I Know Its Okay

I woke up with a feeling of restlessness. The residues of my feelings in the past few days thudded heavily down into the colander that was breaking. It was me. It wouldn't stand, so I let them drop, one by one, back into my dreams and now in my disturbing wakefulness. I knew I had to let go, but the thoughts beat the strums of the guitar that was my mind and produced disturbing rhythms that resonated throughout my being. The music was getting louder. I couldn't stop the tempo. I searched frantically for the button that would shut it down, but I knew I failed every time I tried. Why should I try when I know it will be futile? I wondered if this was introspection. The waves of desparation lapped, kicked hard and coursed through my system. But then I also heard voices, and they grew steady by the minute.Those were voices I'd recognize even in my death.They came to me by their own will, and knocked down the disturbing walls I had forcefully put up. With that, there was another voice I recognized was my own. The voices urged me to face the waves. And so I did. They could wash me away, but I'd get back to the shore anyway. Then I'd kick the dust of past happenings off my clothes and start all over again. I'd move on. I'd traverse the rocky shores with the hope that the voices would always come for me, and I'd stand up against the waves with greater strength each time. I stood up, yawned, stretched myself and readied up for the day. The music stopped, and I was all right.

My Take -The Social Network

I log in to my Facebook account everyday with absolutely no strings attached - I know my login id and password, I key them in, click the login button and bingo, I'm connected to my friends! I realize that I've allowed FB to creep into my life unwittingly and now, it just won't go. But you know what, maybe its not a bad thing at all! After all, its the greatest technological innovation of this century and it's cool to be a part of it. The movie is such a fantastic take on its founder in terms of craft. Call it perspective, but I know people are pissed because it doesn't voice the opinions of all of the people directly and indirectly involved in it. Its probably Fincher's dramatization. All the same, its bloody brilliant! The switching back and forth between law suits and undergrad dorms is so perfectly timed and filmed. They're very fast-paced with a high momentum and energy level, so much so that I felt like I was on a breathless trail catching up on the story. There is not one wasted moment in the entire movie, not one frame devoted to any purpose other than enacting through a wonderful script the story of Facebook. But that's our hero, our focus of interest - THE social network! It is as if the characters, including Mark Zuckerberg do what they were doing to make possible its existence, to let it be. That's primarily the reason I completely enjoyed the movie. It felt like the SNS was an important piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and once Fincher figured out how to portray its inception, everything else fell into place. And that's probably why there may have been a considerable amount of deviation from reality, because when you get right down to it, is the story of a genius programmer who "tried hard to be an asshole" easy to tell? Fincher plays his cards with style and class. There's plenty of humor and wit in the right places, so the movie doesn't boil down to just a boring biography. It's almost like the script has a heart beating inside it, pumping oxygen to every syllable on it. When you have actors who can do full justice to the purpose of the script, you know you've got the audience hooked. Isn't that the beauty of a film? It has a language of its own, and the style of film makers and actors define its constructs. I like to think that I understand cinema as an art, not just a two-hour ride into fantasy-land with the time span between the start and end credits. On the contrary, its made by real people with real feelings. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross felt the movie throbbing with life, and scored music that perfectly matched its pace. They speak the same language as the movie. And so does everybody else involved in The Social Network. Its with the same language in mind that I write this, and I know it will surface in all of my brain cells each time I log in to Facebook.

