K.M.S.C.D.G.F.D.L.B


They asked me to name five (or more, and I chose more) people I’d wanna meet in a WeChat group and have a chat with. K.M.S.C.D.G.f.D.L.B are those ten people. I’m not that cruel, I’m not going to leave you lingering with the doubt of the identities of the people whose names have been crushed into the acronym that is my post’s title. Here are those five people. Note, there’re countless people I’d wanna talk to, but the guys who asked me this question obviously don’t have time to read about ALL the people I’d wanna chat with, so I had to painfully choose.

1)Stanley Kubrick

There was this joke I read on the internet once. Steven Spielberg dies and goes to heaven, and the angel at the gates of heaven tells him “No filmmakers allowed in heaven”. ‘Berg peeks into the gate and finds Kubrick walking in heaven. So ‘Berg asks the gatekeeper why Kubrick was allowed inside despite being a filmmaker, and the gatekeeper responds “He’s God, he belongs there”. That’s Kubrick for you, the God of cinema. There’re hundreds of immensely talented filmmakers out there, but nobody commanded such perfection and depth as Kubrick. He’s a man who’s touched almost every genre of cinema there is. Horror, war, drama, black comedy. Kubrick was a perfectionist. Nothing in the frame would be there without a reason. He’d end up repeating the same scene more than a 100 times to get the best take. And he was an innovator. His vision was something that was aloof of the prevailing traditions. He’d look at the story he’d want to tell and come up with methods never before used. He is, undoubtedly, the greatest director of all time.
What would we talk about? Well, the first thing I’d ask him is how he became such a learned filmmaker without having actually gone to a film school, so that I could follow in his footsteps (in a very naive way of course). I’d ask him about The Shining, the film which has, arguably, the most amount of dissection done to. I’d ask him about all the hidden meanings which he meant to allude to. I’d ask which of his works he’s most proud of. And finally, I’d aks him to give me advice on how to be a filmmaker. That last question was a no brainer really, but still. So, K stands for Kubrick.

2)Haruki Murakami

I was in eleventh grade when I first read the phrase “Only the dead stay 17 forever”. Murakami wrote that. Murakami is a Japanese novelist whose works have been translated into many languages and have become international best sellers. But he’s more than his sales numbers. People love his books because he has a way of making the reader see into the very depths of himself (by himself, I mean the reader’s self, not Murakami’s self). My first tryst with Murakami was when I read his novel Norwegian Wood, a book which became such a hit that Murakami left Japan to avoid the stardom. And of course, reading Norwegian Wood helped me understand myself better, so I can now easily say that Murakami is my favourite author of all time. The way he creates worlds, describes scenes and moulds fleshed out people using words is pure magic.
What would we talk about? Well, I’d ask him the one question which everyone’s asked. “How much of Norwegian Wood and which of its characters were inspired by real life people?”. I’m dying to know that. Most of the conversation, though, would involve me acting like an embarrassing fanboy (sometimes I can’t control myself). Oh, and one final question I’d ask him is this: “Would you let me adapt any one of your novels?”. And I’d wait with anticipation for an answer, and pray it’s a yes. So M stands for Murakami.

3)Ayrton Senna

I don’t think there’s any man more eligible to be idolised than Ayrton Senna. The most ambitious F1 racer there ever was, most humble, most competitive, most skilled, most charitable, most spiritual, the list goes on and on. I’ve actually written a huge post detailing why Senna will be my first true idol, so not going to waste space and time reiterating the same thing here. Senna’s dead. He died in 1994.
What would we talk about? I’d first ask him if he’s found God. He was a very spiritual man when he was alive, and now that he’s dead, I’m assuming I’ll still be talking to the dead Ayrton Senna. So I’ll ask him if he’s found God. I’ll probably make a side note about how big an idol he is to me and a lot of youngsters like myself. We’ll probably continue talking about F1. I like cars, so it might get a bit technical. I’ll ask him about all the technical changes he likes to be made to his car, and about how he balances the car so well during the rain and all that. Pure nerd talk, with the occasional spurt of fanboyism to act as icing on the cake.
So the S stands for Senna.

