To be or not to be..

Waiting for the century machine's century

2011-11-15T18:09:00.000+05:30

Capturing the moment in time. It's heady. Sharda Ugra at Cricinfo writes.

Enough about the wait for the hundredth

It's just another statistic in a career full of them. And worrying about it won't make it come any sooner

Sharda Ugra

November 13, 2011

These are for noise-cancellation. What can kill the clamour? © AFP

Enlarge

Cold turkey

2011-11-15T17:23:00.000+05:30

"I've quit smoking, I've quit", I croak at every-thing and nothing around.

"I've quit", I say every time I move out defenseless in the world.

Bollywood says 'Bash the Customer!'

2010-11-13T21:19:00.004+05:30

Critic bashing has always been cool in Bollywood, most times for valid reasons. Tales of paid reviews, and of so called critics who suck up to stars and producers for personal gains abound, and it is shameful that those exist in a democratic system (people pay, either directly or indirectly to read such opinion, and it is shameful, and stupid that they do so for compromised opinions).

I do not condone those reviewers, I am not even talking about those mainstream reviewers. Here, specifically I am discussing those that Karan Johar memorably tweeted about a while back, "Nowadays everyone and his dog is a film reviewer" or words to that effect.

Or specifically Ajay Devgan as quoted in this OPEN magazine article,

“I know critics are important, but do you know there are some 400 critics today? Every channel, there are two people discussing films when they don’t even understand film-making. You’re harming someone’s business, career; a producer could have put in all his life savings. It’s not fair. There has to be some kind of qualification before you become a critic.”

Honestly, I find these words alarmingly naive and absurd. When you prefer a restaurant or an airline over another, and tell everyone around about your own extremely prejudiced and subjective opinions, do you pause to think that perhaps the business owner could have put his own life savings in it? I am guessing not, bristling with righteous indignation, you consider it your moral duty to inform everyone about your own opinions in order to protect them from what you think are bad deals.

I also find the "you must understand film-making to critique it" logic naive too. Before professing my preference for a toothpaste over another, do I need to know how to manufacture it? A film critic writes (or should write) for the people who are going to see the film, not for those who are making it. Also, if only experts were running the world, or commenting upon things they are experts on, wikipedia would be a laughable idea, free/open source software platforms would be alarmingly decrepit, and the concept of word-of-mouth would never exist.

I find it hypocritical of the entire Bollywood community to be expecting good service and good products in everything they consume, and separating their own produce from such an analysis. It cannot, Bollywood produces films for commercial consumption. Every person who pays his ticket price for the film is a customer, and he is entitled to an opinion, and in a free society, has the right to express such an opinion to as many people as would listen to him. One faces such scrutiny when one chooses to be in business, and the least one can do about it is man up and face it. The opinion might be unjust, but he is a customer, and he is not wrong. His opinion, whether you like it or not, is his opinion, and his opinion will decide whether he spends money on your product or not. Even if the opinion he holds is unjust or wrong, it is YOUR mistake, not his. You, as a custodian and a marketer of your product are responsible for the impression your customer has of your product.

The only reason Bollywood is incensed at such proliferation of amateur reviewers every Friday, is because like most other mainstream businesses in the country, it is not internet savvy. It does not know (yet) how to mobilize popular public opinion on the internet (it cannot, it can only guide it, unlike traditional media and advertising, where more money spent essentially equals a higher awareness and most likely a higher chance of people trying it), and in the lack of such control bemoans an injustice.

Everyone and his dog SHOULD be reviewers. Everyone and his dog WILL be reviewers. That is exactly what Caveot Emptor (Let the buyer beware) states. That is exactly what the Jaago Grahak Jaago campaign is intending to do. That is exactly where the society is heading with the internet and social media helping consumers make their choices in a much better and informed manner. Amazon, IMDB amongst every other big site has a direct customer feedback section (right on the page for each product/ film. They also do not check whether said comments are made by experts on the field). Closer home in indian market places, websites like Burrp.com and Mouthshut.com have been mobilizing public opinion for all sorts of products and services.

The customer is always right, even when he is wrong! And bashing him up or getting antagonistic towards him is not going to do your business any good. Listen to him, understand what is wrong, correct probable misconceptions by a mutual dialogue. Give people a chance to get involved with your film. Encourage pooling together of people online to discuss your film. Get involved.

Open your eyes, and smell the air! The world has changed!

Impressions of TEDxGateway held on 30th Oct 2010 at ITC Grand Central Mumbai

2010-11-01T21:22:00.005+05:30

I attended the Ted X Gateway event day before yesterday, and since then I have been mulling over whether I should write about it. You see, of late I have been trying to follow the dictum, "If you do not have anything nice to say/ write about something/someone, don't say it!"

The results, however, have been fairly disheartening, as I have not written anything for some time now. Hence, making amends.

The event wasn't bad as such, though I was decidedly underwhelmed by it. The culprit, I presume, as Lord Buddha pointed out centuries ago was expectations. This being my first experience of a live TED event as opposed to videos seen on the laptop hadn't set expectations right.

I was under the impression that the talks would be about interesting, original ideas that people would share that are going to affect the world, would help you in better understanding of the current world or/ and involve a learning that the listener carries away from the session. Something ideally that he could replicate. You know, the "Ideas worth spreading" bit. I presumed it would be different than say, the Oprah Winfrey show (nothing against that show).

It was embarrassing to find speaker after speaker apologize to the audience about their presence on the podium, as they were not sure whether they had done enough in life, or had an interesting idea worth sharing (worth being the operative word). It is one thing when one is starting a talk with a little humility, it is another to know when self doubt is pervading everyone's minds. Even more embarrassing was the fact that a lot of speakers insisted on showing their credentials and sharing their fame (and pictures with dignitaries), right in the middle of their talks instead of actually talking about the idea which supposedly led them there.

Ideas were sometimes tragically sacrificed for rhetoric and drama. I particularly remember two incidents, the first of a picture of a polar bear apparently precariously balancing itself on a fast melting ice piece floating on water, and it was cited as a passionate cry towards environmentalism "How long do you think that poor polar bear has to live? As soon as that ice melts!" Polar bears are excellent swimmers. One doesn't want to dilute the importance of such a noble and needed initiative, but such half baked knowledge of the issue on hand ends up doing just that. In another talk, a seemingly enterprising suggestion by the speaker was to try selling Fair and Lovely in Africa. This is good sms joke lingo, and perhaps even light hearted water cooler talk. I was shocked at the speaker being seemingly serious about it.

While it is a testimony to the hard work put in by the organizers and the team that the event was organized within a month, it was still dismaying to see that for an event of this magnitude, a list of the speakers and talking schedules was not provided to the audience, the videos to be played hadn't been tried before (a repeated attempt to play a .mov file with VLC media player, without having tried it out on the system before), no-one from the organizing team was assigned to handle the lights (despite a very late start to the event) such that even basic requests of dimming lights or switching them off took a lot of time. Agreed that these are small quibbles for an event that by and large ran smoothly, but in the end such omissions end up diverting attention from the well oiled machinery.

But then, I was told by friends that this TEDx session was much better than the previous one organized in the city. I did have a fun, engaging day. And hence, please consider this just as harmless nitpicking. I am just as likely to attend the next one as well.

An excellent write-up on the tech showings of the day by @paddychop at Tech2.0 covers one that I wanted to talk about, the low cost infant warmer. Another fascinating experience was shared by Srini Swaminathan about innovative ways of teaching that he has been using to teach young kids at Dharavi. @greenrains covers it at Some of them just know and follow the way,

Instead, I shall talk about two talks that I particularly enjoyed, one that I didn't, and one that I didn't get! (there were sixteen speakers!)

Satish Krishnamurthy (of finalmile.in) 's talk was on saving lives of trespassers on train tracks in Mumbai. The talk started with the damning statistics of deaths on train tracks every year (higher than deaths due to all fatal diseases put together). Railways and the state government have been taking measures to prevent such deaths, but they all have been coercive in nature, the idea being trying to stop people from crossing tracks. Walls have been erected, fines have been institutionalized, and awareness campaigns have been taken forward to deter people from crossing train tracks. None of it has been successful, principally because the target audience refuses to comply. Reasons were put forward, one of them being the close proximity of the train tracks to a large population of mumbai, also a sense of overconfidence in having seen older, more experienced trespassers cross tracks everyday. Mr. Krishnamurthy and his team counted, and extrapolated the number to almost 30,000 people crossing the tracks at just one point of crossing. Policing such huge numbers was not a possibility. Awareness affects opinion, but behavior comes from far sub-conscious urges.

With this idea, and a changed perspective of trying to stop people dying on the tracks instead of preventing them from crossing train tracks, they set on to a series of things to "break their overconfidence, instill fear in them". I have never heard those words used in a positive, saving lives, project, and that was enlightening to say the least. Attacking perceptions and subliminal memories using graphic posters of men being mowed down by trains at crossings, to painting yellow stripes on the track to help gauge a correct visual estimation of the train's speed (human beings are not able to gauge speeds of bigger objects moving at a higher speed vis-a-vis a smaller object. Panic usually ensues, and trespassers usually get caught on another track by a train they were not paying attention to), installing whistle boxes about 120 m from crossings to warn trespassers, and changing the decades long practice of the train driver's one deep long horn after seeing people crossing the tracks to a staccato horn (as the human brain is most alert at the mid-silence point between two high musical notes, as opposed to one long note).

Results have shown themselves very worthy of the efforts as deaths have come down by 60% on the tracks.

Another talk that truly charged me up was by the City City Bang Bang man, Mr. Santosh Desai. His talk was on seemingly innocent language strategies that imply much more than just the words. He started by mentioning how in India, people tend to use hyperbole to describe normal situations. Like people do not visit India to discover India, but to discover themselves.

Stimulus Package: is a term often used by the government machinery to describe public money spent to bail out bankrupt companies or save sectors not performing well (to be noted that in all cases, the money is used to bail out experts who screwed up). The term has a very viagra like virility to it, as it is a stimulus package used to pump up the economy, as opposed to a term like subsidy leakage (often used for bailing out farmers who couldn't pay back their loans). Essentially both terms mean the same thing, and yet one implies a positive sentiment, while the other implies a shameful leakage of public money.
Green Shoots: was a term being bandied about in venture capitalist circles. Implying a sense of growth, a vulnerability, a sense of please do not judge the performance of this venture already.
Ae ji, sunte ho! : is a term used as a proscription for the spouse in Indian households. This is a practice that continues till date, using words like unhein or mere woh even in the current advertisements showcasing the modern Indian woman. This is very interesting, as if a grand plan in which the indian wife should not use the name of the husband publicly. The wife for the son is often considered as acquisition for the family (Beta, bahu le aao), and India generally being a joint family system, an age old fear has been that the sultry lustful young bride would wean away the son from the family using her charms. A subliminal way of preventing this is making sure that marriages are kept role based, signifying and defining the new bride's part as a cog in the family wheel.
"I love you": is said with quotation marks intact, as in Maine ussey "I love you" bol diya or Aaj mera "Happy Birthday" hai. It helps maintaining a distance from the emotions inherent, easier adapting "western influences" to an indian setting without accepting any responsibility.
Slum: An effective way of impersonalizing human problems/ issues is to herd a set of them together and refer to them as a collective. Impersonalizing it, desensitizing aggregation. Hence, it allows the usage of a sentence like "The slum is an eyesore" without guilt or judgement.
The Empty Apology: Using words draining them of apparent meaning. Essentially meaning, "I am sorry you did not understand my point of view. I am sorry you are stupid" instead of an actual apology.
The 'Stay' Order: used to signify institutionalized stasis. Purposeful inaction. We have decided that we shall do nothing.
Railing against 'Delhi Sultanate': On the face of it, the term is harmless. Sultanate is an urdu synonym for government and it is based out of Delhi. But by using the term "Delhi Sultanate" (for eg. by Narendra Modi), the speaker is dredging up cultural memory of cruel rulers managing the fate of a nation on their whims all the way from Delhi. A useful way of owning the enemy is by inventing a name for them, and then making them react to you.
'Brand' India: is a conceptual land grab, an invented site owned by a class. A way of signifying that one doesn't have to do anything internally to better situations or issues, but essentially as a means to show off only the best parts of the country. (As an ex brand manager, and a person passionate about branding, I do not agree with the presumed definition of the word brand, but I understand that is the popular belief).
The Middle Class: The so called middle class in india, according to income distributions is neither the mean, the median or the mode of the indian society. If anything, it is the upper middle class. The term "middle class" is a representativeness firmly establishing it devoid of excesses hence making it worthy of rallying for the "middle" class cause.

(I just read the entire post above and realized how ranty it has become. Just lost all motivation to write further. Let me just quickly get this done.)

The one talk that I didn't like was by Ms.Devita Saraf, who was beautifully dressed in her new look, no doubt a result of careful time and energy. Alas, if only she had spent half those resources on her talk and presentation. Shocking bad template, and content picked straight from numerous e-mail forwards over the past decade. I did not get one basic point, what in the entire talk was Ms. Saraf's idea. (Perhaps the team was content in the one brilliant idea, that of VU sponsoring the event.)

The one talk that I absolutely didn't get was by Mr. Anand Gandhi, his topic being "Is Enlightenment Googleable?" He has graciously put the contents up on his blog, perhaps you can find the point of it.

I repeat, the point of this post has been to get me to kick-start my rickety blog, and is just nitpicking for a day that essentially I enjoyed quite a lot.

Inception, the thinking man's burden

2010-07-19T16:09:00.000+05:30

Three days after watching Inception, I am still rather unsure as to just what about Inception, or perhaps it's universal popularity makes me feel decidedly uncomfortable. I initially worded it as "I did not like Inception because everyone else liked it." but that came out sounding like I have a bug up my ass.

I have perhaps the same argument against Chetan Bhagat. I do not like his books because everyone else likes them. I admire the man, I think he is very intelligent, a master marketer. He even writes very good books (considering the target audience), it serves as that awesome niche, and sells at a brilliant 100 rupee price point. My problem however stems from a whole generation of people saying "I read.", who genuinely believe themselves to be "readers" because they read Chetan Bhagat and Paulo Coelho books. I do not have a problem with reading those books. I have a problem with people believing them to be profound.

Inception, in the few days it has been out is already being hailed as one of the all time greats, as well as "Thinking Man's cinema". It is perhaps interesting to note that a large majority saying the latter very rarely calls a film "Thinking Cinema". It is usually the majority that is quick to reject a film because it requires them to think. Usually the people who adore films which are "leave your brains at home", "full paisa vasool".

Inception is not a "thinking man's" film. It is a film that makes you feel smart. There is a difference. And Christopher Nolan, as Chetan Bhagat before, has nailed it.

JK was reading this Shiv Khera book called "YOU CAN SELL", and there was this extract that he read to me, about how people get to offices in the mornings about half an hour late, then spend another half hour getting their coffee, another half hour reading their personal mails, then thinking it is too close to lunch hour to make an appointment, so on and so forth, in the end losing about half their day. This is a great starting point for a self help book. All of us go through this experience, a very high majority feel guilty about such behavior when seen in us, and angry when seen in others. As soon as the book 'identifies' with that part in you, you immediately accept a lot of other stuff that is put forward thinking, "waah waah kya bola hai. Main bhi aisa hi sochta hun"

From this excellent Roger Ebert article on The Myth Of the Perfect Film,

"There's a human tendency to resent anyone who disagrees with our pleasures. The less mature interpret that as a personal attack on themselves. They're looking for support and vindication."

I say that the reverse works very well too. There is a human tendency to be pleased with anyone who is pleased with and is agreeable to our pleasures.

Inception is a stoned film. It feeds you the lines that all stoners feel at some point or the other. What is real? Why does it feel that the concept of time is different across different experiences? And it also makes the usual pained with life office wife junta identify with the concept precisely for the brilliance of 'This cannot be real'.

From David Edelstein's review of the film (the one which has been subject to all this hullaboo because it was a negative review amongst the spate of orgasmic voices)

Nolan, who wrote the script, thinks like a mechanical engineer, and even when you can’t follow what’s happening, you can admire in theory the multiple, synchronized narrative arcs and cute little rules for jumping around among different flights of consciousness. He has two fresh ideas. In a dream, you can fall asleep and have another dream, in which you can fall asleep and have another dream—except time works differently at different depths. A minute up top might be, say, ten minutes in the dream, an hour in the dream within a dream, and, below that, years.
The other neat touch is the Freudian monster femme who keeps popping up: Cobb’s wife, Mal (Marion Cotillard), who emerges from his own unconscious (even in other people’s dreams) to sabotage his schemes. Cotillard is clock-stoppingly gorgeous and has a great first scene.

I think Inception is a brilliant film, if you look at it as the genre it is supposed to inhabit, that of the summer blockbuster. It is decidedly more cleverly made than your average summer heist film, but it basically follows the same formula.It is fun to watch, it is cute that Chris Nolan still loves his little thought experiments, "What happens if" scenarios. I get it.

As Roger Ebert says in his review,

The movies often seem to come from the recycling bin these days: Sequels, remakes, franchises. "Inception" does a difficult thing. It is wholly original, cut from new cloth, and yet structured with action movie basics so it feels like it makes more sense than (quite possibly) it does.

But it is not profound. And it is not the greatest thing to happen to cinema. Please. (Neither is Avatar. But that is a different story. That is not even a good film.)

For the record, I adore Christopher Nolan's work. I have two of his films in my all time best top 10 (The Dark Knight, Memento), and I believe The Prestige could have been decidedly better but for Hugh Jackman.

And this article is sheer poetry, about Inception's unanimous "critical praise",

'Inception,' Art, Edelstein, And The Impossibility Of Accounting For Taste

Bombay writing entry

2010-07-12T14:54:00.000+05:30

Everyone who first gets to bombay has their own reminisces,each thinking of those as voluble & essential. A startling amount of "bombay" literature,either as blogs,books or films. Adding to that pile, some of it luminescent and some of it confused with fucked hormones, feels embarrassing, and humbling. As a footnote. One needs to be in love with the self as much as with bombay to write on.

It is there, very evident. The muse, the thoughts, the pain, the rush. Bombay is it's own inspiration. Writing abt it feels very masturbatory though. Not that I did not know this earlier. Ah but.

(written on a local)

Being in the throes of a deep emotion in bombay is a very different sensory experience than anywhere else in India. Unlike elsewhere, time doesn't 'stop', things don't 'pale in comparison' to the daily living. You're genuinely surprised to see an empty street anytime of the day, because it is assumed (with or without swirls of emotions inside you) there will be people around you. Always. A lot of random people around you, everyone always seemingly purposeful. It is surreal to have thoughts different than your physical being. The mind prefers to listen to the physical prideful ache of feeling 'something is happening- kuch to ho raha hai'. A sense of being physically drugged. Ah Bombay!

(random tributary)

Manoj, back in Patna was talking about the end result of any experimental focused chunk of your life. How there are two variables the end result is dependent upon - both the situation AND one's reaction to it. And how we often assume it is always the former. Stuff you have heard as cliches as your life. Attitude matters. Changing your reaction to a situation can change the outcome. As importantly as changing the changing the situation. Two approaches. ________ and escapist. (The word escapes me). Two extremes.

Thoughts on Rajneeti, the Prakash Jha film

2010-06-10T01:43:00.003+05:30

I just saw the Prakash Jha trying to be epic Rajneeti. I quite enjoyed the film, mostly because it was a busy script. And didn't let one dwell on the mostly pedestrian direction and painful characterization.

I shall put my neck out and hazard a guess about Prakash Jha. I have never met Mr. Jha himself, or have never read any interviews and all the impression I have of him stems from the last three films of his that I have seen, the knowledge that he is from Bihar, and his recent political and business aspirations in Bihar.

Mr. Jha, has the quite common "Look I am a bihari" complex that most intellectual Biharis suffer with. I would know, I have carried one for quite a while myself. It is the one response that most aforementioned intellectual biharis use to deal with while hearing of armchair scepticism of the problems in the world. It is supposed to encapsulate the words "See, I understand your words, but you have no idea where I have come from. You have no idea of the problems in the world, the twistedness of problems in the world. So let me enlighten you. This is how things happen in Bihar. And this is where I have come from. ". It is the chip on the shoulder. The survivor complex. A sort of self pat on the back.

