Running around Trees

I am a hindi-movie-person, and there's no denying the fact. Just saw Gangster (alovestory) and liked it a whole lot. Even the corny end when she falls evanescence style into the world of after life and is reunited with her lover and kid both aptly dressed in white. I thought it was a pretty good film. Am not going to go into how it could've been a whole deal better, blah-blah...coz i just realized that i know nothing about movies at all. I can never sit and count the number of frames, and shots and cuts, and i am most likely to miss a 180 degree aberration and the likes. Instead what i see in a film is how it makes me feel, and how far i can laugh and cry with it. Not that i dont enjoy alternative cinema, but i cannot sit through atlami i dont get and then shake my head at the end of it. For example, i have till date not figured out Pierrot Le Fou, howmuchever little i saw of it. Ohh, i can write answers on it thanks to that wonderfully weird SRC note, and i can bhatao about French New Wave and the like, but i dont get it, know what i mean? Like, i get A Clockwork Orange, or that crazy Renoir film where everybody slept with everybody, and Caligari, but I so didnt get Stalker. Like i get Portrait of an Artist, but Ulysses is lost on me. Or that Plath makes so much sense, but Virginia Woolf, i cannot comprehend. Its just one of those things.
Coming back to Gangster (ALoveStory), i loved the way the film looked. Ofcourse the female cannot act for nuts, she is even worse than Ami(ee?)sha Patel who I think is the limit, Emraan Hashmi is ahem...but Shiney Ahuja makes me cry (thats a good thing!).
I like Hindi movies in general--not all, ofcourse, but the well-made ones. Like Dil Chahta Hai is one of my fave films, Hindi or English. And not beacuse it was technically superior and all that jazz, but because of its simplicity, i thought it was incomparable. Also Hazaron Khwahishey Aisi, which i have still not been able to get over. I still see DDLJ and KKHH whenever they show it on TV, i know almost all the lines by heart.
I like Bangla films too. Not the new ones because they are just a bad copy of Hindi, but the so called alternative ones. I liked Saanjhbatir Roopkathara, and Nishijapon and Herbert. I did not like Antarmahal, except for one particular scene which freaked the shit out of me. Doshar was quite sad too.
I wasnt allowed to see too many films as a kid. But i got my love for cinema from my dad, who use to record all the good films shown on DD7, i think. So on school holidays with no one home, I used to see all those recorded films. Unishe April, Shakha-Proshakha, Ghare-Baire are one of the few i remember i loved. I was quite young then, around 11 or 12, and those were my first encounter with 'A' films, though not in the way one might imagine. English films happened to me much much later, except for the patent ones like Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, and Ben Hur.
Even today when i discuss films with dad, it often surprises me that he doesnt wonder how or when i saw all of them. Maybe he knows. And maybe he doesnt really mind.
I was this film crazy person since birth. I saw whatever was acessible to me, whenever i could, whenver no one was watching. Sometimes i think i watch a lot less films now than what i used to. I wonder why. Probably the same reason why i read much lesser books now, than before. It was so much easier to find peace in words and stories.
Anyway, if that last line is not a perfect hindi-movie ending to a completely arbit post, i dont know what is!!

PS: I am completely in love with James' voice. I adore the way he says 'tuta-tuta sab'....there is something really sexy about him.

Surely life is supposed to have more meaning than this?
Isnt it?

Rather Random.

Maybe its a step in the right direction, maybe its not.
I know the golden rules, but its hard to follow.
I get so frustrated when i cant be good at something. I usually only do things i'm good at. Its a cover up.
I don't like being complicated. Most people nowadays seem to take that as some sort of a compliment. Its not, really. No matter how much u kid yourself.
Most people u talk to, want to talk about themselves. Which i think is a blessing in disguise.
I'm play acting all my life. I would be a great asset in soccer.
I want to do something really strenuous, walk for 10 miles, climb a hill, anything. Then i want to come home with pleasantly aching limbs and sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I need to sleep. Period.
I suddenly want to do Saraswati Pujo type programmes: Rabindrasangeet dance, lal-paar sari, smudgy angry makeup, recitation, plays, giggles, radhabollobi-alur dum.
There was this one really bitchy girl there, who always gave me a complex about not being able to dance as well as the others. Its still there, the complex.
I recently discovered voice chat. Issgood.

Where's the party tonight?