4)Kurt Cobain

I didn’t even know Cobain when his death sent shockwaves through the world of music. I must’ve been introduced to him when VH1 played Smells Like Teen Spirit a few years ago, back when they still played good music. Loud grunge music is not exactly my thing, but I liked the tune. I started getting hooked into Nirvana’s other songs, and slowly began reading up about Cobain, and some of his quotes really struck a cord inside me. He became an enigma, someone I wanted to understand but couldn’t. The lyrics of his songs only confused me further, and made me want to know more.
So, what would we talk about? We’d talk about his childhood, about the bullying he’s faced, if any. About his home. About what he wanted to talk about through his songs, about why he started feeling hypocritical. About why he stuck with Courtney Love even though she was as messed up as he was. About what made him end it. Basically, I just want to know him as a person. He’s made me feel that desire, to want to know him as a person. He’s dead, but maybe we could become friends. I don’t want to talk about his music that much. Just what went behind everything he did, every line he wrote and said.
So the C stands for Cobain.

5)Albus Dumbledore

I love Harry Potter. And anybody who loves Harry Potter loves Dumbledore (in general). He is, after all, one of the best old-wise-guide-archetype-character in all of fiction. And, I dunno, it’s possibly the playful twinkle in his eye that hooked me into him. Every time I’d read the books, I’d be itching for another dialogue exchange between Dumbledore and any other character. He’d always have a funny quip, and words of wisdom. Not to mention his past. He’s someone who’s seen and felt and done so much, and yet his exterior reveals none of it. To me, he was the most fascinating and lovable character in Harry Potter, not Harry, not Hermione, not Snape, not Ron, not Fred or George, it was Dumbledore.
What would we talk about? Well,  lots of stuff. Dumbledore likes to talk a lot, and I like to listen a lot, and occasionally talk too. We’d talk about the sweets of the wizarding world, we’d talk about him and Grindelwald. I’d certainly ask him if there really exists magic, and whatever shrewd answer he’d give, I’d memorize. I’d ask him about all the secrets of Hogwarts which he discovered during his stint there. I’d ask him why he didn’t stop Voldemort when he could have. I’d ask one last thing about whether he has a few Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans on him, so that I could actually taste them. I’d pray he didn’t hand me vomit or ear wax flavour.
So D stands for Dumbledore.

6)Ryan Gosling

I’m a guy and I’ve never been as awestruck by a male actor as I have with Gosling. Simply because of his raw and pure talent. And his diversity, might I add. He’s the guy who played a romantic in The Notebook, a heartbroken husband and step father in Blue Valentine and a violent stunt driver/getaway driver in Drive. And he did them all so well, you can’t imagine anybody else doing the same role. That’s Gosling for you, the man I hail to be the greatest actor alive, and one of the greatest actors to have ever lived. His intensity is unmatched.
What would we talk about? First and foremost, I’d ask about his method of acting. About how he’s able to bring out the poignant emotions in the various diverse characters he’s played. I’d ask him about his personal life, something which he’s so guarded about. I’d ask him what made him come to acting in the first place. I’d ask him if any part of what he portrayed in Blue Valentine or The Place Beyond The Pines reminded him of some similar situation from his own life. I’d ask him what he’s learnt from all the directors he’s worked under, which has helped him take a step from acting to directing. And finally, I’d ask him if he’d honour me by acting in one of my future films. Not a bad chat eh?
So the G stands for Gosling.

7)Anne Frank

You don’t need me to tell you who Anne Frank was. Or about her diary.
If I were to meet her on a WeChat group, I’d just talk to her about normal kids stuff. She was a kid. And I know a lot of the stuff which we would talk about are already there in her diary, but that’s beside the point. A one to one conversation is always special, even if it’s a repetition of something that’s already there. So, we’d talk about kids stuff. Nothing negative, hopefully. Nothing about concentration camps. Maybe some jokes here and there. She’s presented this insanely grim image of the holocaust, all by herself, that too unintentionally through her diary, and I want to know her personally.
The F stands for Frank.

8)Willie G. Davidson

The recently retired design head of Harley Davidson Motor Company, Willie G. Davidson is the first person I’d think of if I were asked to think of someone who utterly personifies the riding spirit. And being the crazy Harley Davidson afficionado that I am, I’d be retarded to not want to talk to him. He retired only last year (or last to last year, I’m confused). And he’s responsible for personally designing some of the most sought-after Harleys in the market.
What would we talk about? Plain and simple. Harley Davidson, and riding. We’d talk about all that goes into making a bike, the design process, the fabrication process, the assembly process, the various parts, performance enhancement and so on. We’d talk about his favourite models. We’d talk about all the huge Harley rallies he’s been a part of, about riding in a huge group of over 200 riders. We’d talk about the real riding spirit, because the spirit has been, in my opinion, gravely misinterpreted by recent riders. We’d talk about what riding means to each of us. And I might, rather subtly, ask if he has a spare Harley he could give me for free.
D stands for Davidson.