(I was right, read the reason for making Rajneeti later. Also here.)

I understand it. But there are limitations while limiting your view to that complex. It involves the mandatory larger picture view. Make humanization very difficult. It makes characterization very difficult. You are not supposed to think of individual things or people. That would make life and comprehension very difficult. Must take the larger view.

All three of Prakash Jha films I am talking about, Gangajal, Apaharan, and Rajneeti all three try to work on the shock tactics. Everytime they move coz of the busy script, and the audience has only two possible options. Confess that you didn't get it and it was not an enjoyable movie watching experience because of the excesses shown (always an option available). Or that well, it was an enjoyable film. So much was shown. So much hard work is evident. And the fact is that all of it is real. It happens in real life. And well, it was a busy script.

Because well disowning it is cheap. All of this IS real. It happens all the time. Just that the way Prakash Jha puts his actors up as a montage in the story, he NEVER makes an impact. Let me rephrase that. He never makes an emotional impact. Till now, as with most indians, his stories have been working on the exotic value.(Bihar is to India what India is to the world, an old adage you hear a lot.)

With Rajneeti, Mr. Jha has taken on an ambitious and tough route. He has tried to do the Vishal Bharadwaj film. And he has picked up a tome which perhaps is more famous than any of the Bard's compositions. The Godfather. Yes, liberal sprinklings of the Mahabharata too, to sort of tie up your plot into a politicial masala. And all of this, a sort of Gonzo pot of his own electoral experiences. With a pakdo to jaano attitude.

So what am I saying? As a movie for a viewer, it entertains, as any half decent yarn about the godfather script would. And this is an entertaining one, holding back on the usual bollywood cliches, and succumbing to the other few. Would I remember it later? No.

I had got the impression from the reviews read here and there that the film was crap and the performances were quite good. I found it to be quite the opposite. Katrina Kaif is an embarrassment. Ranbir Kapoor is not quite it yet. Ajay Devgan is bored. Manoj Vajpayee follows the director's instructions (presumably) to the T, and makes a caricature of the character. Arjun Rampal does his best, but this isn't Rock On. Yes, Nana Patekar enjoyed himself much with this. As did Naseer with the best kiss in the film at the start of the film.

They are something like the current Indian T20 team. Individually have a couple of match winning performances each from the IPL outfits, but aren't quite a team yet.

I mean, I judge a Godfather film (and I mention Godfather the book, not Godfather the films. I have few quibbles with the later) by how good these following things are taken care of.

Who plays Sunny Corleone? Hot headed, very male, large dick (there's an entire yarn to that in the book), very very cocky (no I am not repeating myself), the elder bro. I have never seen this particular point ever being nailed as well as it is in the book.
The horse in the bed sequence. Aaah. AAaah. AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
The hospital scene.
The taking care of the cop by Michael scene.
Luca Brasi

All of these were properly screwed in the film. A Vishal Bharadwaj film this is not. The cleverest part of the film is the script, of how tied up it is with the Mahabharata and Godfather and the Congress party and various other possible connections. But just like Gangajal, and Apaharan before this, the film fails in an emotional impact.

But IMHO Prakash Jha is not a good director. No he is not. He doesn't do justice to the subjects he picks up. Ends up making a very B grade setting around very real uncomfortable truths. He is mighty sensitive to things, yes, he is courageous, oh yes, I would be up and shake his hands for sure. But as a director, I think he is not quite into that league where he affects his viewers.

Go watch the film though. It entertains. And it makes you think. Which is more than what can be said of much contemporary Bollywood cinema.

More reading: A Mint Interview with the director Prakash Jha.

There's more to life than Cricket - Andrew Symonds

2010-04-09T00:32:00.000+05:30

An awesome interview with Andrew Symonds in the Telegraph this morning. I almost get him!

I see myself as a rebel with a cause: Andrew Symonds

- Australian all-rounder says there’s more to life than Cricket

Calcutta: Andrew Symonds, who’d be quite happy being described as a free spirit, spoke to The Telegraph for around 45 minutes during his recent visit to the city with the Deccan Chargers’ squad.

The following are excerpts

Q Have you done justice to your talent?

A (After a pause) Took me a long time to learn how to put an innings together, but I’ve got the hang of it now... There have probably been only a couple of occasions when I’ve walked off the ground completely satisfied... You always want to score more or feel that you could’ve bowled better or fielded better. As for the justice bit, your question could be better answered either by people I’ve played against or teammates.

----------------------------

The general belief is that you haven’t done justice to your talent...

Being around the right people brings the best out of you... I haven’t had that throughout my life... For example, some coaches work better for you than some of the others. So, finding the right combination of people to have around you as well as finding the right way to prepare for the challenges is important.

You’ve always been regarded as temperamental. Why?

Don’t know who has said I’m temperamental... Obviously, on the ground, I’m passionate. Off it, I’d say I’m pretty laid-back and in my zone.

Today, you aren’t playing for Australia... Why the negative headlines over the past few years?

Part of the reason is that I did silly things. But, also, I think the way people see professional sportspersons has changed.

Too much scrutiny?

Yeah... There aren’t many places where you can be left alone and, so, I generally don’t go out a great deal... The change in the rules of the game has probably worked to my detriment. You know, I like to have a good time and I like to enjoy myself, but there are (new) things you can do and things you can’t. For me, enjoying cricket holds more meaning than winning or losing. It would be difficult for someone like me to survive and enjoy life in this Australian team’s environment.

Because of the emphasis on discipline?

You’ve got all the recovery sessions (at the end of the day)... Alcohol is banned... In the end, it’s rebellion if you go to town for a drink and to let your hair down. After a Test match, for example, I’d need a release... It’s a fair enough requirement and, if you can’t have it, something builds up within... At some point, it’s going to burst.

Did too much of authority leave you suffocated?

Yeah, it would probably be fair to say that I don’t respond well to too much of authority... However, I do know right from wrong...

You’ve been brought up on values...

Yeah... But you can’t get sort of smothered and suffocated and then think why… If something is not reasonable, then I might choose not to do it.

Your Australia debut was in 1998-99, but you didn’t have a problem for the major part of your international career. Why suddenly?

Because of the change in the (team’s) culture. Earlier, the restrictions were much less... It would be simpler then, but the attention began to grow more and more... Then, the demands on the free time began to grow, too... Endorsements, the formal appearances which are mandatory... In such a busy schedule, when you’re away from home for eight to nine months in a year, it gets very tough.

------------------

Would you describe yourself as a rebel with a cause or a rebel without one?

(Laughs) Wow... Hopefully, I have a cause, for I’m not the only one who feels it (the suffocation). Indeed, I do see myself as a rebel with a cause!

Is it true that, for a contract-related meeting with the then chief executive of Cricket Australia, you walked in bare feet?

Yeah, I did... It wasn’t a meeting to negotiate, I just had to put my signature on the papers... I could’ve gone in a three-piece suit, but I wouldn’t have got a dollar more. In any case, I’d just come off the beach.

Have you, in recent months, felt the urge to again play for Australia?

Don’t know if there is an urge any more... When I look at the time I first played and the present times, I see a completely different environment... I’m really enjoying just staying at home and playing in the IPL... After so many years, I enjoy being able to barbecue, absolutely enjoy being in my environment. I’m not a person who eats, sleeps and drinks cricket... For me, life holds much more.

But you haven’t announced your retirement from international cricket (after 198 ODIs, 26 Tests and 14 T20s)...

Don’t think there’s any need to do that.

Is there a chance that the team culture, as you put it, may change and you could feel comfortable going back?

Don’t think that would happen at all.

Who, then, is the loser?

I don’t know... I’m happy where I’m at in my life (at 34)... Whether they are or not, I wouldn’t know.

Do you follow Australia’s performances closely?

No, I’m not a big cricket-watcher at all. I don’t see much TV.

For a number of years, you were an ODI specialist. Did that label irritate you or did it actually motivate you to work harder for a Test cap?

At times, it was a bit frustrating. We had a huge number of batsmen available for the middle-order and there was no room for me... People say that if you score enough runs, you are good enough to be in the team, but I wasn’t... I kept working and working at it and, then, people started to retire and things began to open up a little bit.

What would you pick as the turning point in your career?

(Grins) The 2003 World Cup... That’s when I realised I was good enough to play at a top level... I found a way to be successful.

Can you elaborate on that ‘way’?

It was about constructing an innings and helping the team win.

Did John Buchanan, the coach at that point in time, have an influence on you?

Yeah, he did... John challenged players individually... Challenged different players differently. The way he challenged Matthew Hayden was different to how he challenged somebody else... He challenged people personally which, at times, might not be right... But there were times it brought the best out of them... He was always a strategist, very calculating... Not that it worked every time, but players didn’t realise his effort till after the event...

For an Australian cricketer, the Baggy Green is the ultimate... What were your emotions when you made your Test debut, in 2003-04?

I was very excited, very nervous. Allan Border gave me my cap, which was really nice and sort of settled me a bit, because I’d played with Allan for Queensland and I’d roomed with him when I was younger... After five-six years of ODIs, I was ready for Test cricket. Was hungry...

What are the qualities you’d look for in an all-rounder?

An all-rounder has to work on three skills... It is physically demanding, so I’d look for the resilient type... I’d go for somebody who knows his body well.

The enjoyment bit...

Talking of myself, my attention span has always been very short, so I’ve always wanted to be involved in whatever I’m doing... I learnt how to bat, learnt how to bowl... And, when I wasn’t doing either, I’d be fielding... I wanted to be a good fielder and enjoyed fielding... That, in my case, made it easier to train... If you don’t enjoy something, it becomes very hard... I wouldn’t enjoy it if someone made me write an essay, but if I was asked to catch 200 cricket balls, I would gladly do it. (After a pause) It’s the same with information... I retain information if it interests me, but if it doesn’t, I forget it very quickly.

Who did you idolise?

Viv Richards... Loved the way he batted and the way he went about his cricket... Unbelievably skilful and talented.

You’re a natural for T20...

Another question that is hard for me to answer... But, yes, it’s the form that I really enjoy and it came around at the perfect time in my career... It’s a short, fast and explosive game... That’s what I like.

Two years have passed since the Sydney incident involving you and Harbhajan Singh. Your thoughts?

There always has been and there always will be times when words are exchanged... The SCG issue, though, was handled poorly... I know what happened and the other Australian players involved know what happened... People can think what they like, but I know the truth... What disappointed me the most is that I approached him (Harbhajan) about it and, then, it happened again... Because it was handled poorly, it made people look bad. That, for me, was the most disappointing outcome.

The two of you have met in the IPL...

I wouldn’t really mind if I don’t see him... Surely, I won’t jump out of the bus to shake his hand... We’ve shaken hands after the matches, yes, but I haven’t spoken to him.

Do you follow other sport?

Yeah, I’m passionate about rugby... I appreciate soccer, but I don’t sit and watch it like I do rugby. Actually, a sport that I’m definitely interested in is ice hockey.

The last one... Having been born in Birmingham, you could’ve played for England... Has there ever been a regret that you played for Australia?

(Almost interrupting) Never...

Sehwagology is pure and simple. See the ball. Hit the ball.

2010-04-07T18:36:00.001+05:30

From the blisteringly brilliant Cricket With Balls

There are some people who believe that Sehwagology is just a joke, that it isn’t a real religion, and that I just made it up.

Bullshit.

I may have named the spiritual practice, but this was a divine inspiration taken directly from the prophet.
Sehwagology is real, people, I can’t stress that enough.

I have used the sehwagology principles in my life and my strike rate for happiness has never been higher. True fact.

Others have used it too.

Sehwagology is the key to eternal happiness and stunning cover drives.

Generally our man does his best talking with a bat, but occasionally he gives a message with his mouth.
“When I play a cover-drive, I play it to score runs. I don’t play a shot to get out. So, if the cover-drive ends up in a catch at slip, I am spared criticism. If it ends up in the hands at covers, I am slammed. The shot attempted has remained the same, only the mode of dismissal is different.”
Think about it.

Think hard.

Yeah, it’s real good.

I play it to score runs. So much wisdom, in such a small space.

In life, does it matter if you are caught at deep mid-wicket or short leg, you’re going to go out one way or another, maybe it should be going for your personal DLF Maximum.

Things that Sehwagology can help include: love, lust, money matters, problems with the kids, problems with your parents, batting and acne.

If you haven’t converted, think about cover drives, and you will be saved.

Uncle JRod on THE innings in this match

I’m not an expert on global politics, free markets, terrorism, or why people watch reality TV.

But I do know that all these things pale into insignificance when compared to Virender Sehwag’s innings.

Natalie Portman turns ugly.

George Clooney loses charm.

Dubya Bush makes sense.

Britney Spears puts knickers on.
And Tony Greig is palatable after this innings.

It is the sort of innings that could turn Amelie Muaresmo straight and keep Warnie’s pee pee in his pants.

If it were a hot woman, you could not only not score with it, that if you were in the same room, your tool would melt.

It could start and end wars.

Upon viewing it Aliens would be afraid to invade.

If you had the colt 45 cocked and pointed at your mouth you would put it down and pick up a cricket bat.

Sehwag batted so well the earth started spinning in other directions.

No one has been this unkind to the saffers since Muhummad Ali turned his back on a young Barry Richards.

When the Africans were killed by tribes of Zulu’s it was nowhere near this brutal.

Batting at the other end was not a spectator sport, but a voyeuristic thrill ride through the realms of batting thought beyond those of mere mortals.

It was so good, there was a good 15 seconds when Sunil gavaskar didn’t bag white people, Bishen Bedi didn’t accuse everyone of being a chucker, and Navjot Sidhu made sense.

Yoko Ono and Paul McCartney had intercourse during his third hundred.

Palestinians invited Israelis around for a beer after a particular over of Ntini.

Anna Nicole Smith can back from the dead to give an Interview for ET, during the tea interval for maximum exposure.

Michael Moore went down on Dick Cheney. Nothing to do with Sehwag, just wanted to see if it was his bag.

The spice girls split up, after a fight over who would get to sleep with Sehwag.

Tom Cruise became a Sehwagologist.

And you know what, so should you.

And the cricinfo story,

Let us now worship Viru

Sehwag is no cricketer; he is a religion all by himself

Jarrod Kimber
December 4, 2009

'…And the willow shall be the object of thy adoration' © AFP

The LSD High - Fascination for Love Sex aur Dhokha!

2010-03-20T10:51:00.005+05:30

(no spoilers)

Let's cut to the chase. Love Sex and Dhokha is unlike anything you have ever seen before. On screen that is. The closest thing I can even think of to this... uh.. film is The Blair Witch Project. And that is only because of the medium. But it would be such an utter waste to dwell much longer on the technical brilliance.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are not talking of the camera here as a technical achievement. What angles, or what shit. Here the camera, I mean the real naked camera is the central character of the film. The so called Hero. You take a few minutes to acquaint yourself to the idea when you are watching it. But once you are into it, snap, you forget the medium and start squirming as you meet the most amoral and non judgemental hero Bollywood has ever seen. The camera!!!

From the Raja Sen review,

It's a notoriously tricky prospect, making a film with raw, unseen actors, going entirely handheld, entirely digital, and there's always the danger of heading into a gimmicky space: where content is dictated by form.

LSD, which features three very differently themed storylines seen through varied handheld, security and spy cameras, is so finely written that it avoids the obvious pitfalls expertly, and makes the treatment -- that deliciously voyeuristic treatment -- a completely organic part of the storytelling process.

As an aftertaste of the film, the flavor that lingers on is that Dibakar Banerjee has a tremendous sense of humor. An acceptance of life as it is, and a glorious celebration of it. One becomes quite a black humorist when one accepts reality. He also has quite a fucking straight face. You know, like how Anurag Kashyap is a very angry guy. His basic strength comes from the anger, think Black Friday, think Dev D, think the stunning angry epic Gulaal (and note the deliberate omission of the angry No Smoking. Which is another cause of anger). Har madarchod unki films mei gussa hai. And I say that as a big fucking fan! Every motherfucker is angry in his film, deep inside. He is the Amitabh Bachhan of the Bollywood screens 70s for my generation. The angry young man.

The central hero in all three Dibakar Banerjee films however, is very non judgemental, no morals so to say, no feelings. Ab hai yahi to bhai batao ab aagey kya karna hai, type of attitude. Khosla Ka Ghosla, Oye Lucky Lucky Oye, and now Love Sex aur Dhokha, all of them have had that acceptance of reality as it is.

The problem with writing stuff as poetic as above is that people immediately start on the tangent, bhai ye to artistic ho gaya thoda. I am not talking abstraction here.

I have been so fucked over by the LSD title track these last couple of days (from Sunday morning precisely). Somehow that is all that has been reverberating inside me, the beat, the dhiskyaaon. And when it rolled over the end credits at the end of the film, the reason for the lyrics of the song hit me. Bitchslapped me, more like.

It is brilliant how Dibakar both starts and ends LSD with a song. And both of them exist parallely in the multiverse. Everything that happens is stories you have heard about before, just never thought about it much because it is not the one infront of you at the moment. Because it hasn't happened to you.

Love Sex and Dhokha is one of those films where the entire pre release publicity, the reason why the excitement has been building up, all of it makes sense after the film. It is a film whose songs mean much more after you have seen it. Like, for example Dil To Bachha Hai Ji from Ishqiya! It is great as a song, but builds up and defines such a fucking AWESOME character in the film. An essential PART of the film, not a break from it. I am a whore for good well thought out characterization in a film. And oh fuck, the LSD songs do that to the tee! Even the voices, the Mohabbat Bollywood style, the utter joy in the boy's voice, or the reason why the LSD title track, the tu Nangi achhi lagti hai has been sung by Kailash Kher. (The nangi song appears twice in the film, once as a ringtone, and the other time as a song in a store radio.)

Dibakar Banerjee has a wicked sense of humor. And he completely enjoys it! (Yes I know I have said that before). As one of the second teasers out for his film (the first was the #epic Why Mother Won't Say The Name Of My Next Movie Aloud Oh what a fucking brilliant branding note!), he had written up a post on PFC about a supposed conversation between him and the producer Ekta Kapoor (sub text: Ekta Kapoor is the most brazen woman in entertainment in India. Has made an entire evil empire -a whole genre of serials on television. She has been there, and done him twice.)

From LSD Screening Experience No. 32 at PFC,

Why is the camera shaking so much?

Ekta, just let’s watch the film and then let’s discuss.
I can’t watch it! My head’s swimming!
Ekta…
Why is the camera looking at the sky? I can’t see the guy’s face!
That’s because he’s running away from goons wielding hockey sticks and murderous intent, carrying the camera. You don’t have time to compose in such moments.
NNOOOO!
I know, he’s getting a beating. That’s why the camera’s so jerky.
That sweet boy, my god! Eeeeesh. And the girl! And I want to see them kiss! Why can’t I see them kiss now?
Because their faces are not reflected in the mirror. Only their bodies are.
Why can’t he position the camera in a way that we can see their faces?
Because he’s forgotten about the camera and the film he’s shooting. They are about to be parted. She’s crying! He doesn’t know what to do! So they can just kiss! And in such moments you don’t care whether the audience can see you or not.
But what about that other sex scene? You could see everything!

That’s because he wanted to film himself while having sex.
Pervert….
I know, that’s…
Shhhh… let me see the film. Why’s the camera focusing on his paunch?
Because a hidden camera is shooting him secretly. Those angles are not kind on the figure.
Where’s it hidden?
The locket in the woman’s cleavage.

Sssshit.
What?
The other day a woman with a cleavage and a locket came to meet me! You mean this could happen to me?
Ekta… this is just a film.
Well it doesn’t look like one. Dibakar?
Yes Ekta.
I’m scared now.

When I read that before watching the film, I had a few sniggers reserved for Ekta. After watching it, I respectfully understand why she was scared.

Kudos to Ekta for backing this up.

Now watch him talk about the so called "controversial sex scene" from the second timeline in the film.

I literally get the chills when he says, "right after she starts crying" #Context

And look at him smoke while he says that. Feel him blow that smoke out. How can you not be affected? How can the idea not chill you?

