Dear Mr. Rishi Kapoor
Hello Sir! How are you doing? Long time no see. Or am I to really count your appearance on Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic? Where you yourself looked extremely uncomfortable as God. But then again not as uncomfortable as Mr. Bachchan in God Tussi Great Ho. Coming back to TPTM, just one question sir, what the hell were you thinking? Playing mentor to Rani Mukherji's less than convincing angel act must have been traumatic. My sympathies.
But speaking of trauma, Sir, what is this I hear about an upcoming movie called Karzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz? I understand that remakes must state everything with more eloquence, but this is still way too drawn out. Even if I could forgive the spelling, how, how, how could you let Himesh be the one in charge of the role you played once? Remember that year? 1980? I actually don't, having been just born. But you were a strapping young man who played Monty to perfection. Just your enthusiasm, screen presence, youthful good looks were enough to make a movie on reincarnation and revenge entertaining beyond belief. And then there was the fine music of course. No, I am not even going into the discussion of how "original" the tracks were. I am only harping on the fact that your Karz was part of a wonderful childhood, and I am angry that the memory of that is going to be decimated and then pulverized in less than a month's time.
Please Sir, I don't care what you need to do. Go on a hunger strike, weep tears of blood, do another badly written role of God, but whatever it is, please try and stop this film from ever getting released. Or even if it must be released, let it only tour Mumbai. Let it not embarrass the rest of the country or the world.
Alright Sir, be good. I shall keep you in my prayers.
Sincerely,
The One Who Saw the Trailer of Karzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz for the First Time Today and is Scarred Forever.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Two Kinds of Endorsements
I have sometimes been accused of having more tolerance for movies than for people. I think my justification, at least to myself, has been that a trashy movie can be shelved and forgotten but the impact of a trashy person can last a lifetime.
However, I sincerely believe that viewers like me, who will watch almost anything that comes out of Hollywood in the name of entertainment, and everything that comes out from Bollywood to curb their homesickness, should take the blame when products such as God Tussi Great Ho are released to the wider world. In the recent past, I have even sat through the entire screening of wonders such as Loha, Disco Dancer, Saudagar, Red, etc. to name a few. And it was with similar expectation or maybe a trifle more that I started my personal experience with God Tussi...
It is beyond my comprehension to understand why Salman Khan needed to not talk, nor scream, nor cry during the movie but screech instead. Or why Priyanka Chopra kept switching her nose ring from the left to the right nostril. As someone with a pierced nose, I can safely declare that getting one nostril pierced does not sort of guarantee the piercing of its twin, no, neither by osmosis, nor by auto suggestion. The supporting cast comprised, most memorably of, Anupam Kher and Sohail Khan. The former played an angry, bitter father, who apparently has a heart of gold buried somewhere really deep inside. So Kher mouths supposedly laugh-out-loud dialogues like, “Arrey jis din meri kali kalooti beti ki shaadi ho jayegi, us din...” Ah! Emancipated times! Particularly true in a country like ours where Bollywood actors are deified, their words are treated like those from gods, and where being fair-complexioned is one of the most coveted virtues. Sohail Khan is, well, never mind. I never did judge a movie by his inclusion in it. But the biggest surprise is Amitabh Bachchan who plays God in the movie. Why at this ripe old age he had to play a half-baked, nit-witted character defies all logic. This is a god, who unlike Morgan Freeman’s in Bruce Almighty, is super zzz inducing boring. He sounds like those pedantic and monotonous teachers from school who went on and on, and as students you could almost imagine the words “NOT FUN” to be engraved on their foreheads.
But a movie that as a viewer I should be proud of and also endorse is the Meryl Streep starrer Mamma Mia! (The exclamation is part of the title.) If not for anything else, watch the movie for its frame after frame of cinematographic generosity. Seriously, this is one of the prettiest movies of all time. It’s as if the creative team sat down and said, “You know it doesn’t matter if they like our movie or not. Let’s just make sure that for the duration for which they are in front of the screen, they should not be able to peel their eyes off it.” Another good reason to watch this movie? The evergreen music, mind you, not the lyrics, of ABBA. Okay, so are you saying you need one more reason? How about the fact that the central theme of the movie as I understood it is, “There is no ‘right’ age for fun. If you think you can handle it, go for it.”
