DARK AND STORMY NIGHT RELOADED

It was a dark and stormy night...

No, it wasn’t; I just wanted to get your attention, alright?

Besides, I didn’t want you to be mad,

And get slapped with suits of copyright.

So, it was a bright sunny day,

When I met two young men.

I didn’t add a rhyme there;

Figured they might for it not care.

Two young men in some ways alike,

Their characters to me as funny did strike.

They had a way with words;

They swore and they cursed.

They called each other names,

But mutual admiration they shared.

A poor outsider like me, couldn’t be

One of them even if I dared.

One named the other a looker,

The other called the former a…

Both loved weird cinema;

Watching them discuss it was an operatic drama.

Poor little me

Was stuck in their company.

One was blatant in his mockery, while the other’s

Subtle sarcasm made me want to flee.

But it was late at night

And I couldn’t go home,

So I stayed on,

And held my own.

One a joker,

The other a philosopher;

Amidst them me,

A novice drinker.

They wanted to get me drunk;

Buying me drinks one by one.

But alas, their evil plans did not succeed,

I was high; not dumb.

Then the stormy night

Turned into day.

(I lied; when I met them,

Sunlight indeed was away.)

The night had been interesting;

During its course we discussed,

Issues of movies, women,

Politics and trust.

As day emerged from the night’s loop,

One’s eyelids did begin to droop.

The other still trilled on like a flute;

He was excited about his shoot.

The first time I met them by the river;

This time, I said goodbye on the street.

Both times dusk gave way to dawn,

And I went home, stifling a yawn.

A LITTLE NOTE

A little note

For dear little you;

Friends like you in this strange land,

I have very few.

The drunken confessions,

The heartfelt chats,

The exchange of gossip,

The checking out of lads.

I could do it all with you

Without a single care,

And now we live so far;

Everything we cannot share.

But that’s okay,

For I know the truth;

You’ll be there if I need you,

Like a firm tree’s root.

I don’t mean to be soppy,

But I’d like to let you know;

I’m here if you need to rant or laugh,

Or talk your facial muscles sore.

Your birthday is over,

And this note is a tad bit late,

But the sentiment it carries,

Has no expiry date!

OBSESSIVE LOVE

For everyone

There is an age,

And everyone

Goes through this phase.

Obsessive love,

I call it;

When you face it,

You’ll know it.

The raging jealousy,

The anxieties galore;

Expecting to hear their voice

With every ‘hello?’

The disappointment that follows

When it’s not them,

But with the very next call,

New hope will stem.

The Facebook stalking,

The Twitter talking,

The Google+ circles;

Clearing all hurdles.

But you need to hold back,

You must stay calm;

Just let things be, or

You’ll cause less good, more harm.

If you try to rush it,

You’ll just scare them away;

And then your obsession,

Will have led you astray.

It is a romantic notion,

But when push comes to shove,

Keep your head on your shoulders

And, don’t give in to obsessive love.

Contradictions!

So they say 'Make hay while the sun shines'. But they also say 'Think before you leap'. Okay, so it isn't the best analogy to serve as point and counterpoint. But here's the thing: us humans are a confused lot. Why? Here's why.

How many movies must we have watched wherein the guy falls in love with a girl thinking she's the 'one', but who eventually turns out to be all wrong for him? Who's the right girl for him? His not-so-glamorous best friend, of course. He realises his mistake, and guy and best friend live happily ever after. Now consider this scenario (Note - this scenario is more likely in TV shows): Guy falls in love with girl. Guy asks girl out. Girl says yes, but then things don't work out. OR, girl says no for one of various reasons (career/family/personal morals, etc. etc.) So guy, after moping around for a while, gets over it, and finally finds someone else, someone he's 'truly' happy with. Until he finds out that the 'first' love is real, the current one is, much though he would like to deny it, a sort of consolation. So back he goes to the first love, and now they live happily ever after.

So my question is this: Which of the scenarios does one believe? Or are we just supposed to decide that based on who the 'hero' and 'heroine' of the movie/serial are, and accordingly be happy for the end, whichever way it may go?

