guilty? pleading could be a way of life..

“Punishment isn’t defined, it remains a warhorse of a susceptible battlefield”.

way back in 1993, events jolted and stunned us. as a matter of fact, they did so nonchalantly, in Dec ’92. it was unreal, it was deemed barbaric, it was inconsolable. but what made it all so vulnerable was the entire prognosis of the events that unfolded and screamed with morons of our sugar coated system that died to admire their own demons.

an analysis today is as futile as it was, 21 years ago. I am not trying to create a placard out of it, neither am I trying to swell wounds. but the drama surrounding our lives for the past one week has been nothing short of fuelled gas. the verdict was delayed by ages. the verdict was ought to be the most significant the Supreme court has ever handed over to a group or individual. yet, it became a verdict, that stands as a symbol of mockery for those unscrupulous individuals who knew and understood our lousy governments much better and much earlier than you and me. Perhaps, the fundamentals of law making were in knees as we stood like fools, expecting a verdict with folded hands (I am sorry but we were never in a couch to demand verdicts).

for me, this is buried. the ghosts of those horrendous moments still languish with pain but it doesn’t matter any more. the usual suspects are still beneath woods or grass, our leaders, administrators and the governments are oblivious of their darling presence, I would rather quote them to be pretentious.

we capture, we feed, we protect, we make them listen to our lullabies and we get them back to their cells, safely. few, thanks to their domineering presence or privileged inheritance, get a hangover and are allowed to make a better person out of themselves with a sword that wakes them every morning. they still live, make money and make money with discretion less pounding. one fine morning, when the sword wakes up before you and cuts you naked, you realize that the time has come. not yet, please hold on, the time came in years back, but I lived in froth, today I call it ‘fate’. oops, we digressed. let’s get back to the roots.

my question has never been ‘why’, it has always been and am still asking ‘how’. the aftermath is never an example, because it isn’t. for those who lived it, I don’t think they care. you think they should? well, this time, my question is ‘why’!

random and voltage..

last 3 weeks have given my potent force, an enamored and polarized bloke!

some silken laced moments, an emotional walk around some of the most beautiful lanes and by all means, being accompanied by the woman of my life is a journey of a lifetime that has just begun.

don’t believe in rebirths, but do believe that a birth has an intention to fulfill, and human desires are notorious in getting them fulfilled. I, being one of those in the illustrious bandwagon, ceases to admonish and galore with the naiveness of an amateur sailor on the pacific.

missing the paradoxical events that have been the breeding ground for a long time, omnipresent yet petals do flourish amidst adversity! rejoicing never had a quotient level to diminish porcelain stripes, and I continue to rejuvenate amongst those who are oblivion of a great lesson, taught and learnt with a gimmick of a pulverized lion. A hungry one too!

pride is a great protagonist, never lets you down! decisions can never be wrong when conviction is the greatest ally! and, patience is a great virtue when backed with instincts of an empowered mind..

Amen! ah.. doesn’t it invoke polished yet rampant values? well, that’s an amalgamation of me, courageously loves to be daunting!

second coming..

“life isn’t your bane, you are!”

This isn’t a typical comeback, but then with plausible child monotony, this could be a turnaround. Or, may be, it does act as a litmus test. Nevertheless, does with darned fortunes.

I am in joy with the city that possibly, and inevitably, made me. I am a believer in roots, and I have great inclination towards mighty legacies that have today’s larger blokes at bay. But I don’t think I care! Not for the old warhorses, but for the ones like me who live and eat passion.

10 years is a long time, almost! The core hasn’t changed, the people have probably become intrinsically lavish, the govenrments have rendered with ply-mouths and bandhs remain a cakewalk (tomorrow is one!!). But the charm is back, the vibes are alive and I come back to relive the days of evolution. Primitive but prerogative!

As I commute between 2 arms of Calcutta (‘Kolkata’ never really got in), I see altered landscapes with a flair of famished plunder. The ‘Calcutta’ I knew is still buzzing but what paves the way is the ‘Greater’ one. As a resident, I love to be admonished with a sense of newness. And with a wife, my days will be a feast. For her, and for my insanity towards this city of marque collage.

Welcome me 🙂

Blockbuster Review: Viswaroopam (Tamil Film) – Gallant Gusto!

To begin with, let’s get the dialogue right.

Q: Was it worth the hoopla?
A: No. Pertinence of few hopelessly wounded individuals lay squashed beneath.