And this was all much BEFORE I saw the film.

Which was today evening. The 5:45 pm show. On a mad rush across the mad (that word twice used in the sentence in respect to calcutta) criss cross country race hurdles to reach the multiplex at precise 5:41. I smashed my Bullet's backlight in a hurry to park. Looked at it once. Said fuck twice. And then ran over the two levels. Ticket booked. Got in.

And it started. The India I have known all my life. On the screen. With a beeping timer in the corner. And a battery remaining icon. I did tell you that the camera is a character in the film, didn't I? No, you are not supposed to forget about the camera. In the first film, the camera is hand held. Carried everywhere. In the second, it is affixed. One of those fixed store cameras. The third one is in this woman's cleavage. Or a little above. And it stays through the whole time. All you see is what the cameras choose to show you. If you have never known what it feels to be a voyeur, this is your cue!

I have never understood the desire of some people to shield women from gaalis. I mean that is like not eating non veg during these particular days in the indian psyche. That is like being sexist in extreme, saying women can't take it. Why is that? I encounter gaalis in life, outside, amongst friends, in my professional world. I mean why would you want women to not hear gaalis? Or talks about porn? Or sex? I am not saying enforce. I am saying why suddenly become a sanyaasi infront of a female?

The movie has no such qualms and hosannas to it for that. The characters you see on screen are real. Which is why this will fucking shake you from inside. You will find that you know all these stories, have heard about all of these characters, just have never really thought of them coz you can distance yourself from reality. You know, on a day to day basis.

Through the film, particularly the way each story wound around to the end, I had my palms around my mouth. You know, the horror film reaction. Only here I knew what is going to happen. Coz it happens around you all the time. You hear about it all the time. Just that you not hear it. Do not hear about people smoking grass, or how porn is "hum aisi gandi cheezein nahi dekhte" (actual dialogue from the film), or how some of you equate giving gaalis as a sign for bad people.

The fact that YOU do not know that the way ANY new technology moves forward into the realm of common man is by way of the sex instinct. That in the last 20 years more men in india have seen naked women across the country fucking in their homes because the camera got into the hands of every person. You name the region, you have seen the MMS.

But of course, "hum aisi gandi cheezein nahi dekhte". The store owner keeps pointing at the place where the supposed couple on the mms fucked on the floor. Again and again. As if there was something holy about it.

The way each story weaves into the other is fascinating and disturbing and that is what makes Dibakar Banerjee's multiverse so fucking awesome. Everyone would have a favourite part of the story, you know like feeling something particular for a particular Sin City book. Maybe because in some fucking weird way, you identify with it??? You know what I am saying?

Yes, so mine is the second story. I do not like it more than the other two. Just identify with it in a way only I could. Because of the medium used. The fixed non moving store cameras. The freakiness of the store camera, the absolute stillness of it made me fidgety to the extreme. After the first story, I wanted the camera to 'move' in this second one too. But, arghhhhhh! DAMN you DIBAKAR!

I used to work with Envirosell, the Paco Underhill owned company (author of the #kvlt epic book Why We Buy?, the sole reason why I joined the job in the first place. It is the stuff that marketing guys in B school jerk off over. The book, that is ). This is what I used to do there (Here's a better description and an engaging read). Get to a store. Fix up cameras around it. Follow shoppers around. Then at the end of the day, carry all that camera footage back to the office. Every moment from 8 am to 10 pm. Then take observations on how many people, gender, age, what time did they enter, how long did they stay in a particular aisle, which product did they pick up, how long, did they look at the front of the packaging, the price, so on. Have you ever worked at a retail store? The first thing that hits you is that there is no place to sit. And that there are no breaks. Through the day.

So I know what it means, the unblinking non stop store camera footage. Let me repeat that word. Non-stop. It is the coldest, the most unforgiving medium possible. And it gets me shaken, not stirred.

Don't be mistaken. This film is an adrenaline rush. One of those where you know the people making it have had an immense amount of fun through it. In the third story, because of the camera being stuck somewhere around the cleavage, there are some stunning moments. There is the jumping off the bridge scene (there was a similar moment in OldBoy, the camera there hand held) and the girl exercising in the morning (she is wearing a bright red tracksuit and is doing crunches at a ground where the grass is bright green. So on the screen you see alternatively, bright red bright green bright red bright green. Like FUCK! Who THINKS of these things?). You see the woman's long legs stretching out from below you (on the screen). You because You watch what the camera is. Like this

Smack my bitch up, anyone?

Also I love the way the stories have been arranged. The first story acclimatizing you to the medium and then waking you up in a way that says, "Bhainchod, koi saas bahu ka serial to hai nahi ye" (that comes up in the third story though. The dialogue! Ekta Kapoor is the producer. Yes). The stories needed to be arranged in that order.

The film has beautiful flow. The camera plays each of the characters one by one, the Love Sex and Dhokha of the title. Suffice it to say that the film's technical brilliance shall inspire a whole set of film makers, but that was not the purpose of the film.

This entire build up of the film, everything that you know about the film till now is only to get you to the theatres. The trailer below, the songs.

What greets you when you walk-in to see this film is something that you just cannot anticipate beforehand .There is no precursor to this in Bollywood. Or anywhere in the world.

As @diptakirti says here

I have to fall at Dibakar Banerjee's feet and remain there. LSD is funny, gritty, gutsy, intelligent. And its just the interval.

And in the next one,

No review for LSD. A reco: Drop everything and watch it. Twice. And then once more.

I am not good with ending posts, so instead I shall borrow from my favourite Bollywood reviewer Raja Sen's 5 starred paean to LSD,

It is, as the oft-abused phrase goes, an 'important' film, and one you should watch if only to acquaint yourself with the way things inevitably work.

It's bleak, bittersweet, funny and markedly unglamorous, and yet you come out humming the theme tune, your head blown clear off your shoulders.

Hell yeah. Welcome to adulthood, Bollywood, can we get you another beer?

Five stars it is.

P.S. I have been incredibly pained with the news of the cuts made by the censor board. Irritable, hurt, pained, and frustrated. Rahul Bhatia (@yesnosorry) wrote about the process evocatively in The Open Magazine at Love, Sex aur Censor. It didn't help matters. However, having said that, the censor cuts do not jar the flow of the film. Except that cut in the dalit line. That was crucial. Tch.

P.P.S. SPOILERS IN HERE. Wrote this comment on zennmaster's review of the film, and I wanted to reproduce it here.
"I honestly felt that Dibakar Banerjee planned the flow all along. First story let me start mocking Bollywood. Let the viewers get comfortable with the cuteness, the ha ha's. Then let me bring out the axe. Then let me chop off the head off the cute heroine and the cute hero. Show the severed head dangling. Okay, now that the wind is knocked off these motherfuckers viewers who were giggling, let me get you into the second story where I show these bumscratchers how things really work around the world. "MBA walon ke karan duniya chal rahi hai by god" and end it with "Hum aisi gandi cheezein nahi dekhte". SLAP SLAP. And then move on to the third story where I will let these screwballs have some fun (I LOVED the girl caressing the guy's fingers while she is on the phone with the other guy asking him to "Milo naaa") until the end credits rolled and the title track played on.

Watching IPL at the Eden Gardens

2010-03-19T00:49:00.000+05:30

(This is going to be a long and winding post. You do not have the patience for it. Also, it features cricket. Get lost, now.)

Watching a cricket match at the Eden Gardens is an experience very few forget. On match days, people come in thousands, from far flung places, with wives and kids in tow, as a complete picnic. I am talking TEST matches. All five days. The cricket craziness of these parts is of course legendary, but more importantly what I want to stress is people come to watch cricket at Eden for supporting a team. Cricket most times is secondary. The Pakistan cricket team would never get a standing ovation here .

Add Shah Rukh Khan and Sourav Ganguly and the IPL to that fervour and you have a boiling sweaty cauldron of screaming hysterical fans. One lakh fans. At one place. All baying for blood.

I went to see the match yesterday after a long and tiring day spent in meetings. It is one thing to read about and notice in the background how much of a force SRK is in Calcutta after buying over the Kolkata Knightriders. It is a completely different thing to see and feel it around you.

It is necessary to underline just how celeb crazy (and starved) the Calcutta junta is. Every single bollywood celebrity stopover at Calcutta, even on normal days, for even something as mundane (to the bombay or delhi junta) as fashion shows, or product promotion parties feature on Page 1, with smiling picture and a customary question of when the said celebrity is doing a Tollywood film.

9 pictures of SRK in his various moods were front page cover of The Telegraph (THE leading english daily in bengal) for the previous IPL match at the Eden a couple of days ago. Let me repeat that. Nine.Pictures of Shah Rukh Khan. Front page headline. Various moods during the match. #JustSaying

Cut to yesterday evening. At the Eden Gardens with office colleagues. Everyone and their dog supporting KKR, I had a sudden inspiration to support Chennai Super Kings. And tell people around before the match. Enough times. Also communicate why I think Kolkata Knight Riders do not stand a chance. And that CSK is going to win. For sure.

This is what happened in the match, according to the crisp summing up on cricinfo,

Dhoni masterminds facile win for Chennai
The Bulletin by Sriram Veera
March 16, 2010
Chennai Super Kings 164 for 3 (Dhoni 66*, Badrinath 43*) beat Kolkata Knight Riders 109 (Kemp 3-12) by 55 runs

MS Dhoni and S Badrinath added an unbroken 109-run stand from 65 deliveries to push Chennai Super Kings to a competitive total before their bowlers turned in an inspired performance to bowl them to a surprisingly facile win at the Eden Gardens. It was Chennai who had ended Kolkata's winning streak after the first two games in 2008 and history played out yet again.

Chennai were wobbling at 55 for 3 in the 10th over when Dhoni joined Badrinath to slowly change things around on a track with slightly variable bounce. It wasn't the traditional hit-everything-in-sight Twenty20 innings from them as they first strived to settle in with dabs and nudges before freeing their arms at the end.

It was off the final delivery of the 15th over that Dhoni managed his first big hit - a six over long-on. And it wasn't till the 18th over that he really went berserk, hitting Laxmi Ratan Shukla for two fours and another six over long-on as he started to work his bottom hand over time.
In the next over, bowled by Shane Bond, he looted three boundaries that included a scorching flatly-pulled six. Badrinath too got in the act, pulling Ishant Sharma for a six in the final over.

Until the final assault from the Chennai duo, nearly everything went according to Plan A for Kolkata. Bond got to swing it at pace, Ishant probed with his seam movement, Murali Kartik was at his canny best, Angelo Matthews was at his nagging self and Shukla kept it really tight as well. But Dhoni's knock proved the difference between a below-par total and a defendable one.

Kolkata needed a similar partnership but with wickets falling at regular intervals, the chase lacked any momentum and fizzled out very quickly. Within nine deliveries, their heroes from last game, Brad Hodge and Manoj Tiwary, were dismissed - Hodge pulled Albie Morkel to square-leg and Tiwary was bowled, going for an expansive on-the-up drive against Manpreet Gony. And when L Balaji produced the delivery of the game - it kicked up from short of length even as it straightened outside off stump - to catch the edge of Owais Shah, Kolkata were struggling at 46 for 4.

It required someone to seize the game but there weren't any inspired bursts lower down. Sourav Ganguly dawdled along for a while, unable to break free against a relentless attack of short deliveries into his rib cage, and he fell, swinging Justin Kemp to deep mid-wicket. Much depended on Matthews if Kolkata were to effect a jail break, but he was trapped in front trying to paddle sweep a straight delivery from Kemp. The tail couldn't produce any miracle and Chennai wrapped up the win with five balls to spare.

The same match was covered on the front page headline story of The Telegraph, 17th March, 2010,

Minus20: Night the Knights froze
Sankarshan Thakur
Calcutta, March 16: The Knights put themselves to sword in a spectacular act of serial hara-kiri tonight, a floodlit crime that darkened Eden’s glow and snuffed the cheer that rang off the stands for a good part of the evening.

Most didn’t bother staying to witness the final stabs inflicted; a hail of discarded ticket-stubs fluttered about in their forlorn wake, each an accusatory FIR posted on the deathwish of their darlings.

The Kings of Chennai have kept their all-win record against the Knights clean, Mahendra Singh Dhoni has stolen the hattrick his predecessor-mentor Sourav Ganguly had set out to achieve today; he has vanquished him three straight times in the IPL.

The Knights came off the ground with a distinction quite singular, though: no other team this season has conceded such a huge defeat on runs as 55. They failed to bat out their paltry 20 overs, too.

Shah Rukh Khan stood wordless and cross-legged at the post-match presentation; his feet aren’t unlocking into dance anytime soon. It’s a five-in-row vow the Knights’ owner is on; his men must commence their campaign from scratch against the Rajasthan Royals in Ahmedabad on Saturday and their skipper must demonstrate he retains his legendary skills, especially near the top of the order.

In three matches, Sourav has toiled to a monumental 34; his boss refrained from quoting any promises from him tonight.

The Knights will probably get no keener fan than their employer. He leaned on the rails of that contentious open-air deck of his so long, he’s probably suffered a bad back. Often, as Chennai lost wickets early, he turned around to Club House fans and blew kisses and if the rapture they let off was any indication, each of those kisses had defied gravity to pepper the cheeks of maidens and mummys straining on the upper tiers.
Juhi jigged beside Shah Rukh, but he kept his feet firmly planted. Not now, not yet. But his team didn’t offer him another opportunity to think about just a twist on the deck if not a whole routine. After raising expectations heap-high, they plunged right down it.

Shah Rukh vanished off the deck during the interval, leaving behind a diehard band of flag-wavers that had less and less to wave about as the evening wore on. He returned immediately upon Sourav’s dismissal, but by then the Chennai section of the hospitality deck had seized the night.

The DJ seemed to have suddenly misplaced his “korbo, lorbo, jeetbo” disc and was belting out a thunderous Tamil number to which a sprinkling of yellow shirts boogied. Most of the ground did not get a word of it, but it sounded something violently celebratory. The Super Kings were being invited to victory, after all.

Once upon a time this evening, Sourav’s men had their rivals firmly matted on the green. The Super Kings were gasping for life at three down for 55 and 10 overs gone. Then Dhoni walked in, and slowly prised his team free, first nibbling, then grabbing a game that seemed well out of his grasp. Eleven Knights, and not a clue to how to stop a King.

The Super Kings captain reached his 50 off 28 balls, and celebrated it with two more lusty hits off Shane Bond — a flat six at square leg and then a smash through cover for four. S. Badrinath, who would complete an unbeaten match-winning partnership with his skipper, then got into the act, and pummelled Ishant for a huge six over backward square leg, the ball smashing into the debris of the demolished western stand. Hundred-run stand.

The roar in the stands was slowly getting muffled. It began to look distinctly like the Knights had thrown their initial advantage away.

They gave 109 away to the Kings in the last 10 overs and earned themselves a target they could well have kept leashed to comfort.

The Knights made as dismal a start as the Super Kings’ end was stunning — Brad the fancied Hodge holding out at short midwicket to Ashwin off Albie Morkel’s second delivery. Sourav, in the next, survived a scare first up, never seeming to sight one that reared and lodged into his upper groin.

He wouldn’t get off the mark for a whole over, during which another wicket fell — Manoj Tiwary attempting a hattrick of boundaries off Manpreet Gony. Middle stump plucked off the hole.

The Knights would have lost another almost immediately had Hayden not floored one that came booming at him at first slip off Wriddhiman Saha’s flashed blade. Saha went, consumed, like Tiwary, by the greed of over-ambition. Going for a sixth after five hits to the fence.

Lakshmipathy Balaji came on in the next over to immediately claim Owais Shah — the ball smooched the Englishman’s outer edge and cuddled softly into Dhoni’s gloves. Four down for 46 in the seventh.
Sourav asked for a change of bat with which he had scored no more than one. He eked another 10 with the new one, then fell, caught at midwicket on a wretchedly mistimed attempt at sending Justin Kemp beyond the fence. Fifty-five for five.

Kemp came back the next over to pile on the Knights’ misery, grabbing Angelo Mathews plumb in front. Mathews had a lowly outing: no wickets for 29 and only six off the bat. At the end of the eleventh, the Knights had dug a sorry pit and were staring at a soaring required rate, nearly eleven an over. They were seven down for 79. Then eight for 82; Laxmi Ratan Shukla held at the square leg fence by Morkel off Muralitharan.

Rohan Gavaskar arrived and began to bat as if to prompt another bite from his father in the commentary box -- I wouldn’t mind bowling to him either; Rohan scratched a couple, then leapt to keep up with the run rate and plummeted to early death, caught brilliantly by Vijay to become Kemp’s third victim.

Nine gone for 84, and the last pair of Murali Kartik and Ishant did well to hang on and take the score to 109. But they were never going to bat out the full 20 overs.

In the end, Kartik ran himself out and ended what had long turned into a farce.

Hereon, the Knights will wage their campaign away from home for nearly a fortnight, returning to Eden on All Fools Day; the Gardens will probably have regained their humour by then.

Chennai had started their batting endeavour rather pathetically, and the entire stadium for some 12 overs of the designated 20 had been bubbling over with KKR love. Meanwhile there was major bonding happening between me and this fat kid sitting infront, the two of us perhaps the only supporters of CSK anywhere around. SRK walked in fashionably late, and the stadium erupted! Waves, air kisses blown.

And then Dhoni started his hits.

I was screaming, laughing hysterically, and dancing (to the obvious chagrin of everyone around) to DHONIIIIIIIIIIII DHONIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

(ok i am really really bored of this post now, posting as it is)

Man's basic instinct

2010-03-17T19:50:00.000+05:30

What essentially is man's most basic instinct? Though that question lies there, bland in form and seemingly dead and cliched in it's presence, I am burning in pain and anguish in it's intensity. What IS man's most basic instinct?

I think that question could partly be answered by what is the most you can give for it? That being the absolutely last bit that you shall relinquish. And hence, what is the most valuable 'thing'(for clutching-the-throat-want of a better word) that you do possess? For a long time, I unthinkingly thought 'life'! I would disagree now. Death ends your consciousness, your ability to perceive and hence to ascertain your loss. One does flinch and run from it at every possible ins..

Oh wait. I think I am taking the wrong route here. Let me just dispense with trying to keep to generalities and switch to an "I" mode. I can conquer that primal instinct to survive. Like most people who willingly face death, in garbs of martyrdom, trying to save a loved one, or even a deglamourised suicide. Perhaps I could do that. Because I cannot quite understand the value of life. Living minus my life could tell methat but I couldn't do that.Hence, I do not quite appreciate that.

Loyalty? But that dies the minute I read a flicker of disinterest in the eyes of the person. In that aspect, I start as a loyalist to every...

(publishing old drafts)

The Root of All Evil

2010-03-17T19:47:00.000+05:30

Spending money makes me uncomfortable.

Let me rephrase that.

Seeing money being spent puts me in pain. I have just counted a sizeable amount of notes for something that I really wanted to do. I have been so maniacally crazy about this thing, that i had that huge amount of cash with me in my room for a week now, gently researching, if i want to get this

(publishing old drafts)

Checklist for the next trip

2010-03-17T19:46:00.000+05:30

Odomos. AND Mosquito coil.
Lesser stuff. Lighter bag.

(publishing old drafts)

BitterSweet Memories - Cocktail

2010-03-17T19:45:00.000+05:30

I do a lot of adjacency analysis in my job, as in what category of products to be placed next to which category in a retail set-up so that people take it as a natural extension. One of the most famous category adjacency discovery world over has been baby nappies, and beer! Men come to pick up beer when at a store, and remember, "Hey, the Mrs. had mentioned to pick something up. Whoa, there it is!". Or "Aw damn, sniff, wasting such an evening on this list the Mrs. has given. Ok, what next, baby nappies. Check. Wait a min. Uh, I deserve one of these after so much hard work now, don't I?"
So well, saying that I am thinking of the previous weekend in the middle of the present week isn't really that far fetched an adjacency, not when it is such a beautiful morning outside, and I am the first person in the office. First person by a good 25 minutes.

(regulatory creative introduction to post done. On to cliched last weekend nostalgia bit)

On Friday evening, I concocted a new cocktail. Whisky based.