Which is also my ten paisa worth of gyan to you today: If you think you can handle it (life), go for it.
However, I sincerely believe that viewers like me, who will watch almost anything that comes out of Hollywood in the name of entertainment, and everything that comes out from Bollywood to curb their homesickness, should take the blame when products such as God Tussi Great Ho are released to the wider world. In the recent past, I have even sat through the entire screening of wonders such as Loha, Disco Dancer, Saudagar, Red, etc. to name a few. And it was with similar expectation or maybe a trifle more that I started my personal experience with God Tussi...
It is beyond my comprehension to understand why Salman Khan needed to not talk, nor scream, nor cry during the movie but screech instead. Or why Priyanka Chopra kept switching her nose ring from the left to the right nostril. As someone with a pierced nose, I can safely declare that getting one nostril pierced does not sort of guarantee the piercing of its twin, no, neither by osmosis, nor by auto suggestion. The supporting cast comprised, most memorably of, Anupam Kher and Sohail Khan. The former played an angry, bitter father, who apparently has a heart of gold buried somewhere really deep inside. So Kher mouths supposedly laugh-out-loud dialogues like, “Arrey jis din meri kali kalooti beti ki shaadi ho jayegi, us din...” Ah! Emancipated times! Particularly true in a country like ours where Bollywood actors are deified, their words are treated like those from gods, and where being fair-complexioned is one of the most coveted virtues. Sohail Khan is, well, never mind. I never did judge a movie by his inclusion in it. But the biggest surprise is Amitabh Bachchan who plays God in the movie. Why at this ripe old age he had to play a half-baked, nit-witted character defies all logic. This is a god, who unlike Morgan Freeman’s in Bruce Almighty, is super zzz inducing boring. He sounds like those pedantic and monotonous teachers from school who went on and on, and as students you could almost imagine the words “NOT FUN” to be engraved on their foreheads.
But a movie that as a viewer I should be proud of and also endorse is the Meryl Streep starrer Mamma Mia! (The exclamation is part of the title.) If not for anything else, watch the movie for its frame after frame of cinematographic generosity. Seriously, this is one of the prettiest movies of all time. It’s as if the creative team sat down and said, “You know it doesn’t matter if they like our movie or not. Let’s just make sure that for the duration for which they are in front of the screen, they should not be able to peel their eyes off it.” Another good reason to watch this movie? The evergreen music, mind you, not the lyrics, of ABBA. Okay, so are you saying you need one more reason? How about the fact that the central theme of the movie as I understood it is, “There is no ‘right’ age for fun. If you think you can handle it, go for it.”
Which is also my ten paisa worth of gyan to you today: If you think you can handle it (life), go for it.
Brevity
Sometimes, the best lessons in life are short, so short in fact that they can be wrapped up in less than five minutes.
A few days ago, I was in the local bus and coming back home my workplace. The bus was being driven by, shall we say, Fred. Amiable, friendly, and in his fifties, my favorite part about him was his distinguished silver mustache and the easy laugh lines all over his face. That day, while waiting at a traffic signal, his cellphone rang. Fred answered. Given the bus’s acoustics and the position of my own seat, I heard him very well. And however much eavesdropping is plain bad manners, there is a reason why I think I should be excused. This is how the conversation went:
Fred: Hello, this is Fred Wilson.
Other end: ...
Fred: Oh hello, Mrs. Wilson. How are you since I last saw you?
Other end: ...
Fred: I know it was at breakfast this morning. But I am eager to see you again!
Other end: ...
Fred: Of course! I would be delighted to give you a ride. I have about six minutes before I reach your bus stop. Will you please wait for me?
Other end: ...
