Almost an year since I came here..

Nothing much at my end. Trying to keep my spirits up.

Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly – Harriet Beecher Stowe

This is a novel that stands apart for its role in the political history of the United States of America. Though the novel has inspired numerous plays and created colored-stereotypes, it is nothing more than a sentimental evangelizing rant. The novel stands no acclaim from a literary critic. Still it is a must read for historical and political reasons.  

The book offers the brilliant and sincere portrayal of the slavery. No wonder it shook the strong pillars the evil was standing on at the time. But where ever there is a religious overtone, the characters look larger than life. 5 or 6 year old Eva is way too mature to believe. Uncle Tom himself, to my utter surprise, declines to escape from a dreadful fate, quoting the Bible talking about the servants and the masters.  

George Harris, the most reverent of all I would say, turns to be a Christian towards the end. All good characters either are or turn to be one towards the end. But there are characters like St. Clare and Mrs Shelby, whose spiritual journeys are strong yet silent. Barring Eva and Uncle Tom, the strength everybody else draw from the Bible is understandable and impressive.  

Ironically, the most famous person who drew his inspiration from this book and eventually led to the end of slavery in the US, Abraham Lincoln, remained a skeptic all his life. His war against slavery was more philosophical than religious. 

“Whenever this question shall be settled, it must be settled on some philosophical basis. No policy that does not rest upon some philosophical public opinion can be permanently maintained.” ~ Lincoln on slavery 

Though slammed by critics as a “Sunday School Fiction”, its influence in the history of America is irrefutable. The book commands a read for the same reason. Keep the literature lover in you at bay, never mind the catechism and you will love it for what Abraham Lincoln loved it.

Jab We Met – Review

I am a bit of cynical when it comes to watching the block buster movies. My critic mind doesn’t really let me enjoy the usual run of the mill movies. So I had least of expectations, yet a boring Saturday evening to be spent. So we landed at Adlabs. 

Housefull !!!!!!!! Even after 3 weeks of releasing. We finally managed to grab some phone booking cancellation tickets. I decided not to spend on popcorn and cool drink. 180 bucks for a Shahid Kareena starrer was more than what I could take in the mid of the month. But in the interval, I sneaked out and bought my staple movie diet. The movie was worth every penny I paid.  

Let us not talk about Kareena. The lady is just a bit better than Ms Rai Bachan when it come to acting. Overly made up most of the times. But better in both, in the second half. 

Shahid is ravishingly handsome. He enthralls you with his boyish charm, versatile dancing and appreciable acting skills. He won me over…….. Sigh….. 

The movie has nothing new to offer. But it is packaged well. Even the second half, with all the ingredients to be drag, is enjoyable. Not overly emotional, no third rate comedy, no social message; a plain movie that’s worth 3 hours of your time. You come out of the movie hall with a smile and all charged up for a good weekend. 

Njoy !!!!!!!!!!!

The Brave New World – Aldous Huxley

“O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beautious mankind is!
O brave new world
That has such people in’t!”

Miranda’s speech in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Act V, Scene I:

Remeber Nineteen Eighty-Four by Orwell? Brave New World is set in AF 632. Both talk about an orderly society – an ironic utopia. 1984 presents a future world where the human emotions are suppressed and tamed; where as Huxley’s world controls the reproductive mechanism and world is populated with perfect human beings who are always happy. If they are not, they get soma to make them happy.

The societ is hedonistic as a whole, rather that is the way of life. Everyone belongs to everyone else. No sexual tensions, no jealousy and no old age. They talk about the viviparous human species that used to exist before the time of Our Ford.

A great and a must read. But I think I like 1984 more. Brave New World feels too robotic and there is a disconnect between the author’s and my imaginations. But it is intentionally disturbing; probably thats what Huxley wanted.

Its A Man’s World

I am glad i am a man
I don’t have to put up & down
the dirty looking commodes in the public toilets
I am glad i am a man
even after getting arthritis
I can still pee in peace

A poem from The Guy

Immense jealousy at this end, both on the writing skills and the content.

Poor Chap

His life wasn’t easy. To live with the Cthulhu, that too when it was his own wife…. They pitied him.

Amsterdam – Review

“I think of novels in architectural terms. You have to enter at the gate, and this gate must be constructed in such a way that the reader has immediate confidence in the strength of the building. “

~  Ian McEwan

Well, the book won him the Booker Prize in 1998. I don’t want to judge the book, so let me just say it didn’t appeal to my taste. I felt like I was using a run-of-the-mill book I picked up from the second hand book shop as a soporific.

To keep it terse: Much Ado About Nothing.