Top up a large 60 ml whisky with lots of ice. Pour some apple juice. Top it up with Coke. And then shake up black salt on it. It is strong, tangy, smooth, and gets you drunk enough to merit it the name I gave it. Bittersweet Memories.

This all the while

(publishing old drafts)

Cheeni Kam

2010-03-17T19:43:00.001+05:30

I went to see Cheeni Kam with a dollop of sugar.

(publishing old drafts)

Quick and Fast Almost Post

2010-03-17T19:41:00.000+05:30

This would be quick and fast

Listening to Marilyn Manson's 'Tainted Love' and 'Sweet Dreams' on loop yet again. I'm respecting Manson so much more these days. It is kinda thankful that even if some good things haven't worked out, I have squeezed the best out of them. For example, one gb of Manson's videos. And an appreciation of the same :)

(Publishing old drafts)

Cancer Man - Linda Goodman

2010-03-17T19:40:00.000+05:30

From Linda Goodman's book Sun Signs,

A taciturn expert at circumlocution he is. A scatterbrain and a chatterbox he is not. Don’t expect this man to bare his soul when he first meets you. Cancerians never confide in strangers, and there are certain things even their best friends don’t know. It will take a long time and a fair amount of patience to really know him. If you catch him in one of his cantankerous moods, you may not be very anxious to really know him, but try again. Don’t give up so easily.

He can be flirtations and fickle, but he can also be sensitive and loyal. Without warning, that wrinkled frown can be replaced by a gentle smile. His crabby complaints and gruff manner can warm slowly into a tender tone, just before he breaks into a deep chuckle, a muffled giggle or loud, hysterical lunar laughter. When he’s sad and wistful, you’ll want to put your arms around him, and soothe away his melancholy. When he’s showing off his sharp, intuitive mind, you’ll stare at him in awe. His caution will impress you. His pessimism will depress you.

He can be so courtly, courteous, and considerate, you half expect him to ask you to dance the Virginia Reel. There’s no question that he’s a romantic dreamer, yet he’s so sensible and practical, his enemies may call him “Old Marble Nose” behind his back. What do you do with a man like this?

You try to understand him. These aren’t changes of personality. They’re simply lunar moods, moving across his consciousness, here today – gone tomorrow. Both during and between each mood, the Cancer man is true to himself. His nature never deviates from its basic mold, despite the changes of expression that play on his features. Always try to remember that although a Cancerian’s manner can be rough and aloof, his heart is always soft and affectionate, and so full of sentiment it often makes him feel too vulnerable. The he crawls into his convenient shell (the one he carries with him at all times), safe for a while from his own emotions.

You’ll think he’s a real crab and give up when he retreats into injured silence. But the next time he cautiously peeks out to see the sunshine, you’ll be tempted all over again to get close to him.

Unfortunately, a Cancer male can be a regular wet dishrag now and then, disparaging everything and everybody, and splashing gloom in big, blue drops all over your ego. Yet, at other times he can be as funny as an orangutan with the hiccups. No wonder you don’t know whether to give him a cold shoulder or a warm hug. The temperature changes of a Cancerian could puzzle anyone. First you shiver under his freezing glances, then you get smothered with devotion. His moods are the meanest when he’s the most afraid of losing something. Maybe it’s you. Reassure him you’re his a thousand and one times. Words of love are music to his ears.

Of course, he may wade into one of his loony spells right in the middle of a tender scene some night under a full Moon. Just when you’re drifting away on lovely dreams, he may offer to tell you his favorite poem. You’ll sigh, lean back on his shoulder and close your eyes. Then he’ll crackle something like, “The stag at Eve had drunk his fill – where danced the Moon on Monan’s rill. He blew his nose and shined his shoes – and took a swig of Mountain booze!” It may jolt you out of your magic spell, but that full Moon can do strange things to the lunar emotions. What I mean is, he can be as nutty as a cuckoo, even if he is smart enough to make a million dollars and keep it.

I’m glad we brought up money. You will be too. If you’re the kind of girl who likes to pay the rent on time, you’re in love with exactly the right man. He’s almost as fond of security as he is of you. You may have a slight edge, but you can safely consider money your worst rival. He’s going to pursue it with dedication and a sort of quiet, religious fervor for most of his days. (The nights may bring other things to pursue.) It’s not the worst fate you could experience.

Finances have fascinated him since childhood, and saving will be substantially more attractive to him than spending. He’s not exactly stingy, but let’s say it’s not likely you’ll ever see him lighting his pipe with a dollar bill for a parlor trick.

Even the most poetic and dreamy Cancerians, who spend their lives immersed in music, art or other cultural pursuits, have a shrewd sense of the value of cash. A lunar artist may paint in an attic, but you needn’t send him any Care packages. There are probably some stocks and bonds hidden in the rafters. He won’t donate his paintings, either. He’ll sell them for a pretty price, if he’s a professional. But they’ll be worth it. When a Cancer person tackles a career, he’s sure to be at the top of it. He’s loaded with artistic talent. You might suggest that your Cancer man design your Christmas cards. They’re sure to be lovely, even if he’s only an amateur.

If he’s a true Cancerian, he won’t be wild about sports clothes. There’s a certain formality about his toilet. Whether he’s worth billions or only a few paltry thousands, he likes conservative cuts and good tailoring. He often leans to collar buttons (yes, they still sell them – to Cancerians). French cuffs and expensive shirts he gets wholesale, usually without monograms (too showy; he prefers to be inconspicuous). Even when he’s short of cash for a brief period while he’s working on his first million, his shoes will be polished and his socks will stay up. During any shaky financial period ( and it will be temporary), a Cancer male will somehow exude an air of genteel rich, or one who has known better days. If he hasn’t, he will. Fairly substantial amounts of money will someday come to this man, or he’ll be given the opportunity to earn large sums of it. He won’t always be wealthy, but a Cancerian in the unemployment line is as rare as a pineapple tree in Siberia. His secret motto is that “all play and no work gives Jack a skinny billfold,” and he prefers his wallets pleasingly plump.

Quality and thrift are synonymous to the Cancerians. There, I thought that would bring the sparkle back to your eyes.

Raw Data - Across Cities

2010-03-17T19:37:00.000+05:30

Comparative analysis of days in Calcutta, Bangalore and Delhi (Three places where the subject was similarly placed, alone in the city when he came in, earning about the same amounts.

The top domestic worries, things to do in my mind this early morning in Calcutta:
1. Get bike serviced. NOW.
2. Get desktop serviced. NOW.
3. Have the office laptop formatted, without losing the data
4. Arrange the books in the shelves
5. Arrange clothes finally in the closet

What am I proud of?
1. I made myself breakfast in the microwave today. A bowl of oats and milk.
2. I have managed to put a lot of daily management items on auto pilot.
3. I went to the gym this morning.
4. I am getting a grasp of the enormity of my job, and I am slowly enjoying it.

What Kind of Music am I listening to?
Nothing favourite really. No idea what is happening.

A similar day in Bangalore, I would have been thinking of:
1.

(Publishing old drafts)

Peaceful Diwalis

2010-03-17T19:34:00.000+05:30

Around diwali, generally people all around me start going crazy all the way. The constipated expressions as the holidays gather in the skies, and the crazy market anticipations, and the project deadlines. Most times, I do not really get it. For me, it is a chance to get away legitimately without most anyone raising an eyebrow. I rush to the cities when people are running away from them, and enjoy a peaceful diwali. Have been doing that since the last 3-4 years.

(Publishing old drafts)

Sweat in Calcutta

2010-03-17T19:31:00.000+05:30

I hate the sweat in calcutta more than anything else. The sweat.

A World War II Helmet

2010-03-17T19:29:00.000+05:30

me:I bought something amazing yesterday
ameet: wat eet essss?
me: Found a bullet mechanic near my place
10:52 AM And I went across with a couple of sardars with crazy bullets (one of them on his bullet, had removed the backrest and put in sloping seats, and instead of a number plate, it only had SINGH. On his brake light, he had put up a skull, whose eyes and teeth would light up red when he would brake)
They took me to this really hole in the wall through gallis that is properly crazy scary
If you ever come to calcutta again man, we are getting stoned and going out for rides at night
10:53 AM I have to show u this stuff man, fucking sodium yellow lights, huts with mamta banerjee cutouts, women sittin on the ground outside the huts and smoking hookahs in a night gown
Looks like you are stoned even without being stoned
10:54 AM I wanted to buy one of those half helmets
ameet: Sale jahan hum pehle pahooch jate hain tum baad mein aate ho
10:55 AM meine pehle hi bola tha last time..Bullet pe nikalte hain mall marke raat mein
me: So this shop had a lot of those standard stuff which you find across in any bullet shop across the country
ameet: tu chuttad LAZY hai, nahi nahi karke baat taldi
me: but then the sardar who owned the shop took me to this galli behind his shop to show me some more, because he had got all pally with me
10:56 AM I wish I wish I had my camera working, I had even taken my camera to get it repaired, but in this motherfucking place, they open at 10:30, close at 6 and are closed on weekends
I think I will buy a cheap 10 grand tak ka chota camera for now.
10:57 AM but fuck, what i was telling you about was the helmet
he showed me a few
and then I saw these proper soldier helmets
you know, world war II styles?
Army green, olive green?
ameet: haan
10:58 AM me: It is a metal helmet
11:01 AM Abey samajh raha hai na
ameet: cool
aare haan re
me: One metal plate thing, dipped in hot zinc and smoothed out in front
but inside, it still has that roughness where the liquid zinc had dried up
with small studs on top
11:02 AM a proper old soldier's helmet
and I got it for Rs.100!!!!
ameet: gr8

me: Apparently there are places in calcutta which are still making it even after all these years! Nobody told them to stop!

(Publishing old drafts)

The Film Industry & The Fanboys

2010-03-17T19:24:00.000+05:30

Recession Hits Bollywood

Recession and tight liquidity has forced Bollywood to go in for cost cutting and slowdown on several projects.
"It is difficult to find buyers and committed cost cannot be honoured. 90 percent of the films have been put on hold while those on floors have been held up due to the slowdown,"
Besides, banks have also become cautious about lending as film budgets had sky rocketed in the last few months, trade sources said.
Now, filmmakers are exploring and focussing newer methods for revenue generation and shifting to newer technologies to reach the audiences... the latest being mobiles and DTH, they said. UTV Motion Pictures is releasing Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! on DTH platforms -- Dishtv and Tata Sky within three weeks of the film's theatrical opening -- November 27.

While fanboys are still loving making lists,

Fanboys love lists and I'm no exception, simply because its dashed enjoyable to pretend to be empirical about something that you can't possibly formulate like math. Film is a matter of opinion and there are millions of points of view on the same movies, and none is less valid than the other. You like it, sat through it, worship it, hate it -- and we could all be arguing about the same movie. And we'd all be right.

(Publishing old drafts)

Missing Bangalore

2010-03-17T19:21:00.000+05:30

If someone had told me even four months back that you could ride out of a modern city in india, and within two-three hours be in the middle of thick forests, and rain soaked mountains in complete utter silence, I would have gently asked him about his Discovery Channel addiction, and if he had seen a shrink about it lately. Then probably would have gifted him a plant from the nearest nursery.

The point is having lived most of my life in extremes of weather up north, vagaries of the soul and the wanderer spirit were limited to certain timings of the year.

(publishing old drafts)

Crazy Summer Sundays at Calcutta

2010-03-17T19:11:00.000+05:30

Sundays are craziness for me. Or perhaps the rest of the week is craziness, and sunday is when i let lose. I am sure I have written previous blogposts centuries ago of how sundays have never been quite very different to me from the rest of the week. Friends have often asked me to take up hobbies, to finish up a million things I keep pushing forward for a holiday to do in, and somehow weeks pass by. There are these two watches. One that goes every moment and counts just how to get done through the next hour. The other watches the sundays go by. Sundays are when I indulge in excesses.
I have had about 5 baths since morning, and it is still 5 pm. At least a couple more before I get to sleep. I have been sweating continuously, even apparently from the roots of the hair on my head, which reminds me that I have to get a hair cut today. About the same number of drinks. Have smoked up twice. Cooked maggi ...

(publishing old drafts)

True Story

2010-02-28T21:24:00.000+05:30

Yesterday's Horoscope

2010-02-22T15:30:00.000+05:30

You may appear calm as a clam, yet others may not realize that your hard outer shell is preventing them from seeing your unsettled emotions. Inwardly, you may be in a minor crisis as you consider whether something is important enough to fight for today. You must choose to continue toward a previous goal or to let go of something that's no longer working for you. Even if you are unsure, making a decision frees you up so that you are able to move on.

Bang on that is.

This Rick Levine's daily horoscope shit used to appear in The Indian Express, Pune edition, and I used to see these quite some time back. And don't know about the words, or the accuracy of the predictions but it overall always felt right for the emotions I was feeling or anticipating that day. I do not read these everyday, or even LOOK for them. As an example I chanced upon the site today, and I was more interested in checking yesterday's. It feels weird.

Currently his horoscopes so to say, appear for twittascope

Why do we watch Horror films?

2010-02-11T17:03:00.000+05:30

From We get pleasure from unpleasurable emotions, Why?

I think that fictionality (= non-acting in response to an emotional stimulus) leads to pleasure. Actuality (= having to decide about acting in response to an emotional stimulus) leads, not to pleasure, but to planning motor activity. And that in turn requires brain activity. With Repulsion (and other instances of negative emotions in literature), I think that experiencing that relaxation, that knowing that we won't have to do anything about this poor girl's craziness, is in and of itself pleasurable).

I think so. I think we turn to literature, to stories, poems, plays, or movies, in order to have our emotions stimulated, even in unpleasurable ways. We do so because we experience, even durng the literary work, a continuing release of psychic energy (brain effort) from knowing at a cortical, cognitive level that we do not have to act in response to those sub-cortical, emotional signals. We know before we enter the movie theater that we will feel unpleasurable fear during the movie or the story, but we also know that we will feel pleasure (even during that fear!) because we know we won't have to do anything about it.

What is Veer Ras? or Understanding Rasa Swadana

2010-02-10T16:49:00.002+05:30

"Gaudeamus igitur", postal card with symbols of traditional German student life of 1898

I have been dropping mentions of Veer Ras here and there. There have been quite a few queries about just what is it? I have tried to explain in a few cases, but more often citing examples rather than a what is (I do most explanations like that. Easier to make you feel what I am saying than make you understand is me motto).

So what do I as a conscientious educator of the masses and the uplifter of the is that a salman khan movie/ is it a vulgar hindi gaali darkness do?

I painstakingly write about it.

Wrong.

I lift it from someone who painstakingly writes about it poetically for a completely different purpose altogether. From the description of an art festival in Goa called Rasika,

The journey of life is an agglomeration of experiences. These unfold as short hops or long treks with moments of rest in between to catch one’s breath, introspect on what has been and dream about what can be.
On this journey through life, we witness these experiences through stimuli that enter our consciousness through all our senses – touch, sight, sound, taste and smell.

The aesthetic experience is described as ‘Rasa Swadana’ or the ‘tasting of flavour’.

Rasa means the quintessential essence of a work of art. In its most obvious sense, rasa refers to the sap, juice of plants,extract or fluid. In this physical sense, it is easy to identify.Rasa also signifies the non-material essence of something or the “best or finest part of it,” like perfume, which comes from matter but is not so easy to describe or comprehend.

Rasa denotes "emotive aesthetics" and is a phenomenon of the mind.

Rasika is the viewer, the scholar or connoisseur.

For the Rasika an aesthetic experience signifies a state of heightened delight, the kind of bliss that transcends pleasure and exists in the realm of the spirit.

The artist strives for Rasa in his work and the Rasika instinctively appreciates it.

We are all ‘Rasikas’ savouring the Rasa of life’s offerings.

So the quintessential essence of a work of art, the mood it generates, is called a Ras of the piece of art. Hence a piece of art would be Veer Ras if it generates the feelings of #GetTheBastards or even CarpeDiem

An example of Veer Ras

The song, Arambh hai Prachhand from Gulaal,

कृष्ण ki पुकार है
ये भगवत का सार है
ki युद्ध ही तो वीर का प्रमाण है
कौरवों ki भीड़ हो या
पाण्डवों का नीद हो
जो लड़ सका है वोही तो महान है

जीत ki हवास नहीं
किसी पे कोई वश नहीं
क्या ज़िन्दगी है ठोकरों पे मार दो
मौत अंत है नहीं
तो मौत से भी क्यूँ डरे
ये जाके आसमान में दहाड़ दो

Addendum: Geetika in the comments has linked to a beautiful post at XKCD and navras,

the Natya Shastra, which lays out the nine basic emotional states, or rasas:

शृन्गारं (Shrngaaram), the emotion of louw, romance, and erotica
हास्यं, (Haasyam), the comic emotion
करुणं (karuNam), the emotion of empathy, compassion and kindliness
रौद्रं (raudram), the emotion of rage and fury
वीरं (veeram), the emotion of courage and heroism
भयानकं (bhayanakam), the emotion of fear, terror, and horror
बीभत्सं (bibhitsam), the emotion of repugnance
अद्भुतं (adbhutam), the emotion of wonder and marvel
शान्तं (shaantam), the emotion of stillness and tranquility

How to Avoid Writing by Robert Benchley

2010-02-04T18:20:00.000+05:30

A brilliant write up about "NOT" writing from Robert Benchley . I'm putting it all down here.

From Grammar.About.com

Humorist Robert Benchley (1889-1945) describes the sort of commitment that not writing demands.

It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.

In truth, Robert Benchley had a great talent for writing--comic essays, for the most part, and theater criticism. But as Benchley was quick to admit, he had an even greater talent for not writing:

How to avoid writing

by Robert Benchley

The secret of my incredible energy and efficiency in getting work done is a simple one. I have based it very deliberately on a well-known psychological principle and have refined it so that it is now almost too refined. I shall have to begin coarsening it up again pretty soon.

The psychological principle is this: anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment.
("How to Get Things Done," in Chips off the Old Benchley, 1949)

A master procrastinator, Benchley is remembered for his work at The New Yorker magazine in the 1930s--and even more for his deadline-defying high jinks at the Algonquin Round Table.

Like many of us, Benchley maintained a strict writing regimen, which involved postponing work until the last possible minute. In "How I Create," he described the sort of commitment that not writing calls for:

Very often I must wait weeks and weeks for what you call "inspiration." In the meantime I must sit with my quill pen poised in the air over a sheet of foolscap, in case the divine spark should come like a lightning bolt and knock me off my chair on to my head. (This has happened more than once.) . . .

Sometimes, while in the throes of creative work, I get out of bed in the morning, look at my writing desk piled high with old bills, old gloves, and empty ginger-ale bottles, and go right back to bed again. The next thing I know it is night once more, and time for the Sand Man to come around. (We have a Sand Man who comes twice a day, which makes it very convenient. We give him five dollars at Christmas.)

Even if I do get up and put on part of my clothes--I do all my work in a Hawaiian straw skirt and bow tie of some neutral shade--I can often think of nothing to do but pile the books which are on one end of my desk very neatly on the other end and then kick them one by one off to the floor with my free foot.

I find that, while working, a pipe is a great source of inspiration. A pipe can be placed diagonally across the keys of a typewriter so that they will not function, or it can be made to give out such a cloud of smoke that I cannot see the paper. Then, there is the process of lighting it. I can making a pipe a ritual which has not been equaled for elaborateness since the five-day festival to the God of the Harvest. (See my book on Rituals: the Man.)

In the first place, owing to 26 years of constant smoking without once calling in a plumber, the space left for tobacco in the bowl of my pipe is now the size of a medium body-pore. Once the match has been applied to the tobacco therein the smoke is over. This necessitates refilling, relighting, and reknocking. The knocking out of a pipe can be made almost as important as the smoking of it, especially if there are nervous people in the room. A good smart knock of a pipe against a tin wastebasket and you will have a neurasthenic out of his chair and into the window sash in no time.