9)Heath Ledger

Heath Ledger

Every remembers this man for The Joker. Many remember him for Brokeback Mountain. In short, everybody knows that if he were alive today, he’d have held the title of greatest actor alive. But he’s not alive. He died of accidental overdose back in 2008. I’ve seen very few of his films, but what I have seen has made me worship his talent. And I’ve seen him evolve, from 10Things I Hate About You to The Dark Knight. I’ve seen him grow as an actor, which is why I respect him all the more.
What would we talk about? Movies. Acting. What acting meant to him. What his characters meant to him. I’d ask him a question which everybody’s been wanting to ask, was it accidental overdose or intentional overdose? Did playing The Joker drive him off the edge? How much of Ennis Del Mar (Heath’s character in Brokeback Mountain) was actually Heath Ledger?  It’s a more…professional conversation than personal, for me atleast, although these questions are very personal to him. But I want to know the answers. Because I feel the loss that the world of cinema has experienced due to his death.
L stands for Ledger.

10)The Beatles

While this isn’t one person but four, I’d rather meet all of them together in a group chat or something. They need no introduction. And what would we talk about? Music! And also about why the band broke up. I’d ask them if they’d like to compose some songs now, in the chat group, as weird as it sounds. I just can’t get enough of John, Paul, George and Ringo. Hell, I’m not even going to list out the other things we’d talk about, I’d be happy to watch those guys talk to each other.

Honourable mentions (since I had to cut them out so as to not bore you further with repeated questions and an overly long post): Gollum, Darth Vader, Thom Yorke, Alejandro Gonzales Innaritu, Anand Gandhi, Nathuram Godse, my great grandfathers, Sidney Lumet, Jim Morrison, Khaled Hosseini, Vito Corleone, Yoda, Christopher Nolan,Michael Fassbender, Satyajit Ray, Padmarajan, Roger Ebert, Osama Bin Laden (Just give him a huge middle finger), James Cameron, Martin Scorsese, Peter Jackson. I’ll stop here. I have many more, but I wouldn’t want to bore you.

So, these are the ten people.
And the guys who asked me this question, of chatting with five people in a WeChat group, are IndiBlogger and WeChat themselves.
Here’s a link to WeChat’s YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/user/WeChatIndia?feature=chclk

Thank ye for reading ;)

2013
05/15
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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I Shall Name This Untitled.


I’ve been blogging less and less lately. I dunno why. I guess I need to get back in touch with myself again, in touch with my feelings, in touch with who I am and what I want. I seem to forget myself. I’ve had some trouble opening up to others about what I’m really feeling. Maybe cus I myself don’t know. Let me try to unwind a little over here. Who’s a better listener than you, stranger?

My bouts of bipolarity have increased in frequency. One moment I want something, next moment I don’t. I lack that constancy, it’s killing me. Once in a while I sit back and think how grateful I oughta be, and how tough life is for other people. Mine’s not tough, not by a long shot. I met this kid who’s a year younger to me, who came to deliver a sack of rice and some other stuff at 11:30 at night. Mom was chatting him up, and she later told me that he’s studying in his twelfth, he goes to night school, and since it’s his vacations now, he’s doing deliveries. I calmly went back to playing Modern Warfare 3, pretending not to give a fuck. I feel guilty of having so much, I really do. Or maybe it’s not guilt, it’s just pity or sympathy or empathy, whatever you want to call it. I can’t get these images off my head. Sure, I’ll forget em after a few weeks, but they’ll be there. Maybe there’s a reason I am where I am, but I can’t think of a reason why that kid should be where he is. Why’s life so difficult for so many, and so easy for so many others? I don’t get where the balance is, I’m trying to and I want to, but I don’t get it. Well, if I were wise enough to understand something like that, then I’d not be human.

I’ve begun work on my first screenplay. I’m co-authoring it with a friend of mine, Bob. It’s been a tough time, getting the mood to write. We danced around an immature plot, faced an even more tough time coming up with convincing dialogues until we realised that the plot itself wasn’t convincing enough so no matter how convincing we got with the dialogues, it wouldn’t matter. We brainstormed and went back to square one, until we finally landed upon a new idea that could mix with the old one. Anyway, bottom line is, we’ve solidified our idea, and I’ve now begun writing the script, my first draft of it. But I felt like talking about whatever I felt, cus it felt like I hadn’t done so in quite some time. So, the script is actually now minimized. Hoorah.

The Harley contest is still underway, it ends in five days. The results will be out in 14 days. There’re days where I totally forget that I’ve participated in this contest, there’re days where all I can think about is winning this contest or atleast hoping to win it, and there’re days where, as usual, I feel guilty about giving something as materialistic as a motorcycle so much importance. I know I talked about how being materialistic is good. Well, now you see I’m a hypocrite, of sorts. Big time actually.