This is what I wrote in my SOP: George Eliot asks in Adam Bede, “How is it that the poets have said so many fine things about our first love, so few about our later love?” If she were alive today, I’d have liked to propose a plausible answer to her. Poets talk only about the first love because it is the most intense, the most uncorrupt, the most sacred and the most powerful love. If a person is lucky, that love will stay with them for the rest of their lives. If not, they will learn to love again. But never will they forget that first love.

But how about when Ryan Erikson (no idea who he is, but makes a lot of sense!) says: "The road to finding 'the one' is paved with a bit of promiscuity."

Having said that, though, I come back to the same point I made earlier. Which is correct? Which do you believe?

Confusing, us humans!

Candy-coated Hearts and Pencil Heels

Candy-coated hearts

And pencil heels,

Valentine’s Day is here,

Oh, woe is me!

Neither a date,

Nor a dance,

Some poor sods hope,

But they don’t stand a chance.

Love is passé;

It’s all about the power;

You kid yourself if you imagine

You’re atop the Eiffel Tower.

That racing pulse,

Down on one knee;

I’ll crush your heart,

Don’t tempt me!

Love is but one illusion,

As goes MLTR’s spiel;

Don’t buy into the story,

No matter how vulnerable you feel.

Just be vary

Of candy-coated hearts

And pencil heels;

One gives false hope, while

The other is like hammer on steel.

Signs

Do you see the signs?

I see them everywhere.

They show me the way forward,

They show me that someone cares.

Signs are like pieces of a puzzle;

They are all around.

But you won’t see them,

Until you know what you have found.

And then you will realise,

That what you never saw,

Was something that was always there,

Ignorant to a flaw.

But mind you,

Signs aren’t always good.

Sometimes they bring clarity,

Sometimes, just cause to be misunderstood.

Signs of love,

Signs of fame,

Signs of hate;

It’s all the same.

Because until you can recognise them,

Signs are but silent,

See them, understand them,

And then they are brilliant.

So the next time you see a sign of love,

Halt, tread with caution.

For, what you see,

May well be an apparition.

Signs do that to you;

Show you treasure mines,

When all that was there,

Was just a whole lot of signs!

These signs will mislead you,

They will cause your heart to break.

Because they will tell you,

Tales of love fake.

So, learn to read them,

Don’t jump into a new fray,

Thinking you know the signs,

Which will lead you astray.

The heart is silly,

Listen to your brain;

It’ll tell you that signs

Are simply lame.

Follow your head,

Forget the heart.

Because signs and pain,

Never come apart.

This Too Shall Pass

A dark night,

A lonely heart,

But a voice tells me,

This too shall pass.

You’ve lived through the worst,

It says,

Tomorrow will bring,

A happier day.

The sun never ceases to rise,

It beats on,

Keeping alive the certainty

Of a new dawn.

So shall you strive on,

No matter the hurdle,

Because you know well,

You can carry the burden.

But sometimes,

Once in a while,

You look back,

Back at all that was nigh.

And you wonder,

How could things be different?

The answer’s simple,

They couldn’t; you must see it.

And that’s just life;

You’re dealt your cards;

Make of them,

What you must.

Spare not a thought to what could’ve been,

Think instead of what tomorrow will bring.

Because in the end…

A dark night,

A lonely heart,

A voice assures me,

This too shall pass.

In ‘La’ La Land!

“Ah, can can can!” That’s basically Singapore for you – where almost everyone is more than happy to help you, even if it means going out of their way to do so. A month in Singa, and it feels familiar already. Considering this is the first time I’ve stepped outside my motherland, I had quite a few (one too many, rather!) concerns about the new place. Would I like it there? What would the people be like? I will miss home! And most importantly, what will I EAT??!!

So, laden with these doubts (and a whole lot of luggage!), my sister and I landed on the Little Red Dot. The first five days were a breeze – sightseeing with sister, staying in a hotel – I felt like the regular tourist. But then the inevitable day finally arrived, when sister left for home and I was finally… alone. Alone in the new land, with no friends and just a few familiar faces.