The matches, too, have their place in the construction of modern literature. With a pipe like mine, the supply of burnt matches in one day could be floated down the St. Lawrence River with two men jumping them. . . .
(from No Poems, or Around the World Backwards and Sideways, 1932)

Eventually, of course--after sharpening pencils, making out schedules, composing a few letters, changing typewriter ribbons, relighting his pipe, building a book shelf, and clipping pictures of tropical fish out of magazines--Benchley did get down to work. If you'd welcome some advice on how to do the same, please see Writers on Writing: Overcoming Writer's Block.

Mujhe Ishqiya Dekhne Do!

2010-02-01T16:55:00.005+05:30

@zennmaster saw Ishqiya at a local single screen theatre in Lucknow. Smart ass, brazen, and absolutely male,he was on a tour of UP for some official work. This was his tweet at the interval.

Watching dis movie in the heartland of UP is a different experience altogether... I miss screen theaters...

And this was his tweet at the end of the film,

Ishqiya = the awesomeness of butch cassidy and the sundance kid meets the brilliance of kill bill. Must watch, highly recommended.

The noise for me had started from Thursday night itself after @PolitelyPink saw it, and kept squealing up and down on twitter over it.

Ishqiya is a cult film! Don't miss it.. but please leave your manners at home :)

Chutiyam Sulphate* references kept passing up and down on the twitter timeline through Friday, mostly by women. The second film this, after 3 Idiots a while back (the chamatkar-balatkar reference - in the theatres, the nervous guy laughter always comes after the wholehearted female peals of laughter), which would make saying cuss words cool in glamour circles . If this is not a medium of social change, enlighten me as to what social change is?

#Observation:

Junta ko picture pasand aa rahi thi. But koi bhi poora ek baar mein nigal nahi paa raha tha.

That is why Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid meets Kill Bill, post sight feels an absolutely bang on marvelous review.

Sat morning, on the pot, trying to studiously avoid even the Telegraph review, Sharma called from Bangalore. "Tune Raja Sen ka review padha?" (I found out later that the rediff review was written by @SukanyaVerma )

I told him I am avoiding all reviews till I see the film.

He laughed out loud. Literally.

" Usne review mein bola hai - Tarantino would be proud of this film."

Damn. That stuck in my head!

Back off bastards. Will you let a guy watch a film?

Long back in a Patna single screen theatre, the queue of people coming out of the theatre passed side by side with a similar queue for people going in. After one of the morning shows, a patron from the incoming queue asks loudly to the outgoing queue,

"Arrey, kauno SOT hai ki nahi fillim mein?" (Does the film have any worthwhile SHOT?)

An enthusiastic smiling guy ahead of me answered wholeheartedly,

"Arrey chacha, 5 tho SOT hai. Heroine bahute baar nahati hai. Ekdum araam se." (The film has 5 worthwhile SHOTS. The heroine takes a lot of showers. Leisurely)

Revigored pushing in the queue to get inside.

Another time, I was witness to a far crueler snap review, this time me being on the receiving end. Another theatre in Patna. First day evening show of Gupt - the Bobby Deol, Kajol, Manisha Koirala attempted thriller. Along with two friends, who had all meticulously avoided social contact with anyone who had seen the film through the day.

There was a murderer in the film. That no one knew about. That was a treat.

No one made Manorama: 6 feet under those days.

An irate fan, obviously dissatisfied, coming out of the theatre screamed to the entire long queue at the ticketing window.

"Bahin ki loudi Kajoliya! Saali wohi khooni hai". (Thematic Translation: The Kajol character is the murderer)

The guy was chased a long way out by 4-5 incensed guys, but he escaped screaming "Kajol, Kajol" all the way.

Cut to present, I made it to the theatre for the 10:10 am Saturday morning show at Fame Adlabs. I resented having the Tarantino reference stuck in my head despite the Pulp Fiction genre argument with @AllVishal after he had seen the film on Friday afternoon.

Ishqiya is good, solid pulp fiction* & well worth your money. *(small p, small f)

(Vishal's more complete review is here)

But see it I did. Laughed aloud through the film I did. Blew me away it did.

: Londiya Wo Nahi Hai Jo Tum Samajh Riye ho!

I understand the problem that reviewers would face with this film, much like with every Vishal Bharadwaj film. My own sms at the climactic moments of the film was the verbose

Motherfuck! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK fuck this film! fuck fuck FUCK

There is so much beautiful structure in the film that it is almost a crime to not take a gross overhead Brilliant World Cinema route. That is the reason why A Vishal Bharadwaj Film would always have a more dara-sehma (scared- cautious) review than An Anurag Kashyap Film (mentioned as the two consistent Indian representatives on the so called World Cinema stage. IMHO. For sheer example sakes, a Coen Brothers film, as opposed to say a Tarantino film. Similar problem with reviews in the former) . I'm not saying they would not lace it with superlatives. Just be a bit dara-sehma coz fuck it is awesome. And it would be a crime to deconstruct it. And what if you take out all the layers and then could not put it back together? Better idea is to take a larger, grander scheme of things.

I am not saying it isn't Brilliant World Cinema, it can be shown across any theatre across the world with only sub titles, and it would work for any film viewer. I am slowly getting aware of the fact that Vishal Bharadwaj & Co. are building up a repertoire of films that would stand proud to be put in any genred film festival. Stand it's own in comparison to the Old West films. (The awesome Baradwaj Rangan agrees about the desi Western bit here )

That is the precise reason why my writings on Maqbool and Omkara have taken so much time. And yet do not do either of the films any justice. I didn't ever get around to writing about Kaminey because I had just so much unadulterated fun that I was waiting for it all to subside before I could put any of it into words. As I speak, the Kaminey DVD is still inside my laptop DVD drive. Honest! GO CHARLIE!!

Like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma, the legendary santoor player once said,

"Not applause no. I like the situations where the audience is too stunned after a performance and there is absolute silence."

But film makers aren't essentially music maestros. They love their movies discussed. And films do not work because the ones who loved it were stunned into silence.

And more importantly, the customers, the intended viewers do not always share the enthusiasm, the obsession with cinematic history as most of us writing and talking about films do. And think, "Ye apne se upar ki cheez hai"

Aur fir ye Chaubey Sahab ki pehli picture hai. Isliye himmat kar raha hun.

Ishqiya is Chaubey's Guru Dakshina to Vishal Bharadwaj.

I know a hell of a lot of people who would NOT watch a film if it is called World Cinema. Ye Naseer Bhai ke jawani ke paap hain. I have tried in vain to explain it isn't same as ART Cinema. It isn't boring. But alas!

For example, I do not know of a single person watching From Dusk Till Dawn not having a good experience with the film, whether you know about Robert Rodriguez or not. It is a matter of degree of pleasure. You might still enjoy Tropic Thunder as a funny silly exercise done extremely well. However, those who didn't orgasm with it probably didn't know much about Apocalypse, Now.

But yet, it doesn't take away from the essence of the film. To be enjoyed as a mass medium. Across anywhere. Through varying degrees of intelligence, one's own cultural references and personal preferences and prejudices and nostalgic connections.

To be enjoyed.

I ramble way too much.

Back to Ishqiya. My "fuck fuck" review wouldn't hold. How do I tell the people what they are missing?
How about this then?

"Chacha, bahutte SOT hai picture mein. Tabiyat khuss nahi huyi to paisa wapas" (Uncle, lots of beautiful worthwhile moments in the film. If you do not feel absolutely satisfied, money refund) could be one approach.

Or like I told JK yesterday,

"Arshad Warsi has shared Bollywood's first real screen kiss with Vidya Balan."

He countered immediately, "Abey Raja Hindustani bhool gaya?"

"That was one actor kissing another actor. And that was very apparent on the screen. Every single kiss in Bollywood till date has been absolute baloney. THIS is how real people kiss. Reminded me of that 'The Postman Always Rings Twice' kitchen moment (not the one linked here. The first one earlier on the kitchen table). Agar tera khada nahi hua to fir bol."

JK replied, "Achha, fir to aaj hi dekhni padegi"

And that isn't the so called only SOT in the film. The scene where the three are sitting with each other at a public place, slurping barf ki chuskis, discussing the pilan (savere se itni baar sun chuka hun, merey hone waale bacche ko bhi pilan yaad ho chuka hai), there is Babban casually touching a little piece of exposed skin on the back of her neck. While apparently intelligently contributing to the conversation. While you as a viewer KNOW that his entire being is concentrated on his fingers at the moment.

It is done gently. Nonchalantly. And those in the know would vociferously nod their heads.

There are moments like this that just descend deep within you, the nonchalance, the confidence in the narrative.

Vidya Balan IS the hero of the film. Much like the proverbial Bride of the Kill Bill film. Much like though Kill Bill was about the titular Bill, everything else in the movie doesn't matter if you take it all out except for the bride. That being the central essence of the film. Of the script. Of the endeavour. And she does justice to it like no one else in the film industry can.

And yes, I might very much be a Tarantino whore for saying that the "Main Kutiya Hoon?" dialogue at the very start of the flick reminded me of the "What does Marsellus Wallace look like? He's black. He's bald. Does he look like a bitch? What? BAM SPLAT. DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH? Nooooooo. Why did you try to fuck him like a bitch Brett? No I didn't. Yes, you did Brett. YES YOU DID! You tried to fuck him. And Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace."

That character, Jijaji IS Marsellus Wallace. And the meri zohra zabeen IS the legendary Mrs. Wallace. In cinematic metaphor terms, so to say.

Humein maloom hai ki wo aapke gunehgaar hain. Par wo humare bhai bhi hain. Agar ho sakta hai to unhei chhod dijiye. Par antim faisla aapka hai. Chhod dijiye. Ya Maar Dijiye.

It is a beautifully constructed wonder, this film. The way the thread weaves through the entire narrative from the ishqiyana mahaoul on to each of the characters, each one coming up in a layer. You identify yourself with one layer, and then realize, oho, inke bade bhai sahab bhi hai yahan! in the very next layer.

Arshad Warsi is so brilliant in every single scene he appears in. That along with Naseer, he DOES form the brilliant chemistry reminiscent of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. That Naseer DOES a role like this. That absolute hurt on his face when the girl calls him Chutiyam Sulphate. That Vidya Balan utters the crucial and stunningly done, "Are you my husband, my lover or my pimp?" which changes the whole tone of the story from then on, no questions asked. That I have been listening to the "Dil to bachha hai ji" song for a while, but seeing the visuals has so inflamed the entire song for me, that I cannot have enough of it at all now. Also, I thought the ending was picture perfect! Not just the absolute ending shot, which was sheer poetry (Bhaag gaye saale), but even the whole blowing up of it. I loved the seering dialogues that Vidya Balan mouths towards the end. Could NOT have been better.

I know I am doing exactly what the rest of them have done. Getting lost in the larger view. When all I have to say is that Ishqiya is so much fun, you would wet your pants. The film is an utter delight! Watch IT!

: Ek Lateefa To Sunte Jaao!

I sent another sms to a whole bunch of people after the film.

WATCH ISHQIYA! Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid meets Kill Bill! V Bharadwaj IS making world cinema. Tarantino would have been proud of this!! It is good, solid pulp fiction! None of them my words.

I could not honestly use any better words. Perhaps I have been rather harsh on the reviewers. After all, the reviewers write for us our Thank You Notes. Our Complaint Boxes. Our Joyous Hosannah Groups. Our Obituary circles. Our Pop quizzes.

Reviewers write for us our greeting cards to the film makers.

And if that is true, I want this one to say,

Thank You Vishal Bhai for making films like you do. I feel blessed. Indian Cinema is blessed to have you represent us. And Chaubey Sahab! CHAK DE FATTE!

*Chutiyam Sulphate - From @tantanoo 's Ishqiya review #Education

For those of you, who’ve landed here via Google, looking for the meaning of Sulphate in Chutiam/Chutiyam Sulphate, here is the deal: Copper Sulphate – CuSO4 – was somehow mauled in the 80’s and 90’s to ChuSO4, or Chutiyam Sulphate. This actually means the same thing as ‘Chutia’ – which stands for either ‘out of the vagina’ or the more colorful word ‘cunt’ and it may also mean ‘an impotent man’. The choice is yours.

A Horror Fan's Fascination for The Blair Witch Project

2010-02-01T10:08:00.001+05:30

Originally published on Passionforcinema.com

(The links, as is customary with all posts on this blog, are central to the whole reading experience. You are promised that you shall be not be led astray on to any link that you click on this page that you would not want to go to. )

I saw The Blair Witch Project on UTV world movies tonight.

In movie appreciation terms there needs to be a heavy silence after that sentence.

The first time I saw it, I was in B School. I had just about begun to get cinema. Beyond the usual brilliant hard on Swordfish films (during engineering. I think I never have been more influenced by any kind of bad boy look more than Travolta in Swordfish. I have no idea how many times I have seen that film. The audio cassette of the OST doesn't play anymore. Coz I have played it way too many times). Harsh, the next door neighbour in the hostel was as unlike me as possible. Very gangly, very rich, and friends with the best of the wastrels on campus. Who all considered him the 'good guy'. But he was also very real. And very restless. Like me. Harsh and me pigged out on films. Daroo, self cut salad and films. When he was thoughtful, namkin too. As he called it. He cut the salads. I made the drinks. Mostly. We saw Kill Bill-1 some 17 times. Some times on his desktop. Most other times on mine. Both the computers were the only computers in the respective rooms. Across a corridor.

So well, I had built myself up in a lather over The Blair Witch Project long before I could see it. The marketing campaign of the film was far more legendary than the actual film long before I had seen it. I had been searching for a way to see the film, long sweaty excursions to Palika Bazaar and all, but just never found it. The internet was rare, to be accessed in internet cafes and the computer lab with everything worth fun disabled. Torrents I had no idea about.

Harsh would bring his 'fun' widely known crazy films, and I would bring the crazies that no one knew about. So both of us had been excited about the fact that I had finally got THE Blair Witch Project.

I do not quite remember how now.

But we built it up. Through the projects and everything. We would get a night to ourselves soon. And it was supposed to be a night fim of course. The best horror film ever? How could it not be? We would give it the treatment.

So after a night of drinking, and watching a few films here and there, we started on The Blair Witch Project. At 2 am.

I had built up the frenzy so much that even DD and Madhu joined in.

Both left 20 mins and half an hour into the movie respectively. To sleep. It was too boring.

Harsh and me labored on. Mostly out of respect for each other.

But then about 3:10, Harsh called it a night. He said he would catch it later. We had class the next morning, after all. I was affronted. I finished the film. But honestly, more than being hurt by not quite getting the movie, or more perhaps of being affronted by my failed instincts. Instincts which find if a movie is good or not by reading about it. Ouch, that is stripping it too bare, but perhaps that is a pride topic (as my KPI sheet in my yearly review list suggests) - of recognizing good cinema when I see it.

So I didn't really get it. Why was it talked of in such high terms? Coz honestly I saw through the whole myth of it. I followed the horror film fan route. Didn't know weed then. So drank a little. Spooked myself enough. 2 am. Around a dark monitor. 4 guys. In a B school hostel room.

Perfect recipe.

Horror and thriller movies thrive in situations like those. Slasher cinema is made for a customer segment like that. Most Asian Cinema would beg to be put in a time slot like that.

Yet.

Didn't work. At all.

The Blair Witch Project did not work on me.

I liked the whole camera work. The whole enfant terrible act of making this film. Of the absolutely funky idea of letting the actors be the film makers, work absolutely gonzo, even though on a supposed script. Tremendous.

Donahue had never operated a camera before, and spent two days in a "crash course", but her newness with camera control may have influenced the film's shakiness.

Almost 19 hours of usable footage was recorded which had to be edited down to 90 minutes. The editing in post production took more than eight months.

The directors rationed the food of the cast, causing Donahue to suffer eczema outbreaks as filming progressed. Teeth were obtained from a Maryland dentist for use as human remains in the film. Influenced by producer Gregg Hale's memories of his military training, in which "enemy soldiers" would hunt a trainee through wild terrain for three days, the directors moved the characters far during the day, harassing them by night and depriving them of food.

I still loved the marketing of it. Genius.

The Blair Witch Project (1999) was one of the most profitable films in history when measured by its return on the initial investment. Made for approximately $50,000 and grossing over $100 million in US theatrical box-office alone, this financial victory of a low-budget independent film over the major studio blockbusters instigated a paradigm panic among Hollywood executives due in large part to the important role of the Internet in the film's commercial success.
Resonating with the film's "mockumentary" style, at the heart of the Web campaign was the blurring of the boundaries between actual and fictional documents through additional "evidence" on the Web and the omission of any explicit admission or demarcation of the promotional material as fiction or as promotional advertising. In addition to the official Blair Witch Project Website, unofficial Websites and fan pages elaborated the film's mythology and offered original narratives. Hundreds of Blair Witch Project video parodies were distributed through the Web, and several of the film's detractors launched an anti– Blair Witch Project Web ring that included a Web page created by a group of citizens from Burkittsville, Maryland, "to explain to the world that Burkittsville was being harmed by a fictional movie set in [their] town." Debates about the film's authenticity filled Web boards, Usenet newsgroups, and online chat rooms.

Just that I did not get release.

I didn't get scared. Spooked. Or mind fucked.

I thought about it the next day. And through the next week of hectic classes. I know I couldn't have spooked myself. I am not the type.

But it started. The next week.

My room was at the end of this corridor. 6 rooms to one corridor, 3 on each side. You pass through a little open area where you feel the wind on you. End of that is the water cooler. Then a long connecting way to the other wing corridor, which had some ten rooms on both sides of it. And a duplicate mirrored corridor on the other side with 6 more rooms.

Point is there were two water coolers. At the end of each of the two corridors. And you had to get your drinking water from there. As is usual in the boys' hostel, one would step out at any time of the day or the night, in various stages of undress regardless of the fact that you were exposed to anyone who could care to look from below into the hostel.

I had a usual habit of going to the water cooler to fill up my 2 litre coke bottle just before I slept. I drank a lot of water. Made a lot of visits to the cooler. But that night visit was customary. Most nights it was 1-2 am. So this was one of those random last visits on this night.

A random 2 am about a week from watching The Blair Witch Project.

The film had been very intellectual. Appealing to the literary horror fan in you. The smart horror fan. To be scared by your own beliefs and trust in your sense of sight and sound. Of what you sense is real.

That is where the film took off. Made you see patterns. Signs. Made you make mental connections amongst those. Like you always do. And then leave the ending open to your own fucked up mind. You know, like the What Happened to Kakihara question from Ichi the Killer. Or What was in that Marsellus Wallace suitcase in Pulp Fiction. Was it his soul? Or say, just what had Brando become in Apocalypse Now, completely by accident? What WAS Kurtz? And how did Francis Ford Coppola, Academy Award winner for Godfather get in the middle of it. Or even What WAS the fucking ending of The Descent? The first one, or the second one? Did you close your eyes? )

One of those questions. Leaving questions for the very rational mind of you.

YOU fuck YOURSELF up! That is the genius of these films.

I have no idea what I am building this story up to.

Point is, one week from watching the Blair Witch Project, I went to fill the coke bottle with water, along that long narrow corridor.

It started while the water bottle was filling up. The unexplainable terror of feeling that there was someone just behind me.

The utter simplified essence of every single horror film ever made.

The creepy feeling of the hair on your neck straining for release, because you just KNOW something or someone is right behind you. But you do not dare to turn around and check.

The feeling never left me. Not that night. Not through that entire semester.

All because of The Blair Witch Project. I have never been able to talk positively before about that film except here, right now. But I have never known just what effect it had on me. But it worked. Oh fuck it worked!

From here,

"The Blair Witch Project" isn't designed to make you jump. It isn't designed to gross you out. "The Blair Witch Project" is designed to make you fidget, then make you panic, then make you lose a night's sleep because you can't shake the psychosomatic sensation of being scared out of your wits. "The Blair Witch Project" is scary because -- unlike factory-produced horror movies -- it seems so real.
The concoction of writers-directors-editors Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez, "The Blair Witch Project" is a wildly creative experiment in human nature. Following more of an outline than a script, their actors are not asked to pretend, they're made to believe as terrifying scenes take shape for the first time before your eyes.

Roger Ebert's review mentions the same feeling of dread of something you cannot quite place, and which essentially comes of your own mind

Horror films that tap into our hard-wired instinctive fears probe a deeper place than movies with more sophisticated threats. A villain is only an actor, but a shark is more than a shark.

