A Cool Site For The Hot Summer!

Hi Folks.

Still scratching your itchy backs what-with the scorching summer?

Then picture this:

You are lounging in your private room, on a lazboy recliner, air conditioner going full blast, sipping on fresh lime soda and watching a BluRay movie / playing your favourite game on a PS3?

Heaven? Hell Yeah!

But alas, not all can afford one of these black beauties popularly known as PS3. Definitely not me. So what do i do to keep myself occupied?

Browse for latest tech of course!

And today, thanks to google, I stumbled across a website called Blog Oh! Blog

This site cought my attention as it specializes in custom themes for wordpress. As you might know, I have opened this wordpress account and am transfering my BLOGSPOT blog here. The reason I migrated to WordPress is for the fact that wordpress is fresh as a cucumber. Whenever I browse a wordpress blog, it feels like a cool breeze. No exaggeration. You will be amazed at the aesthetic pleasures a wordpress blog offers to your eye! And did I mention the myriad of widgets/plugins?

So if you are a wordpress user, or about to start a wordpress site, then Blog Oh! Blog is a must visit.

They offer:-

* FREE WordPress Themes (Yum!)
* Premium WordPress Themes
* Custom WordPress Themes
* A FORUM! (My favourite section)

* Free Learning Resources!

Now, for someone like me who is new to the field of web development, any help in this regard will go a long way. And that is just what this forum specializes in.

Jai Nischal Verma, the site owner, is doing a great job without much fanfare. He is devouting his skill and time to help newbies and alike. To prove this point, there is a nifty little chat applet right on the home page where Mr.Jai will be online and available for chat/technical queries. Beat that! He is offering free downloadable E-Books and tips on SEO (Search Engine Optimization). Using SEO, you can make your blog a hot cake, with significant increase in visitors/traffic. This is great news if you incorporate advertising in your blog. Incidentally, the site provides google adsense compatible themes. So one can make use of the SEO resources available at blog-oh-blog.

Mr. Jai will also be offering PHP Lessons at this site! Anyone interested can write to him with your details.

And don’t make a folly of assuming that this site is only into WordPress. It has great content on other topics like piracy affecting the gaming industry, facts about google, flash games etc. And if you are inclined towards business ventures, you also get to earn some cool moolah with wordpress templates through their affiliate programme. So you do get a wholesome package at a single site! I recommend you give it a try. Its a win-win situation.

I literally jumped from my seat when I read that this generous site is giving away a Sony Playstation 3+game of choice in a contest.

So here is a chance for you to experience the heavenly bliss I mentioned above.

And Jai has announced another contest (coming soon) where the winner will walk away with a MACBOOK as a prize! So keep visiting this site for updates and subscribe to their RSS FEED NOW!

Point your browser to BOB today and see for yourself how cool (or hot!) this site is and surely you will appreciate the wonderful service it offers.

(All images and icons © of Blog Oh! Blog)

Of Whining, Winning & Wine

Calvin and Hobbes © of Universal Press Syndicate & Bill Watterson

Jim Carrey, in a movie yet to be released in India, titled “ No. 23”, assumes that his life is based on the number 23. He seems to come across this number wherever he looks; on the jerseys of early morning joggers, his birth-date added up, the number of letters in his name and so on. This, he applies, even for the cause of his death and consequently finds himself being paranoid about life.

Yours sincerely is celebrating his 23^rd birthday. Any similitude? May be….

It is after a year that I am trying to update this page with my musings, and I am finding it hard to fish for words in a sea void of creative juices. But I am putting my best foot…er… keystroke forward.

Ever since I first started this self proclaimed tradition of Birthday Blog, Life has changed a lot. Much water has flown in the river of relationships. People have moved on. Friends and buddies have gotten jobs and are getting used to their new skin of responsibilities. It is finally dawning upon us that our erstwhile thought of being friends forever may not be pragmatic after all. I am not saying that this is the end. But sure enough, people are less accessible now. You can bet your last rupee on the fact that some of us will be in touch with each other for a long future to come (knockwood), yet most of us will have to move on. No choices there. What matters are the decisions each one of us make. We have to look back at our childhood days. They are gone for eternity now. A long road of conscientious adulthood lays ahead. How each one of us treads this path depends on our decisions. Will you decide to concentrate on your career and become a new person, basking in all the success that you yearned for all your life? Or will you strengthen the bond with your buddies whom you spent a quarter of your life with? YOU gotta decide. YOU gotta swim. Either with the tide or against it.

