The thought about what has to be written has always haunted me. To write about ones own experience is kind of an easy deal. Could be done by anyone, any TDH. But then can everyone be Rushdie, or a Paulo Coelho, impossible. So let's give imagination a break and try writing.
Malayalam movie industry has always produced, inspiring movies. With directors like Padmarajan, Adoor Gopalakrishnan and writers like M.T.Vasudevan Nair who could sketch the scenic beauty of Kerala the way it is on to the screen, most of us "Mals" have a different outlook towards movies. Anyways the decision to watch the movie Traffic was not a bad one, in fact after two hours of nail biting excitement, it's a rare feel, "Proud to be a Mallu feel".
One thing that I need to write about before commenting on the movie is about the crowd I happened to see at the theater. I was around groups of men within age groups of 23 -30 and swear to god all of them were desperate. Their stares and expressions at Punjabi women walking into the next screen where "Patiala house" was been screened, was just not acceptable. Most of them where not even thinking twice while they had to readjust their spheres of reproduction, they could do it without any shame in public. Most of the women who walked in had curly hair, strangulated by clips in different shapes and sizes. The colors and cuts of their salwars will suddenly take you to the mystical land of Kathakali. If there was one feature that united most of us, it was the great Indian tummy and am sure no group would even be a close second to my Kwan. Any ways with guys wearing monkey caps, dangling crosses just an inch smaller than on the one which Christ was crucified on, it was an exhibition of fashion disasters.
Walking into the movie theater, the expectations were high as the cast involved one of the most renowned film figures in Malayalam movie industry "Sreenivasan". The plot must be familiar to anyone who's a Hollywood movie buff (Vantage point), but that does not put the movie down, it's not the very old Priyadarshan attempt to copy Hollywood thrillers. Rajesh Pillai, has done exceptionally well in narrating a story with such pace that it's never expected in our movie fraternity. The film start's on a lighter mode and then offers a wide array of twists and turns. The director is successful in taking digs at the current political setup, the busy lifestyles of public figures etc. The best part of the movie is the way in which, the characters are bound to the one accident that changes their lives. There isn't even a reel of film wasted on a character that's not required or a dialogue not needed. No item songs, no unwanted emotional outbursts or scenes that are cliches in most of the movies. The movie is a thriller, keeps you at the edge of your seat, as if you are the one traveling along with the central character through the Kochi - Palakkad highway. And that's the reason behind the sheer success of the movie. Traffic is a must watch and am sure it sets a benchmark for tons of movies that's gonna come by in this decade. I hope it get's dubbed into other languages and the stain caused by Shakeela and company get's wiped out !!!!!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Valentines is back !!!!!
Another Valentines day, day of love, a day on which men realize the existence of balls and go down on their knees, women turn receptive for a change . Overall a day quoted in pink, with teddy bears spitting out chocolate fragrance, streets filled with balloons and hearts a day filled with love . The day brings to all of us college days, school days and a lot of memories. Mostly the flavors of affairs you'd had, the spicy Punjabi affair, the tangy tamilian one, the erotic Bengali one, all the women walk through as if it just went by.
The headlines of the next two days will be filled with saffron clad goons harassing kids in parks and beaches. With an already suffocated, wannabe society trying to break free, barricades set in the form of a great culture, heritage does not win a lot of hearts, but still our media will cover it with full enthusiasm. The mela of love has begun, and am sure love is in the air. But being retrospective, these days are required, whatever you name it, however you perceive it they are a must.
Cause these days create memories of all flavors, sweet, sour and when you look back that's the only wealth you've amassed. The memories of the first kiss, the blood rush to the ears when her breath was so close that you could smell her soul, the taste of tears when she walks off through the stairs of that unfinished concrete building. The moments of anguish in front of the head masters room, after she complained about the proposal and ate the chocolates you'd gifted. Reading the greeting cards under the mango tree at the backyard of the school, shoving it up the underwear when someone shows up.