Fred: All right then! Bye!
Other end: ...
Unfortunately, my own bus stop came before those magical six minutes. It would have been nice to see how Fred interacts with his wife even in real life, and maybe learn a lesson or two more from him about staying in love.
A few days ago, I was in the local bus and coming back home my workplace. The bus was being driven by, shall we say, Fred. Amiable, friendly, and in his fifties, my favorite part about him was his distinguished silver mustache and the easy laugh lines all over his face. That day, while waiting at a traffic signal, his cellphone rang. Fred answered. Given the bus’s acoustics and the position of my own seat, I heard him very well. And however much eavesdropping is plain bad manners, there is a reason why I think I should be excused. This is how the conversation went:
Fred: Hello, this is Fred Wilson.
Other end: ...
Fred: Oh hello, Mrs. Wilson. How are you since I last saw you?
Other end: ...
Fred: I know it was at breakfast this morning. But I am eager to see you again!
Other end: ...
Fred: Of course! I would be delighted to give you a ride. I have about six minutes before I reach your bus stop. Will you please wait for me?
Other end: ...
Fred: All right then! Bye!
Other end: ...
Unfortunately, my own bus stop came before those magical six minutes. It would have been nice to see how Fred interacts with his wife even in real life, and maybe learn a lesson or two more from him about staying in love.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
PM And The Speech-Writer...
On August 14, 2010, inside a quiet, leafy, guarded bungalow on Race Course Road, a stressed old man shifted uncomfortably on his sofa. A young man next to him offered solace.
"You'll be fine. You've done it before. It's only the Independence Day," the young man said as he stacked sheets of paper.
"Do i have to give a speech?" the old man said, "I hate to talk."
"But you are the prime minister," the young man said, "And i am here, your speech-writer. Why worry?"
The PM remained uncomfortable. He looked at his phone. No calls or messages from high command. Without direction, life was extra hard.
The writer continued, "It's mostly school kids who attend. There is no Q&A at the end. Unfurl the flag, stand for the national anthem, take the gun salute, read the speech it is standard stuff."
"Everyone gets a holiday on Independence Day," the PM said, "why can't i?"
The speech-writer was speechless. He changed the topic.
"Should we talk about the content?" the writer said, "what do you want to focus on?"
"I don't know. What do you suggest?" the PM said. "Is there anything worth talking about?"
The speech-writer paused to look at the PM in disbelief before he spoke again: "So much has happened. Just in the past months."
"Like what?" the PM said.
"Like the Bhopal verdict no real punishment."
"Yes, but i don't have to talk about that," the PM said, "that story has died."
"Along with the thousands," the writer mumbled.
"What?" the PM said.
"Nothing. How about the crazy inflation? People are truly sick of it," the writer said.
"Really?" the PM said.
"Really what? That there is inflation or people are sick of it?" the writer said.
"Both i guess. I never buy anything. People do it for me. And i can't talk about inflation. It's too sensitive an issue."
"But it affects your people," the writer said.
"Next," the PM said.
"Corruption? Look at the Commonwealth Games full of murkiness. Why don't you resolve to put the criminals to book."
"Criminals who?" the PM said.
"The politicians and officials who did it," the writer said.
"But they are important people," the PM said.
"They've broken the law. Isn't the law the same for everyone?" the writer said.
"It is?" the PM said.
The writer could only raise his eyebrows in response.
"It can't be the same law. Have you ever seen any high-profile official in jail for corruption?" the PM said. "Any?" The writer shook his head.
"I don't like to make false promises," the PM said.
"Of course," the writer said and cleared his throat, "how about Kashmir? Violence has flared up there. Or maybe we can combine it with the Naxalite disturbance and talk about internal strife?"
"Talk what?" the PM said, "why do people like to talk? Why?"
"Talk to show you care," the writer said, "and talk about solving the issues, of course."
"Is that my job?" the PM said.
"You are the prime minister. The most powerful person in the country. You can make things happen," the writer said.