And that pretty much paints a picture of my present state of mind. As Calvin aptly proclaims above, maturity engulfs you. Suddenly, you become aware of your life. How good or pitifully bad it is. You have to get a job, earn, buy a plot, build a house, buy a car, find an ideal life partner, pamper him / her, make babies, buy them toys and stuff (One of my dear friends has started saving for this toys thing albeit another is buying Barbie dolls already). Jokes apart, later, you have to educate your kids, create a good future for them…. So when are YOU going to live the dream you had? You realize THIS IS life….all of this….struggling and achieving. “Settling” in life.

Many of my buddies have struggled and have achieved a few things in life, most of whom have got careers to concentrate on. Two of them (as far as I am informed) are pursuing further education. One in USA and the other in Manipal.

Me? I am still struggling. Struggling to make sense of a life in constant change and upheaval. Struggling to build a career for myself. Struggling to make a better impression amongst a few buddies who blow their own horns about their achievements which sometimes makes me feel inferior.

But fortunately, I have a few people to boost my confidence. One, with her unconditional love and support, tolerates my ‘empty-mind-devils-workshop’ circumstance and gives a reason for my being. Another with broken bums and all gives me sane advice which I always feel is insane. Also this Arsenal aficionado who is always there to lend me money, bandwidth and irritating jokes. And there is the suave spokesman with the Nokia, who unwittingly inspires me.

So that’s it. No PJ’s, no euphemisms, no drooling over HONDAs (what with the traffic and all). I myself am surprised at the topic my mind has poured over here. Which is why the title.

Given the fact that I am a wine connoisseur, although an amateur, I would like to draw an analogy between life and wine, looking at life as a bottle of wine. There exist many kinds of wine, each requiring a specific variety of grapes grown in specific weather conditions and fermented using specific methods. Go wrong at any one of the stages and the wine turns out with a different taste. But be diligent and go through the stages with hard work and then you end up with a good wine. If you want to enjoy it immediately, go ahead! Have a gulp. But remember, if you wait, then you will end up with an aged wine which tastes better. Even though it is painful to have something in your grasp and not have it

The nearest landmark to my house is a Rama Mandir and what little I know about life, I learnt from my house, if you know what I mean.

And if you don’t, then stop scratching your head and send me birthday presents dammit!

ashwinsid at gmail dot com

<a href=”http://www.bloguniverse.org“>BlogUniverse</a>

Imaging and design by Ashwin S. The author acknowledges that Calvin and Hobbes is © of Universal Press Syndicate & Bill Watterson. The © holders are in no way responsible for the content present herein. Drinking is injurious to health and is illegal for minors. Image is only depiction of authors’ point of view and does not imply Calvin and Hobbes drink alcohol. This article is of personal opinion and is for general reading. Any resemblance to anyone is purely co-incidental.

LIFE, PHENOMENON AND CONJUGAL BLISS!!!!

Image design by Ashwin.Calvin and Hobbes copyright of Universal Press Syndicate.

It’s the 26th day of July. Just another day for everybody else.

But for me…it’s special. It is the date I was born. Every year, on this day, I ponder deep into my cognizant abode. I take a reflective ride with the memories of all things and events that happened since the same day last year.

The last time I wrote on this page was exactly a year ago, on the same occasion, and it still feels like the day before yesterday.

Since I have taken it up as a tradition, I am writing my thoughts (which are scarce nowadays!) and because of my limited supply of creative juices, I am going to update on the article I wrote on my birthday last year. Hope I wont bore you as much.

Turning 22 has been a big event for me. It’s been quite a midlife crisis…enough to make me reflect for a bit.

Same time last year, I talked about people buying Honda’s and dating girls half their age.
Now, an year later, I am yet to buy a Maruti, leave alone a Honda. And my dear friend did date a girl almost half his age. I wish all the best for him. May their relationship last a lifetime.

Life has been different as a 22 something. I had always been a little behind my friends in the “settled down” department. Now, I feel I am catching up.

As said last year, 21 was the special age that I randomly decided that I would allow myself to get married. Now, though I am not yet married, I have found the person whom I am going to marry and I am happy that my “single – ready to mingle” status has changed to “single – but not ready to mingle – and waiting for conjugal bliss”.

As for my peers, Srinidhi seems to have become more studious than ever before. He claims he has realized his destiny. We say it is chicken shit and the truth is that there is constant prodding from that special someone. Cheers to her! And because of Srinidhi’s advice, I have totally stopped drinking coffee. Thank You Sir.

Paresh is the same old guy who still nibbles on his food and now he takes an hour and a half to shave. Some improvement that! He now rules the roost since he has acquired all the gadgets that we humble mortals still yearn for. Hamaara number kab ayega?

Pavan’s hormones did play a major havoc with his mind. That is all I can say.