Q: Did it have enough to be termed as the ‘Blockbuster’?
A: To a large extent, yes. Except the narration (in the second half) that could have been crispier and the climax that should have been a raunchy affair, rest was quoted brilliance.

Now, for the review that I remain famished to gorge.

It’s a brilliant film that could been better by few notches. After all the misguided propaganda that the film garnered with ease, it revelled under the apt sun. And, our undisputed and quite phenomenally, Kamal Haasan is back. His screenplay, as always, was rhetoric in content and phased narration was nicely embedded. The script is borrowed intelligently from various incident prone subjugations and has his impeccable zeal to make it real. Directed well within his vision, Viswaroopam’s decorated closet includes Rahul Bose, Jaideep Ahlawat and Shekar Kapur (a cameo though). All give commendable performances, when we account for their presence in a frame that’s smeared with the mighty Kamal Haasan. The ladies have nothing to do in this game of havoc, Andrea was probably adamant to get herself wasted. Nasser’s is a bold act and he enacts perfectly.

The introduction of the real protagonist was a stunner and I went gaga over it (everytime). And remember, only Kamal Haasan can pull it off in a fit of ruthless debonair. The first half is splendid and takes you through the vintage problems of planet earth with consummate ease. The duels in Afghanistan are a visual spectacle and you are bound to get goosebumps. As the animated choreographer, he is adorable. His encounters with Rahul Bose infringe sparks in mellowed sequences and Jaideep as his closest aid is impressive. Significantly, both have spoken and dubbed in Tamil. It looks refreshingly odd and fits the need of the bill.

The final 15-20 minutes took me by surprise, disappointingly. After a scorcher of a first half, I expected a powerhouse climax. Unfortunately, Kamal probably kept too much of it in wraps in lieu of his sequel (that’s predictably in pre production). I get the noble thrill but eluded me of my insatiable proportions. Yet, Viswaroopam held sway in an emphatic fashion.

With contemporary liaisons dominating our surrounding lives amidst a pickle-like frontier of decaying charm, Viswaroopam enthrals adequately.

Blockbuster Review: Kadal (Tamil Film) – Waterplay!

It’s not the typical Mani classic, neither would it fall in the lap of a run-of-a-mill commercial bolt. It plunges in to a zone that’s spurred by moments of brilliance and has Mani’s baton in patches of singing waves.

I have stated for sometime now and I continue to echo. Filmmakers make, create, introspect, visualise and evolve with times. Mani Ratnam has seen, made and failed with courageous attempts. Foiled with grace or sold with gratified poignance, his is a charm of unfolded parlance. ‘Kadal’ comes across one such product. His protagonists are extremes of our beloved life and the lead artists are beautifully etched as amateur players in the land of love and Jesus.

Veterans return with gaunt abilities and the script is woven around them to knuckle the initial pampers. Gautam Karthik’s space is a bit more stretched when compared to Thulasi Nair. Both appear to be talented, Gautam is your next door rugged youngster with a disturbed childhood and fanatic father. He essays his role with mobile restraint. Thulasi looks prettier than what I saw of her in the interviews, her role is carefully etched by Ratnam. Arvind Swami is back post hiatus and gives a performance within his limitations. But the pick has to be ‘Action King’ Arjun. A baddie from the word go, he becomes the bad boy of Jesus and has ambitions of being the ruling ‘Shaitan’. He gets that out well with provincial ease and gets a restrained end to his ‘invincible’ chores.

The soundtrack stands out, as is the case with all Mani ventures. ARR wields magic yet again and ‘Moongil Thottam’ stood out. My favourite, though, is the polar track of ‘Magudi’. An AR Rahman finesse, it looks out to be his muse in ‘Kadal’, throughout.

The difference between ‘Kadal – The Film’ and ‘Kadal – The Extraordinaire’ is Rajiv Menon. I, was awe struck as he toyed with water like a kid with his pantheons. Breathtaking waters with coconut trees and waves like a colossus, ‘Kadal’ is his famed menace. Bravo!

With an ordinary script, baking moments and Rajiv’s ultimate demeanour, ‘Kadal’ is worth a watch.

Blockbuster Review: Django Unchained – Ruffled Business!

A periodic flamingo ahead of a civil war with a solitary government prognosis and an aid who threatens the very existence of an inevitable black with an improbable quest to bisect the native world with a penchant of pursuance with audacity. Phew! Only and only, Quentin Tarantino can pull that off! And, he does with mayhem.