Yeah, the journey had finally begun. So buckets of tears later, I did what I do best – put on my game face, and busy myself. Emptying my thousands (okay, okay, I exaggerate) of bags, cleaning my room and the rest of the flat, and going around campus – the aim was to be so busy that I wouldn’t have time to think of home.

It worked to a certain extent, and in the meantime, CS played knight in shining armour. I have since met some amazing people via CS, some of whom, I daresay, will remain great friends for the rest of my time here.

These are the wonderful people who made me feel so welcome here in the early days. Starting with the wonderful lady, who, despite not knowing me from Adam (or Eve), invited me to her house for iftar, to another outgoing CSer, who’s plenty helpful and really fun to be around (except for when he randomly gives you a brand new name or makes up stuff as he goes, so much so that you no longer know what’s true and what isn’t), CS has ensured my first month here was fantastic.

And then of course, the inevitable happened – I made friends! They’re a crazy lot, and so helpful, it’s ridiculous. The closest ones (thus far) are Indian, but the entire gamut consists of a motley crew from around the world. And yeah, I couldn’t be happier about that!

Now to what I’ve actually come here for – (ahem) studies. It was ridiculously difficult to make up my mind about what courses to study. Should I stick to what I know? Or go with my initial plan of broadening my horizons and learning new things? But is one year enough to learn something new? What if I screw up and get rubbish grades? Decisions, decisions. But, I finally made up mind and decided to play it safe and take up subjects that I am mostly comfortable with.

One thing I don’t like about this place? How expensive it is! So the job hunt was on in earnest. I took up an internship (entirely unpaid, at that) just to get my name out there, and simultaneously hunted for a part-time job. I went for an interview to a far off place, and applied for on-campus positions as well, but things were taking too long to get in order. Well, not too long, since it’s been only a month, but, you know… Finally, things worked out and I took up a part-time position… at a café! Yes, I’ve become the regular firangi chick. So much so, that I left one job in a week’s time to take up another, which not only paid more, but more importantly, had more flexible hours.

Classes finally started after what seemed like an eternity in Singapore (owing only to how expensive this place is) on August 13, pretty near a month after I landed here! So far, it’s been one scary ride. Some of the subjects seem so alien, I wonder if I even know this field. It’s demoralising at best and depressing at worst. Most frustrating thing is, peers seem to be in a massive hurry to finish all the readings and studying everything that’s been assigned, so the term ‘peer pressure’ has found new meaning for me. But I guess I will survive.

Life outside studies and work has been no less interesting. Going to the mosque paid off (materially). I got invited to a nice lady’s (also from Mumbai!) place for Eid lunch. I guess listening to mom and praying was a good idea. My rewards were sheerkurma and biryani!

And oh, did I mention the most amazing thing? I’ve begun experimenting with cooking! Okay, so maybe not cooking, but ‘putting together’ meals by different permutations and combinations. And they’re not half bad, even if I do say so myself.

CS (and CSers) continues to delight and the inevitable link ups have begun, as is to be expected from Uni life. The important thing I guess is to decide to keep my head screwed on straight and not lose sight of the end goal… the Master’s degree and then a career. But in the meantime, I intend to enjoy my time in Singa and party (even make up for the non-partying days of Ramzan!). And, most importantly, save enough money to travel to all the places I keep adding to my mental bucket list. I will go, I will!

That’s Month 1 in Singa. If things continue the way they’ve been going, I think I wouldn’t mind staying here a long time, lah!

I WANT TO TRAVEL

Across the land

And over seas,

I want to travel,

Oh, I beg you please.

Many seasons are gone,

And several plans dashed,

But nothing of them has come,

And all hopes have crashed.

To travel means to see,

Places and people new,

Adventures too it brings,

Which are not in number few.

When I meet travellers,

In the walk of life,

They tell me their stories,

Some of fun, others of strife.

But through it all,

I've never met anyone

Who said travelling wasn't fun,

Who thought they should quit and run.

I want to travel

And see the world,

I want to know what it is like,

To have it before me unfurl.

And therefore,

Across the land

And over seas,

I want to travel,

Oh, I beg you please.