Adesh went to a personality development programme and claims he is now a gentle man.

Ajay has gotten himself a job and is a happy lad. He is planning to gift something to his dad with his first salary. Shravanakumar of Kaliyuga.

Dilip has written GRE and was in Bangalore for one month. Now he just returned back to Allahabad to continue injecting cognitive fluids into the head of his professor’s wife.

Kiran makes me jealous with envy with his silky smooth hair. And purposely he reminds me of my receding hairline. Why dude?

Shwetha continues to enjoy chocolate pastries and cream and all that and yet she manages to remain her twiggy slim self. She is now a few grand bucks richer after her birthday on 19 July. Alas! All those riches have to be forgone on the joint – venture treat day.

Pallavi continues to vanquish all ye’ mortals with her cryptic SMS’s. But I am being nice to her as she gave me hundreds of kisses. (Those American chocolates, stupid. What were you thinking?)

Shruthi was all excited about her project at a leading garment export company and soon after the project, she kept on pestering me to get her a job at such an organization. She did get a job at that very company, but I learned about that from Paresh.
Shruthi, nange yaaru enu helode illa. Haaladavale!

Ashwini is in India for a few month’s stay. Along with her is her foreigner son (he was born in USA). We are impressed by this ABTD (American Born Terrific Desi). He is extremely active with dignified manners and all…unlike Srinidhi. One day, he sure’s going to kick Srinidhi’s rear. Ashwini is looking forward to spend a day with all of us baays and gurlz…just like old days. We are arranging for it.

And I recently went on a weeklong tour in my Uncle’s Maruti Esteem, driving almost 2000 Kms. And I never new I could drive so well. It’s one of the signs that I am settling down in Life. I can drive dammit!

Above all, today is the first anniversary of that phone call I made to She who Smiles. What made me call her out of the blue? Was it destiny? Was it co – incidence? Whatever it is, that phone call sure is the most significant thing in my life. 1 4 3!

So here it is. This is my Life. These people are my companions. Most of them will split ways to find their careers. But I am sure the Phenomenon of our friendship will last, come what may!

And here’s wishing Conjugal Bliss to all as early as possible. (Somehow wanted to make the title relevant with the article.)

Cheerio!

HAPPY BIRDAY TO ME

a.k.a Show me the bloody gifts!

Turning 21 is a big event for a lot of people. I mean, it’s not quite a midlife crisis (although given my lifestyle perhaps it should be) but still enough to make you reflect for a bit.

This story will have no reflecting.. sorry.

Sometimes when people get older they buy Hondas or even Tata Sumos. Other times, they date girls half their age. In my case, a Honda is a bit cheesy and I couldn’t afford a good one anyway. Couple that with the fact that a girl half my age would put me in prison, and I didn’t do a darn for the occasion.

That isn’t to say that life won’t be different as a 21 something! See, I’ve always been a little bit behind my friends in the “settled down” department. My room has a distinct lack of “settled down” type things, such as girlfriends or babies, or wives. Hell, some of my friends are already working on their NEXT girlfriends and NEXT wives.

I’m clearly either losing some sort of race, or I’m the only sane person in my group of friends. Depends who you ask.

That may change now!

You see, 21 was the special age that I randomly decided that I would allow myself to get married back when I was about 4. It snuck up on me, so now I guess I’m open game.I am single – ready to mingle. (Update Note: This article was written in July 2005. Since August 2005, I am single but NOT ready to mingle.)

As for my peers, Srinidhi is mad at me since I lost his original vehicle documents. Heck! I even lost his camera charger. But then he is holding back his anger…maybe he expects a gift on his birthday or a lavish treat on MY birthday. He ain’t getting any. But I wish him all the very best for his Rock Star Dreams. Only sans the weed.

Paresh is the same old guy who nibbles on his food, and takes 3 and a half hours to shave. He is in Mumbai, probably being washed away by the incessant rains. Poor guy.

Pavan has gone mad. His hormones are playing havoc with him. Poor Feela. Pity.Tch..Tch..

Adesh is still the same old idiotic rascal. A pain in the…you know where…(Adesh doesn’t read blogs. Hence the bold truth

Ajay is a shy little lad. Rumour is that he even cries every evening. Why? His dad wont bring his daily Five Star anymore. Whoa!

Dilip has become a chain smoker. He is shifting base to Allahabad. Cognizant Science and what not. Lord save the world.

Shwetha said that I was looking really Smart in my new ‘Birday’ dress. Sorry Pavan.

For the first time in my life, I called Pallavi and spoke for more than five minutes. She is being very nice to me. Maybe shes hoping for a lavish party too.