With Face book, Orkut and the idea of being connected always taking the fun out the very concept of love. I hope the kids get to know the fun of thinking about dear ones, the fun of yapping away deeds of a complete vacation, the sheer thrill of meeting her at temple and passing it in front of her family as if it was never intended, there's so much Valentines day has lost in this connected world. To the beauty I fell for at seventh standard and the one who took away my heart during the first years of work, to the lady who made me realize that love doesn't liberate happy valentines day !!!!!
The headlines of the next two days will be filled with saffron clad goons harassing kids in parks and beaches. With an already suffocated, wannabe society trying to break free, barricades set in the form of a great culture, heritage does not win a lot of hearts, but still our media will cover it with full enthusiasm. The mela of love has begun, and am sure love is in the air. But being retrospective, these days are required, whatever you name it, however you perceive it they are a must.
Cause these days create memories of all flavors, sweet, sour and when you look back that's the only wealth you've amassed. The memories of the first kiss, the blood rush to the ears when her breath was so close that you could smell her soul, the taste of tears when she walks off through the stairs of that unfinished concrete building. The moments of anguish in front of the head masters room, after she complained about the proposal and ate the chocolates you'd gifted. Reading the greeting cards under the mango tree at the backyard of the school, shoving it up the underwear when someone shows up.
With Face book, Orkut and the idea of being connected always taking the fun out the very concept of love. I hope the kids get to know the fun of thinking about dear ones, the fun of yapping away deeds of a complete vacation, the sheer thrill of meeting her at temple and passing it in front of her family as if it was never intended, there's so much Valentines day has lost in this connected world. To the beauty I fell for at seventh standard and the one who took away my heart during the first years of work, to the lady who made me realize that love doesn't liberate happy valentines day !!!!!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Alcoholism and God's Own Counrty !!!!!!
Alcoholism, a topic tightly linked with every malayali on this earth. With statistics backing up the fact that people from the gods own country are the most notorious drunkards, I just want to take a trip down the memory lane. Alcohol, has taken huge toll in m life and have seen people perish through the road taken.
Sunil Uncle, used to be my childhood hero. Wearing a gold tinted ray ban goggle, riding a Bajaj Chetak, around 5 feet 10 inches in height he was my style icon. A shirt button always flipped open and a gold chain dangling down the hairy chest, women used to go ga-ga for him. Drinking was a weekly ritual for him, I would see his wife bitching to my mom on how these parties ruined the only day they could spend together. While cooking dinner, conversations on how he has changed during the course of three years, accompanied by tears adding salt to the curries, seemed to me as episodes of the same serial.
They drank in the main hall and the drinking session called for a lot of requirements, like peanuts, cigarettes etc. I would be called in every 30 minutes and I could break free from home work and importantly from my mom who dictates lessons to me holding deadly kitchen equipments. Though the initial trips of errands would not help, the last ones will bring in some monetary value, Well who would mind paying back a bunch of drunk morons :). Sunil uncle would sing hit Malayalam songs, rushing into the kitchen, he will snatch the knife from my mom and help out in cutting veggies. He would pull his wife close to him and act out tangy love, sometimes would mix well like orange juice and vodka, mostly a wannabe attempt for new cocktail, fails terribly.
At 12:00 in the night, they would get to the neighbor, kick him out of the bed and talk to him, while his half asleep kid hides behind the legendary lungi.I always made a fortune out of selling the accumulated bottles over a span of three months. Alcoholism was no taboo for me, I was getting benefited. Mom never wept, might be she did it within, she had this frozen reactions to the drunk acts of my dad and his friends, as if she had a resolve within not to fight this battle which she could never win. Frequency of drinking, increased to twice, thrice a week. Mornings would be filled with mom fixing up patches on Dad, souvenirs of drunken nights almost made him a legend in his early thirties.
One of the major issues that I saw while the fabric of the family was getting soaked in rum, was the fact that no one listened to Dad. His parents, friends, shopkeepers everyone wanted my mom to take the responsibility, though it was clear that money poured in from dad's pocket. People tend to loose credibility, after a stint with alcohol, the society just gives them a deaf ear. With my mom at the helm of affairs and she bringing in money through some life insurance policy business, ego might have started kicking in. The inevitable happened and the family crashed.