The very first thing that she had ever wanted to be was a spy. This was 3 years before she had wanted to be in the air-force, and almost 4 years before she had dreamt of being a parachutist. In the end, she settled for a receptionist, for as she merrily told others "Well, somebody's got to manage the groundwork too".

He was commercial pilot. Lufthansa was it, or...? She kept mixing it up. But she loved him anyway. He was tall, he had nice shoulders and a wonky easy smile. Sha hadnt been on a plane before. He hadnt been in that hotel before. It was one of those hit-or-miss meetings. And it was a hit.

So they walked among clouds and dined amidst stars. When she closed her eyes she could see him at the controls, navigating 11,000 metres over ground level, bearing the responsibility of 300 lives. She soared along with him, higher, higher until she floated into oblivion. He stood on board and thought of her in the brown worn leather chair, with cloudy eyes and sky blue dreams.

They decided on Paris as their honeymoon destination. He said he would take leave. She wanted that he should fly the craft.
About a week before the wedding, she found a letter on her bed.
" I searched three worlds till eternity,
I found a girl who loved to fly...
She looked at me through rose-cloured eyes,
Her heart alas, belonged to the skies."

She searched for him for a whole year, offices, airports everywhere. It was as though he had evaporated. Even years later, everytime she heard the drone of a craft, she wondered if it was him at the cockpit.

He had taken a transfer to Charles de Gaulle, Paris. Even now, when he scanned passenger lists he wondered if he would ever see her name.
Inflight, as the plane completed take off he relaxed. Moving forward with confident, measured steps looking dapper in the crisp uniform, he bent slightly.
"Yes ma'am, would that be tea or coffe?"

Down below, a girl at the reception welcomed people with warm smiles, cloudy eyes and sky blue dreams.

"Aren't you ever going to be tired of acting your way through life?" the big C asked on a lazy afternoon, not too far from last week, on a day that was definitely not Monday.
I ignored it as i usally do. You give such things attention and they have a tendency to sit on your head. If u dont respond, it usually leaves.
Only this time it had this entire list of faults drawn up and seemed determined to stay put.

• You have no life. Get a life.
• You have no self-respect. Get that too.
• Useless waste of time is your forte. Get a new forte.
• Lose weight. Or atleast lose the complacency.
• Accept.
• Move on.
• Look for newer avenues. Diss the sidewalk, take the road.

I honestly dont know what the last one meant. Must be copy-pasted from someone else's list as usual. Typical.

Here is my own list:

• I have 8 new books, 3 new movies, and a new computer system waiting to be explored. I dont need a 'life'.
• I suffer from too much self-respect. Obviously you screwed up somewhere.
• Wasting time is not my forte. Crying over wasted time is. Time for u to get an update.
• Working on the weight loss bit. Trying reverse psychology.
• Complaceny is shattered, so you neednt jitter. This one's a fake 2-penny, i got on sale.
• Cant accept. Will ignore.
• Move on...where to?

Big C has retired for the time being. Its going to try the hard-to-get approach next time, i heard. Some things just dont know when to give up.

Go go go. Shooo! Get a life! Duh! ok bye! Tum ti tum ti tum. TI TUM!

I feel stupidly sentimental.
Held Ribbon on my lap for 30 minutes and he didnt die or cry, instead kept yawning and flashing toothless grins. [Ribbon, by the way, is my nephew and not a dog! He turned 21 days today]
Went to City Centre all by myself. Realized survival isn't as hard as anyone makes it out to be.Refreshed. Rejuvenated. Replenished. Quite like the Dove ad.
Came home really really late. Took a bus, an auto, a tram and a cab. Ate bhutta.
A very very nice phone conversation. Incomplete, but nice. Ancient Scottish tribe comes through. Mmmuuahh!
I will I will I will. I wont I wont I wont.
I feel like being a kid and sticking my thumb out. "kach kola" Only i wont. I never did that ever. Even when it was ok too.
I think Peanuts is the best. Charlie Brown is so cluless. I am a little clueless now. But it feels nice. Clueless is good. knowing too much--now thats the problem.
Okspacebye :)

NOTHING

Nothing must change. Nothing must remain as it is. Nothing is what it was.
'Nothing' says- "Im fucking tired of listening to you. I quit."

A can of dead fish, an ancient Scottish tribe, a flickering light in Southern Europe, a demigod i've never met is all i am left with. Not too sure about the light though. It might go out any time. Not too sure about the others either. They might just pull a 'nothing' .