"The Blair Witch Project," an extraordinarily effective horror film, knows this and uses it. It has no fancy special effects or digital monsters, but its characters get lost in the woods, hear noises in the night and find disturbing stick figures hanging from trees. One of them discovers slime on his backpack. Because their imaginations have been inflamed by talk of witches, hermits and child murderers in the forest, because their food is running out and their smokes are gone, they (and we) are a lot more scared than if they were merely being chased by some guy in a ski mask.
--
At a time when digital techniques can show us almost anything, "The Blair Witch Project" is a reminder that what really scares us is the stuff we can't see. The noise in the dark is almost always scarier than what makes the noise in the dark. Any kid can tell you that. Not that he believes it at the time.

And this here, indeed is one of the sanest reviews of the film

The Blair Witch is scary enough, but when you put the characters in the woods and they suffer repeated sensory assaults their very existence becomes their greatest horror. They are too scared to open their eyes and too scared to close their eyes. That is the ultimate horror, to be afraid of your own existence.

#SceneStunning: I am scared to close my eyes. And scared to open them!

I saw it again tonight.

Dead Nigger Storage

2010-01-11T17:07:00.000+05:30

I have always wondered why do directors play the small parts they play in their movies. Anurag Kashyap played the first "customer" for Chanda in Dev D, further strengthening my idea about his own personal connect to the story. QT plays a very different character in his own films, compared to say, what he plays in Robert Rodriguez films. In his own films, he is more of the geek boy gawking at all the stuff that is happening around him without any idea of why & how. In Rodriguez films, most times, he is the perpetrator of crazy things happening around.

But bah, on to the scene. Tarantino plays Jimmie, a homie that Jules has gone to lay low, while there's a dead body in their car.

Legendary scene from Pulp Fiction.

INT. JIMMIE'S KITCHEN – MORNING

Three men are standing in Jimmie's kitchen, each with a mug of coffee. Jules, Vincent and JIMMIE DIMMICK, a young man in his late 20s dressed in a bathrobe.

JULES
Goddamn Jimmie, this is some serious gourmet shit. Me an' Vincent woulda been satisfied with freeze-dried
Tasters Choice. You spring this gourmet fuckin' shit on us. What flavor is this?

JIMMIE
Knock it off, Julie.

JULES
What?

JIMMIE
I'm not a cobb or corn, so you can stop butterin' me up. I don't need you to tell me how good my coffee
is. I'm the one who buys it, I know how fuckin' good it is. When Bonnie goes shoppin; she buys shit. I buy
the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause when I drink it, I wanna taste it.
But what's on my mind at this moment isn't the coffee in my kitchen, it's the dead nigger in my garage.

JULES
Jimmie –

JIMMIE
– I'm talkin'. Now let me ask you a question, Jules. When you drove in here, did you notice a sign out front that said, "Dead nigger storage?"

Jules starts to "Jimmie" him –

JIMMIE
– answer to question. Did you see a sign out in front of my house that said, "Dead nigger storage?"

JULES (playing along)
Naw man, I didn't.

JIMMIE
You know why you didn't see that sign?

JULES
Why?

JIMMIE
'Cause storin' dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business! That's Why

Jules starts to "Jimmie" him.

JIMMIE
– I ain't through! Now don't you understand that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house,
I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage counselor, no trial separation –fuckin' divorced. And I don't wanna
get fuckin' divorced. The last time me an' Bonnie talked about this shit was gonna be the last time me an'
Bonnie talked about this shit. Now I wanna help ya out Julie, I really do. But I ain't gonna lose my wife
doin' it.

JULES
Jimmie –

JIMMIE
– don't fuckin' Jimmie me, man, I can't be Jimmied. There's nothin' you can say that's gonna make me
forget I love my wife. Now she's workin' the graveyard shift at the hospital. She'll be comin' home in
less than an hour and a half. Make your phone calls, talk to your people, than get the fuck out of my house.

JULES
That's all we want. We don't wanna fuck up your shit. We just need to call our people to bring us in.

JIMMIE
Then I suggest you get to it. Phone's in my bedroom.

The complete script here

Fascination for the Robert Rodriguez Way

2010-01-05T00:51:00.003+05:30

It would be very necessary to build a background to the person we are talking about. That from a pet theory of mine.A film tells a lot about the filmmaker. Personally that is. What kind of a person he really is. And also, vice versa. (which is the normal way film maker tells a lot about the film).

Digest this.

Robert Rodriguez. Good friend of sorts with Quentin Tarantino. Has collaborated on a hell of a lot of projects together. Both come from a very similar kind of intellect and desire to play. And yet, each adds a very different flavor to their efforts. Hang out at each other's places for movie night outs. The idea of Grindhouse was born in one of those sessions.

He convinced the legendary hard nosed Frank Miller to let him adapt the incomparable Sin City to the screen. By showing him ONE segment of the proposed film. He got Miller to join him on the sets as full fledged director.

Rodríguez not only has the usual credits of producing, directing and writing his films, he also frequently serves as editor, director of photography, camera operator, steadicam operator, composer, production designer, visual effects supervisor, and sound editor on his films.

Got that down?

Writes Script. Directs film. Holds Camera. Also makes music. Is part of the music band Chingon .Scores music for his own films.

This has earned him the nickname of "the one-man film crew." He abbreviates his numerous roles in his film credits; Once Upon A Time In Mexico, for instance, is "shot, chopped, and scored by Robert Rodriguez."

Until recently, he was dating Rose McGowan. Rose McGowan was previously engaged to Marilyn Manson. Yes, that Marilyn Manson

And Mr. Rodriguez looks like this.

Seriously.

He shares the credit for generating reviews like this from the Washington Post,

“The movie, which treats you with contempt for even watching it, is a monument to its own lack of imagination. It's a triumph of vile over content; mindless nihilism posing as hipness”

No film maker gets that kind of reviews unless he totally stirs the reviewer from deep within. Not when he is that good with his craft.

I can remember three other distinct cases. For Anurag Kashyap (No Smoking). For Takashi Miike. For Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction)

In Britain, James Wood, writing in The Guardian, set the tone for much subsequent criticism: "Tarantino represents the final triumph of postmodernism, which is to empty the artwork of all content, thus avoiding its capacity to do anything except helplessly represent our agonies.... Only in this age could a writer as talented as Tarantino produce artworks so vacuous, so entirely stripped of any politics, metaphysics, or moral interest."

Not only that, he cooks too!

He also has a series of "Ten Minute Film School" segments on several of his DVD releases, showing aspiring filmmakers how to make good, profitable movies using inexpensive tactics. Starting with the Once Upon a Time in Mexico DVD, Rodríguez began creating a series called, "Ten Minute Cooking School" where he revealed his recipe for "Puerco Pilbil" (based on Cochinita pibil, an old dish from Yucatán), the same food Johnny Depp's character, "Agent Sands" ate in the film. The popularity of this series led to the inclusion of another "Cooking School" on the two-disc version of the "Sin City" DVD where Rodríguez teaches the viewer how to make "Sin City Breakfast Tacos," a dish (made for his cast and crew during late-night shoots) utilizing his grandmother's tortilla recipe and different egg mixes for the filling. The Third Cooking School, titled "Texas Barbecue...from the GRAVE!," is a dish based on the "secret barbecue recipe" of "JT Hague," Jeff Fahey's character in Planet Terror

What does all of the above add into Robert Rodriguez style of film making? Say compared to the Tarantino films?

Rodriguez is like the delhi cousin.The song blaring loud in the BMW with windows open. That kind of attitude. And done perfectly.

So even though Tarantino is the director more acclaimed, he himself is an utter fan of the so called "Jatt with camera" perfect attitude.

Watch this for style & attitude. You made a movie. You are going to have your name up on the screen. Burning bright. What would you do to showcase it in the awesomest way possible?

The Cherry Darling Intro Opening Credits of Planet Terror

His name comes up thrice on the screen. As Cameraman. As Music Director. And as director. And each time, the screen sizzles like only he can make it.

Tarantino acts in each of Robert Rodriguez films with utter open mouthed gusto.Very much the way you would get drunk in the delhi cousin's wedding.

Grindhouse,a pet project of both RR & QT is a study in beautiful contrast. The Tarantino part, Deathproof, a total & complete masterpiece. But Planet Terror is on a wholly different level!

While Tarantino treats his women on screen on a pedestal, artistically, whimsically, with words

Jules: Now Yolanda, we're not gonna do anything stupid, are we?
Yolanda: You don't hurt him.
Jules: Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here. And what's Fonzie like? Come on Yolanda what's Fonzie like?
Yolanda: Cool?
Jules: What?
Yolanda: He's cool.
Jules: Correctamundo. And that's what we're gonna be. We're gonna be cool. Now Ringo, I'm gonna count to three, and when I count three, you let go of your gun, and sit your ass down. But when you do it, you do it cool. Ready? One... two... three.
[Ringo sits down opposite Jules]
Yolanda: All right, now you let him go.
Jules: Yolanda, I thought you said you were gonna be cool. Now when you yell at me, it makes me nervous. And when I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers accidentally get shot.
Yolanda: You just know, you touch him, you die.
Jules: Well, that seems to be the situation. But I don't want that. And you don't want that. And Ringo here *definitely* doesn't want that.

Or more recognizably, like in Deathproof with visuals

Rodriguez however, goes way deeper. Like a lover

From Dusk Till Dawn,

And now, for your viewing pleasure. The mistress of the mecca, the epitome of evil, the most sinister woman to ever dance on the face of this earth!

(murmurs from the audience)

Lonely dog!!

Bow your head!

Kneel! And WORSHIP at the feet... of Santanigoooo Pandemonia!!

Salma Hayek in the epic visual

I am a complete and total fan!

I somehow reached your blogger blog thru the DevD post.. I had - txtbin

2009-12-19T11:09:00.001+05:30

I somehow reached your blogger blog thru the DevD post.. I had - txtbin

Posted using ShareThis

Where do you get a life?

2009-12-09T10:06:00.000+05:30

Acute depression strikes again. Early morning. Woke up early, a continued malady as I am wont to doing a lot in the last year. I do not actually get up. Just lie back in bed. Depressed. Utterly demotivated. Without any desire to get on with the day.

Days begin and end without much to keep notice. It shall soon be about 2 years in Calcutta. With nothing to remember. Except the mosque behind the house and the five time namaz. On crazy hot summer sundays while being completely wrapped up inside the house to keep the sun out, and sweating like a pig, that namaz in the air completed the picture - the feeling of being trapped in some middle eastern country.

From here,

Kolkata was a nice surprise. I am seduced by the absolute lack of ambition that this city seems to possess. The city stumbles along in a comfortable sort of stupor... warm muggy days coalesce into warm muggy nights coalesce into warm muggy days and time doesn't tick by briskly as much as drip stickily, slowly, like honey; hesitating just a little bit before it goes plop. Everyone always has the time for one more tea, one more conversation, one more pakora. The malls seem to be the only real concession to Modernity (as defined by my beloved Bombay), the rest of the city seems perfectly happy to preserve the Great Colonial Hangover. Not even the malls are MALLS, like the ones in Delhi or Gurgaon. The malls in Kolkata are not as shiny, their displays not as snazzy, their paintwork definitely more on the side of 'grubby' than fresh; even the new ones seem faintly apologetic about their newness. You will note that this is in sharp contrast to the I AM SHINY MALL, HEAR ME ROAR attitude of the Delhi/Gurgaon malls.

It is not only that people around do not have a life. More pertinently, they do not KNOW what it means to have a life. And this is exactly what people meant when they said that sooner or later I shall forget it too. Or start thinking, Did I ever know?

The problem is with the evisceral feeling of pointlessness of existence. The people who make "excellence a habit", doing the same things in the best way over and over and over again? I am not one of them. Never shall be. Any habit for that matter, as soon as it is put on paper. It becomes an anathema in my head.

Haven't shaved in over a week. Not had a haircut in more than a couple of months. Millions of white hair (not grey) on the head. Strangely this look always feels like me from inside. Look in the mirror, look in the soul.

The absolute pointlessness of day to day living. The getting up, the shitting, the brushing teeth, the shower, the newspaper, the ride to office, the sitting all day in a spastic stupor infront of an ancient laptop, the insipid food you search for every afternoon, the looking at the watch anxiously and with a feeling of betrayal post 6pm, the ride back through a populace of pointless commuting, back into loneliness, of the hark realization that you have forgotten to arrange for food yet again, and the struggle up five floors of loneliness and braindeadness before you thankfully somehow collapse into a heap under smelly blankets, after jerking off into a stupor.

But then you wake up. Next morning. Early morning. And then it starts again. The whole cycle. The whole motherfucking pointless and endless cycle. Already way late for the office today. Don't think I shall be shaving again today.

There are people who derive their happiness from other people. There are other people who are self actualized and get happiness from their inner beings. And then there is me.

Gutters and stripes? Not quite. Can perennially depressed be a personality type?

On another note, I wonder how everytime I write on this blog of mine, my writing gets all (seemingly) high brow. It is not a deliberate writing style, for sure.
(for march 09 2009)

Fascination about People's Reactions to Baise Moi

2009-11-09T12:44:00.005+05:30

Before I start off with anything on Baise Moi, I must make a voluntary disclosure. I have seen Takashi Miike's Ichi the killer (a crisper and shorter review here), and though for a while I found it difficult to see the film, I was inexplicably entranced by it, and today consider it one of the best films I have seen (my so called top 10 is a very dynamic list). The audacity is amazing, as is the ease of the process of filming in essence very difficult emotions to capture on screen. A few years earlier, and the comic manga that Ichi the killer was based on would have been put forward by Alfred Hitchcock as "Stories they wouldn't let me do on TV". Despite the clinical removal of all visible violence from the film (except for a few memorable slashes), the suggestion of extreme and mostly unprovoked violence makes the viewer shudder in scared anticipation. I have seen it, and adore it. I am not too fond of the slasher or gore genre in horror cinema, though for sheer entertainment, I sometimes might indulge in say, the Hostel movies. I still hate Audition (by the same Takashi Miike).

The disclosure is necessary to classify myself as a person who adores horror and yet is not too impressed with the gore genre as a shocking tactic. Baise Moi, which is french for "Fuck Me" (However, it's translations in other languages have been closer to Rape Me, an easier title to print on covers than "Fuck Me" which wouldn't be allowed in many countries), shows enough signs of an ambitious director, for sure. I saw the film after carrying the dvd (bought in one of those Loot Lo sessions last year) for more than a year, despite the provocative promises on the cover. In a session yesterday, I saw it and should plead to being a little lenient on this one (though that could be because of me taking the opposite side, since most intellectuals I know do not like the flick).

First things first, from here,

Anyone who's constantly frustrated by the simulated sex scenes in mainstream movies (wondering why, as adults, we're not permitted to see more explicit sexual activity in R-rated and, frankly, NC-17 rated films) should check out the controversial French film "Baise-Moi" (or "Rape Me," to give the film one of its less literal/more printable translations). One look and it'll be obvious why. *That's* why they don't do it, you'll quickly come to realize.

"Baise-Moi" is unique in so much as it's a mainstream film peppered with hardcore (i.e., non-simulated) sex scenes and (hopefully) simulated scenes of extreme violence. The sex here is not only jarring in its explicitness but, if you'll pardon the expression, it sticks out like a sore thumb. It's not titillating (because it's too distracting, in an oddly anachronistic way), and it doesn't have much of a chance to be sexy, because the ultraviolence soon comes down like a ton of bricks.

The violence itself (aimed at both women and men, so don't go into this thinking it's some feminist anthem) is pretty nasty, so much so that you actually crave the sex scenes just to have something else to look at (until they arrive that is, orchestrated to a thumpa-thumpa rock beat, and then you're all distracted and non-titillated again). It's a circle ... and a very vicious one at that.

Old Man Ebert saw the flick and was shaking his grave head on what kind of movies are they making these days?

''Baise Moi'' is (a) a violent and pornographic film from France about two women, one a rape victim, the other a prostitute, who prowl the countryside murdering men. Or ''Baise Moi'' is (b) an attempt to subvert sexism in the movies by turning the tables and allowing the women to do more or less what men have been doing for years--while making a direct connection between sex and guns, rather than the sublimated connection in most violent movies. I pose the question because I do not know the answer. Certainly most ordinary moviegoers will despise this movie--or would, if they went to see it, which is unlikely. It alternates between graphic, explicit sex scenes and murder scenes of brutal cruelty. You recoil from what's on the screen. Later, you ask what the filmmakers had in mind. They are French, and so we know some kind of ideology and rationalization must lurk beneath the blood and semen.

The film has been written and directed by Virginie Despentes, based on her novel; she enlisted Coralie Trinh Thi, a porno actress, as her co-director (whether to help with the visual strategy or because of her understanding of the mechanical requirements on onscreen sex, it is hard to say). The movie's central characters, Manu and Nadine, are played by Raffaella Anderson and Karen Bach, who act in hard-core films, and some of the men are also from the porno industry.

Old Man Roger up is clearly baulked loud by the flick, and didn't want to be identified as a baulker. I am more inclined to agree with this view however,

Using the fact that it was banned in its native France, Baise-Moi is a film that continually seeks to cash in on controversy. From the title—which literally translates to ‘F*ck Me’--through to the hardcore sex (with actual penetration in the majority of the scenes), brutal violence, and to the fact that our antiheroes are women, everything here seems designed to cause outrage.

Is it really outrageous though? Most critics would say yes, but I tend to disagree. While the film certainly tries to make itself into more than what it really is by adding some sort of half-assed feminist manifesto to the proceedings, once you get past that and view Baise-Moi as what it truly is—an exploitation flick with pornographic underpinnings—the film becomes much more entertaining. This is feminism from the Ms. 45 and I Spit on Your Grave school of thought—women empowered in the way that men would find interesting instead of any kind of real empowerment at all.

That’s intriguing, since the film was directed by two women—Virginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi (who’s an adult film actress). One would assume that since women were at the helm that at least the feminist ideals would ring true—but they don’t. The main characters of Manu (Raffaela Anderson) and Nadine (Karen Bach) are little more than stylized versions of every man’s fantasy/nightmare—women who like to f*ck and are aggressive about it, but likely to kill you instead of cuddle afterwards.
------------------------------------------------
The film itself was shot on digital video, and it’s often grainy. The style is, as my colleague John Nesbit points out, reminiscent of the Dogme films—albeit not as good. I found that the grainy video and amateurish camera work was to the film’s advantage though. In many ways, Baise-Moi has a cinema verite feel to it. I was also often reminded of Man Bites Dog while watching it.

And this is an example of a feminist reviewing this flick, She loves the

The bulk of Baise-Moi’s energy is spent spinning a violent revenge fantasy with a stunningly unchecked id that shows us just how much those vague perceptions can manage to shock, revolt, offend, entertain, and enlighten.

------------------------------------------------------

What is scary about these women isn’t that they kill or even that they kill without much provocation or even justification. They don’t pose a threat to men because they kill men. They’re scary because they have the same sense of self-entitlement that is not at all perceived as out of place in men. They feel no need to justify what they do, and why should they, if so many men have done the same to them? They become grotesquely empowered by calmly taking pleasure in their rebellion. That they occasionally kill women too is necessary since, like a man who rarely has to consider his sexual role, they’re not going to be bound by anything as simple as an ethos. Like Takashi Miike’s Audition, this is a horror story that shows men the inherent offense and condescension involved in thinking they know how a woman will react. This film is braver and better though because it doesn’t assume like Audition that there are still some of us who actually believe a woman “has her place”.

And more crawling out from The Entertainment Weekly ,

They're like dominatrices who've unleashed their volcanic ids; codirector Virginie Despentes, adapting her novel, seems to have found a new primal scene in the moment when Manu regurgitates all over the nice guy she's fellating.

Few would mistake ''Baise-Moi'' for a good movie, yet it's not dismissible, either. It's a caterwauling punk anthem on film, a vengeful fantasia served up with digital rawness. The hellbent antiheroines are as horny as they are hateful, and it's that fatal split, rooted in biology as well as feminist anger, that makes the sensationalism stick.

