The Introspective Sabatical

Okay, so I might just be too young to be taking one considering that I started working only just a year or so ago. It wasn't easy to let go, trust me. The nagging fear of seeming incompetent in today's day and age is much too much, which is precisely the reason why the world is spinning out of control. Taking time off JUST for yourself is usually either frowned upon as a selfish task or being clearly dysfunctional.

It has taken me a week to fully give my vote of confidence to this decision without any regrets and make peace (don't say I never practise my name!) with the losses left behind.

The moment when you're restrained off your duties, responsibilities and obligations to an entity, its only just a mental registration of that fact. Its a fact that you assimilate with all other kinds, related or unrelated, on a daily basis. But it takes a lot more physical and psychological, if not spiritual, detoxification from a habit, routine, role and most crucially, an identity. I'm beginning to appreciate the many twists and turns life took in the past couple of months and although they were filled with much testing, agony and led to some loss of faith, I'm glad for how they turned out. It might just be too early to say 'amen' but in a pattern it restored some faith to how the good old always say, "It will all turn out okay".

In my time "off", I have a list of things that'll keep me from being idle, hence, not giving the devil any time or space for the workshops, too many of which I've attended.

~ I will continue to write on all the platforms I'm afforded and will plunge myself into newer angles, vision and post reflective assessments which certainly will not limit itself to social development or existential crisis.

~ Learning my way around the kitchen is very high on my pursuit this month.

~ Getting help for all the excess baggage (a lot which I'm aware of & a lot more that is elusive) that has been slowly eating at me and is responsible for a lot of misgivings and misbehaviour, even.

~ Getting back to print! Got a scanty list of books lying about collecting dust but also reading literature that online publications can never really replace (so far in my imagination).

~ Goa. You know the rest :)

~   Dancing. Improving technique, clarity and letting myself get lost in the beats and the music.

~ I'm putting swimming and running here as well although they will follow my dominant interests of continuing to watch the tons of movies I do and occasionally cutting myself some slack as a couch potato.

~ Most importantly, re-assessing my near future goals and priorities in life. To mentally prepare myself for the big move that I now need more than I desire and to understand in which order is work fulfilling for me and what I am gunning for - Money, fame, recognition, identity, experience, filling a void and/or whatever else one adds after the dots.

To October!

The title is adept to the movie’s post war setting in Berlin, 1945. In the crumbles of war, trauma and hopeful pursuits’ decease the disillusioned lives of survivors while power politics is played between leaders under the garb of peace conferences. And in between falls Lena (suavely played by Cate Blanchett), the beautiful wife of a significantly wanted scientist, Emiel Brandt, who is presumed dead by all blocs. Jacob Geismar (perhaps a little less convincingly played by George Clooney) ,an American captain, journalist and Lena’s old flame, arrives on his second deputation not expecting to find her with his driver, a young and hot blooded corporal (Tobey Mc Guire). As Geismar unabashedly seeks (longs for) her, the corporal’s body is unexpectedly washed in. Only to Geismar’s curiosity, this murder means more than a mere consequence of zonal trespassing that eventually unfolds to his estranged lover, whose only goal is to survive while fulfilling a secret duty with her irresistible aura as the only means to escape.

                                         Stephen Soderbergh cuts a classic 40’s cinematographic piece coupled with the old school background score to the full effect of nostalgic cinema. And although it may take considerable cognitive effort to gather the story together, it’s worth the rental on a lazy day or even for a collector’s piece. 

Originally published in Traffic Life, a former magazine by Twenty Onwards Media Pvt. Ltd.  

Carrying All That Weight Around

I like to think I'm a bohemian artist in this generation of rat race and cut throat competition. That I'm 'Indie' and I'm only just competing with myself. Its true that it is me against myself in this world. That is, me and my ideas of being 'Bohemian' and 'Indie' versus the unresolved and perpetually stirred conflict within myself of the expectations I choose to adhere to and those I forego with high claims of individuality, principle and superior thought.

No one said that the twenties are a period of existential homeostasis. Then why the fuck are people pretending it is? And why the fuck doesn't anyone tell you how ugly it was going to get and why won't most of us admit to it? What are people done experimenting life "so fully" in their teens that the twenties are all about resolving to some sedentary concept of a suburban life? Fuck you. You went around with every Adam and Eve that barked up your tree at 16 and now you're claiming settlement at effin' 23?

Oh you go party every weekend with that safe & secure gang from your BBM, so its all good, eh? Fuck you! I agree that drinking is not the solution and that it makes you forget the question (which is just so 'effin awesome, I know!) but halt, you escapist! No, not from uninhibited drinking but believing that izz alll goood just 'cause you do that.