Sunil uncle stopped drinking in glasses, the bottle started gulping him down. Died in a bike accident, with his head opened like a crabs shell. Leaving behind, a six year old son, a beautiful wife ,a stench of vomit and a never ending hangover. Dad still drinks, rather that's what he does. Alienated from the society, from the crowd he pops up at family functions and throws in cash to prove his point, for him to be heard. The scent of hundred rupee notes get's submerged under the stench of alcohol. With all that he had done, alcoholism has created a stain, a shadow on his very existence.
Late night visits of him to the school was scary. Seeing him stooping on to his drunk friends, with a packet of chocolates or some random gifts, I will have the hostel warden breathing fire through my neck, as if I sponsored the party. De addiction centers across Kerala and Tamilnadu, could only hold him back for 60-90 days and he would always be back, back with a bang. Every day, after the De addiction center visits, I would wait for the real Dad to resurface, the wait is grueling, killing. My friends would bet on his come back every Friday and wait at my home. As the clock moves past nine, a smirk cracks up their face. As the light flashes,I would run to the gate and grab the suitcase, trying to sniff out and see if he is still raw. I would have a winners smile, when he didn't smell of Old cask and my friends say the smile is always brighter than the flash light.
Anyways, I saw marriages crash, livelihoods perish. Drinking always had reasons, either it was happiness or something sad. It would be loaded with explanations, about friends who are compelling, about senior officials who do not understand etc. Addiction comes for free, the life from there costs much more than all the pegs of rum ever gulped down. Human body reacts to a situation through stimuli which probably are provoked by smell, taste, memories etc, for drunkards happiness or sorrow loss or gain, life is always visualized through a bottle of alcohol and the image as clouded as a smoking zone in a downtown bar.
Being in a society that's orthodox and would never go forward, would always be way behind the current trends is like being in a gas chamber. Rebels who tend not to agree with current norms escape the world through alcohol, with alcohol in the veins must be they feel comfortable talking to the morons around. Prime reason for alcoholism in my land must be the society itself, where people wait for money orders from the middle east and plan meticulously to spend it , where people queue up to see a girl clad even in a slightly revealing outfit,where the society controls the very life of every individual, it's an open jail clad in green. Kerala, should not be hit with a hard summer, there is too much alcohol within people you could almost see men bursting out like meteors !!!!!!
Sunil Uncle, used to be my childhood hero. Wearing a gold tinted ray ban goggle, riding a Bajaj Chetak, around 5 feet 10 inches in height he was my style icon. A shirt button always flipped open and a gold chain dangling down the hairy chest, women used to go ga-ga for him. Drinking was a weekly ritual for him, I would see his wife bitching to my mom on how these parties ruined the only day they could spend together. While cooking dinner, conversations on how he has changed during the course of three years, accompanied by tears adding salt to the curries, seemed to me as episodes of the same serial.
They drank in the main hall and the drinking session called for a lot of requirements, like peanuts, cigarettes etc. I would be called in every 30 minutes and I could break free from home work and importantly from my mom who dictates lessons to me holding deadly kitchen equipments. Though the initial trips of errands would not help, the last ones will bring in some monetary value, Well who would mind paying back a bunch of drunk morons :). Sunil uncle would sing hit Malayalam songs, rushing into the kitchen, he will snatch the knife from my mom and help out in cutting veggies. He would pull his wife close to him and act out tangy love, sometimes would mix well like orange juice and vodka, mostly a wannabe attempt for new cocktail, fails terribly.
At 12:00 in the night, they would get to the neighbor, kick him out of the bed and talk to him, while his half asleep kid hides behind the legendary lungi.I always made a fortune out of selling the accumulated bottles over a span of three months. Alcoholism was no taboo for me, I was getting benefited. Mom never wept, might be she did it within, she had this frozen reactions to the drunk acts of my dad and his friends, as if she had a resolve within not to fight this battle which she could never win. Frequency of drinking, increased to twice, thrice a week. Mornings would be filled with mom fixing up patches on Dad, souvenirs of drunken nights almost made him a legend in his early thirties.