Right from the beginning till Django gets home victoriously, Tarantino’s script keeps it flowing like a river down the placid hills. The identification phase of Django couldn’t have been more precarious. “Could I take a look at your inventory…” was a crazy enough statement to get your nerves rolling down your cheeks and Schultz remains your ultimate protagonist-like menace. It also gives you a first hand look of Django (D is silent), soaked and chained. Well, that establishes the plot we are swelled in to.

We witness an amazing and courageous relationship between a black and white amidst ruins of marque slavery. And that makes the characters lounge over in awe, and many towards fathom of intrigue. It’s often myriad when you see your clan marching towards prospering fortunes while self are buried under the chains of barbarism. Difficult to believe and too painful to accept. Django is subjected to this relative phenomenon and every time he is scrutinised, Schultz savours the moment to introduce him as ‘Django, The Freeman’. He isn’t a slave and the uncapped ones loathe envy.

The sequences between Django and Mr. Schultz propagate human relationship of the highest order. While he lures him in to the gigantic proportions of ‘A Bounty Hunter’, he establishes the purpose with a fragile yet demanding phrase. “I have never given freedom to anyone, and now that I have, I feel a sense of responsibility towards that person”. Perhaps, in the world of Tarantino’s epics, such expressions of humane monologues fidget top class applause.

And just when I was getting in to the skin of Django and his mentor, in comes Calvin Candie. A lighter poke in to his arrival with a bash, Calvin gives our focal characters, a run for their brutal money. Initially, he is lurched in by Schultz’s charismatic presentation and his need for a ‘slave with panache’ but when Stephen intervenes, he becomes what he is. A pernicious slave hunter. For a little while, Calvin upstages the lead survivors in the beast of racists. Stephen is a black rascal, and understands his seeds well. He agonises Django in his search of lady love and those moments between Schultz, Calvin, Django and Stephen are probably, the craziest. And fittingly, outrageous.

Curtains come down in a typical Tarantino madness. Blood, gory and fountains of flesh run havoc as Django perpetrates and annihilates with the flair of a slave with fists of steel. The end sees him take his wife along with him, not before burying Calvin and Stephen amongst the ruthless mercenaries.

Tarantino’s casting is his mettle of soul. And I can’t stop raving about a singular phantom. Christoph Waltz is a man perceived and delivered well (he bags the Golden Globe for the supporting actor as this review gets published), Django looks, plays and escapes as a perfect slave. My pick (was difficult as I loved every inch of Dr. King Schultz) is DiCaprio. Calvin Candie is the specie we all would love to meet and dissect as two very different animals within his monstrous repertoire. Blazing and galvanising! Stephen was there because he is family for Tarantino, else how could I watch a Tarantino film without Samuel L Jackson!? Little frame but big shoes with a tantalising eye and a nose that pokes often with substance.

“You are a poor loser” – exclaims Calvin. “You are an abysmal winner” – Dr. Schultz touts back.

Django Unchained, is a dazzling Tarantino film.

phew.. 2012 was a zipper, how does -13 look like?

To begin with, thank you for the sustenance to keep the urge within me alive!

Your likes, the pink comments and your wise following keeps me afloat amidst ruins.

This year, I want to be the force to reckon with, yet again :)! Insights, posts, pages, reviews, articles.. and by all means, a lot more than what I can exclaim. And, significantly, to read what you guys write and swoon at.

Let’s have a boom boom 2013, write to remain famished and read till we get closer to the penultimate.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 2,600 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 4 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

the tale of a pulsating cricketer..

As a youngster, his name was Jesus to my ears. I celebrated his hundreds with madness, yelled at his dismissals and cried when his tons weren’t enough to canter home. I still remember my mom commenting with a disappointing tone – “your love for him supersedes that ought to be reserved for me”.

“He is made, only to come on earth, bat and go back”. – Ravi Shastri

Fast bowlers bullied him as a 16 year old stepped out to feel the heat of the 21 yard strip, spinners ridiculed him, terming him as ‘too young to play international cricket’. He was picked in the side to fill up the ubiquitous 6th slot and his first ODI ton took 5 years to come since his debut in 1989.

“I have never seen God, saw one today”. – Matthew Hayden

He weathered storms and bowling attacks with élan. 23 years of turmoil, pain, achievements, criticism and spectacular performances. Yet, time never galvanised upon the memoirs of his glorious feats.

Yes. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar will live as God, forever.