And don't lament some other fellow's miseries just to make yourself feel a tad more secure from your own! Empathy is a dying trait of this generation and will only be referred to merely as figurative speech by the end of this century.

Why am I so angry? Because I don't have what you do. That I don't project my imperfect life as going just as great as yours. Again, fuck you. No I don't but I'm not as angry about that as I am about all that is worth going outta the window and superficiality being the king of good times! 

Ragini MMS (2011)

An ode to the guy I go to for an update and a better (funnier) insight on the genre of Horror movies, M'hael.

"Despite the repeated jump scares and the less than impressive CGI, this movie does somewhat pull Indian Horror outta the ol' rut" 

Sub-Genre: Horror, Supernatural/Haunted House

Cast Members of Note: Kainaz Motivala (Wake Up Sid), Raj Kumar Yadav (Love, Sex Aur Dhoka) 

What's it About? - A couple go out of town for a 'dirty' weekend (quite presumably) to a lonely, deserted house only to realize their little party will soon be thrashed by the spirit of a Marathi woman (who looked much like the stereotype of a Bombay Bai), accused of witchcraft and killed (assuming years back!) by neighbours (or was it family?) who believed she killed her own children. 

Also, what Ragini doesn't know is that the house is set up with cameras everywhere including the bathrooms (where the cameras would blur her nether regions) and some dingy rooms where only action one can capture is rodents going anal on each other. 

All you get is prolonged first base. Yes, even them rodents do it hotter. Wonder why the Censor Board rated it A?

After a few teasers, jump scares and Ragini's uninvited friends dropping in & also teasing the audience, followed a whole lot more teasers and jump scares. Even as Ragini and deutche bag boyfriend get down to "business" (For the BF, making both 'love' & 'quick cash'), they don't go as far as even groping each other, forget any clothes coming off. And no no, the ghost ain't to be blamed. If you can't get beyond first base in 10 mins and are still playing coy with the camera, well your prude ass deserves to be scared the shit out of. 

Tsk...pussy! The BF i.e.! 

*SPOILER ALERT* 

The Good - Pawan Kripalani didn't do a ham of a job with this one. He kept the audiences on the edge of their seats. Well he kept me on the edge of my palm covering my face. But then again, I scare too easily but get disturbed with that much more difficulty. There were some remarkable moments of creep when BF suddenly and randomly speaks in Marathi saying, "I am not a witch". It wasn't even a moment that was taken very seriously by the gf or the audience but had an insidious effect in setting the platform for the 'scare'. Although, the Marathi rambling of the spirit got a li'l too repetitive and comical eventually, the idea of a spirit rambling in regional language was quite clever and the words were deathly too. The actors have been highly praised for convincingly playing their parts and I wouldn't disagree too much. They were also quite unflinching in the exhibition of their sexual prowess, which is still very rare for Indian actors but for the old farts in the censor board and their 16th century concept of shame in sexuality.

The Bad - Although the movie was a 'thrilling' experience of sorts for me, there were no take aways. There was so much more that the spirit could have done other than ramble Marathi, slap, move stuffs and nonsensically kill people. Indians have a long way to go with special effects amongst many other things. Since the spirit was a old Marathi woman, they could have had make up do more justice to her gory appearance than a CGI blur, which would have worked better if it was the spirit of a younger, well toned woman.
                         Special effects aside Indian writers need to start being a little bit more imaginative than the tried, tested and even loved formula of 'purani haveli', 'chudail' and all such familiar keywords. Granted this movie was a first of its kind and wasn't as terrible as potentially anticipated by me but reinventing the wheel (read, Paranormal Activity, The Blair Witch Project) gets you no brownie points for originality, even though we're just habituated to rehashed stuffs now.

My friend Neha, who unlike me, was laughing her head off at the jump scares said, "My only takeaway from Ragini  MMS is to never let a guy handcuff me" 

The Downright Horrendous - Masochist Ms. Kapoor wanted to ensure the script had every opportune moment of a BC/MC expletive. And as parochial and imaginative she is, decided to draw up a character of an abusive and disrespectful boyfriend who, of course, trapped innocent li'l Ragini into his pyaar ka jaal (Now I know how it feels like to write for Delhi Times). Essentially, there isn't much of a difference between her soaps and movies only she gets to release a lot more libido in the latter, which is only as much as a finger bath for me. 

The Gory - Again, so much scope for gore that was wasted because make up artists couldn't have done convincing jobs and a CGI would have just looked shoddy. The part when Ragini slits her wrist to lose free from the cuffs was good but then again she didn't go as far as amputating herself, which could have added gore substance to the movie. Imagine if she had only one hand to carry the cam with the other bleeding out. Yes, I'm sick but apparently that's what it takes to write good horror scripts.