One of the major issues that I saw while the fabric of the family was getting soaked in rum, was the fact that no one listened to Dad. His parents, friends, shopkeepers everyone wanted my mom to take the responsibility, though it was clear that money poured in from dad's pocket. People tend to loose credibility, after a stint with alcohol, the society just gives them a deaf ear. With my mom at the helm of affairs and she bringing in money through some life insurance policy business, ego might have started kicking in. The inevitable happened and the family crashed.
Sunil uncle stopped drinking in glasses, the bottle started gulping him down. Died in a bike accident, with his head opened like a crabs shell. Leaving behind, a six year old son, a beautiful wife ,a stench of vomit and a never ending hangover. Dad still drinks, rather that's what he does. Alienated from the society, from the crowd he pops up at family functions and throws in cash to prove his point, for him to be heard. The scent of hundred rupee notes get's submerged under the stench of alcohol. With all that he had done, alcoholism has created a stain, a shadow on his very existence.
Late night visits of him to the school was scary. Seeing him stooping on to his drunk friends, with a packet of chocolates or some random gifts, I will have the hostel warden breathing fire through my neck, as if I sponsored the party. De addiction centers across Kerala and Tamilnadu, could only hold him back for 60-90 days and he would always be back, back with a bang. Every day, after the De addiction center visits, I would wait for the real Dad to resurface, the wait is grueling, killing. My friends would bet on his come back every Friday and wait at my home. As the clock moves past nine, a smirk cracks up their face. As the light flashes,I would run to the gate and grab the suitcase, trying to sniff out and see if he is still raw. I would have a winners smile, when he didn't smell of Old cask and my friends say the smile is always brighter than the flash light.
Anyways, I saw marriages crash, livelihoods perish. Drinking always had reasons, either it was happiness or something sad. It would be loaded with explanations, about friends who are compelling, about senior officials who do not understand etc. Addiction comes for free, the life from there costs much more than all the pegs of rum ever gulped down. Human body reacts to a situation through stimuli which probably are provoked by smell, taste, memories etc, for drunkards happiness or sorrow loss or gain, life is always visualized through a bottle of alcohol and the image as clouded as a smoking zone in a downtown bar.
Being in a society that's orthodox and would never go forward, would always be way behind the current trends is like being in a gas chamber. Rebels who tend not to agree with current norms escape the world through alcohol, with alcohol in the veins must be they feel comfortable talking to the morons around. Prime reason for alcoholism in my land must be the society itself, where people wait for money orders from the middle east and plan meticulously to spend it , where people queue up to see a girl clad even in a slightly revealing outfit,where the society controls the very life of every individual, it's an open jail clad in green. Kerala, should not be hit with a hard summer, there is too much alcohol within people you could almost see men bursting out like meteors !!!!!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Breaking free !!!!!
What the pain took away from me was not happiness,
What made me cry in alleys of sorrow was not pain,
What dripped down and drenched those cheeks weren't tears,
What could it be, the demon within me, the very old fears.
The journey has begun, and clearly is catching it's pace,
At a breakneck speed it's a rat race, and am leading the race,
Drenched in sweat, the stench of life, is seeping through,
Like puss hitting the bone, the fear is ripping through.
Wings don't flap anymore, dreams not colorful anymore,
Are the Hopes to come by, strangled by the fears passed by,
Jumping the set barricades,meeting the worldly challenges,
The real one still remains, unchallenged, the fear within,
It's still languishing within, the fight, fight with the fear within.
What made me cry in alleys of sorrow was not pain,
What dripped down and drenched those cheeks weren't tears,
What could it be, the demon within me, the very old fears.
The journey has begun, and clearly is catching it's pace,
At a breakneck speed it's a rat race, and am leading the race,
Drenched in sweat, the stench of life, is seeping through,
Like puss hitting the bone, the fear is ripping through.