"Stop making fun of me," the PM said, "other topics?"
"India-Pakistan relations," the writer said.
"I am not allowed to talk about that," the PM said.
"Not allowed?" the writer said, confused on who could disallow the PM. The PM raised one eyebrow to the framed pictures on the wall above. The writer saw the person the PM was referring to. Both exchanged half smiles.
"It's OK. I am used to it now," the PM said.
The writer stretched his arms out. "I'm out of ideas. You guide me, sir. We don't have that much time."
" General topics," the PM said, "just make it broad enough that there is no controversy. But not so boring that the guards and kids go to sleep," the PM said.
The writer bit his upper lip to mull over the PM's suggestion.
"Like i'll tell you," the PM explained, "talk about poverty reducing it, of course. And education. And stuff like we won't tolerate injustice and inequality. Oh, and use the word superpower a couple of times just don't mention a specific issue or put a real opinion."
The writer nodded slowly as he absorbed the instructions.
"OK, sir, in that case, all i have to do is look at last few years' speeches and cut-and-paste to make a new one."
The PM's eyes opened wide as he shook his head. "Don't!" he said, using his rare loud voice, "don't do that. The TV channels catch on to the cut-and-paste. Who's that feisty TV anchor?"
"Barkha Dutt?" the writer said.
"Yeah, her. She'll rip it apart. Not to mention that Rajdeep Sardesai and Arnab Goswami and Deepak Chaurasia. They track all the copy-paste stuff, they'll talk non-stop about it," the PM said.
"OK, OK, won't refer to the past speeches," the writer said.
"No you can. Just make sure it is from speeches at least 20 years ago, before these anchors started work."
"Oh, OK," the writer said, "the content is the same anyway. Fine sir, you'll have it in two hours."
The writer stood up to leave. The PM escorted him to the door.
"You are a quick learner, i wish you all the success in life," the PM said.
"Thank you sir. I wish you...well, what can i wish you? You have everything."
"Wish me freedom, real freedom," the PM said, looking at the writer in his eyes as the door shut between them.
The writer is a best-selling novelist. He is popularly known as Chetan Bhagat. This is real pathetic. This is the state of affairs in India and the Prime Minister is real sick. The affairs here is something like neither the premier can swallow nor he can vomit it out.
SURELY FREEDOM'S NOT JUST ANOTHER WORD ON INDEPENDENCE DAY ? IS IT.........
Read more: PM And The Speech-Writer... - Edit Page - Opinion - Home - The Times of India http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/opinion/edit-page/PM-And-The-Speech-Writer/articleshow/6306432.cms#ixzz0wfl5lhFY
"You'll be fine. You've done it before. It's only the Independence Day," the young man said as he stacked sheets of paper.
"Do i have to give a speech?" the old man said, "I hate to talk."
"But you are the prime minister," the young man said, "And i am here, your speech-writer. Why worry?"
The PM remained uncomfortable. He looked at his phone. No calls or messages from high command. Without direction, life was extra hard.
The writer continued, "It's mostly school kids who attend. There is no Q&A at the end. Unfurl the flag, stand for the national anthem, take the gun salute, read the speech it is standard stuff."
"Everyone gets a holiday on Independence Day," the PM said, "why can't i?"
The speech-writer was speechless. He changed the topic.
"Should we talk about the content?" the writer said, "what do you want to focus on?"
"I don't know. What do you suggest?" the PM said. "Is there anything worth talking about?"
The speech-writer paused to look at the PM in disbelief before he spoke again: "So much has happened. Just in the past months."
"Like what?" the PM said.
"Like the Bhopal verdict no real punishment."
"Yes, but i don't have to talk about that," the PM said, "that story has died."
"Along with the thousands," the writer mumbled.
"What?" the PM said.
"Nothing. How about the crazy inflation? People are truly sick of it," the writer said.
"Really?" the PM said.
"Really what? That there is inflation or people are sick of it?" the writer said.