Neermathalam Pootha Kalam – Review

Krishna, I am melting,
Melting, melting
Nothing remains
But you 
~ Kamala Das 
 
In my teens and until recently, the legendary & iconoclastic writer put me off with her histrionics; or what I perceived as her histrionics. All her women protagonists came across as sexually frustrated and infidelity was a leitmotif in all I could read. When I read somewhere that the lady was nominated for the esteemed Nobel Prize for Literature, I wondered for what. Now I look back and wonder, how could she not win it? 

Das isn’t a feminist of the typical mould; yet she has to be the truest of them all. She admitted her need for emotional security, her longing for physical beauty, the need for attention and all the other vulnerabilities innate in a woman. The undercurrent of emotions in Madhavikkutty, Kamala Das & Kamala Suraiya are the same; its the superficial exhibition of it that baffles me at times. But I relate to Madhavikkutty more than Kamala; may be the Nobel Committee to Kamala. The quintessential feminist, eternal lover and the most independent soul, the lady is my idol. 

Though autobiographical, Neermathalam Pootha Kalam isn’t just her story. It is the story of any one of her generation would tell. I have heard similar stories from my parents & grand parents. Reading it gives the same feeling; the feeling of sitting in your grandmother’s lap and listening to her stories of “good old times”.  

No drama, no whirlpool and nothing extra ordinary. Just plain, mundane day to day life; told in the language so non-fictional. Yet it is the Diary of Young Ami, so captivating and it gives you that long needed catharsis. In the initial chapters, Das brilliantly draw the whole family tree. But later on, growing up as the daughter of one of the greatest poetess of Malayalam and successful Indian Official in the British India, Ami speaks more about the servants in the kitchen, the dhobi whose daughter of her age had to marry an old widower, the poor Anglo Indian girl who pursue her to get a job for some relative in her father’s company. So many characters evolve, as the author juggle between her days in Calcutta and her ancestral home in South Malabar. We move with her, without any disconnect. We live with her grand mother, swim with her in the pool and then take the train journey with her. Such is her versatility.  

You can’t read thru the pages without being Ami, as the author is fondly called by her family and as you finally finish the book, you are left with the angst, unrest and eventual peace the grandmother go thru the first time Ami comes home wearing a sari. 

As a Malayali, you owe this read to yourself. If you are not one, you still owe it to yourself to know one of the best authors our country has ever had.

No Smoking – Review

Of late I have this romantic obsession about the idea of being able to puff out smoke circles into the air. I think of stepping out of my sexy Lexus with goggles that have a reddish tinge and a cigarette in my left hand. Ya, left hand. That’s more stylish. 

But I am convinced that smoking is bad; ‘cos No Smoking was simply too good. Now if you don’t get the joke, admit it; rather than trying to rate it as PJ or Pathetic PJ. I haven’t watched any of Satyajit Ray movies. Hence, for the first time, sitting in a theatre with a friend throwing expletives for wasting 150 bucks and a crowd jeering at no one knows what, I watched a movie of sheer brilliance. Kafkaesque, in Bollywood. 

I don’t know if it is any adaptation of Kafka novel, but the nightmarish impersonal world of K is strikingly similar to Kafka’s Josef  K of The Trial. There is a German connection too. K’s mother is a translator with the German Embassy and his asthmatic brother J, speaks only German. 

I hadn’t watched the trailer’s of the movie; neither could I read any review of it. And I was in for two hours of unparalleled cinema.  

The very first scene itself was striking. And the first half is terrifically well done. In the second half, the Bollywood mentality creeps into some of the scenes, especially in the scene where J dies. I guess, Kafka would have killed him simply in the first fall from the top of the building. Vishal Bhardwaj hit the poor fellow with an ambulance and then again, made him trip on a banana skin and die of a bloody injury at the back of his head. That wasn’t really needed. Another scene that was slightly inappropriate was the one where K’s wife, Anjali is chit chatting with her friends. But that is passable. The only place where the director explains anything at all is towards the end when we get toknow that the sexy secretary Annie and K’s wife are the same (both played by Ayisha Takia) and they dual life is what K wanted for her. The movie progresses without any particular story per se, and the bizzare events follow. There is an over tone of black and grey as colors. And the movie ends when after all his truggle K survives his soul to the system and his soul helplessly stares at his walking and talking body, which no more recognises the soul.  

Anurag Kashyap deserves a standing ovation. The pseudo intellectual Page 3 columnists might have trashed him badly, but then who cares about them. Just go watch it. No analyses, no reviews and no awards needed. Kafka himself has become a name you throw in the air when you want to silence the other person in an argument. No wonder the man didn’t want any of his books published; he knew we aren’t ready for him. Bollywood isn’t ready for Anurag Kashyap either. 30 or 40 years down the line, our kids might call him one of the best directors we ever had. 