Another one of my immature (atleast I consider it to be immature) desires is to have a girl love me. Not just any girl, obviously, but a girl I love. Two way traffic, if you know what I mean. I guess I’m that little kid in a toy shop who wants a shiny toy, as a friend of mine rightfully put it about a year ago. It’s probably peer pressure or something, I dunno. Or maybe I’m just the hopeless romantic.

I feel like there’s so much to say, but I can’t find the right words. It’s been this way for quite some time.

My messiah complex seems to be getting worse.

Maybe I should get drunk.

2012
11/10
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Random Thoughts
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To Ride Or Not To Ride


I’ve sort of turned to motorcycles, as a substitute to girls (I’m so emo, no?). No, bikes can’t replace girls, but fine, what can I do? But in that desperation, I actually began to fall in love with Harley Davidson motorcycles. Something about it just attracted me. There was only one problem. Money. No, this isn’t a precursor to a bank robbery story. Anyway, I’d sort of stowed away the prospect of owning a Harley into the back of my mind. One day, two friends and I went to watch this rather pathetic film called Killing Them Softly, that too by paying an exorbitant ticket price. At that time, we hated the fact that we were doing it. But then inside the theatre I saw this huge banner that announced a competition, 20 Things To Do Before The World Ends. It was by Harley Davidson India. I decided to take a look at it. Once I did take a look, I realized that it was a competition where one had to enter a video. I had no means to make a video. So, I just let the idea go. Then, after a couple of weeks, a friend of mine actually convinced me to participate. And I started taking it seriously. He said he’d help me shoot the video with his own camera. So I took a look at the list of 20 things that Harley Davidson India has listed, and found that I had enough to make a video. So my friend and I did make the video. I didn’t like it much, mainly due to my startling inferiority complex. But he loved it. So did my mom. So, I submitted it. And slowly, as the positive responses increased, I began becoming more confident. I’m not sure if I stand a chance to win the competition, in all honesty, I don’t think I will (or maybe this is just my inferiority complex speaking). But I sure as hell am gonna try. Funny right, I end up hating Killing Them Softly and the fact that I spent 280 bucks on the ticket for that movie, but I never realised that if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be taking part in this contest. Maybe everything does happen for a reason, including overhyped bad movies. Anyway, the contest is decided with a combination of a video’s popularity and a jury vote. So popularity is a wild card here. Dear whoever-you-are, I need your help. Just click on the link given below, watch the video, maybe leave a comment, and share it. It won’t take long, I promise. And, it’s very important to me. Actually, I’m not sure if it is, my mind’s always divided. And sometimes I wonder if, in a world so messed up with so many more relevant things to be taken care of, it is right of me to give so much importance to a video about me and my love for Harleys. Well, as divided as I am, and as much as I know there’re so many more important things in this world, right now, riding makes more sense to me than anything else, and that’s why it’s important. To me. So please please help. I’d be grateful :)

Here’s the link.


http://www.harley-davidson.in/thelist/muppet-loves-harley/
What. Is. Wrong. With. Me? O.o
Good night.

2012
11/02
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Not So Random Thoughts
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In Memoriam


When you’re gone, you’re remembered by your past actions, deeds, relationships. You are remembered solely by how the people who remember you saw you. That’s the way it works. You could be an asshole, you could be a great man, you could be a kind man, you could be a selfish man, you could be everything, because so many people are gonna remember you atleast once after you’re gone. Everyone’s gonna sympathise with you after your death, but how’ll it matter, you’ll be gone anyway. All these things may be true, but I’m still going to remember someone who died, someone I know, or knew. This is how I saw him. And it sure as hell won’t make a difference if I do remember him or dedicate a blog post to him, it’s just something I want to do, sort of like laying flowers to a grave.

