Reciprocate...

Into the ravine peeked the tree..
To shrug away the mundane peak tripe..
Saw the wind carrying echoes..
Of journeymen, with seemingly no gripe...

Each time the wind tried to rise..
The heavy burden it wanted to shun..
A current so ruthless, hammered it down..
The wind descended, back to where it had begun...

Why do you do this?, asked the tree..
Isn't it a waste of time?
Why do you return lost voices?
Which aint worth even a dime!

Looking at the hunched tree,
The wind threw a smirk..
The voice you see as trivial,petty..
Is an answer, a ray of hope in this murk..

2 days, 2 giants of the big screen silenced.. Ingmar Bergman(July 14, 1918 – July 30, 2007) and Michelangelo Antonioni (September 29, 1912 – July 30, 2007). The banal question running around in bloggers' circles: "Would people watch their movies and appreciate them now?" Also running around are the huge accolades and testimonials pouring in honour of these men. And even a brief pseudo-sophisticated analysis of the works by pundits. And, so to speak, a temporary 'pompous' commemoration. All too temporary.

"Am I born in an age hardly conducive to grab the true essence of these maestros' movies? Is there a paradigm-shift, causing an inevitable change in the movie-watcher's mentality to being more practical, street-smart, unimaginative and precise? Is this unequivocal approach playing villain in this whole process of an avant-garde experience? Or is this whole approach itself a new-wave which is eclipsing over the old school of thoughts which I'm so comfortable with. Either way, I'm a misfit failing to adapt.. or incapable of!"

Suits me!

A tribute to an artist, who made me love pain, and accept it... quite effortlessly

RIP,
Shine on!

for the first time in my entire life, i realized anger is bad...
hoping that it is the last time i'd have to realize or re-realize...
thanks sunu...

an unappealing 50k line script .. amazing how uninteresting things form the perfect background
for nostalgic recollections...the memories all vivid in the backdrop of fading numbers on screen.. everything that i possessed, now they are gone... dream on..

Scene 1: A picture of sriram and me performing the sacred 'samidadhanam', a ritual which succeeds the sandhya vandanam ritual, in front of rama vadhiyar, sriram's grandpa. The zeal in my eye is evident although i have absolutely no knowledge on the whats-what of these shlokas. Never knew that peace of mind is something which someone can actually crave for.. circa 1995

Scene 2: A picture of me running outside my house to trip on someone's footwear and land on a railing edge. Me being taken to Dr.Raghu's house. 5 stitches.. The pain in my voice is evident. Never knew pain would take an altogether different form today. circa 1994

Scene 3: Me and our team getting walloped by vijay's team in a local cricket match. nicky and me arguing on what went wrong that day. Judy telling me not to tear the team badges that we had carefully made esp for the match. The passion in my eye is worth a look. Never knew passion would go out of fashion someday. circa 1994.

-Atavistic vestiges after the rain (Dali, 1934)

all the world is circular,

you get back what you have thrown...
said the dad to his young nipper,
we have atavists of our own...
i dont agree father, said joey,
you cant conclude from mere bone...
you can very well bet on it my son,
look at the heart as hard as stone...

shadows of dawn

silver robe, grass swept gently,
gleaming drops of honey dew land...
the whiskers of the kitten fondle her feet,
as the night queen descends on the sand...

the dust of the war just settled,
the eerie silence and the calm..
the moonchild lends a hand,
to save the ones from the dreaded storm..

the sweet wave of the wind blows,
pampering the rustling leaves...
softly, they whisper secrets,
of the lost lives, the carnage and the peace..

the world is a lonely place and im all alone,
the warm corner i seek, to be on my own..
memories of my master, are as hard as a stone,
the faithful steed whines, in a melancholic tone..

Cold blood on her cheeks,
the orphaned girl grieves...
someday the dirt will be below me,
the beanstalk believes..

Milky white, fragrant and surreal,
the tired earth goes to sleep...
knowing very well, at dawn,
is an all familiar tale, a painful journey so deep...

an all familiar tale, a painful journey so deep...