And for the first time, Shruthi called me and spoke for more than five minutes. She is going to hit Dilip hard on the head coz he kept her in the dark about the Allahabad thingy. I’m waiting.

I also spoke to my friend from school, Suhasini, whom I had lost touch with, for four years. And she remembered my name! She is truly an affable, wonderful girl. I sincerely look forward to meeting her.

Above all, I spoke to Ashwini and she seems to really like my blogs. Thank you Ashwini. You made my day.

And I got to drive my Fathers Spanking new Maruti ZEN the entire day on my birthday.

What does all this have to do with turning 21? Nothing at all!

So we are done here.I’m going back to doing what people my age normally do. If you the reader happen to know what that is please let me know.

Cheerio!

(And the ‘Joint Venture’ party will be thrown on August 3 2005. Absolutely everybody who is anybody will be there. You are invited too! Entry strictly for those with gifts only)

CAT maane SILLY

(Fiction)

If you haven’t heard, let me inform you that Pavan and Paresh have recently cleared the army selection exam with flying colours and have been inducted into the Black Cats and allied services. They just returned from Allahabad and explained to us their job profile.

Reproduced below is an extract from the weekly worksheet of Black Cats Pavan and Paresh.

MONDAY

The alarm grenade went off with an ear splitting bang at 4.15 am. Even before the concrete stopped falling from the ceiling, Pavan and Paresh were up and into their uniform. These Black Cats never sleep, only Catnap. They brushed teeth, trimmed whiskers, combed cement from hair: Time taken- 15 seconds. Put on their basic security equipment – Sten gun, handgun, toe gun, head gun, bazooka, mortar, howitzer, flame-thrower, surface-to-air missile, air-to-surface missile, surface-to-surface missile, air-to-air missile, missile-to-missile missile, spear, bow & arrow, knuckleduster and tooth pick: Time taken- One hour, 45 minutes. That’s why these Black Cats are said to have nine lives; they need more than one lifetime to just put on and take off all their basic security stuff everyday.

Outside, the cavalcade was waiting: 14 bulletproof cars, ten pilot jeeps, eight pilot mobikes, four tanks and two commandeered Blueline buses – just in case. “Now let those terrorists out there try anything. We’d show them who the real terrorists are,” muttered Paresh.

“I’ll drive,” Pavan told Paresh, and they roared off, sirens going full blast: POOH-PAH, POOH-PAH, POOH-PAH! Their route had been carefully planned to take in hospitals, schools and other no-horn areas where their POOH-PAHs would have maximum effect. They say these sirens work wonders on the patients. Paresh told us that once; an open-heart surgery patient got himself a free gall bladder removal when the surgeon’s hand slipped, thanks to an extra loud POOH-PAH! Well, they do say modern medicine is an inexact science.

On the way, Paresh navigated and kept score. “Seven cyclists, four schoolchildren, two scooterists and one three wheeler,” he told Pavan, recording direct hits only. “But it’s not quite rush-hour yet,” he added consolingly. An old lady hopped out of their way in the nick of time. “They are pretty agile these days,” said Pavan. “Must be all the practice they’re getting since we joined,” he thought. “That was my grandmother you almost ran over!” said Paresh. “Sorry; shall I go back and try again?” Pavan offered. “Anything for a comrade-in-arms.” But Paresh, good sport, turned down the offer.

They reached their destination and screeched back to base. “Not bad for a trial run,” Pavan said. “ Now we are sure to get it right tomorrow for the Big Day, when we take Mantriji’s eight-year-old to his friends ‘birday’ party.” “Will they let us join in when they sing Happy Birday?” asked Paresh.

TUESDAY

Uff-oh. Paresh got the address wrong. Birday party postponed as Mantriji’s baba did not show up for function to cut tape. But on the way back, Pavan ran three red lights and six pedestrians. “Even on the worst days, some things go right,” said Pavan. POOH-PAH!

WEDNESDAY

Pavan got the address right this time. But the guests didn’t let them to go in and sing Happy Birday, Spoilsports. Apparently the candles on the cake might make the Black Cats’s ammo go off. But Pavan and Paresh enjoyed the party anyway. Another Mantriji’s baba had bought along some Green Cats and these two Black cats got into a friendly argument with them. Score: Black Cats- Zero; Green Cats- Zero; Bystanders-Ten. Later, Pavan told Paresh his sten was pulling a little to the left. Paresh thanked Pavan and said he’d correct his sights. “Good lad” Pavan thought. “I’ll recommend him for promotion.”

THURSDAY

Trial run to take Madam Mantriji to kitty party. Paresh very excited. He’s never been to a kitty party before.