Culture Cartel makes critical points against the free economy where people like the director of this flick are allowed a camera to shoot with and enough marketing know how to market it,

Baise-moi, notorious for its graphic depiction of rape and for being banned in its native France, exciting exploitation fans because they realize how explicit French films can be. The term “Baise-moi” has been widely publicized in the U.S. as meaning “Rape me,” but the more accurate translation is “Fuck me.” The latter wouldn't play any U.S. film festivals, arthouses, or get classified as a foreign video/DVD. Distributors are aware that gaining a crossover audience is desirable for greater market share. I feel fortunate that I only had to invest 70 minutes and waste a Netflix rental; otherwise, I would have felt that I was the one who got raped and fucked.

For all its publicity about being a feminist statement against rape, Baise-moi essentially boils down to bloody nihilistic pornography that is neither provocative nor sexy—another Natural Born Killers with explicit sex and less artistry with the camera. Shot on videotape, somewhat in Dogme style, filmmakers Virginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi (a porno actress) fail to develop any characters to care about although basic human instincts tell us that we should feel sorry for the two rape victims and for the various people who are subsequently gunned down senselessly.
-----------------------------------------------
Attracting audiences with publicity about the shocking film that has appeared at film festivals but been banned by its progressive native country, the bloody film rapes and fucks us raw, but the uninitiated may last through the 70 minutes before realizing it. Consider yourself warned even though some of you are certain to now put Baise-moi on your “must see” list to see what all the talk is about. That's exactly what the filmmakers are counting on.

Really, now that was some outpouring! I am however, surprised by not many people talking about the hard metal music that the film experimented with, right through hardcore action. Both Sex and Violence. The result is not as startling as hearing Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan saab during the killing scenes of Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers (a film I didn't like much), or doesn't form the brilliant rhythmic timing that it brings to scenes like in Run Lola Run. It was fun though, and clearly seemed like something that the director had wanted to experiment with.

I am curious about how many people saw the end product(who were not in the porn industry) before it was unleashed on to the festival circuit. It would have been a fun and terribly entertaining premier show, however with the actors in the porn industry (all actors and co-director being part of it) watching the first show and give hoots of approval (I presume)I liked the flick enough. I certainly loved reading peoples' reactions to it!

Baise Moi has a 23% tomatometer rating on rottentomatoes.com. The rating goes lower when only top critic reviews are considered, only 6% (1 out of 18 giving a favourable review).

Updating August

2009-08-31T10:30:00.005+05:30

I shall not misuse my sudden appearance in trying to explain my disappearance over these past few months from here. Not much of it anyway. Realized midway through the facebook addiction that fb and a blog can co-exist very well. However, realized midway through my twitter addiction (which frankly, I am also wearing off now) that nothing can co-exist well with a well addicted twitter account. Not even mail, or chat, or any other social site.

A lot happened. Was given a lifeline at the job (Did well at that) .Had a massive argument with the girl over one of her usual late night cribs. Next day I find her in Kolkata, while I was still at Durgapur roaming around industrial areas in trying to find new customers. (Did well there too!). Saw Kaminey the first time around, totally aching to write about Mikhail, Lobo & Tashi the great. Saw it a second time around in Bombay, and felt bored enough to forget the rush about the film.

(Random break)

Arghh! The reason why I am not able to write things here coz I start reading other stuff as soon as I start writing. I cannot concentrate over a period of time while writing. This is one of my biggest arguments against the self when I kid myself about me writing more.

The things big this morning to be reading! Quick Gun Murugan review (has released in kolkata, no time to go), Inglorious Bastards furore in PFC.

Bah

Spent the weekend (that being one day), and the previous two nights well. Saw Fear(s) of the dark (absolutely brilliant!), David Cronenberg's 1996 weird ass film Crash (uh, weird!), half of A Quantum of Solace (as my girl said, "Was that half a quantum of solace then?") and read through the first series of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

Monday morning hasn't been very pleasant as yet. The usual annoyed dispositions, ant bites on upper lip, heavy day, ugh humidity, and no motivation.

The usual.

Snippets from The Mammaries of the Welfare State

2009-06-21T01:13:00.003+05:30

My friends shall never pick up The Mammaries of the Welfare State because they keep thinking I am recommending some high brow shit to them. The proof of the pudding is in the feeling, precisely why I enforce a Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali khan song on people before I ask them to make an opinion. There is no way I can make people read snippets from a book, unless I type them out myself. So here goes, one conversation worth.

Page 22, and it shall omit the distractions, so the first timer can just immerse himself/herself for now.