Avatar, in my eyes

The "Unscripted" conversation between Sam Worthington and Zoe Saldana has the latter quoting Avatar as "a little small movie directed by this little small director called James Cameron and it has like a whole bunch of crazy kids running around in blue suits." Now lady, if that isn't the understatement of the millenium! Avatar is an exemplary work of art that makes you wonder what just hit you those three hours, if it was one of those dreams you'd hate to wake up from, because they're so damned bloody wonderful and stepping out of them is so darned difficult. But yes, Avatar was a dream; the sheer, no-holds-barred imagination of one man at the helm of affairs, who has gone all out on a venture that kept the world waiting for it's show up in hushed speculations and bated breath. Avatar shows you, how, with a vision to achieve greatly and the patience to concoct the thing of your dreams into stark reality will pay off even if it takes a lot of time to do that. It is a spectacular, magnificient display of creativity translated into breathtaking visuals. Simply, simply wonderful! Pandora is a place straight out of paradise city, amazingly, beautifully, fantastically brought to life, that drew me into the movie, into the world of the Na'vi, their love and reverence for Nature and its bounties, so immaculate in detail and splendid in portrayal. The creation is a generous helping from the cup that held James Cameron and his team's ingenuity and craftsmanship, brimming in its richness and spilling out on the canvas of Avatar, making it the one of greatest milestones in the history of cinema. Avatar is a splendour of sorts, an elaborate work of art that bejewels the tapestry of Hollywood and world cinema, a feet that will be remembered and written, spoken about in awe for years to come, an accomplishment that deserves honours for what the makers toiled years together and a motion picture marvel that defies de facto standards and limitations. I was completely absorbed into the movie, mesmerized and dumbstruck at the grandiose visuals, and at the mammoth efforts put in by the makers to produce an epic of this nature. To create and conceptualize Pandora from the scratch, its animals and plants, the elements that make up the core of the movie and picturize that with the help of technology is no easy deal. The result is light years beyond cool. My favorite scene is the night life of Pandora and I remember being stuck with an expression that mirrored that of Jake's when he witnessed it first. The vegetation lights up, emitting radiance that perfectly contrasts the dark in soft colours and penetrate pockets of space that burst their lustrous contents out to dazzle the place. And Jake's first flight too! His first ride on the banshee destined for him is a sight to behold. Neytiri joins him half way through the ride, and boy oh boy, was it real or was I seeing things?! For once, even the wildest of my dreams seemed diminutively outlandish. The scene marks Jake's acceptance into the Na'vi brotherhood and his ability to be one among them. Both of them are seen flying the freakish creatures that soar the skies, swoop up and down, lending the scene a sense of feverish excitement, which, brings me to the music. James Horner has created a score that's perfect for the movie, reflects it's moods, tessellates a dimension into it that captures the very essence of Avatar and gives you a sense of being in the movie. It echoes Jake's and Neytiri's enthusiasm and happiness as they look at each other, riding their winged friends bound to them, notching up the gusto in mega leaps and bounds. Be it the gathering of the clans or fighting Quatrich and his army, or the theme song, J.H oozes magic in his sound, splashing the colours and grandeur of Avatar in magnanimous proportions and giving it life, oxygen and an abstract structure that compounds the appeal of the entire package. My favorite is Climbing up Iknimaya- The Path to Heaven, a three-minute track that amalgamates instrumental music with the chorused chanting of tribal sounds. The music and visuals form this complex artwork so firmly interconnected in their being, grasping it's threads and matting them in spell-binding virtuosity. This one will have it's audience gasping in profound awe of the superb imagery and stupendous special effects, for this is not just cinema, but art. Not just a passing fad, but a stupefying labyrinth of artistic conception resolutely ingrained in it's core strength- creativity at it's supreme pinnacle.

MaGiC FrOM ThE MuGgLE

I've been toying with the idea of this blog for quite sometime, but there's this thing to writing I can never really understand. You know your neurons are done convincing you to realize you have something to write about, and you're on pins and needles about letting the process happen. The characteristic verve swings in and you're onto to it; oh yes! The ride is about to begin! And then it doesn't take long for the anticlimax to set in because of that stupid block somewhere in your system. Aw, search me! The thing that pumped up the excitement is blown up in smoke, and here I am at the very same point, not because I've come one full circle but because I haven't started at all. But I'm happy I decided to write about this after all. When I think about it, even thinking about writing makes me happy. There's this guy I've been wanting to write about since forever, and I haven't the foggiest as to why I let that thought gather considerble dust all the while. Not that nobody has, because A.R.Rahman has been around for ages and he gives writers, wannabe writers, journalists and the press guys that definitive push to put in writing his just out album, award or a concert. I grew up listening to his albums, and I'd ascribe my almost zilch knowledge of other kinds of music to him. There's something about his music that words cannot explain, primarily because it's elusive, and more so because it keeps growing on you indefinitely. Each time I listen to his songs I get this elated feeling that escapes me before I can define it. I haven't come across anything as evasive as his music, one that reveals a different colour and layer from it's depths each time you go back to it. I don't distinguish his songs from melody or foot tapping or whatever; to me they're all the same, crafted and branded with the most delectable sound that makes me so freaking ecstatic. I've always felt there was never an evolution for him, because he started off with one of his career's best. There are some albums of his that have sadly not been given the due recognition and appreciation they ought to have received, and some of them are my favorites- Tehzeeb, Meenaxi, Bose-The Forgotten Hero, The Legend of Bhagat Singh, Yuvraaj and so many more. His music is of the kind that gives a damn for mundane conventions, takes listeners to rapturous highs and promises to never drift an inch off them until it is satiated with the repetitive plays it so rightfully deserves. I can imagine this grandmother vehemently scoffing at contemporaries, and passionately clinging on to the music from the 90's and the coupla decades that followed, unwilling to let go because the magic simply refused to fade away and it's tag enduringly carried the name A.R.Rahman. When that time comes, I'd still keep searching those words I am at a loss for, right now.

CoNsCiEnCe, WhO aRt tHoU?