"Both i guess. I never buy anything. People do it for me. And i can't talk about inflation. It's too sensitive an issue."
"But it affects your people," the writer said.
"Next," the PM said.
"Corruption? Look at the Commonwealth Games full of murkiness. Why don't you resolve to put the criminals to book."
"Criminals who?" the PM said.
"The politicians and officials who did it," the writer said.
"But they are important people," the PM said.
"They've broken the law. Isn't the law the same for everyone?" the writer said.
"It is?" the PM said.
The writer could only raise his eyebrows in response.
"It can't be the same law. Have you ever seen any high-profile official in jail for corruption?" the PM said. "Any?" The writer shook his head.
"I don't like to make false promises," the PM said.
"Of course," the writer said and cleared his throat, "how about Kashmir? Violence has flared up there. Or maybe we can combine it with the Naxalite disturbance and talk about internal strife?"
"Talk what?" the PM said, "why do people like to talk? Why?"
"Talk to show you care," the writer said, "and talk about solving the issues, of course."
"Is that my job?" the PM said.
"You are the prime minister. The most powerful person in the country. You can make things happen," the writer said.
"Stop making fun of me," the PM said, "other topics?"
"India-Pakistan relations," the writer said.
"I am not allowed to talk about that," the PM said.
"Not allowed?" the writer said, confused on who could disallow the PM. The PM raised one eyebrow to the framed pictures on the wall above. The writer saw the person the PM was referring to. Both exchanged half smiles.
"It's OK. I am used to it now," the PM said.
The writer stretched his arms out. "I'm out of ideas. You guide me, sir. We don't have that much time."
" General topics," the PM said, "just make it broad enough that there is no controversy. But not so boring that the guards and kids go to sleep," the PM said.
The writer bit his upper lip to mull over the PM's suggestion.
"Like i'll tell you," the PM explained, "talk about poverty reducing it, of course. And education. And stuff like we won't tolerate injustice and inequality. Oh, and use the word superpower a couple of times just don't mention a specific issue or put a real opinion."
The writer nodded slowly as he absorbed the instructions.
"OK, sir, in that case, all i have to do is look at last few years' speeches and cut-and-paste to make a new one."
The PM's eyes opened wide as he shook his head. "Don't!" he said, using his rare loud voice, "don't do that. The TV channels catch on to the cut-and-paste. Who's that feisty TV anchor?"
"Barkha Dutt?" the writer said.
"Yeah, her. She'll rip it apart. Not to mention that Rajdeep Sardesai and Arnab Goswami and Deepak Chaurasia. They track all the copy-paste stuff, they'll talk non-stop about it," the PM said.
"OK, OK, won't refer to the past speeches," the writer said.
"No you can. Just make sure it is from speeches at least 20 years ago, before these anchors started work."
"Oh, OK," the writer said, "the content is the same anyway. Fine sir, you'll have it in two hours."
The writer stood up to leave. The PM escorted him to the door.
"You are a quick learner, i wish you all the success in life," the PM said.
"Thank you sir. I wish you...well, what can i wish you? You have everything."
"Wish me freedom, real freedom," the PM said, looking at the writer in his eyes as the door shut between them.
The writer is a best-selling novelist. He is popularly known as Chetan Bhagat. This is real pathetic. This is the state of affairs in India and the Prime Minister is real sick. The affairs here is something like neither the premier can swallow nor he can vomit it out.
SURELY FREEDOM'S NOT JUST ANOTHER WORD ON INDEPENDENCE DAY ? IS IT.........
Read more: PM And The Speech-Writer... - Edit Page - Opinion - Home - The Times of India http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/opinion/edit-page/PM-And-The-Speech-Writer/articleshow/6306432.cms#ixzz0wfl5lhFY
Friday, August 13, 2010
Being on Cloud 1556-1605 - Mughaltronics
Yesterday was one of the most rewarding days of my life. Initially, I had constructed the sentence as “one of the most rewarding days of my trivia life.” But that didn’t say much, whereas I wanted to say it all...