Up Close and Personal with Jonty Rhodes

Taking interviews has always been fun, but when the interviewee in question is fielding legend Jonty Rhodes, it’s a different issue altogether.

Eager to meet him, I waited for him to arrive at the decided time – 1.30pm. However, half past one came and went, and Jonty only made an appearance at 2.10pm, 20 minutes before his fielding camp at Mumbai’s Western Railway Cricket Ground was supposed to start. While waiting for him though, I had, if not a fun time, an interesting one at least. From 1.30pm to 2pm I walked around the perimeter of the grounds and, being dresses formally, got suitably stared at by the sportspersons present there. Since it was the ground at the Western Railway Sports Association, all the sportspersons were present. It was only post 2pm that the kids who were going to be a part of Jonty’s camp started arriving. No sooner had they entered the premises than they started worrying about their clothes and gear. One of them insited on changing into his protective guard right there, in the passageway! He would have, too, had it not been for one of the tall men, quite possibly one of the WR athletes, who put forth the idea that the child change in the men’s dressing room.

Did I say tall player? Oh my, were they tall, and how! Just that morning I’d been speaking with some colleagues about how Indian men aren’t tall, and here were these 6’4”, 6’5” specimens, whose sole agenda seemed to be to prove me wrong. And boy, were they good looking!

So, after all this, Jonty finally arrives and I went up to himt o ask about the interview. Turns out, he wasn’t aware there was supposed to be one! And since he was short on time, he couldn’t spare a few minutes then. Damn! I was told to return at 5.30pm, after the camp got over. Would he give me an interview then? Only time would tell...

Review: Ferrari ki Sawaari

Cricket. This one word, one sport, manages to achieve what no man working towards peace can ever hope to achieve. As a sport, cricket is able to bring the atheist to his knees in prayer, turn the hostile neighbour to Mr. Congeniality (in case his TV set is broken and yours happens to be an LCD).

Not surprisingly, then, innumerable movies have been made on the subject – be it the brilliantly made Iqbal, or the slightly older and entirely forgettable Awwal Number, and several others in between. Now, there’s one more addition to the list – Ferrari ki Sawaari. The movie ropes in the concept of cricket at two levels. One is direct, with the protagonist’s son being a cricketer-in-the-making himself. The second is more subtle but as emphatic; and why wouldn’t it be, when it has to do with the car that belongs to the God of the game himself – Sachin Tendulkar’s Ferrari.

Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s success as a film producer has always partially depended on the caasting. Half his battles are won even before the filming of the movie starts, such is the man’s knack for picking the perfect actor to play the perfect role in his movies. Ferrari ki Sawaari is no different. Boman Irani, as Behram Deboo,  blows your mind as the cynical has-been cricketer. Sharman Joshi, the second generation Deboo, is also convincing in his role as a Parsi man who works as a clerk in a government office. But neither of them surprise the viewer, because both are preceded by their reputation as being extremely fine actors. The one that truly surprises, however, is Kayo Rustom Deboo, played by Ritwik Sahore. Little Kayo is probably the best child actor to have surfaced in a long time, a truly great find. Besides playing his role as a young, honest, motherless child who loves his father to bits to perfection, it’s not just his acting that draws the audience. There is something unspeakably endearing about the child and one can’t help but fall in love with him the moment one sets eyes on him. Sahore is here to stay, and hopefully, unlike many other child artistes who showed promise but were never heard of again, we will see much more of him in the future, to the benefit of cinemagoers.

The supporting cast is equally brilliant, with the slightly corrupt but still likeable politician (played by Vijay Nikam), Seema Bhargava as Babbo Didi and the politician’s son (Nilesh Divekar) doing their roles brilliantly. A special mention must be made here of Aakash Dabhade, the lucky guy who plays the role of Sachin Tendulkar’s servant and who plays a pivotal role in the Ferrari getting stolen. His timing is brilliant, and expressions spot on. Deepak Shirke plays the role of the security guard as the toughie with a soft interior very well.

