Tra La La La...

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So I’ve seen two performances worth mentioning in the last few days that I have been meaning to write about for a while.

Last week I finally managed to go for The Dark Knight and am I glad I caught it before it went off the theaters! The movie was fine, had its moments of brilliance and maybe an occasional low point here and there. But..but but but…and I am sure everyone has read and heard enough about him by now for it to be coming out of their ears but I can’t not mention it - the Joker was absolutely stunningly wonderful! I don’t remember the last time I saw a performance even close to what Heath Ledger has managed here, and I see pretty much all the movies out there. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Jack Nicholson did truly warn Ledger about the baggage that would come with accepting a part such as the Joker. A very tragic end to a truly superb actor.
The movie has probably forever changed the association one had with the famous words ‘You complete me…’ with the over-the-top corny Jerry Maguire sequence being replaced by the image of the white faced, menacing Joker.

The second performance that I wanted to mention is fortunately a lot more buoyant. I managed to succeed in conning the husband into taking me for the Unforgettable Tour performance at O2 here in London. We had great seats (even Shilpa Shetty’s sister who was a guest attendee had seats behind us heh!) and the show was enjoyable though such a contrast from all of the international concerts I have been to lately. Everyone was fine, particularly Abhishek Bachchan and Shilpa Shetty, who I thought was so much more entertaining than the other ladies who were part of the troupe. But the high point was obviously Amitabh Bachchan himself. I was amazed to see how nearly everyone who made up the 16000+ packed audience had essentially come just to see him perform, all the stars and actors of the new generation seemed reduced to supporting acts. Amitabh Bachchan was glorious in all he did, he sang many songs, he danced and almost kept up with younger cast members, he read Harivansh Rai Bachchan’s poetry and he delivered dialogues that left everyone moved to tears – yes seriously, I sneaked glances around when he finished the Deewar bit and people were actually crying! I’ve never seen quite the kind of standing ovation he received afterwards. If I haven’t said it before I’ll say it now – he totally rocks! I wish the show was longer than the nearly four hours that it turned out to be.

On our way back V sheepishly confessed to me that he hasn’t watched Deewar and I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn’t even watched Sholay though he wouldn’t admit it. I didn’t know people like that existed – you know those who haven’t seen Sholay. It’s a bit like growing up without reading Enid Blyton or Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys – I don’t know of anyone who grew up without them.

So anyway that’s that. I am on a spree it seems of catching these shows and stuff while I have the time now. Not that I am complaining one bit! :)

Aaargh!!

After much deliberation I have come to the firm conclusion that I absolutely hate making decisions. The small ones like which shoes with what outfit as well as the big ones. They make me nervous and stressed and I hate the responsibility. I really really do.

I liked that about being a kid – all your big and small decisions were made by the parents – what school to go to, which extra curricular activity to take up in your spare time and such. I wish I could ask papa to decide for me now too!

So anyway, as you may have wisely deduced, its decision time in life. It sucks.

Funny how the seemingly biggest decision of them all, of who you want to get married to and spend the next few decades with, was the easiest to make. Ironical, ce n'est pas?

Grumble grumble.

Weekend Chronicles

Have spent a blissful Saturday outdoors doing nothing but watching the husband play cricket - something that I till date had attributed to his imagination, having never witnessed it in actuality. Seems he wasn't making it up. I liked much :-) The best part though was how everytime after doing something cool (like diving when it wasn't really all that needed hehe) he would look towards the 'stands' to make sure I caught it. Awwww.

Sunday brought many aches and pains and oohs and aahs - repurcussions of thinking he was still 18! But thunderstorms (oh yes London does have those too once in a while) made indoors just as much fun.

Wuthering Heights

I just finished reading Wuthering Heights a second time, the first time being when I was in class seven or eight and hence of course had never truly appreciated it (though I do recall going about telling everyone what a marvelous book it was just so they would think I was quite the literary kid!). So anyhow, coming back to the point, this time around I actually did get it and realized exactly how magnificent a piece of literature it is.

Usually I am not a very harsh critic, I either like or I like a lot; I never dislike really, when it comes to pieces of creative art, be it books or movies or music (ok maybe some music I can’t stand but for most part it’s still true what I say). I find something to enjoy even in the Sidney Sheldons and Barbara Cartlands that I come across. For the way I see it is, each creation has something to offer, however trivial that may be - a moment of pure magic in an average movie that makes it worth watching or a little piece of interlude music in an otherwise raucous song. I try to look for those instead of finding the glaring flaws which would be obvious to all anyway - call it naiveté or call it the glass-half-full syndrome.