The Naked - If the lack of boink boink in the movie will dissappoint you, you'd probably want to ask for at least half your money back since only as much as bra straps were coyly flashed for 2 seconds and tank top on! Dirty weekend indeed...spent on watching this movie! 

What did we learn ? Again, don't let anyone handcuff you in a creepy ol' house in the middle of nowhere. This can't go the right way even without a supernatural presence. 

Also, if you're a South Bombay/Delhi bred, there are more varieties of bad boys out there than the "West Delhi, 'Jat Boy' sticker on the car shield" kinds. 

Makepeace says: B-

                              The B for trumping over the contemporary history of bad Hindi horror movies like Vaastu Shastra, Hawa, Bhoot or even the competition, Haunted 3D and its attempt to be creepy. The negative marking for still repeating the same ol' mistakes and for the nth time I will say it, the friggin' jump scares. Its not a good horror movie if I didn't see most of the scenes because of my neuro-biological defence mechanism towards loud thuds and 'here and gone' appearances. 

Final Thoughts: (forced by practise and tradition)

Hot?

Building Castles in the Air: First Date

On our first date, we would go to a park. Minus any blanket or lunch baskets. Just our cameras, curiosity (mostly about each other) and excitement to shoot the outdoors. I would be dressed something like this...

What he wore, wouldn't really matter much to either of us. Not that what I wore would but it'd be as delightful as sugar flour sprinkled on doughnuts.

We'd be on our own trips to click what we individually felt like. We'd share. We'd experiment. We might even compete. But not to do out do the other. Fine, I might have a tad bit of the streak but I'd be humbled by his acceptance...not of defeat but of my idiosyncrasies.

We might hold hands. Almost accidentally without either particularly intending to do so. Our hands would brush each others' a lot. What felt from it would defeat our game plays or power politics.

We'd horse around a lot. Not the 'watch out for the tickling monster' variety. Just let go of social inhibitions. Strike silly poses. Push our own limits of acting child like only to appreciate that side of us more.

Naturally we'd click each other a lot; in moments when either one was too busy clicking something else. Neither of us would feel too beautiful to pose for a fancy photo shoot. But we'd be comfortable in each others company to make silly faces and trust that they would be framed well.

We'd lie on the grass. Click the skies, the trees, our horizontal portfolios. We'd hopefully find a cafe nearby. We'd choose to sit outdoors. Light a smoke, at least I would. Preferably, there'd be a slight nip in the air to enjoy the steam from our coffee and the warmth of our bodies leaning over to make discrete fun of the families sitting close by or that distant couples' matched clothes.

We'd fiddle with each others' fingers. He'd gaze deeply at me. I'd just feel more awkward than shy and gaze away at the clouds or anything a distance away. I'd end up asking hypothetical questions. He'd answer playfully. I'd make fun of his responses. I'd be caught in a strange dichotomy of feeling conscious (even shy at this point) yet wishing the day wouldn't end. Ideally, he'd sense it all and play along and shoot me some silly, hypothetical questions. I'd whip out my camera by now to shoot people in the cafe. He'd use his to take some scenic shots.

It starts to get dark and we'd decide to also dine there for supper. But first, we'd get us some affordable (not cheap, though) wine. He might ponder over a beer but I'd insist we share the wine, both for the connection and to split the costs. Mood would set in soon after.

I'd open up to my 'wilder' side. I'd begin flirting slightly more shamelessly. He might blush or be endeared by my mood switch. I'd become bolder with every sip from the glass and before I'd consciously realize, my right foot will not be on the floor any longer. We'd definitely be clutching our hands at this point. But he's also hungry. I wouldn't insist on anything in particular so ask him to order the main course but insist on doing the same with the desert. He will oblige (if he knew any better for himself). I'd feel a li'l (or a lot) wet by now.

We'd share our food. No one would dare or even think to feed the other. None of us would want either to be eating out of their hands. Definitely, not at this point. But we'd pick each others' food liberally and especially enjoy doing that.

After settling our accounts fair and square, we'd take the auto to my place. He SHOULD make the bold step to lean over and kiss me. We make out with the air blowing on our faces. I'd play with his hair a lot. He'd be gentle throughout. His hands would scurry about my dress, wanting to feel the obvious. That would only get me more excited. Auto driver would be unresentful of it all yet careful only to steal a few glances from his rear view and not stop and stare.

Auto gradually makes a stop. So do we. I'd have the broadest smile on my face and feel like not a care in the world about the serious public display of affection I just indulged in.

I'd walk inside my home and my phone buzz and I'd read, "Thank you for coming with me".