Gimme the beat boys,
and free my soul....
i wanna get lost in your rock and roll,
and drift away.....

How it was,

While in Montreal on the Animals tour, a fan kept screaming and letting off fireworks during the acoustic "Pigs On The Wing Part II." The fan, obviously distracting the band, was making Roger increasingly irritable. When the fan started climbing up the fishnet that separates the band from the crowd Roger spat in his face. Later that night at the hotel he felt bad for what he done. He realized in order to perform he had to isolate himself from the crowd. What he envisioned himself behind was a wall. The rest is history.

Eye openers...

A good essay
Football; And beyond

"...it seems to me that the individual today stands at a crossroad, faced with the choice of whether to pursue the new technology and the endless multiplication of material goods, or to seek out a way that will lead to spiritual responsibility, a way that ultimately might mean not only his personal salvation but also the saving of society at large; in other words, turn to God."

- Andrei Tarkovsky, 1986

Quite ironical that what the individual sees in front of him is not really a crossroad, it is just a multi way mirage meant to confuse the individual with tempting alternatives. Whatever choice the mind wants to make, in reality there is only a single path of materialistic glory that the individual (is forced to) takes, the alternatives are just thorns which prick the individual on grounds of emptiness and guilt. The thorns are meant only to constantly haunt the individual, posing questions like "if only?" and "what if?" I dont see any other destination that the other paths lead to.

Everyone wants to do good.
Everyone wants to be good.
Few are good.

Inevitability is a stronger crusader than dreams.

We believe, we'll catch the rainbow..

there she was...
her eyes glued on sweet memories...
the world around, seemed to be folding...
nothing was enough though to stir up deep reveries..

there he was...
drops of loneliness dripping off his cheek..
awaiting a response from his beloved...
through the tainted glass he saw, a future seemingly bleak...

there she said...
what am i? without the very you!
the only thing that keeps me alive now is..
a hope you radiate so new...

there he said...
look here girl, right into my eyes..
lets lose our minds, no hurry...
we're chasing blue, chasing blue skies...

blitzkrieg bop....

They're forming in straight line
They're going through a tight wind
The kids are losing their minds
The Blitzkrieg Bop
They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat
The Blitzkrieg Bop


Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go

Shoot'em in the back now
What they want, I don't know
They're all reved up and ready to go....

-The Ramones.

for those who really give a damn...



http://www.gabrielopenshaw.com/EthiopiaMursi.html

david lloyd..
main man...
http://sport.guardian.co.uk/smalltalk/story/0,,1851504,00.html
bumble at his best

lil' johhny did play....