He leaves behind, if I may call it, a colossus of perpetuating paranoid that can seldom and probably, never surface in our lifetime. Runs in every corner of cricket bees, plethora of hundreds (not talking about the fifties though!) and the endurance to last for 463 ODIs. His 6 World Cups notwithstanding, he was poignant enough to make 2 of the editions his own (1996 and 2003) with a phenomenal streak that fittingly ended as the unit crumbled in the face of adversity.

“This kid is special”. – Abdul Qadir

“Watched him playing in the nets, couple of cover drives and knew that he would go far”. – Dilip Vengsarkar

I won’t talk more numbers as it’s been written, splashed and spoken over at every moolah. I would rather rave upon his shortcomings. Difficult to comprehend but I found out that he is human, by all means. His failure to lead India as a skipper has been a thorn in his flesh and admittedly, he hasn’t delivered the goods. And, to a large extent, we were looking for a bull inside a cow. Some are just great players and perhaps not meant to be influential leaders. Sachin belonged to that spectrum of vanity. Invincible and surprisingly, perishable.

“The greatest I have ever bowled to”. – Allan Donald

“He bats quite like me and the stance looks very similar”. – Sir Donald Bradman

He has often been accused of playing for himself and not for the country. Well, perceiving facts your way doesn’t alter the church of thought. We need to remember that Sachin’s career spanned in an era when Indian cricket team evolved, fell, evolved again to battle over supremacy. Yet, we were never a great cricketing nation, consistently. Our concerns were genuine, some attributed to culture and numerous towards congestion in ability of percussion elements. Not to mention, the media and the amount of scrutiny that summoned his exploits, on and off the field. To me, it wasn’t jade. We cannot punish a genius for the mediocrity around him.

Talk of the myths surrounding his aura, and I get a tad ferocious to lament the ignorance of those who failed to watch the broader blade of his life.

“The greatest batsman I have ever seen, even better than Bradman”. – Hanif Mohammad

Few that will be him, always.

Yashji..

A filmmaker transcends boundaries, surpasses eras and redefines cinema. Yash Chopra just did that. And yet, to survive with a glimpse of fortitude requires ability and a deep understanding of the connoisseur.

Hailed as the ‘Baadshah’ of romance, my picks would surprise almost many as I believed in his more rustic approach of filmmaking which depicted some magical characters that ever got created on silver screen.

My famed line up of Yashji isn’t a tribute but a celebration of the pentagon-ist whose acclaim stood by times with flair.

* Waqt
A multi star cast with actors like Raajkumar and Sunil Dutt, Waqt was a sure shot churner. A blockbuster with a jaw dropping amalgamation of drama and a preach of social viagra, it still remains his old-chick-off-the-block flick. Bollywood saw the emergence of Yash Chopra.

* Mashaal
Another YC classic that gave away from Bollywood’s conventional rosewood type scripts to a rebellious background that showcases a gunner youth being disciplined by his mentor. Not at his superstar best, but Yusuf ‘Dilip Kumar’ Khan gave a memorable act of valour and Anil Kapoor arrived. In many ways, it remains YC’s path breaking film in terms of treatment in adversity.

* Ittefaq
A raunchy thriller, I find this one to be one of the most interesting films made from YC’s stable. A hatke genre for Rajesh Khanna, it had the svelte Nanda in a glamorous role with dark punches that wooed the audiences with twists and turns in ample. A personal favourite.

* Deewar
The film that probably and by all means, changed Hindi cinema forever. Romance was thrown out of the window and in came gangsters with guns of baron. AB’s signal of domination, Salim- Javid’s scripted mania and Yash Chopra’s mercurial direction made a cult classic out of this Haji Mastaan inspired semi biopic. I still get goosebumps when I watch it in my solemn premises and can’t stop raving. My big buck pony :)!

* Kala Patthar
A film that I consider to be ahead of its time, it was a bold appeal that portrayed the state of affairs in our factory led movements of anti industrialisation slogans. Beautifully penned and knock out performances from its lead actors make this one of the finest from YC’s consulate.

* Silsila
The big daddy of romance. Flowers, Swiss Alps, a suave Bachchan, ravishing Rekha and a relationship that played havoc in 4 lives. Silsila had it all with a stunning intensity that seldom embraces a love story. It bombed at the BO but I loved it with all the oomph of condemned modality.

* Darr
For me, this was SRK’s big ticket to super stardom (before DDLJ surfaced). At a time when Bollywood started venturing in to new age cinema, Darr came up with a loony-toony who looked handsome, proved to be obsessive and could scream for his girl from no where. SRK loses ‘Kiran’ but walked away with the cake and the accolades. I love Darr for its chartbusters (Jadu Teri Nazar still remains a regular in my playlist) and a pretty Juhi Chawla.

