Slumdog Hoopla

Well, with nothing much to do in the evenings (I'm now a certified member of the federation of Unemployed Youth of India), i decided to catch a show of the Slumdog that's been raking in millions and awards worldwide. The media's been ranting about it, as are the channels anything for TRP's, and we are fed to a daily dose of the hype and hoopla, the success and controversies that surrounded it. I did'nt read the Big B's blog but got the jist of what he said (courtesy news channels), but did read through a rather scathing attack made by Arindam Chaudhuri (you couldnt overlok it, he had almost half a page in all the national dailies on the 26th i guess).

Anyways cut to the movie, i cannot deny that i had a fair idea of what to expect from the movie, but then from the guy who gave us Trainspotting and to a lesser degree The Beach, my reference to Danny Boyle was not completely vague as Anil Kapoor claimed in numerous interviews (apparently he went Danny boyle who ?). The movie begins well and i think i agree with Bugs here, that the best part of the movie is the childhood scenes with stellar performances from all the kids.
But as the plot moved on in its tri-parallel plot, the show, the interrogation, and Jamal's life, it slowly becomes hackneyed and drudged. Again, for all the hoopla Dev Patel and Frieda Pinto, have little to do, the path is laid by the child performers. In fact, to be very honest, i dont even agree to Dev's casting as the older Jamal. We really dont have office boys with strong british accents, hell, even the best of Tele exec's can hardly communicate in english. But then u have to apply the supension of disbelief theory to see a young kid jump into a mass of human shit and get up and start speaking in chaste english!

However, i liked the elder Salim's performance in the latter half, in fact the character was perhaps the truest of all the characters. All in all, i figured that what shocked the West were scenes which have become a part of life for us. The novelty of it is perhaps lost on us indians. Though the audience does respond to the black humour that Boyle depicts; just about.
Though, quite a few of my friends have strongly recommended Vikas Swarup's Q&A, over the movie.
I dont think i'll go out of my way.
After all I've been brought up on the Bollywood fare of the rags to riches story and love and good prevail in the end, throughout my life.

In any case would we have gone to watch the movie if made by an Indian director and titled "Basti ka karorpati", "Jhopriwala karorpati", "Bastiwala bana karorpati"...? No unanimously.

An Oscar for this movie? Certainly not if i'm in the jury.
Well... maybe just for Rahman's sake. :)

The Indian Express derailed... Contd...

Unfortunately for us Lee n Dlouhy lost (rather tamely at that) to the Bryan brothers.
So there goes the big dream...





























           But Hesh rolls on and stands a good chance of getting both the doubles titles. (Wishful thinking ?)

The Indian Express derailed...

Watching the Australian Open, i saw Paes and Dlouhy, make it to the quarters. Bhupathi/Knowles had of course made it in earlier, and with no clue of how the draws are placed, wondered if a semi-final or even optimistically a title clash, would be possible. And, what a sense of vindictiveness it would provide for any Indian Tennis fan/enthusiast.


In my generation, they represented the only chance for India to make amends for its lack of quality tennis players and more so grand Slam winners or potentials for that matter. But as it turned out, it(their partnership) went on an ego battle spree that became war over the years. If only they could have managed without a battle for supremacy, We would have many more Slam titles to their names.


Their records speak for themselves, out of the 29 ATP titles Paes has won, 23 are partnering Mahesh, and 3 Slams (2 French and 1 Wimbeldon). This is mostly in a period between '97-98 to 2001 when they won the French open but crashed out of the other 3. In the almost 8 years in between they have played together with some success (mostly Davis Cup matches). Ironically, it is the Davis Cup matches where they have been in the worst of relationships.


Paes, the poster boy of Indian Tennis, with more clout on the federation than even Sachin ever had over BCCI (Controversial ?) could have exercised it with ease at some point and that was never good news for indian tennis. It finally came to a showdown, as well chronicled at Craig Hickman's blog and turned out to be an ugly affair. A junior wimbeldon champ, Paes has always been a tremendous doubles player even in the mixed category, and Hesh, well is no less celebrated a doubles player.


As i rest my case today, i wish for a title clash in the near future, if not this time. And would want to see how the events would unfold. Undoubtedly they have played against each other earlier , and with undoubted rivalry and professionalism. But now with age no longer on their side.,will one such Slam final, as the title is won and the players converge at the nets, their eyes meet and look away, knowing what they have lost.

BAS !

I figured

Flipping through webpages of intrigue,
pages with words of love, hate, romeo and juliet
I wondered propels or prompts me to write?

is it sheer boredom?
a willingness to see how efficient i still am at expressing myself ?
proving a point to someone?
reacting to someone's writing / blog / incident whether personal or otherwise ?

I keep coming up with newer ones newer reasons, newer justifications.
yes justifications is closer to the truth than reasons.

I do not have reasons to write, it seems.
Sad, but honest to self.

And yet justifications are abundant.

Flitting through the innumerous social networking sites
the only thing i ended up doing was to realise how my peers / friends are faring in life.
Reading blogs gives a more personal insight into a few more people's live's...

So here is a list of things i felt through this week's net surfing:

I figured this week, that my first crush has married and i'm still shy to speak to her
I figured that most of friends from school have ended up as techies and are either married/ getting married or to busy working to bother
I figured that i am so bored with myself that weekends are better slept off than stay awake.
Figured that i have nothing figured out in life and am not even getting there...

Figured that IM meant more than instant messenger, and that so many of our own youth are are so hurt and so disillusioned that educated and savvy that they are, they use their skills to trigger more than 6 bombs in the last fortnight at the heart of our country's capital.

figured that optimism isnt a positive thing its a disease

Figured that no matter what i say or proclaim
The I in me always gets centrestage
I figured that i had had enough of writing help files for an alien software (at least for the time being) and finally accepted that i have to move on proffessionally.
I figured that my inability to figure out what i want from / in life is creating havoc in so many people's lives.
I figured that i have to vent my angst out, every now and then, lest it numbs me so, that it doesnt matter anymore.
I need it to matter, my private angst to fuel something, even if its in the form of senseless mumblings like this.

A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.

When we had first studied this poem, we had all instantly fallen in love with the essence of the work, the intricacies of the layering that Dylan Thomas displayed, today, i understand the emotion, perhaps for the first time.
As DT perfectly sums it up "After the first death there is no other"

We need to celebrate life and celebrate it well, lest we are prey to the intricate larger design of life.
Unfortunately, what we have today is what is called a pregnant poise, silence that eats up what remains of our soul(s).


May we have the strength to live through this ordeal, this senseless existence where we grow our callow selves with the hope that we may engineer our life through the bane of existence, adroitly.


Alas, we realise the folly of our belief, of even the slightest moments when we have felt in control.

The day i wrote this, almost a couple of months back, i was numb yet raw, stung yet hopeful.
Today its been replaced by a stoic acceptance of the wheels and the three ladies.

May the yarn still be spinning

Finally the Circus is over !

I have done it again! Proverbially, put my big foot in my big mouth .
The Semi finals were the perfect anti-climax to an otherwise fascinating 44 days of exciting cricket.
After the DD where thrashed out of the competition by the RR, one expected the K XI P to trounce the CSK, but that was not to be. (Me and my big mouth)


However Captain Cool (MSD as called by the SG the little master), finally succumbed to Captain Cooler Text, not after he had tried all the "rascal" stunts that he had up his sleeve, Mind It.


Finally my faith was reinstated !


RR reigned supreme albeit the last ball, credit to the CSK lads who fought their hearts out, but for a few dropped catches, a few tactical errors in their batting lineup and their bowling order.


to be contd...