FRIDAY

Pavan and Paresh were let into the kitty party. Paresh got on all fours and began looking under tablecloths for the little kitty-cats, he thought, the party was named after, saying a shame-shame word in Amerikan Angrezi. Finally, one madam called him a battameez. Paresh was very upset. He’s never been called a B-word before, not by a kitty madam or anyone else. But he became jolly again when they did a body search of all departing suspects to see that no one was making off with the silver spoons or the left over Panneer butter masala. Paresh said he had a good time and would like to go to more kitty parties.

SATURDAY

Mantriji left for tour that day. Pavan and Paresh hopped into cars, jeeps, tanks, trucks, whatever and went roaring off to the airport. POOH-PAH! All aircrafts, balloons, birds, kites and ladies wearing high-heeled footwear had been grounded within a radius of 150 km to keep the flight path clear for the VVIP take-off. The VVIP plane was waiting, surrounded by an escort squadron of Air Force fighters. As the Black Cats ran up the ramp of the plane, one journalist fellow hanging about the sidelines called out to them: “Oye! All I can see are you Black Cats. Where’s the VVIP?” Paresh snorted in disgust. There has to be limit to stupidity, even for journalists. “The VVIP?” he asked. “You don’t think we’d risk a VVIP on a plane, do you, what with pilots landing off the runway and what have you?” Then, Pavan added: “ We’ve sent the VVIP off on tour on the only safe transport left in this country- a bullock cart. This plane thingy is just a diversionary ploy.” POOH-PAH!

SUNDAY

Both of them returned to Bangalore on three day’s leave to attend Pallavi M S Shatri’s Birthday. Paresh is looking forward to it, hoping Pallavi will throw a kitty party.

JACUSRI

(Fiction)

Since I started to work and earn my moolah, Srinidhi, my roommate has started to get convulsions. Out of the blue, he starts to demand things that only an inmate of some lunatic asylum would yearn for. His friend Ajay and Paresh are treading the same path. Let me give you one instance of the lunatic intricacies of these dodos. Read on…..

It began innocuously enough. We were relishing this BMD (Benne Masale Dosei) at one of our regular hangouts, for which, as usual I had paid the bill. Suddenly, “I wish I could get a Jacuzzi,” said Srinidhi. I shook my head. “No. No pets in our room. They are hard to live with in our small room that is already messy enough with your courteousness. I will NOT allow a pet in our room. No.” I made my stand clear. “A Jacuzzi’s not a pet; it’s a fantastic invention,” said Sri. “I came across one in USA once,” he added. I nodded. “USA has a lot of fantastic inventions, like skunks, limos, and Anna Nicole Smith,” Intervened Paresh. “Any relation?” he asked.

But it seemed that a Jacuzzi wasn’t a classified bigot or the other things referred to by Paresh, but it was a classy bathtub. “It’s super,” said Sri. “You sit in it and there are all these strategically placed jets which whoosh out compressed air to create a bubbly whirlpool effect which massages your neck and back and shoulders; great for relieving stress,” he explained. “It was fantastic,” he added wistfully. “America is on the other side of the globe. Shut up and finish your dosa” Ajay replied firmly. I thought that was that.

But apparently, America wasn’t that far after all. A couple of days later, there was an ad in the papers which said there was a company right here in Bengalooru selling the darned things. Srinidhi rang the number and a personable salesperson came calling to our room. She explained to us the therapeutic effects of a Jacuzzi, how all those whooshing air bubbles in the water gently massaged away tension. To acquire a Jacuzzi was to acquire a whole new lifestyle, she explained. “How much do all those lifestyle air bubbles cost?” I asked. The salesperson sniffed personably at this infusion of crass commerce into effervescent lifestyle. She conceded finally that her company offered Jacuzzis ranging from Rs. 65,000 to Rs. 5 lakh. “Jumping Jacuzzis!” I whistled. “Why would anyone want to pay 65,000 bucks, leave alone 5 lakh, to sit among a bunch of air bubbles when one could achieve the same result by eating a lot of dal and sitting in a maamuli 2,000 rupee bathtub like the one we have now?” I demanded. The salesperson sniffed even more emphatically, as though I were a maamuli bubble of recycled dal myself and Sri told me not to be coarse.

The upshot was that Srinidhi made out a cheque for one of the more moderately priced models. The cheque was the very one I had given to him for emergencies. A few days later, it was delivered, much to the excitement of our neighbors. As soon as it was kept on the floor, Sri leapt into it in an ecstasy of anticipatory gluttony

“Well, you’ve got your jacuzzi,” I told Sri. But I was wrong. We hadn’t got the jacuzzi; the jacuzzi had got us. For it was soon demonstrated that a jacuzzi is not an inert, passive object, like a stone or an MP or Paresh, but one of those active Einsteinian force fields which go about warping the time-space continuum in their vicinity. Getting a jacuzzi is like getting married; you discover that you’ve not only got a spouse but a bunch of accompanying in-laws as well.