I see an era of extinct moss..

Greats in all fields reign supreme and flourish with blemishes of floundering magic. I have seen and admired few, and continue to revel upon couple of them.

Yet, such characters become an inevitable part of our lives, and in sport, we call them legends.

2012 has been one of those years that epitomized solo goodbyes (adding on self to a listless juggernaut :)). Cricket, amongst all, indulged in few classic ones.

When Ponting called it quits, a feeling crept and was descriptive in its own backyard. When VVS and ‘Wall’ hung up their boots, saw a vacuum that was felt as a self obsessed cricket nation would. Rightly so! Alright, Strauss left too but honestly, with all due respect, his was more conventionally drawn and pasted.

Neither do my eloquent first liners hand over a certificate to Punter’s on field exploits. Personally, and dramatically, I have never been a great Ponting maniac. In fact, I have often dismissed his own with lesser known struggles of his self confessed career strokes. A more significant reason ought to be the fact that we have been his most desired nemesis and I have some painful memories that were a cause of immense damage to our winning ways.

To be precise, some of his majestic innings have eluded famous victories that could have been ours. The most disgusting of all was his knock of 140 in the 2003 World Cup final; it was ours, almost, till Indian hopes eroded with a savage innings from Ricky Ponting and we were destroyed. Not that I loved his 242 and 257 in Adelaide and MCG in December 2003, that was probably the closest we had ever approached towards a first ever series win in the Australian soil. But it was not to be. Ponting was sitting in zenith and was determined to deliver guns against one of the finer and fighting Indian sides to play Cricket in the last 20 years. He did so, and I remember those knocks with soiled eyes (Sorry Punter!)

Out of his 71, 14 masquerading tons came against India. Evidently, he loved smacking us and from my side of the pitch, it was a misfortune to acknowledge few of those splendid innings that I have seen in the last 20 years of competitive world cricket.

Coming back, I still feel robbed. Lara left, Kumble and Dada progressed to script a different route for themselves. Still, was content enough to witness a phoenix act. Muralidharan and Jayasuriya hung up, and so did the menacing combo of ‘Hayden & Gilchrist’ and ‘McGrath and Warnie’. VVS, Andrew Strauss and then Dravid put the nail in the right places of the coffin. With Punter gone, Cricket feels a touch poorer.

Yup. I realize that here we are, in the age of ushering talent and hungry youngsters, and Cricket will bloom again. But I was stitched to an era that gave and spent Cricket’s moolah with elegance and master class. We still have a few torch bearers left; yet felt squashed before I sat to pen this down.

As I await the glory ahead, I feel gobbled with the food of vintage and vernacular past that still dances around with those beautiful toes.

a voyage of a different kind..

The last 3 weeks have been crazy, probably crazier than I thought it would be. But didn’t surprise myself as the transition ought to be instrumental in shaping me in the next few months. Not nerves but a feeling described yet not exported in its vague bonanza.

Pre nuptial-knot days were thrilling and some fine moments spent with the family will be remembered for a long time to come. With Pups down here with Mushki, times were so wonderful that I failed to notice that it was flying at the same pace. Photographs speak a language of emotions and I look back at them with such ominous glee that cannot be plagued over.

Now, for the third in my life. 2 beautiful women blessed my life with unsurmountable love and irreplaceable qualities of a super human being. Truly and evidently, their influence shows up in every frame of my life. Today, I am every inch proud and evasive in saying that my better half would exceed me with palpable blush. A simple and sweet human being, she continues to impress in what might be an extended stretch of a lifetime. Thanking them would be a shame but can’t shy away from saying this: Mom and Pups – I love you! Sarada – Your love will take our lives forward and bind the family together like never before.

Ah! Emotions have never been my best playground, yet.

It’s been a travel sojourn, if I can term it that way in a nutshell. From the backwaters of Allepey to the stylish suburban of Kochi, from the ever gorgeous Athirapally falls to the heavenly shores of Goa, from the in-lawful Bangalore to a sublime Vijayawada – it has been nothing short of a roller coster ride. I am drained and living out of a suitcase hasn’t been a great feeling. But, I guess, every moment has been worth it. Satisfying.

I am back. Normal livelihood calls upon and I have some critical decisions to be taken in the next few weeks as a new journey begins. Waiting for it and the showdown to the penultimate has been perfect. Almost!

Rest of 2012 and 2013, am coming for you with full josh and excitement of my life. Amen!