Wings don't flap anymore, dreams not colorful anymore,
Are the Hopes to come by, strangled by the fears passed by,
Jumping the set barricades,meeting the worldly challenges,
The real one still remains, unchallenged, the fear within,
It's still languishing within, the fight, fight with the fear within.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tale of a married friend !!!!
Being in love, being passionate about having someone around you is a wonderful feeling. The feel fades away, moves out and you miss it, and the search begins for that adrenaline rush. The blood rush when, her hair brushes your face, the smell of good old cinthol powder, tulsi leaves and jasmine flowers, leaves you dumbstruck. Affairs in school days are something that remains within you. Those are the days you fear the class teacher, fellow students, parents and everyone around you, but still meet her at the backstage during annual day, at the backseat of the school bus during excursions, fun that can never come back.
But then there are extends to which, people go to be near someone you like.This blog is about one of my close friends who got married recently. Big bombs come in small sizes, is a statement you'll believe when you meet this guy just kissing five feet. Anyways, he was a romantic within, fell in love with a girl every quarter and had the guts to go behind a girl, stop her on the main road and propose in front of three other girls, barely able to look into her eyes without lifting his face at 60 degrees. Anyways, during the fall of 1998, our friend fell for a girl, who was the grandchild of the school's owner. Irking her, was liking poking a lion on it's ass inside a cave with just one exit.
Listening to someone is unmanly, and our hero never listened. The girl was a hosteler and I was the messenger always. From passing letters under the table to giving chocolates and flowers, convincing her that the chances my friend won't fall for anyone else kept me busy. Summer vacation meant a break in the flow of activities, love was oozing out and to feel her always was the point of discussion. Getting her book, bag hairband, lip balm something that could make our hero, feel the chick. At last, it was decided that something she wore, would be fine. Knowing the legacy, We denied stealing undergarments :).
Jumping into the ladies toilet at 2:00 am in the morning was fun. Sanitary pads, face scrubs, undergarments of all sizes and shapes. Arguments on who wears what etc went on till 2:45 am. We could find a white kurti with her name embroidered under it. We took it along with countless face masks, scrubs etc. Vacation started and one fine day, we walked into our friends home and the sight was quite embarrassing, dressed in the stolen white Kurti, jumping in joy the boy's face had a spark of fire in it.
Thank god, his face almost has the same spark, while he got married to this young lady. His posts in Orkut serves as the evidence, might be it's about the spark a woman could bring in, that's what he is passionate about and he has found his spark again.
But then there are extends to which, people go to be near someone you like.This blog is about one of my close friends who got married recently. Big bombs come in small sizes, is a statement you'll believe when you meet this guy just kissing five feet. Anyways, he was a romantic within, fell in love with a girl every quarter and had the guts to go behind a girl, stop her on the main road and propose in front of three other girls, barely able to look into her eyes without lifting his face at 60 degrees. Anyways, during the fall of 1998, our friend fell for a girl, who was the grandchild of the school's owner. Irking her, was liking poking a lion on it's ass inside a cave with just one exit.
Listening to someone is unmanly, and our hero never listened. The girl was a hosteler and I was the messenger always. From passing letters under the table to giving chocolates and flowers, convincing her that the chances my friend won't fall for anyone else kept me busy. Summer vacation meant a break in the flow of activities, love was oozing out and to feel her always was the point of discussion. Getting her book, bag hairband, lip balm something that could make our hero, feel the chick. At last, it was decided that something she wore, would be fine. Knowing the legacy, We denied stealing undergarments :).
Jumping into the ladies toilet at 2:00 am in the morning was fun. Sanitary pads, face scrubs, undergarments of all sizes and shapes. Arguments on who wears what etc went on till 2:45 am. We could find a white kurti with her name embroidered under it. We took it along with countless face masks, scrubs etc. Vacation started and one fine day, we walked into our friends home and the sight was quite embarrassing, dressed in the stolen white Kurti, jumping in joy the boy's face had a spark of fire in it.
Thank god, his face almost has the same spark, while he got married to this young lady. His posts in Orkut serves as the evidence, might be it's about the spark a woman could bring in, that's what he is passionate about and he has found his spark again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)