An article in The Hindu about the state of progress in the "modernization" of the weaponry for Mumbai police triggered a train of thoughts in me, and albeit a tad too late, I'm writing this to spell out my angered bewilderment. The article states that the rifles and other equipments will still remain useless and render the wielders helpless in the face of a terror attack. The police are people who put themselves in danger every single moment they execute their duties. They risk their lives to save others', and don't even get paid decently. They don't get proper houses to live because the land sanctioned to build their quarters is used for other profitable enterprises. The largely ineffective intelligence, either because of the lack of it or the quality, comes as no big surprise. Such inadequacies also spurn corruption. Everything about the absence of even the bare minimum is common knowledge, but it doesn't make the faintest difference in reality because it's so very easy to remain ingorant. It is conveniently overlooked by politicians , who, in all their assumed pomposity and pretentiousness strut around as if they own the law, and rightfully so because they really do. All they care about is the number of bank accounts they own and the possible ways to superadd them through disgusting ways. There are people in our country who can't afford a square meal a day, people who can't afford a roof over their heads, people who can't afford education even if they deserve it, people with serious illnesses live every moment of the pain because they can't pay medical bills and die slowly and painfully, people who live under the constant threat of terror and cannot spend a day in peace, farmers who commit suicide because of insufficient produce, and why, even people who live on rats because otherwise, they just have to die in hunger. I have seen old people sitting by roadsides on the pavements, watching passers-by and wait for those few coins that will sustain them. What does life have to offer them? What purpose does it serve? What can they hope for? Whom will they share their pains with? What does the next the minute bring with it, more pain? Or numbness? There are street animals that need protection, and animals that have lost their homes because of deforestation. They're cold and hungry, and there's nobody to care for them. When calamities and terror attacks happen, they're left in pain, frightened and terrified. But none of this matters to the people in power when they have the authority to change everything. They have to mount piles of money for another hundred generations, and ensure posts in the ministry to all their family members. Blinded by lust for power and money, all the pain and suffering borne by the unfortunate majority of our country becomes invisible. A police officer at the CST helplessly fired his outdated gun at the terrorists, and had to shield himself with a chair when he ran out of bullets. I can't imagine what the poor man must've gone through during those final moments. Where are those condescending, sympathising politicians who dish out the overused-condemning-message-gone-stale after every damned attack, when they're responsible to provide security forces with necessary arms. We live in a place where anything can be bought with money, and morals are things that lived in the past and are now long gone and dead. I wish, with all the modern advancements and technology, that responsible strata of the society is provided with conscience transplantation, but I know it's impossible, because it is supposed to come from within.

I felt positively compelled by myself to write when I read about the Pakistan situation in newspapers and the Internet. That's one topic that hasn't failed to serve as a source of headline news almost always in the recent times. I find it hard to grasp the names of the organizations, so I can't really put them down here. But methinks they're all the same, just different faces and names. It makes me wonder how people could possibly be so, so aggressive and ruthless. Its mindblowing stuff, really, to devote one's life to killing others. I don't quite understand their ideals, whatever they may be. But its sad that they should resort to massacring to achieve them, and take pride in that. How can anybody find peace in doing such things? How can someone take others' lives away just like that? How can anybody advocate violence against innocent people and claim that their way of living? What kind of a human would put his skills to making bombs that would cause savage destruction and cruelly rip people off their lives? Can anybody find satisfaction at the end of everything, if at all this vicious quest does have an end? The military forces have begun an assault against the terrorists and hope to wipe them out within two months. I don't know how many lives are going to be forsaken and how much bloodbath the world is going to witness. There's no denying the amount of pollution and bad air everything is going to kick up. But then again, there's no stopping anything. I can't find the right words to end, and my mind is replete with embroilment.

Is death the end of everything, or the beginning of a new journey, one away from the path trodden by the gullible yo yo's, into spaces that show up neither under the morning sun nor the midnight stars? I don't know. In fact, when I retreat into my occasional reveries, I realize I don't know a lot of things. But it's okay, I guess. With you gone, I'm surprised something's okay.
I miss the girl who journeyed mud roads on a scooter ridden by the greatest grandfather in the entire universe.
I miss the girl who hogged innumerbale ice creams with every second buck this grandpa guy made.
I miss the girl who snapped one of her first photographs since birth, with him.
I miss the girl who wouldn't save a moment's peace for this guy until he got her the big balloon packet and bubbles she pestered him for.
It's an incredibly short time I spent with you. Sixteen years. God was clearly not in a mood to let the good times stay. It's so easy to be with someone you love, not realizing those moments will not last. That's exactly what I was, carefree and naive, completely shut from the reality that would soon dawn upon me. But that is how it works, isn't it? Time to wake up, do your thing, jest and stay jolly, blow a fuse, curse the fates, and get back home. Somehow, it seems different when someone isn't back in his place the next day. I cannot believe the tears four years after you left.
The green scooter
The goddamned accident
The sickening ICU
The twisted tubes and the swollen head. A man resting peacefully, ignorant of the anguished spectator, deep in slumber.
The darkest picture I ever set my eyes upon.
Death
Numbness.
Mohan Naidu, rest in peace. I hope heaven's treating you right. I miss you, terribly so.