Coming back to Wuthering Heights, I realized this time, how a simple tale (for it is a simple story) has been woven into such an enchanting book. The all consuming passion of one man, that wreaks havoc on the lives of everyone who crosses his path including the one person he loved; the woman who is capable of the kind of love that can destroy and liberate at the same time; and the man who turns his lost love into the guiding light of his life until the day the light and the life are together extinguished. All strongly etched characters, with immense misdeeds committed by each (except, perhaps, the last) and yet they draw you to themselves with such an intensity that you are rendered incapable of feeling anything but sympathy for them. The setting maybe that of the English countryside of the early nineteenth century, but the storytelling is such that you can virtually see the events unfold in front of your eyes and feel the emotions of the protagonists as if they were your own, even though you belong to another century and another place altogether.

What makes it even more captivating for me is the author, to imagine that a girl in her early twenties had the gumption to write a tale of this kind at a time when women who wrote of passion could possibly be taken to the stake. And to think that after this one flash of brilliance, the fire just died down for she never wrote again until she died.

A Few of my Favorite Things…

It’s happy-happy time all over :-)
All is good and it makes me think of all things wonderful and brilliant that make me enjoy each day. So, in no particular order, here we go…

1. Dry leaves under my feet, the crunch as I step on them like music to my ears
2. Overcast skies, masses of black-gray clouds casting shadows as they race across the sky
3. Diamonds; glittering, dazzling, sparkling
4. Piping hot cups of coffee, specially in winters when I can see the threads of steam coming out from them and mingling with the chill air
5. Smell of rain
6. Bubble wraps; fighting over bubble wraps
7. Movies, any and all, irrespective of language, genre, old or new
8. Railway tracks, going on and on, appearing to merge in the distance
9. Sleeping in trains (I’ve never slept better that when I sleep in a moving train)
10. Going to new places and listening to their stories, battles that were fought there, kings and queens that ruled it, fires that destroyed it, the man who saved it…
11. Chocolate! Need I say more?
12. Theater, musical or otherwise; live music, live performance of any kind
13. Falling asleep on the couch on a lazy afternoon
14. Fresh snow, playing in it, squishing through it
15. Reading poetry, imagining what the poet must’ve thought to write so
16. Shoes, many many shoes. Many many
17. Hot spicy food; chaat that I could eat from the roadside vendors
18. Books; lazing and reading
19. Being married; the thought of spending every day with V for the rest of my life
20. Bubble baths and hot showers
21. Receiving letters the old fashioned way, by post
22. Mystery novels, being able to guess before the end who did it

I could go on for there is more but I’ll stop at that. And another day I will do a more people-centric list, things that some of them do that bring a warm glow all over.

Waiting and Watching

Have you ever been to an airport and just watched around you? I have and I love it. To me it has always seemed that a tiny cosmos is contained within the walls of a terminal building. Although both tell a plethora of stories, I prefer the arrival areas over the departure lounges, for they tell the ones with happy endings. Or mostly so at least.

The last few weeks have had me awaiting the arrival of sundry guests at Heathrow. And in spite of the London Tube’s best efforts I usually find myself at the airport rather earlier than required. So I just perch myself on one of the seats next to the arrival gates and lose myself in the humdrum of life…

Little children running to greet their father, coming probably from a business trip, the father craving for the tiny hands around his neck as he scoops them up and they plant a sloppy kiss on each of his cheeks.

Elderly parents searching the crowds for a glimpse of their daughter, returning perhaps from university for a holiday; the mother’s eyes brimming with tears of joy when she catches sight of the girl.

The new wife, eagerly awaiting her husband’s approach and meeting him half way, shyly embracing him, conveying the pain of separation and the joy of reunion together with just her glance; the husband gathering her in his arms, not wanting to let go.

The boyfriend and the girlfriend, hugging and kissing, oblivious to the chaos around, only seeing each other.

Two friends greeting their third pal with a high five, a slap on the back and the choicest of curse words all meant to convey only happiness.

The middle aged woman standing by her large suitcase, glancing at her watch every few seconds, disappointment written across her face as she waits for someone who should have been there long ago; frustration finally makes her wheel away her luggage as she makes her way out alone, for whoever it was didn’t seem to think it important enough to be here for her.

The brother with his family, there to receive the sister with hers, their children saying tentative hellos to each other, their spouses exchanging polite niceties while the brother and the sister are transported back to their childhood, meeting like they would have as a little boy and a little girl.

What are their stories? What are their little joys and sorrows? What drives them, what makes them tick? I wonder as I watch them and find myself getting lost in the lives of people I would never know, people I will never see again. Yet I feel drawn to them, because for that briefest of moments, I was privy to their innermost emotions. Aren’t airports just like the world, with life just happening all around?