If only i could get a nose job done, i'd like to think things would be better. But a new nose wouldnt go with the rest of my face. A face lift wouldnt go with the rest of my body. A complete makeover wouldnt go with the soul. And i still havent heard of any place where they do 'souls'.

So I turn back to the nothingness. Only it quit. Leaving this void behind. And what is the value of a space left by what used to be nothing? Will take maths to solve this one.
Like if nothing=X, and we assume an imaginary figure i to be the initial value of the space :
Dont have the brains to proceed though it seems like it would lead somewhere.
Unfortunately, dont know any place where they do 'brains' either.

Too many self-reflective posts in too few days. That cant be good for anyone. Time to go back to the all objective impersonal self again.

Yesterday (that is 29th) was my grandparents 61st marriage anniversary. 61!!! I dont even want to live that long! I cant imagine what it would be like, to live with somebody for that long, day after day, year after year. Granted that they probably got married really early, and all that. But you should see them even today. Every evening after all the soaps have been watched, and eyedrops have been given, and medicines have been taken...they lie down next to each other on the bed and talk and talk and talk. About everything under the sun. Politics, serials, grocery-list, relatives, me, neighbourhood people. Didun cant hear too well and she also keeps forgettin what she said 5 minutes back, but she can remember every birthday and wedding date of every single person that she has known. Dadun used to be this hot blooded young man, and he can still manage to get pretty angry sometimes, but for her, he repeats the same trivial fact over and over again. He is the only one in the family who deals kindly with her forgetfulness, it seems like Alzheimers but we are more or less comforting ourselves with the old-age theory. If that is like not the most dedicated kind of commitment, i dont know what is. Some people would hate it...being helpless, dependant, basically feeling unwanted, unloved...but something tells me these two 'oldies' are enjoying a second round of their twenties, without the least bit of care about all of those above mentioned things. They're happy, carefree, raring to live...
As long as they have each other.

I feel so so so mad right now...
Somethings bugging me. Somethings chewing away at my brains at regular intervals of time. Somethings going to drive me over the edge.
And it isnt a big something really. But but but...

I wish i had something to distract myself with.
I hate speaking Hindi. I wont anymore.
I hate exams.
I hate having to pretend everythings ok when its obviously not.
I hate having to be dependant on certain things.
I wish i could be uncivilized and not care.
I want to start over again.
I'm having to eat some of my own words even though no one knows it yet. And its not pleasant.
Damn it...nothings ever ever perfect. Not even the little things that you dont even expect would be perfect.

Theres simply too much anger in me right now. And a little bit of hurt. And a little bit of denial. And a little bit of realization... this is how it has always been and always will be.
Geography can only change this much.

I feel cynical, skeptical and all other things that i have countlessly told other people not to feel. Irony hits you real hard doesnt it?

Its like all your life u believe in something, or someone or some instituition- and then one fine day, totally out of the blue, it comes crashing down all around you like a pack of cards. And then you feel stupid, because, why on earth had you been living in a card castle in the first place? You should have known that it would come crashing down. Its common sense. And thats just why. Nobody likes common things. They are, well...common.

Like say, you totally have this idea about a friend. Or why friend, say you totally have this idea about yourself...you have yourself all figured out, you know exactly what to think, and you are confident as to how other people see you. And then?? BAM!! Something happens? Ofcourse something happens...what is the point of this post otherwise? So you have this innocuous phone conversation, or you read an old text message, or maybe you just wake up and see things totally differently! And thats when those kings, and queens and knaves are grinning from ear to ear. See? We told u so? What are you blaming us for? We are just a pack of cards!
And indeed...who do u blame but yourself? blame the phone call, the letter, the alarm clock? No it is simply too tiresome to even begin the blaming bit. So u cry a little over the spilt cards, you sniffle and declare war against the entire race of cards, until you are bleary-eyed, breathless and exhausted.

Finally you get up, dust yourself, and make a solemn promise (yet again!) never to trust those cards ever.
Having done that...you sit in front of the computer and with immense concentration, come up with a ridiculous story about a metaphorical pack of cards and their fall!