And of course, for all car fanatics, this movie is sure to be a treat; after all, the great man had agreed to lend his Ferrari for the movie and it is a living, breathing character in the movie. The movie also accomplishes to deliver good laughs without resorting to innuendos and dirty jokes; a movie which is truly child-friendly – although the Vidya Balan number could have entirely been done without, considering it added nothing to the plot, even by way of an ‘item number’.

Paresh Rawal’s cameo as the cricketing legend who made it big under dubious circumstances is nothing to write home about. To nitpick, how Rustom hopes to avoid the news of him stealing Sachin’s car from reaching the big man’s ears, is a big question mark, given that the media is all over it. In that alone, the movie is a little shortsighted. And of course, we’re left confused as to where Boman’s talents as a cricketer lie; at different points we’re introduced to his brilliant batting and bowling abilities. Oh well, maybe he was an all-rounder. And the movie could have done with a stricter hand in editing.

But none of these seem to matter as the ‘niceness’ of the movie makes everything else worthwhile. Another parallel to the plot is the relationship between father and son (two generations of them). The first is simple and sweet – a relationship based on love, faith and mutual respect. The second is more complicated, the father and son both leaving things unsaid and suffering in silence. But it is the relationship between Sharman and Ritwik that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Their love makes you smile at the inanity of a father deliberately looking for a traffic cop to pay a fine to for running a red light, just because he wants to set an example for his son. But what would seem plain stupid in other circumstances is made sweet because you believe the father when he does this. The son in turn is as honest as the father, and completely understanding of the father’s difficulties in spite of his young years. The sacrifices the father makes for his son, and his disappointment when he fails to give the best of everything to his child, is bound to touch your heart (and if you’re someone with poor control over your tear glands, like me, then you will even shed a few tears).

Ferrari ki Sawaari comes as a breath of fresh air, a feel-good movie that every person should watch. The narrative is typical of Rajkumar Hirani and his clean, simple form of storytelling. The man who managed to portray roadside lingo without using degrading language, continues to do just that with this movie too. Finally, it is cricket that brings everyone together in the end in the way that only cricket can. This movie is truly depictive of India for what she is – a cricket-crazy nation. If you are a cricket fan, this movie will bring you much joy. Once again, cricket plays the unifying role in our lives, albeit in the world of cinema.

The Sequel

I read a book as a youngster of about 9 or 10. Even then, I had a voracious love for reading. So much so, my friends used to come up to me and ask for a book recommendation. At the aforementioned age, I had recently read Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. So whenever anyone asked for a recommendation, I would suggest the novel. It was, and still remains, an all-time favourite. Daddy Long Legs is the story of an orphan girl. The story, written entirely in letters, tells us about the girl’s life in an orphanage under a harsh mistress. But, as all children’s/young adults’ novels, it had to have a happy ending. So, by the end, we come to know through the letters she writes to her sponsor (who sends her to college), that she has grown up to find herself a man worth keeping. Who is he? You’ll just have to read Daddy Long Legs to find out.

Years have passed since I read Daddy Long Legs. The novel is confined to the ‘sweet memories’ part of my brain. A few days ago, while doodling on the Net, I came across a site which offers free, legit downloadable ebooks. The best thing of all – most of them are classic! For a classics-fanatic like me, this was brilliant news. I found loads of brilliant classics that I downloaded. Of the existence of some of these, I didn’t even have a clue – such as the Scarlet Pimpernel series! (Did you know there was more than one book? I didn’t!) So then imagine my great joy when I discovered the sequel to Daddy Long Legs, and by the same author; not one of those pointless sequels written by some random person who can never have a hope in hell of capturing the writer’s essence (who ever can?). I downloaded that faster than you could say Google Chrome, and started reading it immediately. I read it at work, at home, even while travelling.