Raindrops on roses...

What is it about the weather that gives it the power to change everything? Not physically, not the raindrops or the snowflakes or the feel of the wind but something more. The wetness that soaks you and seeps deep inside, the gusts that rustle your hair on the outside and fan the embers of languid memories on the inside. What is it about the weather?

It’s raining outside (when doesn’t it in London anyway!), virtually incessant rains, a continuous patter on the panes and a chilly breeze wafting in through the open window. It’s nearly cold and I know I should shut the window but somehow I can’t get myself to, so instead I make myself a hot cup of coffee and bundle myself into a blanket and look outside. I can do this all day, forever, just look out into the rain drenched city, any city. And it conjures up so many different images. I get transported back into time - same rain, different day.

Raincoats. Pink for her and green for me. With pictures of identical colorful, open umbrellas dancing around on them. We are gently shoved into them; the hood pulled up and buttoned under the chin, the schoolbag then put and adjusted over my back while she only gets a water-bottle. A peck on the forehead for both and off we go. ‘Hold her hand, take care of her,’ being called out to me as we run towards the waiting bus. One of the first things said to me, and one of the last.

Summer vacations in Ranchi. They still lived in the old house and there is an enormous garden in the middle of which is the little clinic floating like an island. There is water everywhere after overnight rains. The four of us kids race each other to reach the clinic, outside which is a rather large puddle. We make paper boats and sail them in the puddle. The whole day spent in utter joy and oblivion from all else as we played our little rain games to return home muddy and dirty and oh-so-happy.

Overnight stay at Moulshri’s. Water fills the little balcony of their old house as it continues to rain. We splash about and jump in it much to aunty's consternation as she tries to rescue the insides of the room to which the balcony was attached.

School. Class tenth (or was it ninth). It’s raining and PV4 is late. We watch the other buses leave while we huddle in front of the chakra to save ourselves from the downpour. Then one person decides to jump out, others follow. Soon everyone is frolicking about in the rain and the conductor has to literally pull us in when the bus finally arrives.

First day at IIM Calcutta. The whole city is one big mass of water after days of endless raining. They tell me it’s usual in June here in Calcutta. I am apprehensive. Yet we brave the halting, stalled traffic to reach the campus. The lakes are brimming to their fullest and the water on the paths seems to be merging with that in the lakes. The hostel lobby is muddy and slushy from the people coming and going through it. I go to the warden’s room, am handed my keys and make my way to my new room through all the mess. Yet it all seems so beautiful. Finding it impossible the next day to find a cab into town. Moulshri walks up to an embarrassed senior of mine and asks for a hitch, he complies obligingly and rather happily.

It’s surprising how even though these thoughts come rushing back one after the other, there are no sad ones that come to my mind. Is it that bad things don’t happen when it rains? I am sure that’s not the case but somehow in the little world inside my head, rain is the harbinger of all things good.

Even as I write this, the clouds are starting to clear a bit and odd rays of sunshine are peeking through. I hope this will pass and there is more to come. Sorry all ye English people!

Hop, Skip and a New Life!

I am back. I suppose you notice that but I just like to reinforce these things!

So I guess I should first recapitulate the chunk of my life that I have skipped between the last post and today – for the benefit of the stray reader who isn’t family or friend and therefore not privy to the goings on around here and actually gives two hoots about what’s been up with me. Ok let’s see – it’s been about a year and a half – a lot has happened in the time. On the professional front - I quit a job, took up another one, quit that and am now headed towards newer and hopefully greener pastures. We’ll see how that turns out. On the personal front – I got engaged and am soon to get married – and that’s a whole other blog post so I will leave it at that and shall come back to the details another time. As for the rest – life has been the same – I still live out of a suitcase, I still can’t cook and I still watch every movie that gets released.

And now that we are done with the flashback-in-a-nutshell, let’s shift focus and zoom in on the future – it’s time for the new year resolutions (ok ok its way past the time – but I made them earlier – I am only writing about them now!). Here’s my wishlist for 2008:

1. Stop being scared of taking risks professionally – will have a husband soon who will feed me (and finance my shoe-buying) if all goes wrong.

2. Stop eating junk all the time. And as much as this pains my heart – drastically reduce consumption of the sweet stuff.

3. Exercise (just so you know – this resolution is broken already)

4. Write more often – on the blog and otherwise.

5. Learn two important being-married type things, i.e. tying a sari and making rotis/ parathas at home.

That’s my modest list of ambitions for this year. We’ll see how it turns out when we take stock later.

For now that’s it. But I’m not done yet. There is much to write about and I will get to it – much more frequently than the last time around - so you can check back before 2009! :-)