I feel that a man may be happy in This World. And I know that This World is a World of Imagination & Vision. I see Every thing I paint in This world, but Every body does not see alike. To the Eyes of a Miser a Guinea is far more beautiful than the Sun, & a bag worn with the use of Money has more beautiful proportions than a Vine filled with Grapes. The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the Eyes of others only a Green thing which stands in the way. Some see Nature all Ridicule & Deformity, and by these I shall not regulate my proportions; & some scarce see Nature at all. But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is, so he sees. As the Eye is formed, such are its Powers.

-William Blake

(i couldnt resist. what a man!)

Gibberish

"I paint", he said by way of introduction.
"Yeah?" I nodded, thinking about dinner.
"I direct plays too", he persisted.
"I dont watch much", I insisted.

It was a long party. And the only person i had counted on had decided to back out last minute to see a match. Hell, i wanted to see that match. It was my team playing. Instead here i was at this 5-star lounge drowning in martinis, air kisses and one-sided conversation.

"Oh honey, its been ages! Where have you been?" red-lipstick-black-hair-turned-blonde-turned-brown-asked.
"Here and there" I muttered.
"How does the color look?" she preened.
"Fascinating", I said through my teeth.

A man was giving me the eye from over the bar. A woman was giving him the eye from the stage. Painter-cum-play-director was conversing with model-type-bimbette.

"Oh but i absolutely adore plays" bimbette with her hands all over painter-cum-director.
"My plays always have a social message, its absolutely imperative that they do" while guzzling another whiskey-n-soda.

Rich golden kanjeevaram sarees. Clingy black tinier-than-handkerchief outfits. Bright maroon lipstick. False eyelashes. False smiles. Face lift. walking liposuction advertisements. Plastic surgery noses. Heady scent mingled sweat mingled something else.
Married-superstar sneaking glances at wannabe-starlet. Three Mercedes, 5 BMWs and a poodle called Baleno.
Blonde-fashion-designer male bonding with top-model-turned-struggling-actor.

"No ofcourse it isnt the same dress i wore last year! How could you even suggest such a thing?"
"London, dahling! London ofcourse".
"You looks so thin, you sly thing"
"What is with that oversize tee? She must be pregant."

Nose rings. False tattoos. False breasts.
Psychotic. Psychedelic. Claustrophobic.

The Dj played "Khallas" Remixed.
I texted for the score.
Pass the martini someone.

Seriously.
Everything sucks.

Wish List for the Day

I want to meet someone exciting. Someone whom i would want to meet again the day after. Whom i would want to talk to again after the first time.
I want a new soft toy. Yes, in case you were unaware of the fact, i absolutely adore them. For some odd reason people stopped giving me softoys after i turned 15.
I want to be 16 again. I loved being 16.
I want to erase some people from my past. Just because they were irritating...and i dont want to know them now.
I want to erase a bit of me in the past. i wouldnt want to know her either.
I want to do maths. Calculus actually.
I want my dad here.
I want Boomba here.
I want to go to Oxford. I really, really do.
I want to get wet in the rain.
I want to write something more meaningful/interesting/funny.

Okbye

Sid

His name was Sid. Short for something bigger. What..I don’t know. Everyone called him Sid. All his friends. His mom. His maths teacher. I called him Sid too.
One day while we were walking, I called him Siddy. Unconsciously. I hadnt even noticed. He turned to me, his eyes flashing. "Its Sid", he said.

I cowered. And nodded mutely.
We walked...him still angry, and me much disturbed.

************************************************************************************

We played together as children. He could make up brilliant stories. We had our own collection of mythical creatures more wonderful than any unicorn you might meet on the road.

When I played well, without messing up my lines he would pat my head.
Sid found a dog on the road once. A week later, he found it again.

Someone had kicked it around too much. It died.

************************************************************************************

When I was 7 and he was 9, his aunt asked Sid whom he wanted to marry. I looked away knowing very well what his answer would be. When she asked me I looked at Sid, and said "No one."
When I was 16 and had my first boyfriend, his aunt had died. Sid had left home for good.

************************************************************************************

Years later, I saw him again in a seedy bar. He bought me a beer, while his eyes danced around brightly. We didn’t speak at all. There was simply too much to say.
"Did you see Kill Bill?” he asked me, at length.
"Part 1 or 2?", I asked.
"I don’t know. Its doesn’t matter" he sighed.
He got up to leave, his glass half-empty. "Hey", I called out. "What is your full name?"
"Sid," he said without turning back. “Sid.”