The story of Dear Enemy (the sequel) is something like this: while at college, Jerusha Abbott (the protagonist of Daddy Long Legs) made a life-long friend in well-to-do Sallie McBride. While Sallie is a sweet-natured girl, she is shown to be a little flaky and frivolous, unlike Jerusha, in Daddy Long Legs. Dear Enemy opens with Sallie as the protagonist. Jerusha Abbott (now married) has taken it upon herself to institute Sallie as the superintendent of the very orphanage where she herself grew up. (If I tell you how that happens, I’ll be giving away who is Jerusha’s man.) Sallie takes up the position only to show her friend Gordon Hallock (whom we see early on as a romantic prospect) that she is capable of the responsibility. Earlier quite opposed to her job, by the end of a few trials and tribulations and many laughs, Sallie McBride is a changed person. She is a frivolous girl no longer; she has matured into a responsible woman. The name of the novel is the title give by Sallie to the on-site physician, Dr. Robin McRae, whom she always gets into arguments with, but whose wise counsel she always seeks – she, an Irishwoman, and he, a Scotsman. I will say no further, but it is obvious where the story ends.

The point of narrating this is to give a little bit of background before I establish why it’s important. Both these books, similar in their writing style (Webster is hilarious and possesses amazing dry wit – a quality I’ve found to be present in abundance only in Wodehouse so far – not that I’m comparing them; Wodehouse is a class apart), were introduced to me at very different stages of my life. The first I read as a little girl who didn’t know much about the world. My life was my family and friends; I had a sheltered upbringing between school and home. The other, I read as a 22-something-year old. My world is still family and friends, though a lot of priorities have now changed. I am no longer naïve (well, at least not as much as I used to be), I have seen a lot of the good and bad that the world has to offer, been through various dramatic moments in life, and still emerged more or less in one piece, though maybe not entirely unphased. Oh well – that’s life.

But the effect of Dear Enemy is what is important. A person can be irrevocably changed due to his/her experiences in life; I have too. But Dear Enemy evoked in me the same feeling of happiness that Daddy Long Legs did. I wrote a few days ago that “Hope is a brilliant, fascinating thing. No matter what the circumstances, no matter how dire the situation, it refuses to die and burns on...” and the truth of that is resounding in my emotions towards Dear Enemy. You could blame it on the fact that I’m a hopeless romantic – guilty as charged. But the idea that no matter what, the end is happy, and in fact happily ever after, never ceases to give me that warm, fuzzy feeling; to make me happy and to take away, even for just a little while, the veil of constant cynicism that I wear.

Literature, in its simplest form, has had a tremendous effect – on a 10-year old, and a 22-year old.

Just saying – A contrarian view

I disagree. More often than not, I disagree with the views of those around me (not in general, but in a particular area of my life). Do I disagree to get attention? Do I disagree to irritate them? Much as they might like to believe that is the real reason, the boring truth is, they’re not important enough for me to go through all that trouble.

I like Ajay Devgn and Sunny Deol. I think they’re both hot. I like Uday Chopra, I think he seems like a sweet guy. I love Govinda. I have seen very few do comedy as well as him and I think he’s very endearing. In fact, I think he is a good actor, period (cue movies like Khuddar, Jaisi Karni Waisi Bharni and Shikari, but I’m guessing they haven’t watched any of them). I think Abhishek Bachchan is a fabulous actor. I just wish he’d choose his movies more wisely. They think he looks like a ‘mali’ and can’t act to save his life. In fact, they don’t like any of them. That’s fine. Completely. But do I really need to justify time and again why I like them? Maybe it’s because I had a different kind of exposure growing up. Or maybe my head is just screwed on the wrong way. Either way, why does it matter if I disagree? It doesn’t make me contrarian. Incidentally, if they rolled down the tinted glass windows of their air-conditioned cars, they’d realise I am not the one whose views differ. They need to just step out of the car, and look around them, look at the rest of India — the real India — and I think they will have their answer. Because, as a professor never tired of reminding us, “The three per cent English speakers in this country are not the real India. You are not the real India.”

So when a filmmaker makes a mindless comedy, it’s not for them. When a certain director makes movie which are about ‘loving your parents’ and people actually appreciate it (including me, of course), they shouldn’t be mortified. When someone makes a movie and casts Govinda in it, it is not for them. It is for people like me.

Oh, I also am a propagator of Communism for India and they disagree. But that’s a topic for another day.