The first such in our case was what the jacuzzi Jane (the salesperson) called a ‘pop-up west’. What on earth was a pop-up west? A succinct definition of western civilization as represented by the Mac-culture of Coke and KFC? A jack-in-the-box out of which popped George W Bush and Dick Cheney? “Pop-up west,” reiterated the jacuzzi Jane, producing a heavy-duty item of machinery that looked like the exhaust pipe of a Tata Truck. The graphic on the box said: Power waste disposal, to dispose of wastewater. “Pop-up west,” agreed the Jane. “Rs. 5,000 only, minus value added tax.”

After the pop-up west, came the pop-up tiles to coat the sides of the jacuzzi, and let me not mention how much those were, plus pr minus sales tax. After the pop-up tiles, came the pop- up flooring to go with the tiles and the pop-up door to go with the flooring and the pop-up lights to go with the door and the pop-up curtains to go with the lights.

It’s been months and a series of pop-up workmen have been popping up with pop-up bills. “At this rate we’ll have to pop-up our whole room and get ourselves a new one in keeping with that damn jacuzzi,” I mutter. “If we pop-up our house where’ll we go live?” asks Srini. “How about USA?” I suggest. “Can’t; we don’t have the money to get past Peenya,” points out Srinidhi. “If we’re so broke, can we really afford a jacuzzi for our attached bathroom?” I ask, contemplating our yet unused acquisition. “Cheer up, brave heart, that’s no jacuzzi,” corrects Srinidhi. “Let me introduce to the world’s first jacusri.”

P.S: AS THIS ARTICLE IS BEING UPLOADED, SRINIDHI HAS THIS NEW LONGING FOR NIGHT VISION BINOCULARS AND PARAPHERNALIA.

WORDS FAIL ME

Date: 04 February 2005, 10.30 am.
Place: Kauveri Theatre, Bangalore
Movie: “SHABD”
Cast: Trying Hard
Direction: Kinda Slick but no Kick.
Rating: Puhleeez…

HELLLLOOOO, why the one-and-a-half generous stars of Shabd which actually leaves the viewer wordless? Well, that’s purely for debutante director Leena Yadav’s attempt to articulate something (strange) about a Booker prize-winning novelist’s effort to vault over a writer’s block.

Hmmm, otherwise this is an “Oh-NO!”.

Toddle off with your poodle, then, with Sanjay Dutt (puffing Cigarettes Light), Aishwarya Rai (as infuriatingly fake as an 11-Rupee note) and Zayed Khan (Hey dude, get real, the oohhs and aahhs from the ladies notwithstanding).

Ever so furiously, throughout the reel, Mr. Booker bangs away at an antique typewriter. Meanwhile, special effects or letters of the alphabet keep drip dropping on your head.

Snore.

Next: Writerji connives an illicit romance between his fake-o-wife and the Sardar joke-cracking dude, in order to construct a nah-nah narrative for his next novel. Which incidentally, The Walrus publishers (big brothers of Penguin?) refuse to accept. Gasp. An exercise in futility this, at long last, the mad mad writer’s confined to a lunatic asylum.

Actually, you might go loony yourself. At least I did. Forewarned is Forearmed.

A HARD DAY’S LIGHT

Date: 04 February 2005, 6.00 pm
Place: Kauveri Theatre, Bangalore
Movie: “BLACK”
Cast: Ayesha Kapur,Rani Mukherjee, Amitabh Bachchan,Shernaz Patel, Dhritiman Chatterjee, Nandana Sen. Direction: Sanjay Leela Bhansali, in brilliant form.
Rating: I am not worthy enough to do such a thing for such a film

Somebody out there’s listening. Just today morning (after “SHABD”), I was brooding about the state of the movies, about how love stories don’t have a heart anymore, sentiment is sadly lacking and the little remaining talk rarely to any point.

And then along comes BLACK.

Let the self-appointed paan masala pundits and plain philistines (like Srinidhi) say what the hell they want to. Let the action at the box office dictate what it will. None of that matters because here’s a labour of love that’s spectacular.

For indeed it follows the rule of fine movie making, with a story to tell and a comment to make. Moreover, there’s a perfect collaboration between the technicians and director, actors and the camera, to transmit both. As a result, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s fourth feature film emerges as a civilized, inspiring and literate celebration of the human condition, discovering light and grace within the depths of darkness. (Did I just write that? Somebody please inform the Booker people).