I just remember him by what everyone used to call him. Pathu. It’s a pretty common name for a Tam-Brahm family. Pathu’s the short form for Padmanabhan. He was my father’s uncle. He’s lived here in Bombay for as long as I can remember, and he’s always looked the same all these years, bald forehead, french beard, deep booming voice. He always laughed a lot. He had a good heart. When we’d first moved to Bombay, around 12 or 13 years ago, and when both my parents were working and the day-care centre would have a holiday, I’d be sent over to Pathu Mama’s place (technically he’s not my Mama, but dad called him that, so I picked up the lingo). This had happened only two or three times. Pathu Mama would almost always never be there, he was working at that time. I don’t even know what he did for a living, I just know that he worked. So I used to spend the day there, at his place, where his mother, wife and son were also there. It used to be a laugh, all the time. His mother used to make the best food I’ve tasted. I dunno if you’ve heard about Rasam, but she used to make this special kind of Rasam which I still haven’t seen replicated. Lunch used to be the high-point of my visits. I used to be a very irritating kid, to his son Ajay. Ajay’s much elder to me, he now has a job in the States. Anyway, I used to follow him around all the time, drive him nuts, make him play movies for me. Ajay’s mom loved it when I bugged Ajay, she used to gleefully take my side. I remember once I’d made Ajay play Titanic for me, and as the movie ended, “My Heart Will Go On” began playing during the credits, and Ajay got a tape-recorder to record the song (it was the 90s). As soon as the song got over, I shouted to Ajay telling him the song’s over. He got so mad, because the recorder was still recording, so my shout was recorded with the song. I wonder if they still have that tape. But I remember the expression of glee in Ajay’s mom’s face (I called her Usha Manni).

Pathu Mama would come back home close to the evening, a few minutes before my parents would come to pick me up, and he too would laugh on hearing the day’s events being recounted by Usha Manni. He always had a booming laugh. Strangely though, I saw very little of him during those visits. Later we moved back to Trivandrum, and I had my Poonal ceremony (something we Tam-Brahm males have to undergo) before fifth grade. Pathu Mama and Usha Manni came all the way from Bombay just for that. It wasn’t much to me back then, but it means a lot to me now. He had a handycam with him, and he recorded almost the whole ceremony. It was only long after the ceremony that he came to our house before leaving back for Bombay that he told me that he could see my underwear through the translucent ‘Veshti” (again,a  traditional Tam-Brahm attire). I chased him around for the recording, with the hopes of hiding it, he gave a jolly good chase, or so I remember. He later even showed me the video, three years later when I came back to Bombay on a leisure visit. We all laughed together. He’d retired by that time.

After we moved back to Bombay around four years ago, he’d pay us a visit once in a while, along with his mother and Usha Manni, along with HIS uncle (I’ll write about his uncle on another post some day :) ). My grandparents and they would talk about the old times and have a jolly good laugh. Pathu Mama still retained that booming laugh. Ajay had gone off to the States by that time. Last December, Pathu mama celebrated his 60th birthday in a grand fashion (60th birthdays are auspicious events to us Tam-Brahms), but I’d missed that event due to *gasp* IIT-coaching classes. My parents said everybody was very very happy. I was kinda sad that I’d missed it, I loved those guys a lot, even though I hadn’t spent that much time with them. They were loving people.

We got a call yesterday, telling that Pathu Mama had gone to Pune, to sort out some stuff regarding Ajay’s newly bought home. He’d checked into his hotel and was given a temporary room before his desired room was made ready, and as soon as they knocked to let him know that the room was ready, he was already dead. Heart attack. He was not even 61. Everyone was shocked. My dad and I didn’t show it. I still don’t show it. But thinking about it, I was….at a loss for words. He couldn’t live long enough to see his son get married, have kids. He’d gone to Pune to help settle his son’s house related matters. Who’d expect such a sudden death? Nobody. Ajay flew in from the States today morning. My parents paid them a visit. I didn’t go cus I had college, but truth be told, I didn’t want to go because I didn’t know what I’d feel at that moment if I’d gone there and seen his body. Death makes the living suffer, those left behind to face the emptiness. In a way, we all pray that our loved ones won’t die only cus we can’t bear the sadness. I don’t know how things actually are over there, but I can imagine. It’s just the sudden-ness that shocks me. The previous generation’s getting older, soon we’ll have to see our loved ones die, one by one. If we’re lucky, we’ll die first and not have to see them die and face the pain of loss, but then they’ll have to face the pain of our loss. Someone outlives the other, and somehow outliving becomes a sentence to a crime not committed.

I don’t want to think about all that right now. A man I saw very less of, but still I loved, died yesterday. And I just wanted to dig into my memory to find out the few memories I have of this man who always put a smile on our faces. I figured writing would be the way to go about it. I haven’t posted in my blog for quite some time, and it felt unfair to just write about Pathu Mama on my diary and leave it closed from everyone else. So, here this is. In Memoriam.

PS: If you know me personally or my contact details like phone number or facebook profile, and have read this post, then know that I do not want to talk about it, so any mention of this will be met with feigned memory loss.

2012
10/15
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Not So Random Thoughts
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Seriously Random. Random Random Random.