As a five-year-old, all that I wanted to do upon growing up was become a teacher. There was nothing particularly remarkable about that dream because almost every other five-year-old around me wanted the same thing. That dream lasted only a few years, and eventually got buried under other ambitions and plans for life. Eventually, perceptions – whether mine or of those around– convinced me that teaching was not for me. It demanded too much patience, and that was an area where I certainly lacked. Over time, I also grew interested in fitting into offices, surrounded by the paraphernalia and peculiarities of “regular, nine-to-five” jobs, and that’s what I have been doing now continuously for years.
Well, i happened to visit the Pondy University yesterday and i had a chance to get inside the History Dept. where i landed across a huge archive of historical records. Moreover, it was wonderful to get back to know history, and be in a knowledge environ again. It was like something I could get interested in and here I was.
I landed across the history of the Mughal Empire.
Now I have always maintained that no one loves the Mughals more than I do.I met a group of students.These were serious students as they knew how social sciences worked, how movements progressed, and most importantly, this was the first time in the record of this campus that a course on Mughal history was being offered. They told me that this was their first time coming across something like this, and that they hoped to do a fair job because otherwise they could potentially end up messing up their perception and understanding of a country with over a billion people. They laughed, and with that we began the whole process of understanding the Indian subcontinent and the Mughals: how Babur—the military genius—loved fruits and hated Agra, why Humayun loved opium and pursued astrology, how Akbar was both a compassionate genius as well as a sexual predator, how Jahangir was creative enough to design his own clothes yet ruthless enough to blind his own son, how Shahjahan was almost effeminate because of his love for white marble, and how Aurangzeb can be and is so easily and greatly misunderstood.
These were some new facts that i came across about the Mughal nobles. I wanted to delve more into this but as time and my job constrained me to do so, i had no other option than to go. I bid my new friends farewell and promised to share more information with them as & when i could and told them also to return the same gesture.
I'll come back with more trivia about these great grand people and more of other trivia.
As a five-year-old, all that I wanted to do upon growing up was become a teacher. There was nothing particularly remarkable about that dream because almost every other five-year-old around me wanted the same thing. That dream lasted only a few years, and eventually got buried under other ambitions and plans for life. Eventually, perceptions – whether mine or of those around– convinced me that teaching was not for me. It demanded too much patience, and that was an area where I certainly lacked. Over time, I also grew interested in fitting into offices, surrounded by the paraphernalia and peculiarities of “regular, nine-to-five” jobs, and that’s what I have been doing now continuously for years.
Well, i happened to visit the Pondy University yesterday and i had a chance to get inside the History Dept. where i landed across a huge archive of historical records. Moreover, it was wonderful to get back to know history, and be in a knowledge environ again. It was like something I could get interested in and here I was.
I landed across the history of the Mughal Empire.
Now I have always maintained that no one loves the Mughals more than I do.I met a group of students.These were serious students as they knew how social sciences worked, how movements progressed, and most importantly, this was the first time in the record of this campus that a course on Mughal history was being offered. They told me that this was their first time coming across something like this, and that they hoped to do a fair job because otherwise they could potentially end up messing up their perception and understanding of a country with over a billion people. They laughed, and with that we began the whole process of understanding the Indian subcontinent and the Mughals: how Babur—the military genius—loved fruits and hated Agra, why Humayun loved opium and pursued astrology, how Akbar was both a compassionate genius as well as a sexual predator, how Jahangir was creative enough to design his own clothes yet ruthless enough to blind his own son, how Shahjahan was almost effeminate because of his love for white marble, and how Aurangzeb can be and is so easily and greatly misunderstood.
These were some new facts that i came across about the Mughal nobles. I wanted to delve more into this but as time and my job constrained me to do so, i had no other option than to go. I bid my new friends farewell and promised to share more information with them as & when i could and told them also to return the same gesture.
I'll come back with more trivia about these great grand people and more of other trivia.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Some Straight Talking
Wanted to update the blog but without much effort. So, a tag this time.