Okay, so the credit titles acknowledge a debt to Helen Keller, whose real life battle with physical impairments, catalysed the Oscar winning American masterpiece, “ The Miracle Worker” by Arthur Penn. Yet it would have been great if Bhansali bhai had tipped his hat to the film as well. Oh well. Redeemingly, the adaptation has been crafted with such an unprecedented amount of compassion and care, that you’re more than willing to overlook that trespass.

Beauty, undeniably, lies in the eye of the beholder. A myopic, ageing and tipsy teacher of Braille (Amitabh Bachchan), makes it his manic mission to tame a wild child, born blind and deaf into a well-heeled Christian family of the early 1920s. The period atmosphere in a snow-flaked Shimla, is evocatively captured as a battle royale of nerves begins between the strong-willed teacher and his equally stubborn kicking-biting-snarling pupil.

In the end, the teacher succeeds, with the girl learning to pronounce the word “water”(wa..a..ter, the girl says with that very thing, a bit salty though, running down our cheeks) and also learns to speak to her “Ma” and “Paa”. If you aren’t weeping during this scene, go join the communist party.

Stay put, this is only the intermission. The tables are now being turned.

A touching plot twist this. Now, the pupil (Rani Mukherjee) must bring her guru out of the abyss he has descended into on being struck by Alzheimer’s disease. Throughout, their little big victories in making contact, exhilarate you in the manner of Climbing Mt.Everest. Alternately sad and sunny, child-like and mature, touching and troubling, the two-character drama evolves from the theatre of life.

Gratifyingly, the supporting ensemble is etched with dexterous strokes. The eight-year-old Ayesha Kapur, enacting the childhood segment of the blind girl, is absolutely stunning. If this girl doesn’t win all the awards, Oscars included, then those awards are nothing but scrap metal.

As the mother, Shernaz Patel, is marvelous. Dhritiman Chatterjee as the father and newcomer Nandana Sen (cute!) as the neglected younger sister fit the bill.

Several scenes are splendidly done: the girl-turned-woman asking the teacher for a kiss(“I may never know what it is to be a woman,” she pleads); a dance performance with sign language; the sightless one arguing that the blind can “see” dreams too; and the teacher’s joyous jigs on accomplishing impossible tricks and feats.

The dazzling technical wizardry, the deft camerawork and the British age décor, contribute immeasurably towards realizing Bhansali’s ode to human resilience.

However, almost as an afterthought, one does wonder why the dialogue relied so excessively on English, the angrezi frequently being translated into Hindi. Also what were those Michelangelo De Leonardo paintings doing in the background when the mother is informed that her child is blind and deaf?

Above all else, BLACK is a triumph for its two performances. Rani Mukherjee is a revelation, belting out a multi-faceted performance that compels you to reach out for that hyperbolic adjective, awesome. Lock up all the awards already. They’re her’s.

As for Amitabh Bachchan, he surpasses himself. Veins knotted, eyes like flickering flames and laughter that stabs the air like a chilled knife, he’s magnificent.

And the director, bow….hail the king….bow.

After the tumbling experience I had watching SHABD, BLACK was a hard day’s light. BLACK is beautiful. Do yourself a favour, go watch.

And as to why I repented for having invited Srinidhi to the theatre, is this.

Not even ten minutes had passed since the movie began, his highness, the holy pontiff Srinidhi Swamigal started to twitch, twist and turn in his seat, often jabbing me with his elbow. And during those emotional scenes, he would turn to me and start regurgitating words like “what the hell is this” or “oh no not again” and “ I wanna go home” and stuff. After the intermission, buddi left the seat next to us and went 50 miles behind. Smart guy.

Sri, your prayers were powerful son. It was your lucky day. You walked out alive.

RIDDLE OF THE COCONUT TREES

Kovalam is the Mona Lisa of beaches- too famous for its own good. After all that you’ve heard about it, you run the risk of initial anti-climax when you see it. Matters are not helped by the fact that the signboard that says Kovalam beach points to the wrong beach. I follow the sign and come to a thin strip of boulder-strewn sand where the sea hisses and spits like an angry cat. “Must be because of the monsoon; must be nicer in season,” I mutter. “Must be,” my mind concurs dubiously.

I plod back to the fork and take the other road that is signposted Lighthouse Beach. Round a rocky headland, two perfect scallops of beach open up in front of us, fringed by palm trees and souvenir stalls selling “I’m a son of a Beach” T-Shirts. A string of open-air eateries offer ‘You buy, we fry’ food. Now this is more like the Kovalam of Picture-Postcard fame. What with the surf purring like a kitten.