People always confuse humility with modesty. Let me get this clear. First of all, most people who’re branded as modest are falsely modest. Secondly, they are modest only because society requires them to be. It’s a double minded thing, modesty, atleast in most cases. If you’ve worked hard, or if you’re a genius and have achieved something amazing, then if you say to the public “Oh, gee, it was just luck, it was just easy, blah blah”, that’s a goddamn lie and you know it. You have every right to feel proud of your achievement and you needn’t have to hide it behind a modest façade just to not be branded as a person with “attitude”. Real modesty, now I can’t quite explain it, cus well, I’ve rarely seen it. So I’ll not elaborate on that. Now comes humility. Humility IS NOT modesty. Humility is when a CEO treats the garbage-man, the lift-man, the driver, the doorman, the receptionist, the employee, the colleague and the boss all the same, with equal degree of respect. Humility comes out of giving respect, treating people the way they should be treated-as people. Humility isn’t double standards, unless you wanna pretend to give respect too. Humility shows that you are a man (or a woman. I’m no male chauvinist. It’s just a way of phrasing things). You needn’t be world renowned to be humble. It just takes very little effort from your side. And frankly, humility needs to be valued way more than modesty.

College’s been going on for a while. I’ve never felt so bad about studying anything. Everything feels so useless, purposeless, and not just because I don’t want to be an engineer. No. The things that we learn seem to have no feasible application in real technology. Come on, who uses a real breadboard nowadays? Who wants to sit and study the definitions of current, voltage, series circuit, parallel circuit? Who wants to sit and derive long boring equations that’ll lead to one mundane formula, when all you have to do is understand the derivation and use the formula directly? Who wants to sit and write endless pages of theory about programming, when nobody’s gonna ask you theory in the future? Education system needs to understand that we have to just be made to understand, and if it thinks that by coercing us into writing/doing outdated and redundant topics, it’s sadly mistaken. People’re just gonna get fed up and start copying from some industrious fellow, just to reduce the effort. What I’m saying is, all this, it’s exhausting. Going to college every morning, doing stuff that feels so useless and boring, coming back and then trying to do the same stuff again at home..this is not what I expected.

Remember I’d told you guys that my aunt has cancer? Well, the docs removed the tumour and she’s undergoing chemotherapy in order to “vaccinate” herself by killing any stray cancer cells. I thought “Hey, the major ordeal is over, the uncertainty of the severity. A few weeks from now, this’ll all be in the past”. Then my mother comes and tells me “It was not an early discover. The cancer was actually stage 2. Your aunt didn’t wanna tell us cus she didn’t want us to worry”. That’s when I began putting things into perspective. Having a close shave with cancer. Then going through chemo, losing the hair, not being able to eat much, not being able to go out much, being weak, it’s brutal. I’ve been doing the easy thing-staying positive. Really though, I guess I could stay positive because till now I could never really fathom the gravity of what was happening. I was ignorant, blissfully ignorant. I’m ashamed. My aunt’s even subscribed to my blog, so she’s probably reading this. I’m just trying to accept, understand, what everything is gonna do to her, what all she has to go through. It’s dizzying. And the doctors say she’s a sure survivor, thank the lord. Imagine though, going through all this and more and then one fine day, you drop dead. Imagine the struggle, imagine it not paying off. That’s such a cruel way to go. I’m a monotheist, I believe in one God, and maybe I lack the wisdom to understand why these things happen, but honestly, I can’t help but wonder what possible reason could exist for cancer to even be there. Why? I’m on the verge of losing it, and I don’t even have cancer.

Many of my blog posts feel like they should belong in a personal diary. I do have a diary. I just am too lazy to sit with a pen and write on it. Typing’s faster. Plus, I’m overly protective of my diary. But if I put stuff up here, I don’t know who’s gonna read what, so I’m blissfully unaware. And writing helps me put things into perspective. Atleast when I gather up enough thoughts to write down. As before, I’m stiff confused, a lot, about many things. Some philosophical things, some outright banal things, some personal things, it’s a mixed bag really. Seriously random. Random Random Random.

Wow I’m so selfish.

2012
09/07
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Random Thoughts
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Things Are Good In Instalments.


You know how long movies can sometimes get irksome? Or maybe long stories end up with you losing track of characters’ motivations? I’m just giving examples. To let you know that sometimes, small instalments work wonders. Like if you buy something expensive, you pay in EMI. So, anyway, that was just something I wanted to leave you with, that small instalments are awesome. Now here’s the main plot of this blog post. My friend Bob and I are crazy about films. We both share the same situation of having to undergo four years of engineering before doing filmmaking. So we both decided to be a tag team, go to the same film school, write scripts together, so on and so forth. So our first hurdle was getting into a film school, and the best film schools in India required us to submit a short film of our own, as a sort of an entrance exam, if you will. But we had no idea how to make short films. So one fine day, Bob sends me this link to a short and says “Dude, we have to compete with films like these. I wanna dig a hole and live in it”. Or something of that sorts. Intrigued, I open the YouTube link, and saw my very first short film. It was called Girl In Bombay,That. GIBT in short.

