I am not sure whether I’ll be able to do the whole charade all over again. Judging peoples’ characters, finding the right set of people who are emotionally and mentally compatible with you, I don’t think I can do it now. Perhaps I can still do it, but I don’t have the energy or the inclination to do it. I think I have become a little too secure in my life and don’t want to leave this comfort zone.

Life seems to be following a predetermined course and I feel like a mere spectator, seeing my own life pass by. My reserve of stored optimism is slowly drying out. I just hope that my decision to take a year off will be helpful in the long run. Shocking as it may sound to most of my friends and well wishers, I have never been more convinced about anything in my entire life. There are these very small, trivial things which I want to pursue in this one year. Trivial they may sound, but they are very important to me. I don’t want to turn forty and regret not having done all these things. It’s now or never. Every day I sit and add to this ever growing list of things to be done in the next one year. If I am able to accomplish even half of them, I’ll die a very happy man. Top of my list is getting myself educated: educated in the study of life, something which cannot be taught in any school or college. There is writing, music, books, travel, cooking, French, philosophy, religion and a host of other things in this list. Bungee jumping! How could I forget that?

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life
Try to make ends meet
Your a slave to money then you die
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you
to the places where all the things meet yeah

IIT Madras Open Quiz

On 18th April IIT Madras conducted its first large scale Open Quiz. Students and professionals from Chennai, Bangalore and other cities took part in the quiz. I was one of the four quiz masters. More than 200 teams took part in the quiz. Some of the best quizzers in the country were out there in the finals competing against each other. Arul Mani and Anustup Datta's team came from Bangalore and stood second in the quiz. Dr. Navin Jayakumar who conducts the annual Landmark Quiz in Chennai was there with his team which included Avinash Mudaliar. Samanth Subramanian who has won almost all the quizzes held in IIT in the recent past came with his team QED and won again. I'll always carry very fond memories of that day, especially since my parents were there to see the finals. Enjoy all my questions here: Open Quiz.

The Magic of Films

The following article is going to appear in my campus magazine "The Fourth Estate".

I love films. I can watch them all day long, one after another, and still not get tired. I can discuss their stories, talk about the techniques used in them, give you the complete biography of each cast member, write about them and still not get tired.

When it comes to films I have no prior reservations. I don’t care whether the director is a multiple Oscar nominee or is a sixteen year old high school drop out who just made his first movie using a camera he borrowed from the local junk store. As long as there is a film to be seen, I will see it. I reserve all my judgements for after the movie. This I do on purpose. Every time we form a view about a film (could be about the actors, directors or the composer) before watching it, we either raise our expectations or are dejected even before we have had a glimpse of the film. So if we were expecting a movie to be trash and it turned out to be real gold we wouldn’t have been in a position to appreciate it and give the film its due credit. On the other hand if we were expecting a movie to be a masterpiece and it turned out to be trash (or even average) then we are overly disappointed.

Suppose we completely forget that we had ever seen the original Matrix. Then maybe, just maybe, we could have appreciated Matrix Reloaded and Matrix Revolutions. It is this baseless need to compare every film (especially if it is a sequel) with its predecessors which spoil the film watching experience. The original Matrix was a master piece, a film whose likes will not be seen for many a decades. It had a great script, capable actors, visionary directors and never seen before special effects.

So when the sequels were announced we assumed that they will have an even better script, greater vision from the directors and SFX which will excite every last atom in our bodies. This is where we made our biggest mistake. Watch the sequels with a fresh mind and maybe, just maybe we will be able to appreciate these two movies. Most of us might still feel that the script sucked big time and the acting was boring to say the least. But all of us will definitely appreciate the effort put into the film, especially the effects. It took them months to come up with the perfect rain drop for the final show down between Neo and Agent Smith. Watch the movie afresh and you will love that raindrop.

Effort is what most of us fail to see. Films are not just about the actors in front of the camera. And while most of us know that there are hundreds of other people behind the scenes, all of us fail to notice their contribution. Of course if the acting is lousy then no one can be blamed for not noticing the wonderful use of light and the great set design. But for people like us who boast to be semi or pseudo intellectuals and who watch tons of movies it should be the whole experience of the movie, starting from its conception, moving towards the script writing, the actual hours and hours of footage and to the final cutting on the editors table, which should excite us and catch our attention.

From whatever little experience I have gathered after watching films, I have classified them into three categories: (a) Popular cinema, (b) Films tending to Cult and (c) Art. Category (b) in most cases is a subset of category (a). Let me explain this classification in detail.

Popular Cinema consists of films which are made for the masses. While some of you may argue that films are always made for the masses, I beg to differ. Most films fall into this category simply because they are made with a motive to earn money for the studios investing in them. The script writers and the directors may have a great vision and might consider themselves artists but the truth of the matter is that they are making these films for profit. And there is nothing wrong in that. Some of the best loved films of all times fall into this category.

These films are based on the traditional models of story telling and most of them have straight forward stories (might be about complex subjects though) with clear narratives. The more popular ones will have good actors doing what they do best - acting. These films are based on the traditional theatre style where the audience was a given, an axiom. The film is based on a simple two way communication between the audience and the characters. If the character is sad and is crying the audience should also get a feeling of sadness. If it is a war film which talks about the horrors of war then the audience should be shocked after seeing the blood and gore and the evil that war brings out in men. We don’t need to strain our minds for understanding and liking these films. As long as the acting is fine you can even watch these films in mute (except a musical of course).

Examples of category (a) - All Indian films (even the parallel cinema), Titanic, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, LOTR, etc, etc. (Basically 97% of all films)

The second category is the one where the director and the screen writer make an effort so that the audience has to exercise its brain cells. These are thought provoking films - films which raise philosophical questions, which serve as a way for intellectual masturbation. A friend of mine likes to compare such films to onions. The director wants you to peel off one layer at a time till you finally reach the core. This can be done by using various techniques like moving backwards and forwards in time, having multiple narratives or by just having a simple story told in a complex manner.

Such films cater to the needs of a small and select crowd who like to think while watching a film. Some of these films go on to become big box office hits because people had to come back a second time to completely understand the film or to appreciate the finer details. Some of these films are disasters when they are first released but slowly become cult classics. You simply cannot watch these movies in mute.

Examples of category (b) - Blade Runner, The Usual Suspects, A Clockwork Orange, Memento etc, etc. (2.99 % of all films)

The third category is the one which has the least number of films but this number is slowly rising. These films are made by directors who are really artists. They don’t make their films for an audience. These films are like works of art. It doesn’t matter if they are hanging in the MET or in some one’s bedroom or in the painter’s studio. They are beautiful and complete in themselves and don’t need an external source to interpret them. They are released in theatres and people do go and watch them. But the director doesn’t really care whether you liked his film or not. It’s a work of art - If you can appreciate it then good for you, otherwise: goodbye and have a nice day. It doesn’t matter if the film is in mute.

Examples of category (c) - All David Lynch films etc, etc.

Films have always been about escapism. Where else can you fight like a Jedi, roam the middle earth and go where no man has gone before? Where else can you feel the pain of a man on a death row, escape from a prison and become lost in translation? Where else can you be the devil’s advocate, tango with Gabrielle Anwar and become the head of a mafia family? Only in films, baby. Only in films.

[The writer is the co-ordinator of IIT Madras Film Society. He is a self confessed movie fanatic and claims that he has seen more films than any other set of three people on this planet.]

The Predictable Life of a Film Buff

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.