Name three most valuable assets.
Laptop, debit-credit card, cellphone. These must be on everyone's list I assume with a plus or minus.
One truth in your life that haunts you every day?
It’s also the only “episode of regret” but over time, I have coached myself to suppress it with distractions, however less than suitable they might be.
Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Akbar’s court in Fatehpur Sikri while in session.
If you can have one dream to come true, what would it be?
Write a book.
What are you afraid to lose the most in yourself?
Stubbornness.
What would you do if you found a briefcase full of money?
Depends.
If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
Ten years ago, yes. Today, no, I don’t have the balls anymore.
Which type of person do you dislike the most?
Whiney, self-pitying kinds.
What is your ambition?
This one’s easy...total and absolute world domination.
If you were given the chance to have one super power, what would it be and why?
The ability to read people’s minds.
For you life is?
An unpredictable bitch.
If you could do one thing different in life, what would it be?
Get a new name.
Are you a shopaholic?
Depends on the kind of shop.
One song that gives you goosebumps?
A well-rendered version of the national anthem, whether vocal or instrumental. (No, this is not some sentimental tosh I have developed.)
Do you have any plans for tomorrow?
Yes. I have to live this day, and go for sleep at night.
Questions, please. Add some of your own if you wish.
Name three most valuable assets.
Laptop, debit-credit card, cellphone. These must be on everyone's list I assume with a plus or minus.
One truth in your life that haunts you every day?
It’s also the only “episode of regret” but over time, I have coached myself to suppress it with distractions, however less than suitable they might be.
Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Akbar’s court in Fatehpur Sikri while in session.
If you can have one dream to come true, what would it be?
Write a book.
What are you afraid to lose the most in yourself?
Stubbornness.
What would you do if you found a briefcase full of money?
Depends.
If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
Ten years ago, yes. Today, no, I don’t have the balls anymore.
Which type of person do you dislike the most?
Whiney, self-pitying kinds.
What is your ambition?
This one’s easy...total and absolute world domination.
If you were given the chance to have one super power, what would it be and why?
The ability to read people’s minds.
For you life is?
An unpredictable bitch.
If you could do one thing different in life, what would it be?
Get a new name.
Are you a shopaholic?
Depends on the kind of shop.
One song that gives you goosebumps?
A well-rendered version of the national anthem, whether vocal or instrumental. (No, this is not some sentimental tosh I have developed.)
Do you have any plans for tomorrow?
Yes. I have to live this day, and go for sleep at night.
Questions, please. Add some of your own if you wish.
Verses
Two almost back-to-back posts! I must have rediscovered my blog!
Today's post is about two poems of Vikram Seth that I particularly like. This semester I had taken a poetry workshop, as a result, not only did I have to write twelve poems of my own, I had to read a similar number of poems of my classmates, plus nearly a hundred others.
These two have been particularly interesting, mostly because of their simplicity.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All You who Sleep Tonight
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How Rarely These Few Years
How rarely these few years, as work keeps us aloof,
Or fares, or one thing or another,
Have we had days to spend under our parents’ roof:
Myself, my sister, and my brother.
All five of us will die; to reckon from the past
This flesh and blood is unforgiving.
What’s hard is that just one of us will be the last
To bear it all and go on living.
Today's post is about two poems of Vikram Seth that I particularly like. This semester I had taken a poetry workshop, as a result, not only did I have to write twelve poems of my own, I had to read a similar number of poems of my classmates, plus nearly a hundred others.
These two have been particularly interesting, mostly because of their simplicity.
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All You who Sleep Tonight
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
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How Rarely These Few Years
How rarely these few years, as work keeps us aloof,
Or fares, or one thing or another,
Have we had days to spend under our parents’ roof:
Myself, my sister, and my brother.
All five of us will die; to reckon from the past
This flesh and blood is unforgiving.
What’s hard is that just one of us will be the last
To bear it all and go on living.
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