And ya, girls & gays – its a must watch for you. John Abraham is just Hot.

Goan Diaries

Beholding Her  

When I behold you, Lady! when my eyes
Dwell on the deep enjoyment of your sight,
I give my spirit to that one delight,
And earth appears to me a Paradise.
And when I hear you speak, and see you smile,
Full satisfied, absorb’d, my centr’d mind
Deems all the world’s vain hopes and joys the while
As empty as the unsubstantial wind.
Lady! I feel your charms, yet dare not raise
To that high theme the unequal song of praise,–
A power for that to language was not given;
Nor marvel I, when I those beauties view,
Lady! that He, whose power created you,
Could form the stars and yonder glorious heaven

- Luís de Camões ( 1524 – 1580) Portugal’s greatest poet. 

The rambunctious poet is said to be lascivious too; with a roving left eye. His bohemian soul must have finally come out after being stuck in the Catholic groove for centuries.  The boys were all possessed; with good temptation though. Let them be boys and let me wear pink. I love it that way. 

The bus ride the night before was hell. They bloody don’t give blankets any more. That was cheating. They gave me last time. But the Uncle sitting next to me managed to get one for me. Nice uncle. All I had to do was nod my head continuously for next 2 hours. Then I fell asleep,  still nodding. He spoke about Veer Sawarkar. He told me Sawarkar is a greater hero than Gandhi or Nehru. I thought for a minute. Then decided not to fight. I needed the blanket. Sawarkar was dead, I didn’t want to. Priorities you see. But I am patriotic. I stand when they play National Anthem before movies, even if I always end up throwing my popcorn onto the floor when I get up. Then he sang the first two lines of

Kaakke Kakkee Koodevide……

Uncle had lots of mallu friends during college. Well…no comments. Amma has told me to respect elderly people. So shut up.  Reached Goa and I realised I didn’t have the toothpaste. But we were going for breakfast. What was the point in brushing the teeth if it had to be dirtied again soon. So I kept back the toothbrush. But someone asked me if I had feny in the morning itself, he could smell it.  

“One smal drink…to get the Goa feel”.

The food couldn’t match the dreams I carried to the step motherly paradise. Since we decided on the trip, I had been getting these scary dreams about me exploding after a non-stop fish binge for 2 days. Disappointed, thoroughly. I cut my friendship with everyone. Souhridam vichedichu. 

Can’t even feed a hungry soul? Good for nothing fellas….  

The boys insisted that I make friends with those gorgeous babes so they get to dance with them. I suggested they find the most handsome hunk around for me. None could find anyone remotely better than themself, so we dropped the deal. Pah!!!  

Sickening sea sickness…but I prefer to remember the parasailing I could do moments before that. Lovely. The mighty feeling of looking down upon everything & everyone; albeit transient.  

The Gin wasn’t good enough this time. They didn’t have lime colada. Goa and you don’t get your favorite drink????  That was sad. Very very sad.I repeat, very very very sad. The Guy tried mixing something and something with Gin and making it drinkable. It was drinkable, only to the soon-to-be-married-pot-bellied-guy (STBMPBG). The big mouth was opened and the liquid went down the throat in a split second. Everybody clapped. I acted like a Victorian lady and sipped my port wine.  

We could bathe in the booze, literally; brandy for skin and beer for hair. Catherine Zeta Jones wahses her hair with beer. Gorgeous hair, isn’t it? I am following her path too. You wait and watch, macha. (Let us conveniently forget that all she could get was the fatherly Douglas) 

Anna Thomas (she calls herself Aana a.k.a elephant, he he) washes her face with brandy.  

“And the glow lasts for 2 weeks”.

 

I like the idea of washing the face once in two weeks. So I bought a quarter. Washed my face with it and waited for it to glow. Tic, tic, tic … 10 mins, 30 mins. Now there were expletives thrown in from the other room for getting late. I washed my face and sighed ………. no use. Put an extra shade of make up and galloped out for pubbing. 

 

But the pub was good. Finally some good food. Spicy & sexy. But then we lost one mobile. Boys couldn’t pick up any phirang babes for the night. Drink wasn’t particularly cheap. But I liked the fish curry meals. The Guy liked it too. Some sweet talks outside. The Guy was serious, saddened by the lost mobile and burdened with the duty of a task master. Fellas were getting a little difficult to manage. But I love it when The Guy has that serious look in his eyes.  

 

And the walk on the beach at midnight !!!!!!!! Good things in life doesn’t last for too long. Just happens and thats it. But the memories linger; just like I still remember the smell of Chempaka flower back home. 

 

Back to the groove; with a sexy tan. I am singing “Ami je thumar”.