It’s a short film about a nameless film maker who has been trying to make at least one film but has never succeeded in finishing one. He’s from Calcutta. Have I told you that I love Bengalis? Just everything about them. Just saying. Anyway, back to the short. So this film maker leaves Calcutta for Bombay, the city of dreams. He then purchases as second hand Nikon D5000 (it’s a DSLR camera). To his surprise, he finds that fate or destiny (or whatever it is that you wanna call it) has given him a movie. The memory card of the previous owner of the camera is still intact and within the camera. It contains various photos that the previous owner had clicked. That previous owner is That Girl In Bombay. An unknown muse, a very beautiful lady who captures the film maker’s intrigue through various snippets of her life which could be put together only by joining together the various disjointed still portraits. So our protagonist sets out to find her, amidst this great city. Of course, he doesn’t succeed, and he feels that once again, he can’t complete his film, so then comes the conclusion, which of course, I shall not reveal. But you know why I love this short? Because in just 14 minutes, it manages to romanticize all the things that give me purpose-cinema, Bombay, and some things which I can’t seem to put in concrete words but they’re just there.

More than the story, it’s about introspection. You know how I’ve said many times that I love films because they seem to say what I want to say and in doing so, they become my most trusty companions? Well, this 14 minute short does just that. It has this haunting song sung to the company of a single acoustic guitar, and that somehow became the background music of my life for a whole day. Then there’re the dialogues. More specifically, there’s this one dialogue spoken by the film maker, telling us what films mean to him. I’d almost cried. Because before watching GIBT, all I knew was that I loved cinema A LOT, and that cinema helps me feel at home. But this particular monologue actually made me realise that I too love cinema for all these exact same reasons, I just didn’t know it yet, and trust me when I say, the realisation of something you’ve wanted to know but just somehow didn’t, it’s heavenly. Which is why I almost cried. Almost. Enough of the emotional atyachaar.

Point is, this is just a short film, but this short film resonated within me more than most full length features. Everything about it. Maybe because it’s been made by someone just a few years elder to me, maybe I somehow envisioned myself making such a short film, maybe because my first few films will be something like this short and this short is now the crown jewel to which I’ll compare anything and everything I create. I finally have a benchmark set, I finally know what to work towards.

I’m generally not such a brave guy, especially when it comes to going against the current and doing that which’d make me happy. GIBT sort of wrecked my morale. It was so good, so beautiful, I was feeling really really low. I couldn’t help but think “how the hell am I gonna outdo this? “. But you know the drill, all great things need time to sink in, and once this one did, fear changed to inspiration. I realised that I had to outdo it, and so by watching such a great short film, I realised that I’ll force myself to make something beautiful just so that it could at least be compared to this piece of art.

Cinema for me is ‘You’, my sight. Everything that’s in front of me. Everything that agrees to show itself it me. Everything that disagrees with me. Everything that gets related with me. That’s cinema for me. Everything which makes its presence felt, everything which makes its absence felt, that’s cinema for me. Everything which has lost something, everything which wants to achieve something, that’s cinema for me. Everything that I’ve heard, everything that I want to hear, that’s cinema for me. If my life was a film, I’d like to know where the editing room was, because I didn’t find her.  The city doesn’t care whether you’ve arrived or departed, it is only here because of the sea. I wouldn’t stand another incomplete film. I had to end this one.

I can’t begin to say what those words mean to me. They mean so much more than the literary meaning. They do. I can’t possibly begin to make you understand that, because my knowledge of the language is too limited, and I doubt you’d understand. But this is who I am, this is who we are, we are people hopelessly in love with the canvas of the world. I don’t know how good or bad I am at cinema, I’ve yet to give it a shot, but I do hope that somewhere someday, some kid seeks inspiration from my short film like I have with this. Yes, some good things do come in small instalments. Even something as good as That Girl In Bombay.

To those who want to see this short film, here’s the link.