he had just tried to sort out the code that was behaving wickedly with him.. both he and his boss tried to set it right.. however both knew that however hard they tried, it wasn't gonna happen that day.. it was just that sort of a day.. so a quick goodbye exchanged, he ambled down the stairs from the 8th to the ground.. and then out on to mg road to become a part of a flourishing culture.. a waitingatasignal cult.. he drove along mg road and on seeing the brigade road traffic signal tempting him with its green form, he clasped the accelerator and raised it outta anticipation.. he felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket... ignoring it he moved ahead like a man on a mission...as he was close to the line of control, the hideous chameleon of a signal changed color and became red even without its customary intermediate orange... hands on brakes.. all might all bite used.. the bike stopped like an insane horse tranquillized mercilessly.. 150 seconds the count read.. damn it he said.. another sick journey laced with a million stops.. involuntarily his hands went to his pocket and he verified whether it was a life threatening call or message... it was a message... 'Dont forget to recharge!' it read.. hmmm, yeah he thought.... moments later, the signal changed color and twas time to step on the gas.. in a jiffy it was cubbon road... and then came the minsk square signal.. the air temperature suddenly dropped and without even the slightest warning it started pouring!! he could see few two wheelers getting scattered under trees and few other brave equipped ones donning the monsoon wear set for the battle ahead.. he had a choice.. on one hand twas his mother holding a ruler in her hand asking him to evacuate the road and move under a shelter.. on the other hand, was the accelerator all charged up waiting to be pounded... the next thing he could remember was that he was at the high point signal at the end of raj bhavan road a sole two wheeler sorrounded by mighty four wheelers.. dripping wet, head to toe.. the uneasy water drops seeping through fabric and causing that eerie chill as it touched the skin.. he removed his wrist watch and shoved it into his pocket and checked whether the cellphone was cosy.. it would manage to find a dry spot he thought and pulled his visor down and sped across the golf course at 65 kmph.. the rain was relentless and had reached a peak.. a peak which only seemed to be rising he felt.. through the visor all he could see was spots of light looking beautiful as it dispersed throgh the raindrops hitting his visor...one spot appeared abnormally huge and before he could analyze its size, he grabbed hold of his brake and just about managed to survive.. just about... abuses exchanged, he kept moving.. the rain kept throwing its kitchen sink at him and he kept piercing through it.. along came guttahalli and vyalikaval... as he approached sampige road.. he was a wet guy.. he threw his bike into the parking lot.. disembarked and went straight to the store and asked for a recharge card.. he was panting... incoherent... uninterested in talking.. mohan uncle at the shop was stunned and asked.. 'why dya want a recharge that badly in the rain man? you couldve taken it tomorrow right..' he gave mohan uncle a dry smirk, and replied.. 'give it to me fast uncle, my granny is waiting at home with rava idlis!'.. and then he disappeared into the crowd like the river into the sea... nothing official about it.. nothing factual either

me: dude, we went to this tibetian restaurant yesterday da...
he: cool man.. wat food dya generally get there...
me: hmm.. not the conventional things da.. i mean.. was a bit weird.. but pretty nice..
he: oh okie.. but wat was the food like da?
me: it was all liquidy dude.. everything was a soup...
he: heh heh, the world itself is a soup da...
me: yeah.. and we all are in it..

there are somethings in life which cannot be bound by the walls of explanation or logic.. such things cannot be ascribed a measurable value of greatness, they simply have to be felt and preserved in the pure chambers of the soul, like delicate morning dew housed on a soft petal...

And some people are gifted with divine vocal cords they say, and few others the power to feel enchanted by the ethereal melodies arising out of them.. Case in point: Clio Karabelias, Harpist, singer.. Clio and Hamid khan, a sitar maestro himself, cast a spell on the listeners at the arena during a performance at the Fireflies festival of sacred music.. I had no clue what she was singing but my senses seemed to resonate and focus at a precise spot in a heavenly realm, a feeling which im sure is second to none.. unfathomable.. a goddess holding a magic wand and conjuring up ribbons of happiness effortlessly.. making the audience do things what they could never have imagined to do.. glide in the sea of pristine tranquility... words cannot do justice to the work of Clio Karabelias and Ustad Hameed Khan.. I'm blessed, to say the very least...