'So you're a dope smoking civil servant. Do you bring to your work a new perspective?' Suroor apparently knew a lot about the government. Agastya decided to 'sir' him while sharing the smoke, to try and discompose him.
~~~
'That isn't fair, Rajani,' objected Daya, handing Agastya a glass of watermelon juice. '~~ My favourite commandment from the Reader's Digest goes: If you don't like what you do for a living, quit. If you can't quit, shut up.'

Suroor, after a long drag on the joint: 'For you, Daya, everything's always been either black or white. In my world, the pros outweigh the cons, but that doesn't mean that the cons don't exist.' He beamed avuncularly at Agastya. "Does this not-so-young man have any opinions on the service of the Welfare State?'
'Yes. I feel weird. I ask myself all the time: How do you survive on your ridiculous salary? And why do you survive on your ridiculous salary? At the same time, I feel grossly overpaid for the work that I do. Not the quantity, which on certain days can be alarming, but the quality. In my eight years of service, I haven't come across a single case in which everybody concerned didn't try to milk dry the boobs of the Welfare State.' The dope was first-rate. 'But I suppose that's what the boobs are there for.

'In my earlier office, on the ground floor of the Commissionerate, alongside the stairs, stood a kiosk that we'd leased out about a decade ago, for a rupee a month, to a privileged underprivileged. He was Backward Caste, Depressed Class, Physically Handicapped - his right leg petered out at the knee- Mentally Zonked - his file had a photocopy of an illegible four-line note from some Assistant to the Head of the Department of Psychiatry of the Welfare State Hospital

Bored to type any more. Will get to it later. Yeah, right

Where the hell is Matt?

2009-06-19T22:51:00.000+05:30

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Bling Bling

2009-06-14T11:29:00.003+05:30

From Mercurial, two bags please by Andrew Hughes

"If you don't quit that squabbling I'm going to take these joke sunglasses off and freeze you with an icy glare now" © Getty Images

I could watch West Indies all day. They just do their thing, and even if their thing happens to be the wrong thing they do it anyway, because what else would they do? In the middle of what some people might say was a moderately significant game with South Africa, Chris Gayle's men appeared to fall out with each other. Yet even as they were arguing, scowling and pointedly not clapping, they were still throwing down stumps and pouching catches with ease. The South Africans looked a little perplexed, like policemen trying to arrest a bunch of squabbling bank robbers.

On further investigation it turned out that the outbreak of grumpiness started with Suliemann Benn, who, perceiving a lack of athletic endeavour from Ramnaresh Sarwan in the field, proceeded to holla on his rass in a vehement fashion. Old boy Ronnie did not like it one bit and everyone else appeared to get all riled up for no particular reason. I know how they feel. I was up late last night too and I was right grumpy this morning until I'd had my pancakes.

Saturday night

2009-06-13T20:55:00.003+05:30

Sitting on a chair in the table in the living room with it's usual odds and ends crowded on like there's a yard sale on. It becomes like this no matter how much cleaning is eventually done, and hence has been like this perennially since the last year.

The two fans in the room are on, and yet sitting here in just my boxers, I am wiping off the sweat falling down the sides of my face. Non stop. With one of those mini towels I bought two years back in delhi. After a while it gets irritating enough to just get up and walk into the shower. Third since morning. Despite a continuous fever.

Had promised myself I would get done with a presentation due on monday, day after. Been absolutely lazy over it since the last 6 days. (actually the last 6 months, if you believe my boss). And just can't seem to get it moving.

Have become addicted to twitter. Am sick currently. Haven't had a cigarette in any form in the last four days. A chest full of sputum.

New found fascination for chess. Want to read more about it.

Too much to do. Except wanting to actually attend office. Feel totally demotivated. The usual crap maybe. But done in for. Closing this post now. Good night

The wrong footed one

2009-06-13T14:55:00.003+05:30

A wayward Sohail Tanvir conceded 29 in two overs, Pakistan v Sri Lanka, ICC World Twenty20 Super Eights, Lord's, June 12, 2009

The Six That Wasn't

2009-06-12T22:59:00.002+05:30

Fear and Loathing

2009-06-11T23:56:00.004+05:30

I am more and more fascinated by Hunter S.Thompson

From cracked.com

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

It changed a generation. It was supposed to be a report on a motorcycle race.

The Impact:

When Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas stumbled into the American literary scene in 1972 it was almost immediately embraced as a new classic, and has been screaming incoherently at the other classics and eating all the shrimp at their parties ever since.

It is the tale of two barely fictionalized versions of Thompson and prominent civil rights attorney Oscar Zeta Acosta (you can see him here in a yellow fishnet t-shirt) who leave a swath of destruction and crumpled plastic baggies across the desert. It's a manic and increasingly frustrated search for the American Dream in a world where Richard Nixon is President; JFK, MLK and Jimi Hendrix are dead

Some of you may be more familiar with Terry Gilliam's film version of the novel, the poster of which is immediately recognizable to anyone who has ever spent more than five minutes inside a college bookstore.

While there, you'll also find comics starring the character based heavily on Thompson, Spider Jerusalem.

But it All Got Started When...

Appropriately enough, the entirety of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas came to be because Thompson was on assignment from Rolling Stone to report on some retarded dirt bike race in the middle of the crappy desert.

Thompson spent so much of his time summing up the post-hippie zeitgeist that folks tend to forget that he got his start as a sports writer, and remained one up until his death (his suicide note was famously titled Football Season is Over.")

Over for YOU, anyway!

Thompson, never one for deadlines, responsibilities or coherence, started sending his bosses pages ripped out of his personal journal. Go ahead, try that at your job, see how it goes. Especially if your journal includes paragraphs like this:

"The sporting editors had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on extremely dangerous drugs. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls."

But, if you're Hunter S. Thompson, your editor sends it off for immediate publication and you become the voice of your generation.

On Nov. 11, 1971, Rolling Stone published the first of Hunter S. Thompson's two-part Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Following, is the story's epic beginning.
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive . . ."And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"

Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. "What the hell are you yelling about," he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind," I said. "It's your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough.

It was almost noon, and we still had more than 100 miles to go. They would be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Press registration for the fabulous Mint 400 was already under way, and we had to get there by 4 to claim our soundproof suite. A fashionable sporting magazine in New York had taken care of the reservations, along with this huge red Chevy convertible we'd just rented off a lot on the Sunset Strip . . . and I was, after all, a professional journalist; so I had an obligation to cover the story for good or ill.

The sporting editors had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on extremely dangerous drugs. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.

All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of high-speed driving all over Los Angeles County -- from Topanga to Watts, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably at the next gas station. We had sampled almost everything else, and now -- yes, it was time for a long snort of ether. And then do the next 100 miles in a horrible, slobbering sort of spastic stupor. The only way to keep alert on ether is to do up a lot of amyls -- not all at once, but steadily, just enough to maintain the focus at 90 miles an hour through Barstow.

"Man, this is the way to travel," said my attorney. He leaned over to turn the volume up on the radio, humming along with the rhythm section and kind of moaning the words: "One toke over the line . . . Sweet Jesus . . . One toke over the line . . ."

One toke? You poor fool! Wait till you see those goddamn bats. I could barely hear the radio . . . slumped over on the far side of the seat, grappling with a tape recorder turned all the way up on "Sympathy for the Devil." That was the only tape we had, so we played it constantly, over and over, as a kind of demented counterpoint to the radio. And also to maintain our rhythm on the road. A constant speed is good for gas mileage -- and for some reason that seemed important at the time. Indeed. On a trip like this, one must be careful about gas consumption. Avoid those quick bursts of acceleration that drag blood to the back of the brain.

My attorney saw the hitchhiker long before I did. "Let's give this boy a lift," he said, and before I could mount any argument he was stopped and this poor Okie kid was running up to the car with a big grin on his face, saying, "Hot damn! I never rode in a convertible before!"

"Is that right?" I said. "Well, I guess you're about ready, eh?"

The kid nodded eagerly as we roared off.

"We're your friends," said my attorney. "We're not like the others."

O Christ, I thought, he's gone around the bend. "No more of that talk," I said sharply. "Or I'll put the leeches on you." He grinned, seeming to understand. Luckily, the noise in the car was so awful -- between the wind and the radio and the tape machine -- that the kid in the back seat couldn't hear a word we were saying. Or could he?

How long can we maintain? I wondered. How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family. Will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so -- well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere. Because it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'll report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law-enforcement agency, and they'll run us down like dogs.

Jesus! Did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me? I glanced over at my attorney, but he seemed oblivious -- watching the road, driving our Great Red Shark along at 110 or so. There was no sound from the back seat.

Maybe I'd better have a chat with this boy, I thought. Perhaps if I explain things, he'll rest easy. . .

Aching on a humid night

2009-06-09T23:32:00.003+05:30

11:30 at night.Very very tired.Head aching.Back aching. Just came back after dropping mom and sis to the howrah junction.Too much pollution on the way.Inhumanly humid outside. Feel much better en deshabille at home. They were home for 3 days. Felt better with someone at home. Not very free, but in a vague way, better.

Internet finally on at home after 15 days of absolute poker faced responses by reliance. Way tired with fights in every single small thing in life.

Review results and discussion was supposed to happen in office three days back. Just waiting for the boss's mood to get favorable enough to grace us low lifes with the information. I am expecting the absolute worst.Of saying and accepting whatever comes my way because work hasn't happened to expectations. I doubt I shall ever be able to deal in that many inequities and illogical at the work place, and give a good performance. As I have mentioned before, the confidence is down to all time low levels.Absolutely deadly levels.Keep feeling as if the whole life plan has gone wrong, and there is absolutely nothing I can do anymore to get it back on track.

Feels hopeless right now. Anything I do always has things going wrong. On a daily level. Every single day I expect things to go wrong like clockwork. And it involves 10 times the effort to make things happen that should happen normally.

Pathetic performances non stop at office - Nothing works its way to a logical end. Something or the other always crops up as a problem
New Mobile - Falls out of pocket, unusable.
Phone plan - wrongly done.1000 bucks gone. no redressal
New phone bought. That develops problems
Reliance net problem.
Internet blocked at office - I was blogging nicely and regularly after ages, and suddenly even that mode of expression gone
Somebody snips off the fuel connector cable on my bike
I can't seem to get girls interested in me anymore. I have always been like this, but have never seemed to face any difficulties consistently.Most times my personal, social life has compensated for the lack of confidence, if existing in my more staid professional life. The dry spell, in calcutta of all places is affecting things beyond just the nookie instinct.

A lot of cribbing. But writing on my blog after this long feels way nostalgic. This is not how I should be feeling about MY blog

Nostalgia for the Deadly Viper Assasination Squad

2009-05-25T00:07:00.004+05:30

The following description reminded me of the Deadly Viper Assasination Squad. A brilliant article about graceful greatness and the panic that comes with it.

Elegy for the long player

We met the Great One in 1989, when he introduced himself to us with high notes hit by bat and vocal chord. Tendulkar may have two children, but for my generation he is always favourite son. Then the rest came. In 1990, The Precise One, a scholarly warrior who unveiled his spinning craft with devotion; in 1992, The Defiant One, a steely, stylish man of amusing, aristocratic belligerence; in 1996, The Intense One, cricket's student who batted like a monk upholding a vow of discipline; and finally The Elegant One, who was a Japanese haiku master in a previous life.

They were, and are, our champions, our companions, our obsessions, our sporting best days and our very worst, a part of the calendar of our lives. Remembering the last time I went home to Kolkata requires no thought: it's when VVS Laxman wrote his finest concerto. Whenever life seemed to get away from us, when the water dried in the tap on a hot day, and bosses stank, there was always them. When Tendulkar stood on tiptoe to drive, as if God had him by the collar, or Sourav Ganguly hit an off-side drive with such style he might well have been wearing a tuxedo, life somehow got better.

But if these men once exuded a certainty, now it is less so. Confidence comes, then it dries. Tendulkar has no control over his body's misbehaviour, Rahul Dravid no idea why technique abandoned him for a while without even a farewell note, Ganguly no certain explanation why timing briefly eluded him. Mind and body are in a slow divorce. These men have fought and defeated everything: selectors, derision, pitches, Australians, but age is beyond beating. Of course there are five-wicket hauls left in them, and strong centuries, and even great series, but they will arrive at a slower frequency. So why not go, leave to an applauding nation; why sit, in cricketing middle age, alone at home, as Ganguly must have, waiting for a phone call? He was reprieved, but still it's intriguing how many heroes become tragedies.
..................

Once more into the breach, for old time's sake
© AFP

Does MSD know the Five Point Exploding Heart Technique?

Every day a new thing to crib about

2009-05-24T16:45:00.003+05:30

This is a rant. A very short one.

A series of unfortunate events, all of them going against me. Small, but all compounding the unfairness. Reliance phone fuck up. Then scheme fuck up. Then the call centre employees. The 5 visits to the shop. And that is just one story.

In Calcutta, on the way to home from my office, there is a series of traffic lights which trigger one after the other. As in, you wait the entire red light out, it goes green, you go 20 paces up, another red light, which would just go red about 2 seconds after the previous one goes green. I am sure someone somewhere thought of that as a smart idea. But every day. Every day. No, perhaps I am not bringing in the requisite emotion intended. EVERY FUCKING DAY I go through that

...............

You see how these go? Non stop rants and anger and unfairness. I do not want to write this way. I would not rather write at all

KKR vs Raj Royals SUPER OVER

2009-04-24T16:20:00.002+05:30

2:45 PM me: Did you see the match yesterday?

I presume not?

Satish: no, I was at that play...

I heard it was a last over nail biter???

me: it was the most brilliant match till date

watched it till 1 am

AMMMMAZING

Satish: wow... the IPL is warming up...

2:46 PM I was getting terribly dissapointed with RCB's performance....

me: It was heartbreaking in a way that KKR lost

Saurav Ganguli had put in EVERYTHING

and Shane Warne had put in everything

Satish: this is just not his year man...

me: People at the stadium were fucking screwed man

Satish: (saurav's)

2:47 PM me: Chris Gayle and Yusuf Pathan

Uff

if you get to see the highlights see it

somehow

Satish: Yusuf pathan is rocking man....

2:48 PM me: Arrey boss, in the super over

it was so crazy

Satish: what super over??? new concept???

me: Shane Warne gave the balling to the same guy who had done the last over of the match

The match got tied

there were 7 runs required off the last over

2:49 PM 1st ball wide

so 6 required off six

it went on like that

to 2 off 2

Ganguly got out on that ball

2 required off 1

then last ball, Ishaant Sharma hit one

and ran

1 run

Match tied

Now super over

2:50 PM Satish: wow...

me: Choose any baller

bowler

one over

any 2 batsmen of the opposite team

max runs

then the other team same

whoever makes more runs wins in that over

KKR starts to bat

Satish: no getting out???

me: sends in Chris Gayle (who was fucking balls like they were it's bitch)

2:51 PM if you get out, next man in

Satish: ok..

me: but then again, if there is a tie, no of wickets would determine

and Brendon McCullum instead of Saurav Gangulu

Though SG had played probably the innings of the last 4 years

and was hitting fuckin brilliant

2:52 PM Shane Warne himself does NOT come on

for the over

he gives the ball to an 18 year old

This boy called Kamran Khan

he is a woodcutter's son, having NO exposure to cricket

brb

2:55 PM Satish: IS THIS THE WAY TO TELL A SUSPENSE FILLED STORY...???

2:56 PM FINISH IT FAST....

7 minutes

3:04 PM me: ok quickly now

1st ball wide

everyone's tensions building up

close up on shilpa shetty

Satish: yeah yeah...

me: close up on SRK

Satish: fuck... that is so filmy...

me: Shane Warne , Graeme Smith

both run to K Khan

pat his back

Warne says something quick

3:05 PM Satish: hmm...

me: and K Khan apparently doesn't get english

3:06 PM Satish: huh? yeah... complicated...

then what does KKhan do?

3:07 PM me: "Hamein nahi pata woh kya bolein. Bahut fast Angrezi bolte hain." [I don't know what he said. He speaks English very rapidly]
Rajasthan Royals bowler Kamran Khan can't understand the compliments showered on him by his captain Shane Warne

Apr 13, 2009

He smiles

everyone is unsure

He bowls a fast second one

Gayle hits, doesn't connect, catch miss

1 run

Next ball

McCullum

3:08 PM 1 run

Gayle back on strike

2 balls done

Satish: 2 balls... 3 runs...

me: 2 runs

abey nahi bhosdi ke

Satish: wide?

me: tu galat kahani sun raha hai

this is super over ki kahani

not last over of drawn match

3:09 PM Satish: i know... but the first ball was wide right?

plus 2 runs...?

me: haan, sorry, 2 ball 3 run

Satish: :)

me: then 3rd legitimate ball

Gayle SLAMS

4th ball, SLAM 4

3:10 PM Satish: 3 balls ... 7 runs....

me: 5th ball, SLAMMMM 4

Satish: 4 balls 11 runs...

5 balls 15 runs...

me: SRK standing up on seat

Shilpa Shetty, Shamita Shetty

crazed

Warne takes 5 mins

to set field again

everyone tense

Gayle cool

3:11 PM holding the bat in his hand like a toothpick

not a word

K Khan runs, slam, hits, caught on the boundary

target 16 runs to win in 1 over

Ganguly is shown in background

Satish: hmm...

me: tense

cannot sit

3:12 PM talking to coach, irritated with himself for having got out on 2nd last ball

which is why the whole scene happened

SRK properly feeling

hmmm

this can be done

KKR over to be bowled by Ajantha Mendis

Mindfuck bowling by Mendis in the match

4 overs went for some 21 runs

3:13 PM took the wickets of the two wham slam batsmen Smith and Yusuf Pathan

Satish: hm....

me: Mendis is an army man

he is doing impossible push ups

commentators saying, man i coudln't do that

yusuf pathan and ravinder jadeja will bat for rajasthan royals

16 to win

big, but not too big

3:14 PM Satish: right...

me: Commentators pointing out that Yusuf Pathan will face mendis

the same mendis who took his wicket half an hour back

crazed tension

replays being shown of mendis bowling

hushed stadium

1st ball

Yusuf Pathan gets on his knees, WHAMMMMMMM

3:15 PM Satish: wow...

me: first ball

Commentators screaming

DOES THIS SET IT UP
W

WOW

Does this set it up

yusuf pathan looking motherfucking crazy

3:16 PM 2nd ball, SLAM, miss, ball high in the air

dropped on the field

Anybody's match

this that yeh woh

Satish: 4 balls 10 to win...

me: SRK trying to be calm when all tense

the first six replays

ball apparently went 20 rows back

3:17 PM 3rd ball, Yusuf Pathan still on strike

WHAMMMMMM

Yusuf Pathan didn't get this in the middle of the bat

Probably that is why it only went back 10 rows from the boundary

Satish: heh...

me: 3 balls 14 runs

Satish: 4 runs from 3 balls...

3:18 PM me: 3 balls, 2 runs to win

Satish: abey... do 6 is 12...

me: plus 2 is 14

16 to win

Satish: okay you missed the two runs on the second balls...

okay, 3 balls, 2 runs to win...

3:19 PM me: Shilpa Shetty Screaming by now

Satish: that must have been a sight... no???

me: EVERYONE on the stadium on the edge of their seats

3:20 PM 4th ball, Yusuf Pathan swings, pierces the leg side field

Satish: bhai.. he won it single handedly...

3:21 PM me: totally

and the point is you cannot look at the super over in isolation

Shane Warne had played a brilliant match, but Chris Gayle had hit a motherfucking 41

Satish: i know...

me: straight crazy sixes

All that organizing and WHAM

he would go

3:22 PM the bastard was limping, he was hurt

to which the commentators are saying, Beware the wounded batsman

and told 10 stories about batsmen who were enjoyed and hence fuck the bowling in irritation

Satish: he couldn't run... he din't intend to....

3:23 PM me: exactly

just SLAM

and the ball felt like it was wrenched HIGH HIGH HIGH

3:24 PM "This year I'm sleeping with all of them."
Shah Rukh Khan, the owner of the Kolkata Knight Riders, provides rather more information than necessary when asked how he plans to get the best out of his team

Apr 15, 2009

"FIFA has been working here for eight years, we have been here for 22 days."
Lalit Modi takes a dig at FIFA in their apparent struggle to organise the Confederations Cup in South Africa in June

Apr 17, 2009

"I get a lot of hate mail which blame me for all the decisions taken within Kolkata Knight Riders. I've saved them and I want to go around to all the houses and say 'Korbo Lorbo Jeetbo' ... suck on this."
Dreams unlimited for Shah Rukh Khan, the owner of the Kolkata Knight Riders, for season two of the IPL

Apr 21, 2009

Satish: think about lalit modi man...

3:25 PM he must be having a constant hard on....

me: oh yes

he went down and was talking to SRK non stop

Satish: 'Korbo Lorbo Jeetbo' what does this mean...?

3:27 PM me: Korbo = Karenge = Will do

Lorbo = Will fight

Jeetbo = Will win

Satish: ok...

The thrilling match, the best till date described in much better detail at crininfo here.

Yusuf Pathan hit seven fours and four sixes in all to ensure a thrilling win for Rajasthan Royals

Bitch, Be Cool!

2009-04-23T11:05:00.003+05:30

Quotes from Pulp Fiction

Jules: Now Yolanda, we're not gonna do anything stupid, are we?
Yolanda: You don't hurt him.
Jules: Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here. And what's Fonzie like? Come on Yolanda what's Fonzie like?
Yolanda: Cool?
Jules: What?
Yolanda: He's cool.
Jules: Correctamundo. And that's what we're gonna be. We're gonna be cool. Now Ringo, I'm gonna count to three, and when I count three, you let go of your gun, and sit your ass down. But when you do it, you do it cool. Ready? One... two... three.
[Ringo sits down opposite Jules]
Yolanda: All right, now you let him go.
Jules: Yolanda, I thought you said you were gonna be cool. Now when you yell at me, it makes me nervous. And when I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers accidentally get shot.
Yolanda: You just know, you touch him, you die.
Jules: Well, that seems to be the situation. But I don't want that. And you don't want that. And Ringo here *definitely* doesn't want that.

----------------------------

Jules: Yolanda? How we doin, baby?
Yolanda: I gotta go pee! I want to go home.
Jules: Just hang in there, baby. You're doing' great. Ringo's proud of you and so am I. It's almost over. Tell her you're proud of her.
Pumpkin: I'm proud of you, Honey Bunny.
Yolanda: I love you!
Pumpkin: I love you too, Honey Bunny.

Anurag Kashyap - Lightning Rod Strikes Twice

2009-04-21T19:31:00.002+05:30

A brutally honest and engaging picture of Anurag Kashyap, from Tehelka Magazine, Vol 6, Issue 13, Dated Apr 04, 2009

Lightning Rod Strikes Twice

After years in the Bollywood wilderness, Anurag Kashyap is now enjoying his status as its newest wunderkind, says NISHA SUSAN

Band on.......finally Anurag Kashyap, on set and off

A week ago, a beautiful young woman dining in a small Versova restaurant asked, “Who is Anurag Kashyap? Is he the director of Fashion?” Gasps rose from the crowded table. It was an exceptionally bad place to ask this question since Kashyap was sitting at the same table and all around were the fanatic Passion For Cinema (PFC) bloggers. Vasan Bala, Kashyap’s amiable assistant director from Dev D who had confessed with comic alarm that he had only got 8 out of 10 on a Dev D quiz, had come in for much teasing. For those at the table who saw no shame in knowing the running time of obscure movies, the young woman’s question put her beyond mere mockery, into the realm of legend.

At his quiet Andheri office that morning 36-year-old Kashyap had answered phone calls with demonic satisfaction and frequently hung up laughing. With the release of Gulaal the previous day the process of declaring him a success, a trend begun with Dev D, had taken on new heat and lubricant. Big stars who would earlier never take his calls sent messages asking to be in any new project. A producer called saying that he had taken friends to watch Gulaal to prove that a new Bollywood has arrived. Kashyap said, “I wait a decade for this film to be made and he is the one doing the proving?’” But as the calls kept coming in, even that trace of bitterness seemed to disappear.

Now Kashyap looked startled at the question and then guffawed with hand-rubbing enjoyment. “No, Anurag Kashyap is the director of the Fashion Statement.” The young woman remained serene, unaware of the decade that had passed for him to reach a point where his new-found success could also be mocked, not clawed at.

Kashyap had first exploded into our lives in 1998 when he (and Saurabh Shukla) Ram Gopal Verma’s Satya. He was one of the first script-writers to write a non-Urdu based dialogue. But instead of using a deracinated, functional Hindi in his 20 odd scripts, his tongue was as informed by pulp-fiction superstar Surinder Mohan Pathak as by Prem Chand. When he went on to make films they were unpredictable, layered experiences. The result was cinema as fond of Bob Fosse as Majid Majidi, where the unabashed surrealism of No Smoking was cheek-to-cheek with one of the world’s best chase sequences (Black Friday). Kashyap’s films, are often accused of being dark or incomprehensible but with throwaway gags and rich situations, the comic rages through his work. With cinematographer Rajeev Ravi, a man as silent as Kashyap is loquacious, new visual styles were developed; passion was sniffed out in dingy chicken-coops and Paharganj rooms. In the newest movies, the soundtracks too have been addictive and intelligent.

But no one cared while the angry, whinging Kashyap seemed like bad luck that might rub off. Not in 2004 when Black Friday was stalled by a court order. Not in 2006 when Gulaal was canned after 80 percent of the work had been done. Not in 2003 when Paanch was held back by the censors. He was told he ought to stop making films. Only the most educated film buffs defended him. In the depths of despair in 2006 Kashyap shocked his friends by sending out a mass SMS to everyone in the industry asking for help. No one responded except John Abraham who sweetly bought him a ticket to LA so he could have a change of scene. There Kashyap wrote No Smoking a dark allegory about individualism. Critics laughed at it and called the festival favourite Black Friday (also released in 2007) a fluke. When UTV Spotboy’s Rucha Pathak wrote to Kashyap saying she was interested in his projects, he responded with an angry tirade, so used was he to rejection.

And now suddenly it was uncool to not have an informed opinion about Dev D. Aditya Chopra, whose iconic mustard fields were forever subverted by Paro and her rolled-up mattress, loved his work. Vishal Bhardwaj was so excited by Dev D he wanted to hold a press conference to just talk about it. The Twilight Players of Dev D were mobbed in Punjab. ‘Emotional atyachaar’, ‘Paro, do you touch yourself?’ and the Gulaal mujra have all entered pop culture. UTV Spotboy was inundated with scripts that declared themselves ‘small-budget and different’. But immediately after Dev D, Kashyap told his long-suffering friends that he understood failure, he was not sure what to do with success.

Kashyap has had practice in working past self-pity. His father, who worked for the UP state electricity board, thought he was doing the right thing by sending him to a ‘good’ boarding school. But his childhood is a dark, wide memory of being beaten by schoolmates and sexually abused by adult neighbours. “It made me sexually dysfunctional and frequently depressed,” he says. When he came to Delhi he built muscles and a reputation in college for being violent. “I had no intention of going through it all again.”

A few years ago he finally talked to his family about his abuse. Recently he forced himself to visit his abusers, look them in the eye and forgive them but as a father he is constantly reminded of them. He loves his ten-year-old Aaliya who bosses him around and courts him coyly in the manner of feisty little girls everywhere. “I am so careful about the way in which I touch her,” says Kashyap.

In college he was still insecure about being a Benaras boy. But all around him were magnificent examples of unapologetic living. One night a young woman scandalised the boys’ hostel with her presence. The next morning she wandered into the gossipy mess hall wearing her lover’s shirt and ate a large breakfast. Another woman told a casual letch that she would string his balls up on a tree. She and other women became his closest friends, participants in his quest to know What Women are Like. Bhikku Matre’s wife Pyaari, Paro, Chanda, the androgynous dancers of No Smoking, the women of Gulaal --- within an oeuvre of highly masculine movies Kashyap has given us some fascinating women. In a cinema most afflicted by moralising, Kashyap refuses to sit in judgment. (On everything but taste. He has been known to give his new actors books and movies to see their reactions.)

Though his parents have found it difficult to deal with their restless, casually outrageous son, Kashyap inspires strong familial loyalty in others. Rucha Pathak, Kashyap’s UTV Spotboy producer treats him like a brother, exhorting him to not talk so much, telling him that he should not behave like the world owes him everything, calls him a pain and a delight. Piyush Mishra, veteran theatre actor and creator of Gulaal’s astonishing soundtrack, is convinced that Kashyap is a son from another birth. Mishra was a hero admired from afar in Kashyap’s theatre days. “Some people don’t ask to be let in or knock. They come into your lives as if they have always been there.” In lieu of a fond parent, Mishra is the one who recites stories peppered with profanities and gleaned from Kashyap’s siblings, of the boy who pretended carom boards were movie theatres while other people played house-house, of his stubborn ability to keep saying no politely to the powerful, of his going out of his way to help someone, of his honesty, his loyalty.

Years ago, filmmaker Imtiaz Ali came to his Hindu College digs one evening and found a muscular, bespectacled young man at his door. Kashyap had come in search of Ali because he had heard he was helping cast actors for a television serial. (“He said, “I have a portfolio.” I said, “What is that?”) The serial never took off but they saw a lot of each other because they were theatre-mad. Ali says he remembers vaguely wondering whether he should emulate Kashyap’s focused approach to work. When Ali moved to Mumbai and pragmatically joined an advertising course he lost touch with Kashyap.One evening he came back to the Xavier’s hostel and found Kashyap waiting among the trees. He had moved to Mumbai hoping to join the Xavier’s filmmaking course but had been too late for admission. Kashyap had no roof over his head so Ali invited him to stay a while illegally in his hostel room.

In those years there were many days when Kashyap lived on the street. “I used to sleep on that traffic island,” Kashyap will point out for you near Lokhandwala, “between those two lamp posts to protect me from oncoming traffic. Even later when he was working for Zee he still had homeless days. “But my loo was in the Taj” says Kashyap with vicious pleasure. Kashyap smoothed Ali into his first well-paying job in Mumbai and rejoiced when in a couple of years Ali went from earning Rs 1,500 a month to Rs 40,000.

Ali’s life is fused forever with Kashyap but he gives Kashyap less leeway than most. Ali says bluntly, “Anurag has had trouble making his movies and has been depressed. It is not that uncommon. At least he has the chance to keep making movies.” And that is a blessing to be examined.

The Kashyap cult is currently feeling avenged for their years in the shadows. This tight net of loyalty and love is what can send the newly successful Kashyap meandering into Ram Gopal Varma territory, a world where everyone agrees with him. The sometimes insightful, sometimes incoherent PFC blogs (which he was instrumental in starting at a time when independent cinema was barely mentioned in the mainstream media) frequently run the danger of turning into a Passion for Anurag space. If his next film bears more than Dev D’s streaks of self-indulgence, would his fierce loyalists stop him?

Kashyap says he does not want to be steam-rolled into making movies now that he smells like success. He says, “I’m afraid of what kind of movies I will make on this high. That’s why I am not making anything for a while and I am deliberately scaling down our budgets and equipment.” This week he wrote testily on PFC exhorting people to put their money where their mouth is. “Where are the discussions on Firaaq and Barah Aana, both of which I saw in an empty theatre today? If none of these films work prepare yourself to go back to the cinema we have tried so hard to leave behind.”

Kashyap never gives up on projects. He lives with them for years in his head then writes them in a 36-hour flurry. On the sets he is a restless presence, redrafting dozens of times, talking continuously, a trail of paper and energy, convinced that this particular attack of acidity is a heart attack and he needs to go to hospital. He works intuitively, smelling out what an actor or a location would add to the film, sifting through a lifetime of literary and cinematic references. Sriram Raghavan, one of his oldest friends in Mumbai is convinced Kashyap single-handedly kept Mumbai’s Lotus Books in the black for years.

In his office, Kashyap is an optical illusion: sometimes just another writer typing away. At other times, his shoulders are too big, eyes too wicked for the small room. In one corner hangs an Allwyn Kalicharan poster that looks fresh though it is five years old. In a dystopic Delhi (renamed Hastinapur) Allwyn Kalicharan was to be a superhero for our times. When Anil Kapoor pulled out of the project, Kashyap was enraged by producers who said that no one would understand the film. Not as enraged as later, when the release of Sin City prompted lazy producers to show an interest in Allwyn. He is currently writing Doga a superhero film. He likes Doga, a Raj Comics superhero without superpowers, only emotional intensity. Doga’s warped mind creates the monsters he fights later. It will be interesting to see what Kashyap does with the metaphor since he is currently on a break from fighting his monsters.

Kalki Koechlin, his girlfriend, is credited with much of the new calm. It has been three years since he and his editor wife Aarti Bajaj split (‘she was sick of my drinking and depression but we still work together.’) His relationships with actor Ayesha Mohan probably did not help. Kashyap falls in love obsessively but Kalki came into his life unbidden and slowly.

The search for the perfect Chanda was taking on epic proportions. Audition tapes were crammed full of young actors writhing, moaning, faking orgasms unconvincingly for what was seen as a ‘sexy’ part. Kashyap rejected Kalki’s portfolio saying, “I don’t want any white-girl model types.” He didn’t even stay for her audition. But ten minutes later, when Kashyap saw her tapes, Kalki was summoned back. Kashyap had found his Chanda. Chanda of the full lips and schoolgirl rawness. Generous, vulnerable, alternately clowning and seductive, Kalki’s Chanda was flawed but luminous. Restless Kalki juggled on the sets so Chanda did too.

Kalki was interested in everything about filmmaking and soon became Kashyap’s Girl Friday.After the movie was done Kashyap flew to America, a country whose self-fashioning tragedy -- the 9/11 attacks -- he mocked blandly in Gulaal. (It is also a country he admires greatly for its creative license. He badly wanted to cite Narendra Modi’s excesses in Gulaal.) In America Kashyap discovered he had grown ‘accustomed to her face’. He called Kalki and bumbled his confession. Kalki only slightly suspicious of directors who come bearing gifts was ready to be wooed. “All the biriyani which he kept cooking for me then to impress me, I don’t see any of it now,” Kalki jokes.

In an industry where romantic relationships are rarely acknowledged openly they have been very open in their affection. Kashyap has declared himself a new man, someone who leaves parties early, shuttles between his hardworking office and book-strewn household. A diet chart is tacked prominently near his desk and Kalki’s theatrical collaborator, Prashant Prakash wanders in and out of his office with as much ease as Aamir’s young director Rajkumar Gupta.

In college Kashyap’s classmates used to mock him for hanging out almost exclusively with his juniors by calling him BKD, Bachchon Ka Dada. Kashyap today is surrounded by extremely ambitious young writer-directors jostling with ideas. This year he intends to produce four of their best scripts. Kashyap and his contemporaries Imtiaz Ali, Sriram and Sridhar Raghavan, Shivam Nair, Nishikant Kamat have broken industry conventions by sharing their scripts at every stage, showing their first cut to each other, critics and the public. They have made collaboration cool. And these collaborators are the most pleased with Kashyap’s success, happy that his restlessness may now be accompanied by contemplation.

We will forever have the grit and wit of Kashyap’s movies, if also its bouts of self-indulgence. Up ahead in the next few years are a Guru Dutt biopic and Bombay Velvet, a noir set in 1960s Mumbai, all jazz and newsprint. With luck we will also have the monster-baiting Kashyap.

WRITER’S EMAIL
nishasusan@tehelka.com

From Tehelka Magazine, Vol 6, Issue 13, Dated Apr 04, 2009

Quote of the day

2009-04-17T14:15:00.001+05:30

Maya Angelou - "Nothing will work unless you do."



	Now, as if we control it, like a choice between margherita or quattro formaggi, we think, what would be better - Kolkata or Mumbai?