“Seafood wanting?” A young man, dhoti worn at half-mast in true Malayali fashion, asks me in touristese, the local lingua franca. “Seafood not wanting. Vegetarian wanting,” I said as he leads me to a thatch-roofed shack. Meanwhile, I ask for a drink: “A coconut bringing, please.” My host nods vigorously in negation. “Pepsi bringing!” he beams.“Coconut bringing,” I correct him. “Beer bringing!” he counters. “Coconut,” I reiterate. “Dollar changing?” he asks in a ploy to throw me off this coconut fetish. “No dollar changing; coconut bringing-now!” I admonish sternly. “Coconut cannot bringing,” he says glumly. “Why cannot bringing?” I ask, indicating at the literally thousands of coconut trees, each laden with fruit, that surrounds us. “Climbing man gone,” he explains. “Why can’t you climb the tree?” I ask, losing my touristese for the moment. My host looks horrified, as though I had made an indecent proposal. “I management; climbing man, climbing man,” he says. “Management cannot climbing,” So I settle for a Pepsi and learn my first lesson about Kerala.

The supple mudra of the coconut palm as it caresses the sky is an eloquent symbol of Kerala. Surging out of the bountiful earth, the kalpaka groves represent the spirit of the land, its creative zest and its generous hospitality. The coconut is Kerala’s Kalpataru, supplier of all that the heart desires. It provides condiment and cooking medium, votive offering and ceremonial accessory, building material and decorative gewgaw. It is central to the economy. Alleppey is said to be the biggest coconut market in the world, with the next three years’ crop sold out in advance. Yet try to buy a single green coconut drink in Kerala. Chances are you’ll hear the same refrain I did: “Yes, we have no coconuts today.”

Perhaps it’s because of being of inestimable value in its generic totality, an individual coconut is literally priceless, and therefore unsellable. Who would want to buy it and why and for how much? There could be another reason, one that reveals more about the Keralite than about the coconut. And that reason may lie in the Malayali’s passionate belief in the Malayali’s progressiveness, a capacity that has enabled him to escape the clutch of customary circumstance to embrace the new and the unexplored.Passion, of course, is the core of the Malayali being.

To the Malayali, it doesn’t seem to matter so much what you do or don’t do, just as long as you’re passionate about it. So he is passionate about faith and he is passionate about skepticism; he is passionate about communism and he is passionate about petro-dollar capitalism; he is passionate about indulgence and he is passionate about abstinence. Which is why in Kerala you might see a lot of religion but not too much religiosity; ideology but not necessarily indoctrination; a lot of drinking but little drunkenness. Such cultural crosscurrents give the Malayali his innate dynamism.

The Malayali’s get-up-and-go has chalked up a number of firsts for the world. The first part of the country to conduct foreign trade, long before the advent of Vasco da Gama. The first to rise in rebellion against foreign rule. The first to have a family planning programme. The first state in India to achieve a hundred per cent literacy.Not satisfied with all these landmarks of progress, the Malayali continues to pursue the progressive, so much so that often he progresses himself right out of where he comes from. Kerala is a small state, comprising only 1.03 per cent of India’s total land area. Densely packed, it does not have the traditional divide between town and town or between town and country; one seems to flow into the other. So if you have someone going to Thiruvananthapuram and he is asked where he is going, by the time he replies Thiruvananthapuram he’ll probably not only have reached Thiruvananthapuram, but left it behind and be in Kottayam instead and by the time he’s realized this and corrected himself, he’s no longer in Kottayam but in Kozhikode.

This baffling velocity is aided and abetted not only by the fact that most places in Kerala have two name, the new and the old, like Thiruvananthapuram and Trivandrum, but also by the Malayali capacity to introduce more syllables, consonants and vowels into them than they intrinsically possess. Malayalis are passionately proud of Malayalam and make all their place names and descriptions sound like epic poetry. Thus Kerala-spelt Kay-Yee-Yar-Yay_yel_yay-becomes Kairralluh and the sobriquet of Alleppey or Allapuzha, the Venice of the Eat, becomes Thee Vennis of Thee Yeastuh, spelt Yee-Yay-Yes-Tee.

And by the time you’ve got that all figured and spelt out you’ve left behind not only Kozhikode which is also Calicut but also Kannur which is also Cannanore and are now in some place called Delhi, or Dubai, or Dallas, or whatever, where you might as well set up shop and become an award-winning novelist like Arundhati Roy, or a cartoonist and designer like Ravi Shankar, or a newspaper editor like B G Vergheese, or the dudhwala of the nation like Verghese Kurien. Which is why finding a Keralite in Kerala is almost as difficult as finding a Coconut. But then that’s the price of Malyali progressiveness.

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