PS: I know this ain’t my best post, I’m basically writing this in an aimless fashion, but that’s what usually happens when I don’t know where to begin and where to end. It’s like the taut middle portion of a tale where you somehow have to tie the beginning to the end, and the strength of that knot has everything to do with the integrity of the whole. I guess this one’s not so great, but I owed it to the makers of this short to pay my tribute, it’s the least I could do considering what it has done for me. And also it’s the least I could do to you readers. If Bob hadn’t told me to watch this short, I’d never have even heard of it, let alone allow myself the experience of being touched by it. So, tit for tat if you will. Goodnight. Sweet dreams. Wet dreams if you want it to be.

2012
09/03
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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Living In The Material World


There’s a Martin Scorsese documentary about George Harrison having the same title as my post. Or rather, my post has the same title as that documentary. You know what I mean. Anyway, this post has nothing to do with the documentary, Scorsese or Harrison.  It is, quite literally, about being materialistic. I confess, I’ve been called materialistic once or twice by my parents. I generally am not materialistic, I just like the good stuff, like iPhones and Lamborghinis and stuff like that. But a certain rather recent affliction made me thing as to whether I really am materialistic. But then, the answer could’ve been found only after finding what the term materialistic meant. If I look at random chicks in a mall gawking at each dress hung up on display, I’d jump to the conclusion that they’re materialistic. If a person foregoes all sense of integrity just for some gain in terms of acquiring a new physical item, then I’d call them materialistic. There are, quite frankly, far too many scenarios where a person can be called materialistic. I guess each and every one of us is materialistic, or have been at some point of time. But I’m not making this blog post to talk about the various types of materialistic nature, I’m not writing a goddamn textbook for cryin’ out loud. No, I’m making this post to romanticize my materialistic nature. Consider it my way of accepting myself. Humour me.

Motorcycles. Or rather, make it singular. Motorcycle. A Harley Davidson motorcycle is what I’m materialistic about. Before you think of just closing this blog post in irksome gesture, please don’t, I’m not gonna ramble on as if Harley Davidson Motor Co. has hired me to be their PR Representative. No, actually, it’s all about me and a Harley. See, I’ve finally got my driver’s license, so I jumped the gun yesterday and went for a test drive at the Harley Davidson showroom over here, at Bandra. They had this customized Iron 883 (sweet name, isn’t it?). So I testdrove it, felt like I was in heaven, bla bla, then I came home. After everyone’d gone to sleep and things were quiet, I began to think. Why would something as inanimate and mechanical as a motorcycle catch my fancy so much? It’s a machine after all. As I began to think, I realized that it was not the Harley Davidson Iron 883 which caught my fancy, I’d chosen to give my attention to it. I’d chosen to build an intense desire for it. It was purely my choice. It was my choice, my attraction to it that made me forget each and every banal introspective thought during the two minutes of test drive.  I’d chosen to let the rumble of its engine carry me away, I’d chosen to see myself on it. Maybe it was because of my well-known lack of self worth you know. All I had to do was get onto a rumbling Harley Davidson and voila, nobody cares about who I am or what I’ve done, I’m the man on a Harley! That’s just a theory.

But when I say this, and I say this with the utmost sincerity and you know I’m telling the truth, those two minutes saw me with only two things on my mind-the road, and the Harley. It fascinated me, mystified me, made me feel scared, as to how one machine could do so much. I’d already arrived to the answer, that it was my choice of giving it importance, but still, I felt like I hadn’t arrived at the proper answer. And then it struck me. It was precisely because it was an is an inanimate machine. All I had to do was love it, and the act of loving it was reward in itself. Don’t get it? All I need to do is value it, and every time I see it or think of it or sit on it or hear it rumble, I feel the love I give it pay off. Machines are not people, and that is a good thing and a bad thing. People can hold you, kiss you, give you warmth, comfort you with words, hurt you, ignore you, destroy you, basically people can do anything if you give them the love and importance. But not a machine. A machine will be the same, but it will be defined by your love for it. Each and every time I think of sitting on a Harley, I feel strong, like I can face the toughest challenges. I don’t need to tell it my problems (if they can be termed problems), my frustrations, my joys. I just don’t. All I need is to start her up and go for a ride. That’s the simplicity of being materialistic. No strings attached. You get what you pay for. You get what you give. Human beings complicate things. These materialistic things don’t.

Right now, that thought gives me a lot of comfort. It also makes me realise that I shouldn’t look down upon you if you go gaga behind a new dress displayed on a window of a shop, or a new phone announced by a major company, or a brand new coffee table which somehow would make your living room better (and make Ikea richer mind you), or the new pair of running shoes from a billion dollar sports brand, or whatever it is that has caught your fancy. Because if I do look down upon you, that’d make me a hypocrite. Because I’m just like you. I’m living in the material world.

2012
09/02
POSTED BY
CATEGORY
Random Thoughts
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