Amen

The moment they had been waiting for from so long had almost arrived... General Heinrich and his protege Jurgen of the Bundes-truppe 'sechzehn' looked at the grasslands around.. The sweet smell of victory was in the air and the dream of conquering kamerun had materialised.. Jurgen raised the bottle of whiskey expecting a loud victorious war cry from his general.. Heinrich however, was taking a look at the large expanses in front of him scattered with corpses and intermittently garnished with the mighty Savannah grasses holding the corpses secure like an anchor... Drops of water flowed down his cheeks and Jurgen after staying close to the general for as long as he could remember, could easily identify the droplets to be tears, not beads of sweat pounding down in the sweltering heat... The general dint move a whisker... He stood there motionless and said,
"For the last 5 years, my ruthless passion had overwritten all the compassion inside.. The struggle for this day had been my only motive, my only purpose of existence... And here I am on the threshold of glory, I see nothing but the empty me amidst these corpses begging for someone to lend some meaning to my cruel past hollow present and the ominous future.. The
whole world has ceased to exist in a split second... My little daughter who passed away last month is playing with these dead children and laughing at me and my petty ambitions.. She has never laughed like this before Jurgen, she's never seemed so happy... Aaaargh!! A huge void seems to be created inside me dear brother, which seems infinitely large and cancerous.. The void is eating away all those cells of mine which were thirsty to taste those drops of blood and fine whiskey which you hold aloft, oh Lucifer! ..."
He bent down, knelt on his feet, and buried his face in the dry sand looking for a quiet place to mute his daughter's scornful laughter and the kids' chattering and gleeful celebration..
Jurgen descended down the tank, hurled the bottle down and rushed to comfort his godfather.. The spilt whiskey lay still on the sand like an orphan with the even the all-benevolent earth refusing to grant it any refuge.. Heinrich screamed with all his might, grabbed Jurgen's magnum and shot himself right on his neck.. "This is where the cancer seems to be now, Jurgen", he exclaimed as he writhed in pain.. Within no time Heinrich rolled down the grassland to be a part of the carnival happening below..
Jurgen, looked up in a state of disbelief and saw his once-ruthless general playing with his daughter like a 3 year old free from any quantifiable glory.. The mighty savannah grasses danced along and so did the whole of the kamerun tribe...

As far as my eyes can see
There are Shadows approaching me
And to those I left behind
I wanted you to Know
You've always shared my deepest thoughts
You follow where I go

And oh when I'm old and wise
Bitter words mean little to me
Autumn Winds will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they asked me if I knew you
I'd smile and say you were a friend of mine
And the sadness would be Lifted from my eyes
Oh when I'm old and wise

As far as my Eyes can see
There are shadows surrounding me
And to those I leave behind
I want you all to know
You've always Shared my darkest hours
I'll miss you when I go

And oh, when I'm old and wise
Heavy words that tossed and blew me
Like Autumn winds that will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they ask you if you knew me
Remember that You were a frined of mine
As the final curtain falls before my eyes
Oh when I'm Old and wise

As far as my eyes can see

-Old and Wise (Alan Parsons' project)

Cries and whispers (Viskningar och rop)...

I remember having seen this movie way back in the seventh semester.. i dont think it made such an impact then.. yes, it was a painful movie but then i did not dwell much into the underlying layers...for the next 2 years, i did not associate Viskningar och rop with a typical 'bergmanesque' movie.. smultronstallet and persona came along the way and they made were mammoth movies which hit me real hard.. but today, i just picked up a review of c&w by James Berardinelli.. the review and trust me when i say a one page review alone pummeled me so hard...all those 'insignificant' details bout the movie which i thought had forgotten appeared in front of me in such a vivid manner.. i just cant wait to watch the movie again... damn.. i then realize ive misplaced the dvd... f*** f*** f*** f*** f***!!!!

Anyway.. few awesome things bout the review...

Shakespeare referred to death as "the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns".

Death is gradual

The process of dying is not only the last stage we go through in this life, but often the most traumatic. For most people, death takes time. To be sure, there are some who expire suddenly and unexpectedly, but, in general, death is gradual. And, during those last days, the dying individual will experience moments of great clarity revealing transcendent beauty, and times of bleakness staring into the black maw of eternity. Ultimately, no matter how many friends and loved ones may be by our side, the last step must be undertaken alone. "To be or not to be?" is only an ephemeral question. The final answer is unalterable.

There is a fine tradition in American cinema that the victims of terminal diseases become increasingly beautiful and serene as the moment of their expiration approaches. Bergman offers no such false comfort here. Those who have seen a loved one die of cancer know that it is a gut-wrenchingly painful experience.

Bergman is quoted as saying, "All my films can be thought of in terms of black and white except for Cries and Whispers. In the screenplay, it says that red represents for me the interior of the soul."

In order to understand why Cries and Whispers is a great film, it must be experienced, not merely watched.

The complete review can be read here and here.